cherryfaerie2f9

[cherryfaerie2f9]

˙⟡.⋆˙🜼 ˙⋆.Something Sweeter

⋆⭒˚.⋆⭒🜼...pairing bakugou katsuki x oc ⋆⭒˚.⋆⭒🜼...chapter 1

Chapter 2 Things That Bloom Quietly

It was already 5:00 PM by the time my employees and I finished up at the café. The party didn’t start until 7:00 PM, so Bakugou and I still had time. He brought his car, so we were now driving inbound to the Bakugou residence, the cake secured in the back.

“Who else is going anyway?” I asked him.

“Deku and Shitty-hair, I think. Mom told them to come.”

“How about the rest of the ‘Bakusquad’?” I teased, earning an immediate ‘tsk’ from his side. He always hated that their little clique was named after him ever since we were first years. “What?! Isn’t that what you guys are called?” I laughed.

He groaned. “And I told you and the extras not to call them that!” This made me laugh even harder.

“Then what do I call you guys? You’ve been the ‘Bakusquad’ forever.”

“Their names, dumbass!”

I looked at him with mock amusement. “Shut up. You barely call anyone by their names. That’s rich, coming from you.” His shoulders slumped and he just ignored me as he muttered, “Fuck off, Racoon eyes said she'll try to make it.”

We kept driving until he suddenly pulled into a flower shop parking space.

“Stay put. Don’t do anything stupid,” he said, already getting out.

I gasped dramatically. “Me? Never!”

He rolled his eyes, lips forming a small smile before slamming the door shut.

As he disappeared into the shop, I turned my attention to business inquiries on my phone. Mrs. Bakugou once told me he made it a habit to bring her flowers every time he visited home. I glanced through the window again, remembering this, and saw him chatting easily with the old florist, whom he seemed to be well-acquainted with and was fussing over his choices. He sure was famous with the older crowd, huh.

A few minutes later, he returned, gently tossing a bouquet into the back seat before buckling in.

“Here,” he said, extending a small bouquet of carnations toward me, eyes fixed on the windshield.

I blinked, my face heating up by the second. “Wh-what for?”

“It’s in exchange for the cake! Just take it—my arms are getting tired!”

I took the flowers, my stomach now a literal zoo of nerves.

“Thanks… that’s sweet of you,” I mumbled softly, staring at the bouquet hard as if it’d vanish if I blinked just once.

I never got flowers from anyone, unless it was from my father. Especially not in high school. Most boys my age found me too intense, too intimidating. Who would be interested in a girl stronger than them anyway? And I guess I never gave them a reason to think otherwise, I was too focused on a lot of internal conflicts and existential dread—dating just never made the priority list.

But this? Coming from him?

GAGGED. (Okay, maybe not literally. But damn.)

Sure, I knew he had a softer side. I saw it in the way he always insisted on helping clean up the café after our weekend hangouts—claiming it was just because his apartment was a few blocks away. Or how, back in U.A., he’d wait by the door every day until I packed up my stuff, just so we could walk to the dorms together and make sure I got to my room without a hitch.

He never made a big deal of it. Just did it.

Quiet. Constant. Never lacking.

Words hung around us, always at the tips of our tongues.

Not then. Not now. Maybe never.

I run my fingers through the flowers-- soft, delicate. Like everything we never said,

It’s just the way he is. And that is enough for me.

“It’s nothing,” he muttered, turning the ignition on and pulling back onto the road.

The car ride to the Bakugou residence was wrapped in the subtle buzz of the news coming from the radio. Both of us comfortably silent. Moments passed, and in the blink of an eye, at exactly 7:00 PM, we pulled up in front of their house.

As Bakugou turned off the engine, I pulled down the sun visor to look at my reflection, noticing the lack of lip gloss.

“You look fine,” he quipped, unbuckling his seatbelt.

“I didn’t ask,” I muttered as I swiped on a layer of gloss.

I could feel his eyes on me, observing.

“I know, you always look fine...” he said, already out the door, muttering something I did not quite catch as he grabs the cake and the flowers from the back seat.

“Just leave your things if you want. I’ll take you home later,” he added.

I took another look at the flowers he gave me and decided to leave them on the dashboard. I left my bag, only taking my phone and cigarette case with me, tucking it in my back pocket.

“Hurry up, supergirl!”

I rolled my eyes at this and bumped my shoulder against his as I caught up, beating him to the door. Before I could knock, Mrs. Bakugou pulled the door open.

“Finally—oh! Mariko! You’re here!” she said, pulling me into a tight hug.

“Happy birthday, Mrs. Bakugou!” I greeted, hugging her back. I heard Bakugou grunt behind me, carrying the cake and the flowers he bought for his mom.

“Stop squeezing her, hag!” he yelled when he saw his mom’s tight grip on me.

Mrs. Bakugou pulled away and glared at her son. “Don’t tell me what to do!” She then turned to me. “Didn’t think that gremlin would make you tag along when I told him to invite you.”

Bakugou grunted, handing her the bouquet of roses. “Yeah, yeah, whatever. Happy birthday, Mom.”

Mrs. Bakugou beamed at the sight of the flowers, also noticing the cake in his other hand.

“Would you look at that! And a cake, too!” she said mockingly as she took the flowers from him.

She turned to me, pointing at the cake.

“This is from your café, right? Because I will not be eating it if it wasn’t.”

She laughed, and I just shook my head, smiling.

“Yes, Mrs. Bakugou, don’t worry. I made the cake.”

She pulled us inside with so much energy it almost gave me whiplash. Bakugou subtly broke his mom’s grip on me—not that she noticed in the buzz of the party—and just continued walking to the dining room.

With her out of earshot, Bakugou muttered, “She can be overbearing. Just ignore her.”

I shook my head and patted his arm.

“It’s fine. I had years of training being around you,” I jested and walked ahead to the bustling party. Bakugou followed, cake still in hand.

When we walked in, the house was buzzing with laughter and not only did the smell of home-cooked meals hit me, but the warmth of the house as well. Pictures scattered all over the walls, beautiful ornaments and artworks decorating the space. A trained eye had clearly arranged everything beautifully. His parents being designers really showed in the way the house looked.

He unboxed the cake on the dining table. I snapped out of my awe and helped put on the candle and the toppers.

Hands softly brushing.

Neither of us flinching.

Not out loud, anyway.

“Damn! That looks amazing! Bet it tastes as good as it looks, Mariko,” Mrs. Bakugou said, inspecting the cake with sparkling eyes. “You’ve outdone yourself again, dear.”

From my experience with Bakugou, I knew her excitement was her way of saying thank you. They were somehow the same person, just in different fonts. So I smiled at her, my cheeks as red as the piping on her cake.

“Well, somebody’s gotta make you a cake you’ll actually like to eat on your birthday, right?” We both laughed.

“Keep this up, I might invite you instead of him,” she said with a playful nudge.

“Hey! I literally buy your birthday cakes from her—”

His outburst was cut short by the arrival of Izuku and Eijiro, both carrying gifts.

“If it isn’t the workaholic bunch! Don’t tell me you brought work here on my birthday, Izuku…” Mrs. Bakugou teased, pulling him into a hug.

“Of course not, Mitsuki-san! You are always an exception.” They pulled away and she turned to Eijiro with open arms.

“Your hair is always the best out of all of them, Eijiro. You gotta give Katsuki some tips on how to maintain his!”

Bakugou groaned at this and walked back to the dining table.

The warm hospitality eventually made me smile, feeling warm and fuzzy on the inside, as Izuku, Kirishima, and I chatted with Mrs. Bakugou. The familiarity and years of bond made the exchange natural and special. And it's in moments like these that reminds me to just breathe.

⋆⭒˚.⋆⭒🜼...cross-posted on ao3!

[cherryfaerie2f9]

He's so stupiddddd 😭😭😭😭😭

Jurard kabedons his cameraman and immediately regrets it.

Source | Other clips | Bsky ver.

[cherryfaerie2f9]

We wanna welcome you to the

★BEYONCÉ★ ★COWBOY CARTER★ ★ACT II★

and the Rodeo Chitlin' Circuit!

Cowboy Carter Tour -Beyoncé, 2025

[cherryfaerie2f9]

˙⟡.⋆˙🜼 ˙⋆.Something Sweeter

⋆⭒˚.⋆⭒🜼...pairing bakugou katsuki x oc ⋆⭒˚.⋆⭒🜼...chapter 2

After hanging up her cape for an apron, Okamoto Mariko thought she left the chaos of hero life behind. Bakugou Katsuki has been a constant in her life since UA, showing up every weekend with the same gruff attitude, sharp tongue, and—whether she admits it or not—undivided attention. She tells herself it's just his way. Always has. But between cherry cakes, casual touches, and the kind of silence that lingers too long to be friendly, she starts to wonder if there’s something sweeter simmering just under the surface. He’s always been loud. She’s just not sure when he started meaning something more.

Chapter 1 Bakers Don’t Get Paid Enough for This

“Ah, shit.”

I mutter as I see another wrong order come back through the window. A look of desperation crosses my server’s face as she hands me the half-eaten cake.

“Is it from the same guy? This is the third time.” Some customer’s been causing too much trouble for the past hour-- complaining his coffee is too strong, then too hot, then the cake too small.

“He said it’s too sweet now. I really think he’s drunk. I’m so sorry, Okamoto-san. ” I let out a sigh of frustration and remove my apron.

“Good job, Misaki. Go take a smoke break or something, I’ll handle this.” I tell her as I take the half-eaten cake and dump it straight to the trash.

We don’t usually get drunk customers. Plus it’s still 2PM. I’m not one to judge, happy hour is any hour anyway, but causing trouble just to inconvenience my staff is where I draw the line.

I head over to the clearly intoxicated man, who’s rambling to the people around him. None of them look remotely interested.

“Sir? I’m gonna have to ask you to leave.” He gives me a sour look and stands up, getting in my face. “Huh?! Who do you think you are telling me to leave?!”

The moment he speaks, the smell of alcohol hits my face. His slurred words and struggle to stay upright tells me he’s not just drunk, he’s wasted. “I own this place, sir. So, you need to leave.” He seethes, then throws a full-blown tantrum.

I rarely use my quirk. I’m a baker for fuck’s sake. what do I need a quirk for? Flipping croissants? Hauling flour?

The customers around start to eavesdrop and whisper to themselves about the current events unfolding. One of my employees comes up and tries to guide the man out. I’m debating whether to just use my quirk on him to be rid of his drunk ass already or just handle this in a way no physical altercation will happen.

But he throws my employee a punch. That’s it, I’m done watching.

I scramble to restrain him and wrestle him toward the door. Thank god for superhuman strength. “I’m gonna need you to calm the fuck down, sir.” I say as I grab him from behind and restrain him, face-down.

Years of hero training kick in. Subduing a belligerent drunk? Easy. The man seemed quirkless, which made things easier. But he sure is a burly muscular man, I can barely wrap my hand around his wrist, so I’m not taking any chances. I take a peek inside the cafe while I straddle the man from behind and see everything already in order. My employees are reliable people who make my life as a pastry chef way easier. They already know the drill-- clean up after the mess and call for authorities.

Love those guys.

Where are the heroes when you need them anyway?

After minutes of holding him down and him throwing countless profanities my way, police sirens grow louder as it nears the cafe.  That man never stopped throwing a fit even after two police officers grab him from me and another pulls me aside for a statement. I called for my employee whom the man punched and had him recall the events, too.

“I’m fine, boss. His punch barely touched me, almost like a tap.” He reassures, showing me his unmarked face. We eventually decided to just let it slide and let them handle the misconduct since it’s a very busy day.

“What the fuck happened here?”

I look to my right, just as I finish talking to the cops. A familiar mop of spiky blond hair and a permanent scowl greets me.

 “About damn time you showed up, hero.” I tell him, hands on my hips as the police drive off.

“Hey, fuck off. I was busy.”

Bakugou Katsuki-- aka Dynamight.

We were classmates back in UA. We’re not exactly friends back then-- more like mutual irritants. I bailed on the pro-hero path a year after graduation. Found out I was better at piping buttercream than throwing punches. 1-A kept in touch though, making it a tradition to hang out and drink every weekend in my cafe. At least, when they weren’t busy saving the city.

"Just an unruly customer,” I explain as we walk back inside. “What are you even doing here? It’s Wednesday.”

The customers seem to have calmed down now and mind their own businesses, not sparing Bakugou a glance, he’s in civvies today.

“It’s my mom’s birthday. Hag’s gonna want a cake. You got anything red?”

He trails me all the way to the kitchen. On the way, I check in with my employee again.

“Take it easy. Head home if you want-- I’ve got it.”

He reassures me he’s okay and just waves me off, “Nah, I’m good, boss!”, then goes back to the counter like nothing happened. Tough kid.

I turn back to Bakugou who has been patiently (which is pretty mature of him, shocker) waiting for my input.

I check the fridge, “You should’ve asked me earlier. I could’ve made something special for her!”

“I told you, I was busy,” he grumbles.

“Does she like red velvet? How about cherries?”

Knowing his mom, she’s not picky when it comes to cakes. She and her husband are regulars.

I mutter to myself, scanning the fridge. “Last week she got lemon meringue pie… maybe something different this time.”

When I glance back, Bakugou is just watching me, unmoving and almost amused. “Hey, this is serious business, Dynamight. Focus.”

“She’s fine with cherries,” he shrugs, stretching. “She’ll eat anything from this place anyway.”

That earns him a smile-- hell, my face even gets warm. “How about this one?” I ask him, pointing at a red velvet cake, decorated with red and white buttercream, topped with cherries. “She hasn’t tried this yet, I think.”

Bakugou comes closer and inspects it. “Yeah, that’ll do. How much?”

“It’s on the house, hothead. I’ll go pack it, hold up.” He immediately shoves his card in my face. “No way. Just swipe my card, dumbass!”

“You’re always so difficult!”

I shove him towards a chair. “I said it’s on me! Now go sit in the corner while I pack the cake.”

He lets out a huff and sits down in the chair with his arms crossed.

He watches me closely as I do my thing, rounding the kitchen as I pack candles, toppers, whatever I could grab, and putting the cake in the box with ease.

“You know,” he says suddenly, “you could still go pro. Never got why you gave it up when you were doing great.”

It’s been years yet he always brings this up. I’ve got the answer down by heart. 

“I told you over and over again that I’m happier here. Some people just find their calling late. Mine just turned out to be baking, not busting villains.”

I look over only to find him with his brows furrowed, body lazily slumped on the chair, “Aww, you miss me that much?”

“Just pack the damn cake!” He snaps. I laugh-- his bark always worse than his bite-- and go back to boxing it up.

I hand him the boxed cake and wipe my hands off on my apron. “Anything else?” He puts the cake on the counter beside him and remains seated, leaning back with his eyes closed.

“Good, I’ll be here. Make sure to close up early, or I’m leaving your ass.”

I tilt my head in confusion at his reply, eyes squinting at him.

“….What the fuck are you even on about? You can leave, dumbass.”

“Mom told me to drag you along. Now quit stalling, supergirl!”

“Don’t tell me what to do!” I yell, already barking orders to close up early.

⋆⭒˚.⋆⭒🜼...cross-posted on ao3!

[cherryfaerie2f9]

Virginia Woolf, from a letter to Vanessa Bell, featured in The Selected Letters of Virginia Woolf

[cherryfaerie2f9]

Clarice Lispector, from "Too Much of Life Complete Chronicles," publ. in 2022

[cherryfaerie2f9]

August 16, 1927 The Letters of Vita Sackville-West to Virginia Woolf (1924-1941)

[cherryfaerie2f9]

[i want you to tell me i might never recover]

— Jay Vespertine (via letsbelonelytogetherr)

[cherryfaerie2f9]

done healing my inner child. next up is my inner teen. her highness demands a sword.

[cherryfaerie2f9]

still reeling from this gem

literally screaming.

[cherryfaerie2f9]

one lazy afternoon (x)

[cherryfaerie2f9]

Edna St. Vincent Millay, from a diary entry featured in Rapture & Melancholy; The Diaries of Edna St. Vincent Millay

[cherryfaerie2f9]

 Andrea Gibson, You Better Be Lightning

[cherryfaerie2f9]

[cherryfaerie2f9]

Taylor Byas, from I Done Clicked My Heels Three Times: Poems; “To the city I wish to get to know”

[cherryfaerie2f9]

@lovesdaya

[cherryfaerie2f9]

poet, philosopher, and failure.