#bakugo katsuki imagine

[vampyrsm]

𝐒𝐎𝐔𝐋𝐒𝐖𝐀𝐏

✽ — PAIRING: Bakugou Katsuki x Reader ✽ — SYNOPSIS: When a job goes south, Bakugou and Kirishima are left dealing with the consequences of saving a life that maybe they shouldn't have. ✽ — WORD COUNT: est. 30.2k ✽ — WARNINGS: Female reader (she/her used), Cyberpunk AU, gun violence, gunshot wounds, descriptions of dead bodies, blood, body modifications, amnesia, death threats, POV changes between Bakugou & Reader, enemies to lovers (?), eventual smut, angst, no beta reader, no second part, there are no happy endings in night city. ✽ — NOTES: It only took me two years but hey, it's here. You don't necessarily need to know anything about cyberpunk to read this, I've tried to explain things as best as I can in the fic itself. But if you have any questions, please feel free to send me an ask! ✽ — EXTRAS: Playlist // AO3

“Shit!”

“The fuck did you do now?!” The blonde rounds the back of the car, a hand clasping the handgun tight in one hand whilst the other runs frantically through his sweat-slicked hair. It was not meant to go like this, this was meant to be an easy job. 

That’s what Aizawa said! Easy! The warehouse they were supposed to hit tonight was rumoured to be empty, no one had been seen moving in and out of it for days. There wasn’t meant to be a gunfight and now Bakugou worries about how it’ll come back around to bite him in the ass. 

His eyes snap away from the pools of blood and a mixture of chemical fluids. Kirishima is hunched over something in the open trunk of the car, his shoulders are bunched and Bakugou can practically feel the tension rolling off of his best friend in waves. “Oi, what the fuck is—”

Kirishima steps back, and Bakugou’s words die on the tip of his tongue when he stares down at the loot Aizawa had sent them to get. He had said it was just a simple shipment, a bunch of cyberware shit that needed to be shifted from one side of Night City to the other. But this was not just any old sort of cyberware. 

Arasaka cyberware. 

That meant the crate would most likely be tracked, and inside of it would be goods worth more money than either of the two Mercs had touched in their entire life.

“Oh fuck me–” Bakugou speaks first, eyes locked onto the metallic case. “Ei, we need to drop this shit. We can’t be caught with it, they’ll have our fucking balls.”

“No shit we can’t be caught with it! But what do we do with it now?! We can’t just leave it, what if the Maelstrom comes back and takes whatever’s inside of it?” Kirishima’s the one glaring at Bakugou now, the look making the man of 6’8” seem more of a terrifying monster than anything. “Why did you have to say yes to this job, man? We were fine for a few more weeks–”

“Because it would’ve gotten us both out of the fucking city Eijirou!” Bakugou yells finally, he is shorter than Kirishima but still at his own height of 6’3”, he makes up for his lack of height in comparison with his explosive anger. “I took it so that we could go back fucking home! Don’t you want that?!”

“Of course, I wan–”

Bang!

Instinctively Bakugou and Kirishima drop to the ground, Bakugou pulls his handgun up and is ready to fire whilst Kirishima's skin shifts with the metal plating. The two of them were a two-man team that was inseparable, Kirishima the shield and Bakugou the firepower. Both of their eyes are locked together as they wait to see if there’s another gunshot, Bakugou’s heart feels like it might beat its way out of his chest any minute now. He was certain he had gotten everyone, his optical enhancements had confirmed as much. 

The red of his eyes flash to life as he takes a deep breath before peeking over the back of the car, it’s silent for a moment before he hears a dragging noise and sure enough—there’s a body heat signature east of the car, hidden behind some boxes and crates. His arms adjust on the car, holding his gun steady, ready to shoot the second their head peeks over the crate.

…But then the heat signature flickers out, and Bakugou drops his position in confusion before there’s another bang and this time the bullet does collide with the car. 

“Fuck, they’ve got some sort of tech that lets them hide from my optics,” Bakugou whispers harshly to Kirishima who has his back plastered to the car, his face stoic despite the possibility of being taken out by someone who was possessing cyberware that’d allow them to appear out of thin air practically. 

Kirishima nods once, the body plating along his forearms clicking into place as he readies to use himself as a human shield. Bakugou steels his nerves, eyes flashing back to life before finally saying “Move with me.”

The two of them are up in an instant, Kirishima crossing his arms over his upper half and tensing his muscles to ensure his body mass covers Bakugou entirely whilst the blonde slips his arm just beneath Kirishima’s with the gun poised and ready to shoot. The crimson of his eye gleams in the darkness when he catches the heat signature once again dashing from one crate to another and this time Bakugou doesn’t hesitate. The gun fires in rapid succession, neither of the men flinching. The reaction is immediate when there’s what sounds like something falling to the floor. 

“Lost visual again,” Bakugou confirms when the warm red spot vanishes from his vision, leaving just droplets of what must be blood on the floor in their wake. Both mercs wait in silent anticipation, Kirishima moving with each step Bakugou takes as if it were second nature to him—perhaps at this point in life, it was second nature. 

Kirishima had come with Bakugou from Tokyo to Night City nearly 15 years ago with the plan that the two of them were simply there for one job. It was going to give them life-changing money, something the two of them desperately needed for themselves and their families back home. 

“Ei!” Bakugou yells, Kirishima plants both of his boots against the ground and brings up his arms to defend his face. The bullet buries itself into the metal plating of his arm, pulling a deep grunt from the man.

“Motherfucker–!” 

Bakugou again fires the gun, a snarl resting on his face and this time he hears the sound of flesh being hit by the bullet, and then the sound of a body slumping onto the ground. Kirishima finally steps down from being the human shield, pulling his arm up to view the bullet that’s embedded deep into his forearm. No doubt the Doc will be pissed about this when he gets back.

“All good?” Bakugou asks, changing out the mag in his gun before glancing towards the foot he can now see peeking out from behind the boxes. Kirishima grunts a yes whilst pulling the bullet free from his arm, the sound of it hitting the floor loud in the now silent warehouse. “Doc’s gonna kill ya for that.” 

“Ya think? She only just upgraded it for me.” Kirishima almost whines, quite the opposite of the man he just was as he watches the black liquid of the synthetic fluids leak from his arm in place of blood. “If I ask her nicely, do you think– Hey, where are you going?” Kirishima watches Bakugou slam shut the trunk of the car before stomping his way over to the body he’d just shot, he had to know if it was enough scumbag from some gang or if Arasaka were already onto them.

Bakugou rounds the crate, readying his gun to fire once more and freezes in place; gun raised just slightly, eyes widened and mouth ajar. “You’ve got to be fuckin’ kidding me—Ei, get here. Now.”

Kirishima walks over when the ash blonde hisses at him to hurry the fuck up, wiping the black liquid free from his arms before looking down at what Bakugou was staring at. 

“Ohh.. fuck, dude.” He gapes at the girl lying on the floor, covered head-to-toe in blacked-out clothing. But it wasn’t the fact it was a girl that Bakugou had taken down, but rather it was the fact she had the Militech symbol stitched into the sleeve of her t-shirt. “What the fuck did Militech want with this?”

“I don’t know—maybe to reignite that old corporate war they had years ago with Arasaka? Everyone knows both of them are fucked up.” Bakugou is still frozen, the handgun still aimed to shoot. If he takes out this Militech assassin, it’s most likely going to be tracked back to them and by them; he means the new family he had found in Night City. It was a tightly knit group, all coming from similar backgrounds to his own but ending up in NC for different reasons. He couldn’t do that to them, he couldn’t get them killed because he took a job to run away.

Kirishima squats down next to the body, head tilting as he leans a little closer towards her head. His hand hovers just next to her face, “The fuck you doin’ now? Gettin’ your big ass fingerprints all over the body so they ca—” 

“Shush,” Kirishima demands, and Bakugou goes to defy immediately before he’s shushed for a second time whilst Kirishima puts his index finger beneath her nose. It’s a tense moment, but he feels it. “Still breathing, we could still call trauma and—”

“And what? She relays to her boss that she ran into one very identifiable red-haired giant and his angry friend? No. We kill her.” 

“Wait! Wait!” Kirishima moves to push the gun away when Bakugou raises it, meeting his scathing glare with his own determined one. “What if we use her for info? Clearly whatever is in that box is worth enough to get both Arasaka and Militech willing to fight.” 

Bakugou’s jaw ticks as he clenches it, eyes flicking between his red-haired friend and the girl on the floor. He’s right, Aizawa might know something about this, and if they’re able to pull info from her about Militech then they could probably sell it to Arasaka for a pretty penny. 

“Shit.” He huffs, finally pulling the gun back and holstering it. “Fine, but you’re the fucker that’s got to explain why we’re dragging a half-dead Militech asshole through the Docs door.”

“—not keeping—” 

“This is your—” 

“Guys.” 

Everything felt…wrong. Nothing felt like it belonged, and yet it did at the same time. Mechanical parts clicking and groaning, blood pumping in and out, brain whirring to life. Lights that are far too bright for delicate eyes, and all noises submerged in synthetic water. 

What was happening? 

Where were you?

“Can you hear me?” a voice calls from a distant place to your left, you want to open your eyes or will your lips to move to form the words that are hanging at the end of your tongue. What happened to you? Nothing made sense, you didn’t recognise that voice and you didn’t recognise the coldness of the metal table you were laid on. 

“Hey—wait, calm down.” A smooth, cold hand presses itself against your sternum and it was as if a light switch had been flipped in the dark recesses of your mind. You didn’t have to think when your own hand wraps around the offending limb, fingers curling dangerously tight.

“Shit, I knew this was a fucking mistake!” A new voice, distantly familiar. There’s a scrambling of feet, and finally, your eyes are opening. The light is blinding, but you can make out the blurry outlines of figures that are double your size and they’re frantically moving to reach something; guns, you belatedly realise and you don’t miss a beat in hauling yourself off of the metal table. 

The two men—you can finally see them now and they’re nothing short of a pair of gigantic cyborgs—have turned to you with guns raised but they haven't made a move yet. Your arm tenses around something until you hear a squeak accompanied by a choking sound. Hesitantly you glance down to see you have a woman with brown hair pinned to your chest with one forearm crushing her throat and the other raised in their direction. 

“Now, just hold on.” The one with the red hair speaks, his hands raised to show he’s no threat but you don’t miss the way his skin shifts with the metal plating. Armour. He must be the shield, and the other must be the firepower. 

“Lower your weapon.” Weapon? You flick your eyes towards the blonde who most definitely isn’t lowering his weapon. The redhead shifts again, and he’s taken a step forward towards you but his hands are still up in surrender. “Please, lower your weapon.”

He must see the confusion on your face so he points towards your free arm currently not crushing the woman to your body. You hesitate to look where his finger is pointing, but it’s hard to miss when your eyes drift slightly away from the redhead. In place of your arm is what looks like an M-179 precision rifle. 

Wait—how do you know what type of weapon that is? You’ve never held a gun in your life before, you–you…–you were just some street rat. The weapon retreats back into your arm, clicking your own metal plates back together until it’s smoothed over as if it had never existed in the first place.

Did these people put these parts into you? Had they found you passed out in some dark alleyway and dragged you here to experiment on you? That’s the only explanation, it’s the only reason you’re in this dingy ripper doctor's office. 

“S–Stop. Can’t—breathe.” the woman croaks against your arm, and you realise you’re actually starting to crush her windpipe with your forearm. She stumbles forward with a hard choke, whilst you launch yourself back into the surrounding deskspace. Metal clangs and surgical instruments fall to the floor in a loud clatter, the roaring in your ears is too loud to hear what the people are saying to you.

Another set of hands place themselves against you, your upper arms this time but they’re no longer cold, they’re warm. A shroud of red covers the edges of your vision and all you can focus on is the face directly in front of yours, his lips are moving and it’s impossible to decipher what he’s trying to say. 

Why does his face seem so familiar? You had seen this hair somewhere before, and those teeth. You had never run into someone with such sharp teeth and yet your mind couldn’t stop trying to find just where you had seen them before. The red-haired man looks over his shoulder, letting you see the blonde who was frowning in your direction still brandishing the gun that was pointed directly at your head if anything were to go wrong. 

“—know man!”

“Move so I can—”

“You.” Both voices silence immediately. Two different sets of red eyes on you and yet they both carry a different feeling; one filled with curious sympathy and the other hardened disgust. “Who are you? I–I think I know you.” 

“Uh, well, I’m Kirishima.” There’s a groan of annoyance from what you assume to be the blonde whilst the one named Kirishima keeps his eyes on yours. “What about you, what’s your name?”

Your lips part, tongue moving to accommodate the syllables of your name and yet nothing comes forward. You try again with furrowed eyebrows but it feels like your tongue is too big for your mouth and your throat is restricting around your name. In your oncoming panic, you latch a hand to your throat, widening your eyes when you try again and again to spit your name out.

“Hey! Alright!” A hand comes around your wrist and peels your fingers away from the skin of your throat, and Kirishima takes a deep breath when he looks down at you. “You don’t remember a thing, do you?” your only response is a shake of your head, and you swear the man's shoulders slump as he deflates a little at your admission. Had they known you?

“Fuckin’ brilliant, Ei. Now Aizawa’s gonna have our ass for bringing back a death machine with memory loss and the tendency to lash out!” Death machine? Did he mean you? However you don’t get to answer the question because the blonde stomps out of the room, the slam of the door stunning the room into silence. 

Another sigh before Kirishima drops his hands from your upper arms and straightens out to his full height. He is huge, bigger than anyone you have ever seen before. “You should rest before tonight.” He supplies, turning towards the door and you realise the brown-haired woman had also vacated the room at some point. 

“Wait. Tonight?” you take a careful step after him and you don’t miss the way his shoulders stiffen, nor the way his forearm plating clicks to ready himself. Was he scared of you? No. That can’t be right, this gigantic man could not be scared of you. You’re certain he could crush you if he wanted with just a single hand.

“Tonight you’re meeting our fixer.” and just like that he was gone, the door closing behind him with an audible click. 

They had locked you in.

Looking back around the room, eyes caught on the glint of various medical tools that had been scattered across the white tile floor. There are no windows besides the one at the far back of the room, but even from where you stand you can see it’s barred. You were well and truly trapped.

And so, with nothing else to do, you sat in the desk chair by the bed you had woken up on—and waited.

...

The next time you see Kirishima is when he had come to collect you from your makeshift prison, at some point someone—you assumed it was the Ripper—had shoved clothes in through the small gap of the door, you hadn’t realised you were in a state of undress when you had initially woken up. 

Kirishima smiles at you, but you can see it doesn’t meet his eyes as he towers over you. He’s dressed differently too, in a black leather jacket over a red distressed vest and black jeans with some very expensive-looking sneakers. He looked much more like his age like this, you didn’t realise he was more around your age. 

“Ready?” Kirishima offers, burying both of his hands into his front pockets and leaning against the frame of the door—While he seemed relaxed, you knew he was blocking off your only escape route.

You look down at yourself, you’re not quite sure how they had managed to get your size somewhat right but the black cargo pants and graphic tee were comfortable. The only thing they hadn’t measured correctly was the heavy orange bomber jacket that dwarfed you immensely. 

“Yeah, readier than I’ll ever be anyway.” Kirishima just nods, finally pushing the door open and letting you walk out first before he shuts the door behind you both.

The door immediately opens out onto a street, the floor is wet from the rain and the neon street lights give the dingy alleyway some light. You can’t tell where you are, when you look up there is nothing but a concrete overpass blocking you from seeing the sky. “C’mon, he doesn’t like tardiness.” 

“Who?” You jog to keep up with Kirishima’s wide – normal – steps, you barely come up to his shoulder and you have to crane your head up to look at him. 

“Aizawa, our fixer. He doesn’t normally meet with new faces, but you’ve piqued his interest.”

“But how? I’ve not done anything, I don’t even know who I am.” You try to explain, the emptiness that sits in your brain is unnerving, to say the least. 

Kirishima finally looks down at you, nothing but pity in his eyes. “That’s exactly why he wants to see you.” 

The rest of the walk is in silence, not that Kirishima seems to mind much whilst he flicks through his phone. You’re not quite sure who Aizawa was, but you knew what Fixers were. They were smugglers, fencers and they loved to handle information. Is that why he wanted to see you? To get information from you? But you had none to give, and when Fixers often don’t get what they want… they dispose of the useless item. 

Sparing a glance towards Kirishima, he was far too engrossed in his phone to realise the thoughts you were currently harbouring. You could make a run for it, he’s much bigger than you, sure, but you’re smaller. Maybe you’re faster. He could lose you easily in a crowd of people, you don’t want to be killed for something that’s not your fault. 

“I wouldn’t if I were you,” Kirishima says without missing a beat, his eyes not drifting away from his phone and you have to focus on not tripping over your own feet at being caught out. He hadn’t even looked at you, you weren’t that obvious– “If you run then that means I have to admit Bakugou was right and then I have to chase you down.” Finally, he looks at you, raising an eyebrow to see if you’re still going to do it. 

“I won’t run.” You say with less conviction than you would’ve liked but Kirishima seems happy enough with it, finally pocketing his phone into his back pocket before nodding his head forward.

“Here we are.” You turn to look at the building you’re both standing in front of. It fronts what looks to be a bar, not quite as modern as some of the others you had passed by. It looked more oriental and authentic. It’s not imposing, it blends in perfectly wedged between two other buildings that look like stores—it’s the perfect place for a Fixer you realise, it stands out enough to those seeking the man known as Aizawa but in an area shoddy enough that it won’t draw in too many people. 

Kirishima doesn’t give you more time to inspect the building, guiding you inwards with a hand between your shoulder blades until you’re past the old wooden doors and inside a very well-kept bar. It’s relatively empty, with a few people hanging around by the bar but it’s quiet.

Your eyes rove over the multitude of artwork hanging from the walls, swirling paint strokes and sculptured mythical creatures. Kirishima drops his hand from your back once he’s sure you’re secured in the building, leaving you standing alone whilst he meanders towards the bar to talk to a pretty girl with bouncy curly pink hair.

“Oi,” a gruff voice calls from behind you, your shoulders jump at the closeness of the gruff voice and you spin to see the blonde from earlier. He has a frown on his face the second he meets your eyes before they drag down and latch onto the bomber jacket you’re wearing. He seems to glare somewhat harder, sucking at the back of his teeth. “No fucking around. I won’t hesitate to blow your head off this time.” 

“This her?” a deep, almost sleepy voice drawls and you turn to meet the man to whom the voice belongs. He’s got shoulder-length black hair, and tired eyes yet the look he’s giving you is enough to tell you he’s very alert. You can’t help but straighten your spine a little, attention drawn away from the blonde who just huffs and wanders elsewhere. “Doesn’t look like much of a threat to me.” 

You’re left blinking at the man, the silence suffocating until you look hesitantly across the room to meet a set of red eyes—but they aren’t Kirishima’s. Bakugou was clearly growing agitated the longer this was drawn out. “I’ve never been a threat.” 

“Bakugou and Kirishima seem to think otherwise, even our Ripper Doc had said you have some interesting chrome.” Aizawa continues, settling into one of the seats close by before he regards you again. “But they also said you don’t remember who you are, is that true?”

“I–... Yes, it is.” Interesting chrome? “I don’t know how I got my upgrades, I woke up surrounded and I just acted on instinct.” 

There’s a beat of silence, the palms of your hands growing sweaty and you suddenly feel like you’re standing in a pit with lions. 

Then Aizawa breathes in deeply, sighing a little on his exhale. “I don’t know why, but I believe you.” There’s a noise of disagreement from Bakugou somewhere to the side but Aizawa continues anyway, “You could be useful to us. I’m sure your memories will come back over time and you’ll be even more valuable to us then. It’d be stupid of me to let you go.”

“Let me go? You want to keep me prisoner?” 

“Not a prisoner. We just can’t have you wandering the streets in the state that you are, it’s safer for everyone involved if you stay here.”

It made sense, you supposed. You would be safer staying in one place instead of wandering the streets, especially if you had no idea who you were. Swallowing the lump of anxiety, you nod your head in agreement and Aizawa visibly relaxes in his seat before he casts a glance towards Kirishima and Bakugou. 

“On second thoughts… I think it’ll be better for you to stay with those two.”

“What?!” Bakugou all but yells, the beer bottle in his hand smashing onto the floor in haste to get to his feet in disbelief. “I am not a fucking babysitter, and I’m not looking after some corpo—”

“You found her, you look after her. Didn’t I teach you that when I found you?” 

Bakugou’s upper lip curls into a snarl, his eyes darting from Aizawa and towards you–it’s like you’ve been pinned to the spot underneath his hateful gaze. His tongue drags along his lips, rolling his bottom lip into his mouth before he leaves without another word. Kirishima is quick to take his place, stepping up close to you to take you back to wherever you had to stay. 

“I promise he’s not always this bad—well, most of the time he is but he’s a good guy,” Kirishima says, a hand back on the spot between your shoulder blades to guide you out of the bar and back onto the open street where you finally see Bakugou once again. He’s sitting on a motorbike, an expensive-looking one. “Yo, Bakugou. Are we–”

“You have one fucking chance left. If you pull that shit again that you did at the Docs, I’ll personally rip your head from your shoulders. Got it?” Bakugou points a finger in your direction, which only makes Kirishima huff a sigh of annoyance and drag a hand over his face. “One. Then you’re done.”

He must not expect an answer as he slips the helmet over his head, the sleek black of it reflecting only the neon street lights but you can still feel his glare on you before he revs his engine once, twice—then he’s gone. 

You look up at Kirishima finally when Bakugou is gone, and the redhead just smiles awkwardly at you whilst rubbing the nape of his neck. “I did warn ya.”

To say the next few days were painful is an understatement. 

You had been confined to an apartment shared between both Kirishima and Bakugou, whilst the redhead was happy to have another roommate—Bakugou was not. He made it his mission to make it hellish for you. 

It started with him refusing to cook you food whenever he did for Kirishima and himself (Kirishima had to convince him to at least give you something to eat or you’d die and then Aizawa would be pissed). Then it started with the loud music early in the morning, you had no real bed so you had to sleep on the expensive U-shaped couch and Bakugou took great joy in turning the radio on and making sure it was on full blast. 

Kirishima did try to stop Bakugou’s attempts to drive you to a point of anger that would make you act out, which only had Bakugou sneering in your direction before he left to go do whatever the fuck he did all day. 

And it was going somewhat well, that same routine every day. Until Bakugou got a call.

Currently, you’re sitting on the couch, your elbows digging into your thighs whilst you lean forward. The room was deathly silent, save for the sound of the passing Trauma Team AV that flew by the window. 

Kirishima was staring out of the window, both of his hands pressing against the cool metal window ledge, the lights of the nightlife outside reflecting off of the various strips of chrome covering his jaw and down along his throat. 

Opposite you was Bakugou, his knee bouncing in what appeared to be nervousness whilst both of his hands were buried deep in his blonde hair, head tilted back to stare at the ceiling above.

“This cannot be fuckin’ happening.” He groans for the nth time that evening since ending the call. “That old fucking man—the nerve, all of the shit I do for him… and this is how he rewards me?!” 

“Dude, Aizawa has never steered us wrong. He obviously thinks we can trust her.” Kirishima says in an odd tone like his voice was devoid of any emotion. You supposed it made sense, he had never been able to trust you either for whatever reason.

“Well, I think we can’t.” Bakugou drops his head back forward, meeting your gaze and a sharp shiver rolls down your spine. “You remember what I told you before I let you come and squat in my apartment?”

“Our apartment.” Kirishima supplies quietly, though Bakugou is undeterred.

“You’ll kill me.” 

“Right, I’ll fucking kill you.” Bakugou finally stands, swiping the pulse rifle off of the table between the two of you before fixing it over one of his shoulders. “Now get the fuck up, we’ve got a Tyger Claws cunt to go kill.” 

The back of Kirishima’s car was very plush, you couldn’t help but wonder how good at being mercs the two of them were. They seemed to be living in the lap of luxury yet they decided to stay in Night City, but you didn’t dare ask why they were still here. Bakugou would probably take the opportunity to bite your head off. 

You sunk into the leather and watched the city pass by, the rain bounced off of the roof of the car and rolled down the windows in thick streaks. It still made no sense as to why Aizawa put you on this mission with them too, they were capable on their own so just what did Aizawa expect from you? You can’t even remember a time when you had used a gun so surely you’d just be deadweight—another reason for Bakugou to be on your ass if you fuck up. 

As if somehow sensing your inner anguish, Kirishima turns in his seat enough to meet your eyes. 

“Ready for this?” You’re not quite sure why he’s asking, even Bakugou seems to furrow his brows in confusion at why the redhead even gives a fuck about if you’re ready or not. “It should be a pretty simple gig, the Tyger Claws are ruthless but this guy we’re going for? Big junkie, won’t see us coming.” Kirishima grins at the end of his sentence, and you can’t help the small smile that grows on your face.

“Right, yeah, I’m ready.” You say with a small nod.

“Say it with more confidence and I might actually believe you for once.” Bakugou gruffs from his own spot in the driver's seat, with only one hand on the wheel and the other propped up on the door beside the window. He’s chewing at the skin of his thumb; one might think he’s actually a bit anxious. Kirishima only gives you a look you now know is his attempt at apologising on behalf of the antagonising blonde before he sinks back into his seat with a huff.

“Don’t gotta be so rude all the time man, she probably doesn’t want to be here as much as you.” Kirishima all but grumbles to himself, looking away when Bakugou shoots him a scathing glare.

“Yeah? Then maybe she’ll fuck off at the first chance she gets, won’t have to deal with her anymore.” The car falls into an awkward silence at that, not even Kirishima can counter the fact that it would be simpler if you did disappear but you can see the sad frown that’s making him look much more like a kicked puppy than anything. The music on the radio does nothing to squash the tension, instead, it only adds to the palpable dark energy rolling from Bakugou in thick waves. 

Soon enough the car is pulled into a darkened alleyway, only the rats and drunkards faintly aware of the presence of the two big mercs who get out of the car in a heartbeat. They seem to move in an organised way; a practised routine you realise. By the time you close the car door behind you, there’s a gun being thrust in your face. “Here, I know it’s not much but—it should do the job,” Kirishima leans a little as if sharing a secret “It’s all Bakugou would agree to give you, think you still scare him.”

You hum, eyeing the handgun in your hand and feeling its weight. It felt lighter than you expected, your fingers moulded perfectly around the hilt and you tilted your head to inspect the barrel. Something feels very familiar with the gun now in your hand, and as you look at both Bakugou and Kirishima to thank them you falter for a moment. 

Your vision flickers, the city behind them flashes to an old warehouse before it returns to normal. Kirishima seems to be talking animatedly but Bakugou’s eyes are locked onto your own, an unreadable expression on his face—maybe it’s because there is no real emotion on his face. No scowl, no anything, he looks like a blank slate. 

“Anyway, we ready for this? It’ll be over before we know it and then we can go to that ramen noodle bar I mentioned last week!” Kirishima grins, slapping a hand against his hardened stomach. 

“Yeah.” Bakugou finally speaks, breaking his eyes away from your own and down to the weapon in his hands. “The plan is Kirishima will be the shield, I’m the firepower, and you just follow us and keep quiet.” He says whilst staring you down, gone is the blank expression and that familiar frown is again creasing his skin. You just nod, and he seems happy enough with that response to turn on his heel and lead the way into the back exit of the building. 

The building is rundown, as are all the buildings in Night City outside of the high-end Corporate zones. You traverse over tipped-over vending machines, various boxes and crates that had been ripped apart and ransacked for all their worth. It’s dark and dingy, a low stream of smog flitting through the air from the old vents in the ceiling. The only way you can tell you’re going the correct way is with the help of the flickering dim fluorescent lights overhead, Kirishima and Bakugou are both deadly silent and somehow moving without even making a noise. 

The journey up the stairs is quick, without the worry of someone hearing the three of you coming, both men take the steps three at a time—leaving you to hurry after them as quickly as you can. 

Both of them freeze once they reach the door that leads to the 6th floor, Bakugou shifting a few steps back and Kirishima takes his spot wordlessly in front of the blonde. The clicking of Kirishima’s skin has you focusing on him, the way the metal plating shifts almost looks like his skin is hardening. Bakugou has his own gun raised, the heavy rifle looks like it weighs nothing in one hand when he taps the other on Kirishima’s shoulder indicating he’s ready to breach. 

It all happens in three very quick steps. 

First, Kirishima rips open the door to the point where it’s detached from the wall and tumbles down the stairwell—you have to plaster yourself to the wall to avoid being squashed. 

Second, breaching. Bakugou has both his hands back on his rifle, his eyes illuminating the chrome strips on his face whilst Kirishima steps forward with purpose. 

Third, gunfire. It happens in five quick taps of the rifle's trigger, Bakugou hardly shifting from the recoil as he swivels just his upper half whilst hunching his shoulders slightly to ensure each and every single one of his shots is a direct headshot. The sound of bodies slumping on the floor is your cue to finally enter the room, and a part of you wishes you hadn’t.

The room smells horrific, a stench you for some reason recognise as death. But it wasn’t coming from the fresh bodies, no, it was deeper in the large room. The translucent sheets of plastic that hang from the ceiling obscure most of the room, with multiple splatters of blood staining the material. Bakugou lowers his weapon slowly, Kirishima finally parting ways to do his own investigation of the place. 

“Think we got him?” Kirishima asks, using his foot to roll over one of the men Bakugou took out before grimacing at the clean shot between the eyes. Bakugou was a beast with the gun, there’s a reason why he was so sought out by Fixers other than Aizawa. 

“Dunno, I didn’t get a clear look at their faces.” Bakugou comments from the other side of the room, squatting down to roll a guy over to inspect his face. 

Both men are too occupied with the gig to notice that you’re traversing through the middle of the room, pushing past the thin sheets of plastic to grow closer to the source of the blueish neon lights. With each step, the smell grows stronger, a rotting kind of stench mixed with what smells like fried electronics. A shiver rolls down your spine, a warning to stop yourself from pushing past the final sheet of plastic. Your fingers curl against the material, crinkling it and still, both men are blissfully unaware of what you’re about to unveil—

An empty ice bath. 

Your eyebrows furrowed together, multiple thick wires and cords were all scattered around the bath yet there was no one connected to those wires. You take a hesitant step forward, the smell is still so strong—something isn’t right. The ice bath looked fresh, except for the blood staining on either side of the white porcelain, following the streaks upwards until you see a blinking screen displaying vitals.

Ayaka Ichida. Age: 26 Occupation: Arasaka Executive ECG: N/A Blood Pressure: N/A

“Arasaka?” You murmur to yourself, fingers ghosting underneath the word. Why did that name send a painful twinge through your head? Perhaps it was just the notoriety of the corporation. Arasaka were rumoured to be funding the Tyger Claws way back in 2020 but it’s been nearly sixty years since then—

Your eyes lose focus the longer you stare at the screen, no longer looking at the words but rather the reflection of something moving behind you. It’s neither Bakugou nor Kirishima, you would’ve heard them approaching. This is a woman, her skin completely exposed, and dripping wet. Shit. 

Her arm raises, the revolver sitting in her hand looks weighty and it’s definitely fully loaded when you catch the barrel of it. You spin on your heel, a hand stretched out ready to yell at Bakugou to move but it’s like you hit an invisible wall. Everything feels fuzzy in your brain, a wave of electricity passing through your body and shooting up and down your spine. 

You must’ve shouted something because you can see Kirishima raise his head in worry, Bakugou clambering to his feet but it’s as if everything is moving in slow motion. The barrel spins, the trigger clicks and the flash of the gun is bright in your eyes. 

You don’t quite realise you’ve moved until it’s too late, the fuzziness in each of your limbs is all-consuming. It’s as if you’ve been dunked in ice water and your limbs are slowly regaining their warmth—it’s painful. You blink, and suddenly your face is in Bakugou's; his eyes are wide and mouth agape as if he’s at a loss for words. Your entire right arm aches, but your spine hurts something fierce.

Not quite understanding how you had moved from one side of the room to the other, you glance over your shoulder to see the body—it’s more of just a pair of legs at this point, blood sprayed up along the walls and to the ceiling; bits and pieces dripping and dropping with a sickening wet thud. Did you do that?

The ache in your arm brings your eyes back to it, and it’s no surprise to see that the entirety of your arm was replaced with the rifle you had pulled out not too long ago at the Ripperdocs. It doesn’t look like you damaged your arm, the skin easily shifting back into place whilst you turn back to look at Bakugou. There’s a spray of blood on his face too, the blonde of his hair tainted by a dark shade of crimson that almost looked black. Bakugou is looking at you with what you might assume is worry, or some level of it anyway as he still seems to be frowning.

You open your mouth to speak, your throat tightening until you sputter out a thick vicious black liquid. Immediately your hand comes up to your mouth, touching your lips to see the synthetic blood leaking from your lips in thick rivers. “Wha…” you try to speak. Taking a step back from Bakugou, it feels like you’ve been hit by a train, your fingers go to press against the sore spot on your back but instead, you meet—nothing.

Your fingers pass through where your side should’ve been. You can feel the sticky synthetic blood coat your fingers as it continues to pour from your body, you can even feel the outline of the frayed edges of the artificial muscles you didn’t know you had.

“Shit!” There’s a set of hands on your shoulders, your entire world tilting backwards suddenly. “Hold the fuck on!” A voice calls from somewhere, yet you can’t see where it’s coming from. Your senses shut down one by one until you’re left floating in an endless amount of space. 

It’s dark here. 

Cold.

The vastness of the space around you expands over the horizon, and it feels like something is pricking into your skin. It hurts, everything hurts here. It’s too loud, yet it’s completely silent. Glancing down at your hands, your stomach drops and swoops in anxiety at the sight—you’re not made of human matter, but rather data. Pixels, bunched together to form a non-corporeal form of yourself. You’d heard rumours of this before.

Cyberspace. 

It’s an odd feeling, to be existing but also not at the same time. The Net was such a vast expanse of data and network that almost anyone in the world could access but not everyone could take a step into cyberspace in the third dimension. It was jarring without a doubt but the unlimited knowledge one could access whilst inside of it? That’s why there were so many Netrunners, people dedicated to diving into the Net and hacking whatever data they needed. 

But this place you were currently in didn’t feel like you were getting an endless stream of data, it was as if you had been cut off. Everything around you is freezing cold, with not a single thread of data to grab onto to understand just where you are. 

“Hi?” someone says from your side, your head turned sharply to see someone with both lilac hair and eyes, they had a tired expression on their face but even the surprise on their face was easy to spot. 

They hadn’t expected to be put into the Net alongside you. Both of their hands moved up to show they had no weapons, not that an experienced Netrunner would need weapons inside of a place like this. 

“Listen, I was told to try and come pull you out. You’ve been in here for two weeks and—”

“Two?” How has it been that long? You had only just woken up, it felt like you had just been in the gunfight and protected both Bakugou and Kirishima; even potentially giving your life up for the blonde. “I–I don’t understand, how has it been that long? Who even are you?” 

“My name’s Shinsou. You need to listen to me very carefully if you want me to get you out of here, okay?” He takes a step closer, stretching out a hand in an attempt to touch you—

There’s a pounding on your head, a throbbing pain that spreads behind your eyes and down to the base of your skull. Accompanying the throb is a low hum, more of a thrumming kind of noise that beckons you to turn around. Slowly you do, eyes glancing up from your hands to meet a set of dull blurred verdant eyes. Though these eyes do not seem familiar, they seem deadly, calculating. They glare at you through the opaque screen you hadn’t noticed, you can just about make out their body on the other side.

They have a single hand pressed against the screen, and the other curled into a fist that’s repeatedly beating against the screen. Each time it hits you can feel the pressure on your brain, was this your own consciousness? Who was this person? You move to take a step back but their punches only grow more frantic, more aggressive. It’s getting louder and louder, and the pressure on your brain is unbearable. Why can’t you wake up? The throbbing grows more intense until there’s a shooting pain that brings you down to your knees, curling your fingers into the ground. 

You can’t hear the voice of the man named Shinsou anymore, you’re not even sure if he’s still there. All you can focus on is the throbbing pain, the way it chokes you and holds you in place. Demanding your attention.

“Found you.” A static-filled voice speaks from the darkness, and you look up to see the crack in the screen with a much clearer view of almost black-green hair. It sounds like he might be laughing, it sounds almost manic before he calls out a name, a name you can’t ignore—your name. “I’ll see you soon.” 

As soon as the words left his mouth, the world around you started to melt away until you were left in complete darkness once again, though this darkness felt somehow different. You could feel something beneath you, smooth and metallic, familiar.

The second time you awake in the Ripperdocs office isn’t quite as jarring as the first, the lights are dimmed and there are no arguing voices. It’s easy to open your eyes, staring up at the overhead lights that have been turned off. The room is silent, the only distant noise is the street just on the other side of the door. 

Slowly you rise from the table you had been laid out on, you didn’t need to look around to know you were alone this time. Has it really been two weeks since—you gasp, fingers touching the side where you had been hit but instead you meet the warm flesh of your body? Looking down to confirm that you weren’t imagining it, it looked like you hadn’t even been hit. No scars. Nothing.

There’s a laugh nearby, drawing your attention to the set of double doors you had never set foot through before. You slide from the cold table, your bare feet gently slapping on the cold tile floor. Taking a step forward your body falters, swaying to the side on uneasy legs, the table of surgical instruments clatters when you bump a hip against it and you freeze to see if anyone would be alerted to your presence. 

No one comes bursting through the door.

Swallowing the lump in your throat, you take another step forward. This time you were careful of where you placed your feet, and with each slow yet steady step you finally regain control over your legs. Soon enough you’re standing in front of the double doors, the voices on the other side muffled but they don’t sound familiar in the slightest. Were you even back with Bakugou and Kirishima? Had you been sold off as Bakugou had wanted? Fear danced up and down your spine, you’d have to fight your way out of here if that was the case. 

Steadying your heart, you raised your hand carefully to the door, ready to burst through.

Three… Two… One.

You slam the door open, throwing your body through the now open space and your arm lifts as if on autopilot to readjust the metal plating to reveal the rifle buried deep into your very bones. With a quick scan of the room, you register you’re inside what looks like a common room of some sorts. There was a sofa, a pool table, a kitchen on the east side of the room and a gigantic TV that was broadcasting something. 

There’s movement, a heat signature, and your arm automatically moves to point at the two men who are on the sofa. The yellow-haired one is the first to scream, then the one with black hair who scrambles off of the sofa to try and seek safety. 

“W-Wait!” The black-haired one yells, throwing his hands up, “Don’t shoot! We’re not the enemy!” 

Another door on the other side of the room beside the kitchen bursts open, there’s a scrambling of feet and clambering to all get in the room first. But Bakugou is the first in, his hand firm around the gun in hand as he raises it ready to shoot until he realises he has the barrel of his gun pointed at you. If you weren’t staring at him you might’ve missed the way his shoulders sag in relief. Kirishima is next to come in, eyes darting from both men who were sprawled amongst the mess of chips and used beer cans that had been dashed across the room in their attempt to flee immediate death. 

“Oh, you’re awake.” A voice that’s now familiar to you calls your name, the man with lilac hair sidesteps around the two hulking figures. There’s a lazy smile on his face, “Welcome back to the land of the living.”

Both Kirishima and Bakugou parrot the name Shinsou had given you, eyes drifting from Shinsou and to you, connecting the name to the face they’ve been living with for a while now. 

“Yep, that’s the name of our friend here.” Shinsou walks into the room as if there wasn’t just a standoff moments ago, dropping into an unoccupied seat. “We should probably tell you everything that happened whilst you were ‘out’.” He makes quotation marks around the word, both of you missing the way Bakugou has his eyes locked onto you—or more importantly, your side. Shinsou gestures for you to sit down, and you make your way around the couch slowly whilst the two men you had scared scamper to sit elsewhere. 

“I’ll be blunt with you. You’ve been out for nearly three weeks in total. We would’ve tried to pull you out faster but… you have some very impressive chrome. It took me two weeks to break your defences and even then you rejected me in a heartbeat.” 

Your eyes break away from Shinsou as he explains your ‘absence’ to watch Bakugou as he tentatively perches on the arm of the couch right next to you, both of his arms crossed over his chest. But the things Shinsou is saying make no sense, you hadn’t pushed him out, it was—you scrunch your eyebrows together, the headache still ever present in the back of your mind the harder you think. 

The silence stretches out in the room, just the sound of the TV droning on about Militech moving towards renewing partnerships with Lazarus. 

Shinsou clears his throat, demanding your attention once again. “Your wounds actually healed by themselves. You have synthetic muscles but they’re something else. No one has ever seen something like that, even Uraraka said it’s not something Rippers can get their hands on.” 

“Yeah… you weren’t actually breathing by the time we got you back here… I—We thought you were going to die.” Kirishima supplies from his position behind the couch, both of his hands clamped on the back of it and you can see the worry settled on his face when you look up at him. So you were dead for a portion of time, had all your chrome and cyberware saved your life? If what Shinsou said is true about your muscles repairing themselves then the time locked into your consciousness made sense.

Shinsou seems to notice the shift in the air first, clearing his throat before he stands up. He gives a stern look towards both Kaminari and Sero who are blatantly staring at you as if you were some anomaly. “We should go.” 

“But—” the one with the yellow hair and black streak starts, eyes darting back to you with a question that was probably best unasked.

“Nope. Get the fuck up, we’re leaving.” Shinsou commands, already partway out of the door and he knows Sero and Kaminari will follow as he doesn’t bother looking back. 

And soon enough, it is just you, Kirishima and Bakugou who looks like he’s about to shit himself with how tense he is next to you. It’s awkward, to say the least. You’re not quite sure what you should say, sorry for the trouble? Sorry for not dying? You’re sure that last one would apply to Bakugou, he had wanted you gone. 

“Why?” 

It’s Bakugou who breaks the silence, his head held now between his hands as he stares intently down at his shoes; knee bouncing, he’s anxious. You glance at Kirishima but the redhead just shrugs, urging you to look back at Bakugou. “Why what?”

“Why the fuck did you take the hit, huh?” His eyes meet yours, and you can’t miss the white of his eyes partially red, he was on the verge of tears. “Why the fuck would you do that when I mean nothing to you? It makes no fucking sense, no one just jumps in front of a bullet for someone. I wouldn’t have fuckin’ done it for yo–” He stops himself short, chewing on the words on his tongue that are better left unsaid. But the words still sting the same regardless of how true it is: Bakugou would not have taken a bullet for you, he would not have risked his life for you. Why did you care so much?

“I don’t know.” But it’s not the answer Bakugou is searching for, a frown is on his face but it’s not quite the same as the usual one you often saw him wearing. This one looked pained and confused. He diverts his gaze quickly, refusing to look at you once again before running a hand through his hair. “I guess I felt like I owed you for saving my life.” 

Bakugou only gives you one last glare before he’s up from his spot and marching back out of the room, leaving an icy chill in his wake that makes Kirishima sigh. 

“He means to say thank you, it’s… been a lot for him. We really did think you’d die on us back there, and I think Bakugou didn’t want another death on his conscience that wasn’t done by his own hand.”

Kirishima stands to his full height when you do, both his hands buried into the pockets of his jacket. “Anyway, let’s just go back home, yeah? You probably want to shower.” 

“Tellin’ me I smell, Kirishima? You don’t smell of roses yourself big guy.” You grin when he smiles at you, the banter between the two of you is easy. His shoulders sag with relief before he’s strutting out of the room before you. 

“Nah, not roses. Just pure manliness.��� 

“Manliness smells like a Maelstrom cesspit?” Kirishima whirls on you with his mouth agape, a chuckle leaving his mouth.

The city opens up to both of you when you step out of the doors, the difference this time being it’s the middle of the day and the streets are bustling with people going to and fro with their plans for the day. You take a deep breath in, Kirishima still rattling on just next to you about how Maelstrom actually doesn’t smell that bad. You break into an easy smile, a genuine laugh leaving your mouth for the first time in a long time. 

A tingle runs up and down your spine, the shard slot on your neck buzzing as if someone was tugging on it, you look in the opposite direction of Kirishima to see if perhaps there was a nearby jammer or Netrunner who tripped on your own network.

But instead, you’re faced with something that makes it feel like you’ve been submerged beneath icy waters, your bones rigid and muscles tightened. 

Standing idle amongst the moving crowd is a large man, with broad shoulders but that isn’t what makes him stick out like a sore thumb. It’s not the corporate suit he’s wearing, but rather it’s the mop of green hair on his head accompanied by emerald eyes that are wide with mirth when you meet his gaze over the crowd. You can see his lips move, but it's like his voice is deep in the back of your brain.

‘Soon.’

Kirishima calls your name from your side, drawing your attention back to him for a split second before you glance back towards the crowd. The man was gone. “All good? Do you need more blockers?”

“Huh?” You blink up at him, blockers? Oh. Meds that rippers always pumped you full with whenever you had any amount of cyberware. When was the last time you had taken some anyway? “No, uh, I’m fine, thank you. Think I just need a real sleep.” 

“You just woke up from like a month-long nap, you’re telling me you’re still tired?” He grins down at you, guiding you back down the familiar street. 

“Yeah, I guess so.” 

The door to the apartment slides open with a hiss, revealing the dim lights of the amber overhead lights. Bakugou was home. Kirishima steps in first, shedding the thick jacket he had on to toss it onto one of the hooks. You followed after him easily enough, it hadn’t felt like so much time had passed but looking around the apartment you could see it. 

Things had been moved, the plant on the window ledge had blossomed and grown beautiful red leaves. Stepping further into the apartment, you watch Kirishima disappear behind a black glass door that slides open for a split second to reveal Bakugou who was hunched over what looked like one of his rifles before the door slid shut. 

You had been forbidden to enter the armoury, it was for Bakugou and Kirishima only. Bakugou had come with that rule, you couldn’t blame him but it wasn’t as if you needed their weapons. The thought of the gun embedded in your arm makes it ache, a tingling sensation that numbs your fingertips momentarily. Sitting down on the couch, you let out a sigh of relief when your muscles finally decompress and relax. 

Despite your body relaxing your mind was still running far too fast, too many thoughts bouncing back and forth—you suppose it’s from the fact you were connected to the Net with no blockers, all that information could fry someone's brain and you’re just glad it hadn’t happened to you. 

The peace and quiet doesn’t last long however, soon enough the entrance door opens with a whoosh and you turn in time to see a multitude of people walk in. You recognise two by name; Aizawa and Shinsou. You recognise both men with yellow hair and black hair, but there’s a woman with them that you haven’t met before with short dark purple hair. 

“What the fuck are you all doin’ in my fucking house?” Bakugou growls from near the armoury, arms crossing over his chest.

“You didn’t think we’d let you walk away with the coolest new member of the gang, right?” The one with yellow hair flops into the seat next to you, long gone is the fear he had shown just earlier that day. 

He grins at you when you stare at him, “Denki Kaminari, but you can call me whatever you want.” Kaminari offers with an easy smile, earning him a snort from the black-haired man who smacks him on the back of the head.

“Ignore him. Name’s Sero, it’s nice to meet you without a gun pointed in my face.” You shake his hand when he offers it to you, still wordless at how they’re effortlessly welcoming you into their gang. 

“Don’t fucking ignore me!” Bakugou finally yells, but no one flinches at the volume of his voice. “What the fuck are you all doing in my house?!” 

“New job.” Aizawa supplies, and immediately the room plummets into silence. “I know it’s only been hours since you woke up, but we really could use your help on this next one.” 

Bakugou moves to open his mouth, but Shinsou jumps in. “You’re the only one here who can disappear from someone's optical enhancements. Do you know how rare that is? We wouldn’t be asking you to do this if we didn’t think you’d be able to pull it off without any problems.” 

Aizawa continues, “You won’t be doing it alone of course. The whole crew will be going, but you will be the key player in this job, you’ll have to be the one to go in first.”

“When?” is the first thing you ask, and all eyes shift to you. 

“In three days. Ideally, we would’ve done it sooner but I figured you might want to rest first. From what I hear, you had quite the trip on the Net.” 

Aizawa notices the way your eyebrows furrow, “Shinsou was in there with you, but it was Jirou–” He points over his shoulder at the girl, who raises a hand for a moment. “–who broke through your defences. Apparently, there was some resistance from an outside source. Got anyone who'd be interested in protecting the data in your head?” 

You shake your head, the only outside source may have been the man with green hair but even then you weren’t sure if he was real or not. You hadn’t been on blockers, you had been using your chrome carelessly. It could just be exhaustion. 

Aizawa just nods his head, turning his attention to both Kirishima and Bakugou before gesturing with his head for them to come to talk to him privately. Kaminari and Sero both dive instantly at the chance to talk to you, gushing over the cyberware you were sporting. Apparently, they had never met someone who lived to tell the tale after having so much changed.

Aizawa sighs when he’s away from the group, slumping against the wall whilst Bakugou and Kirishima stand before him. Kirishima looks tense, and Bakugou is… well, Bakugou. 

“You remember the original job?” Both men nod. “The package you were ordered to retrieve is Arasaka’s countermeasure to the new power Militech has come into. Jirou had a look at it and apparently, it’s some sort of advanced AI that can short-circuit everyone in its vicinity and even cause people to spiral into Cyberpsychosis.” 

“What the fuck?” Kirishima murmurs, keeping his voice down so as to not alert the others.

“What’ve you done with it?” Bakugou asks, not missing the wince on Aizawa’s face.

“Handed it back to them.” Bakugou’s frown deepens, lip curling to reveal gums and canines but Aizawa jumps back in. “I didn’t have a choice, Bakugou. It was tracked, after you left with the girl they sent some jacked-up chrome head to come and pick it up.”

Bakugou runs a hand through his hair, gripping at the roots. This was bad. Arasaka were pieces of shit when it came to cyberware and if they were going to hit Militech with this then another corporate war would definitely be on the cards. “Shit, fuck. You sure it was an Arasaka guy that came to pick it up, not someone working for D—?” 

“No, if I picked up on his chip, I would’ve put a bullet between his eyes myself.” 

“Not if I do it first.” Bakugou snarls, earning a nod of approval from Kirishima. “Fucker already ruined our lives enough, we don't need him to get his hands on something that could kill us all.”

“You think they know about her?” Kirishima prompts after a beat of silence, all three men turn their attention to watch you on the couch. You were still static, Kaminari arguing with Sero about something whilst Jirou and Shinsou teased Kaminari about whatever it was. You looked out of place but at the same time, it felt as if you were always meant to be amongst the crew. You smiled easily, even laughing along with the group. 

“I don’t doubt it. Jirou said the outside source that was blocking her from hacking into the system was military grade. She has something important to someone very wealthy. With this next job, stick close to her. If Arasaka makes a move, they’ll be trying to take her out first. If Militech makes a move…” 

Aizawa shares a look with Bakugou before the blonde nods in understanding. “Good. Good luck on this next one, you’re going to need it when working with those idiots.”

Both men watch Aizawa leave before joining the rest of the gang on the couch, Bakugou sinks into a spot opposite of you and Kirishima slumps himself not too far from everyone, his legs spreading as he fully reclines into the seat. All attention is still on you, and Bakugou can’t help but keep his eyes locked on you. 

“We should celebrate!” Kaminari grins, practically bouncing in his seat at the prospect. 

“Celebrate what?” Kirishima is the one brave enough to take on Kaminari, effortlessly shifting the attention away from you momentarily.

“The newest member, obviously! I think we should show her a good time.” There’s a series of groans, a squawk of indignation from Kaminari whilst Sero berates him for always making everything an innuendo. Yet Bakugou can’t find it within himself to fight the decision, his eyes watch the way your eyebrows lift in interest before a smile brightens your features.

Maybe he’ll go along with it, just this one.

...

Part of him wishes he had fought Kaminari on some part of it. It was no surprise that the bar hopping eventually led them to visit Jig-Jig Street. It wasn’t the nicest place to be, it was the rundown part of Japantown that people often went to when they were desperate enough to get their dick wet. 

Jig-Jig Street was the red light district of Night City, where you could ‘buy love’ by the hour or even get in contact with dealers who would sell you the most exotic of drugs or enhancements that would cost you a pretty penny. It was dangerous too, something that Bakugou often argued about whenever the others tried to drag him here. Too many times he had come home with a nasty black eye or even in the back of a police car from the fights that broke out here.

The crude flashing neon signs had Bakugou hunching in on himself, practically snarling at Denki who dared to poke fun at the gigantic blonde. Thankfully, it’s Kirishima who once again saves the day by shooing Kaminari away with the rest of the gang before he draws Bakugou in by his shoulder. 

Bakugou just grunts, crossing his arms over the broadness of his chest before his eyes drift towards the redhead who’s now staring down at him. 

“What?” Bakugou barks, modified canines adding to the visage of him being a feral dog. 

Kirishima just laughs, “Loosen up man, let Denks have his fun. I have a feeling this next job is going to be a hefty one.” 

Bakugou shakes his head, squaring his jaw whilst he mulls over Kirishima’s words. He supposes Kirishima isn’t exactly wrong; this next job feels like there’s a heavy weight resting on them. An expectation of something; something that Bakugou hasn’t quite figured out yet. 

His eyes drift over towards you, embedded right in the middle of their little group. You still were a little bit stiff, eyes blinking owlishly whenever Kaminari came on a little too strong—but the alcohol had helped you loosen him, he thinks, you seem to smile a lot more now. 

“Whatever, get the fuck off me.” Bakugou snips, shoving Kirishima’s hand off of him and Kirishima knows not to take it to heart. Instead, he steps aside, watching his oldest friend stalk away into the crowd to god knows where. 

Bakugou wades through the crowds, dodging the half-naked bodies and the people high out of their minds who attempt to grab at him for his attention. He hated this part of town, it was the worst part of Night City – besides the gang wars and other shit the corpos got up to.

But this was a display of the depravity of the city, a show of just how long people would sink to feel something in this shithole of a city. 

Finally, Bakugou breaks out of the crowd into the open street. It was empty, given that it was nearing three in the morning. He lifts his head to stare at the sky, the overcast clouds enough to make him grumpier. The rain always fucked with his chrome, the cold chill that came with it would send it haywire. 

Glancing back, he can’t see the group he came with anymore and something in him itches to find you and make sure you didn’t get into any trouble that naturally comes with both Sero and Kaminari. 

“Running away?” A voice comes from his side, and it takes the years of experience that comes with being a hired gun to not jump out of his skin. His head snaps down, and a shiver rolls down his spine when he meets your gaze. 

“Yeah,” he admits, surprisingly, “Can’t fuckin’ stand this place. And you should split when you can too, you’ll end up getting roped into a threesome or some shit.”

That makes you purse your lips in an attempt to smother laughter before the corner of your lips threatens to break into a smile, there’s an easy air around you. You seem more relaxed, most definitely because of the drinks you had been throwing back when Kirishima challenged you. 

“Nah, Kirishima let me leave.” Bakugou arches an eyebrow at that, Kirishima had known you were leaving too? That motherfucker. He knew you’d come following after him, like a moth to a flame. “Figured it’d be safer to walk home with you than try and navigate my way out of here.”

That has Bakugou nodding in agreement, the fuzziness of tonight's drinks softens his need to put his guard up around you. “C’mon, it’s about to piss down and I’m not getting caught in it.”

He’s already walking away, and it doesn’t take long for you to match his stride. Your own hands are buried in the pockets of the orange jacket Kirishima had given you all that time ago – did you know it was his? He bought it with one of his first paychecks, it was in one of his favourite shades of orange but somehow it looked much better on you. 

His eyes drift away from the jacket you’re wearing and up to your face, you’re eyeing the signs as you walk by. They’re a range of ads for braindances that plunge you into a full-blown porno and ads for physical enhancements for stamina. It’s no surprise that everything in this part of town was about sex, Japantown practically ran off of it. 

But his eyes catch on your bottom lip, how you worry it over with your teeth and squint a little like you’re not really reading everything that goes by. 

“Somethin’ on your mind?” 

“Huh?” You look up at him finally, and it makes Bakugou’s chest flutter with something unknown. It takes everything in him to push it down, chalking it to the previous train of thought about advertisements. 

“What you worrying about? Yer gonna chew through your fuckin’ lip if you keep overthinking whatever it is.” 

The way your eyebrows draw together and your face nearly crumples makes him want to backtrack, but instead you wipe your face of whatever emotion you had just felt. 

“It’s hard to explain. More of a feeling than anything.” 

Something Bakugou isn’t good with, he’s not one to talk about his feelings or whatever the fuck is plaguing his mind. “Just spit it out.”

You follow him up the steps to the large apartment building, and yet you remain silent as you try to mull over the words you want to say. Bakugou expects you to just ignore his request, and he doesn’t blame you. He’d never talk about his feelings even if someone held a gun to his head.

Once inside the apartment, he watches as you sidestep around him to go and stand before the large window. Pressing a button to let the metal shutters roll upwards in quick succession until the district of Japantown is exposed to you. It’s a sea of neon lights, people ebbing and flowing like water as they move around each other without ever looking away from the devices in their hands or implanted in their minds.

“Can I show you?” You speak finally, once he shucks off his jacket and flings it onto the back of the sofa. He eyes you for a moment, show him? Show him what, your feelings? His nose crinkles in thought, but he finds himself relenting. The liquid courage he drank earlier makes itself known when he relaxes on the sofa. 

“Sure,” and you’re turning to look at him as if you expected him to shout at you or worse. But you don’t comment about it, scared to lose your chance so you move over to him. Settling into the seat next to him he can’t help but notice you don’t budge him at all, your own weight nothing compared to his own — had you always been this tiny? 

“You gonna kiss me or some shit?” He blurts when you turn to face him, your knee pressed into his thigh and he tries to not think about the bareness of your legs. You snort, however, shaking your head.

“No, nothing like that.” And you’re reaching for him despite that, his body grows rigid beneath your touch. Your fingers are gentle as they stroke along the smoothness of his neck before they card up through the short hairs of his undercut at the nape of his neck. You’re so close he can see the intricate thin strips of metal that help with your enhanced eyesight. 

He doesn’t find himself moving away, but rather leaning into the gentleness of the touch. 

“Hold still,” is all you supply before he feels something slip against the back of his neck, the plating shifting and moving until his body involuntarily jolts. Everything in his body yells at him to move, to stop you from doing whatever the fuck you’re doing but it’s too late. The connection is made and he’s plummeted into darkness.

There’s a blinding light and he blinks it away, only to find himself submerged in what must be the depths of your consciousness. It’s similar to what he’d seen in his short dips into cyberspace when the time called for it, but this is different. He’s standing in the middle of nowhere, screens and flicking images dash around him. 

Memories, he realises. Your memories from the moment you woke up and up until the very moment you sat down with him, but it’s not the memories you’re showing. Rather it’s the emotions connected to them, it’s bombarding his senses. He feels the tug at his heart, the fear that races up his spine when you first woke up in an unknown place and then the blissfulness you had felt when he took a bullet for him.

How could you feel at peace when you were going to die? It was too much for him to wrap his mind around, and quickly the emotion was changing. There was a sadness that weighed down on his body this time like his body was being pulled into icy waters when he heard the words he spat at you when you first woke up. 

You felt sad? Bakugou didn’t know, it made his heart ache something fierce. He didn’t want you to feel sad because of him – fuck, he just wanted you to know how much it bothered him for you to dive in front of him like that. He wanted you to know just how much time he spent in that shitty docs office, watching your near-lifeless body repair itself before his very eyes. 

But he couldn’t tell you that, he couldn’t tell you that Kirishima often was the one to wake him up from his slump across your lap in the mornings when he fell asleep hoping you’d just wake the fuck up and explain yourself.

Another jump in emotions, and he feels happiness – acceptance. You’re sitting among all his friends, and even with him in the picture, you feel like you found a place. Something in the memory makes his eyebrows raise, you glance at him and that feeling spikes. It feels like a thunderous amount of butterflies flutter in his stomach, rising up until they bombard his heart. 

He hadn’t even known you were looking at him like that. Yet beneath all that, he could feel the melancholy that came with your circumstance. You don’t feel like you belong, or perhaps it was the reality of your previous life's existence that weighs heavily on you. You had unresolved business, and that’s something Bakugou can relate to fully.

The next time he blinks, he feels the pressure of your forehead against his own. The slipping of the cord from his plating and how your fingers curl a little more into the longer hair further up the back of his head.

“Do you get it now?” You’re the first to break the tension, your question but a whisper above the whirring of the fan above your heads. 

And he thinks he does, that feeling that you couldn’t quite describe. You were content yet you were lost, you were happy yet you had a longing for something. You felt something towards him that was so indescribable it made his heart flutter. So he just nods, his own forehead pressing a little harder against yours to get it across that he truly does get it. 

His hand cups your jaw, thumb rolling across the fullness of your cheek before it presses into the flesh just a little. Your breath smells sweet; faintly reminding him of the drinks the both of you had earlier in the night. He doesn’t suspect you’re drunk, he definitely isn’t but that soft buzz keeps him from thinking too much. 

“It’s so confusing.” You admit, the word is just a breath against his lips and he finds himself wanting to swallow it. “I don’t want to think.”

That’s enough of a sign for him to make a move, his stomach churns with anxious excitement when he leans in. His lips finally press to yours in a tentative touch, your lips are warm and just as soft as they look. It draws him further, and further until his lips are moving against your own in a fluid movement. 

You don’t fight him when his hand slips to the back of your neck, pulling you into position so you can’t escape when he pries your mouth open with his tongue. The sweetness is stronger on your tongue, tangy with alcohol yet intoxicatingly enjoyable when he explores you like he might never get the chance again. 

It’s like everything explodes at that point, Bakugou grows insatiable; he needs to taste you. He needs to know you inside and out, this hunger pooling low in his stomach and burning a river of fire down to his groin. It makes him groan into the kiss when you offer a reprieve for a quick breath, he nips and bites at your bottom lip to see if he can pull any noises from you.

And he delights in it when he can, your moans are so foreign to him yet it’s a heady feeling. It has him tugging at you until you’re situated over the tops of his thighs, and in a fluid motion, he’s standing. His hands cupped under your ass, squeezing and massaging the flesh that he’s never had the chance to feel before. 

It takes him no time at all to cross the space from the living room to his bedroom, the door sliding open and closed with a hiss before the automatic locks click into place. He tosses you from his grip onto the plushness of his bed, the sheets still rumpled from the morning when he didn’t bother to make it. 

Bakugou looms over you like a predator, his chest rising and falling with quick breaths – you’re no better than he is, your lips are swollen and wet from his ministrations. Your heavy breathing only accentuates your breasts, drawing his attention down to them to see the rise and fall of your chest. His fingers move automatically, tucking underneath his shirt to tug it over his head. 

It’s flung off into some unknown direction, and when he looks up you’re leaning up. Your fingers skate along the sharp edges of his muscles, pressing into the places where the fat resides. Then you trace along scars that are white and some that are pink; you’re transfixed on him. It makes him preen under your gaze, and in your momentary distraction, he undoes the belt on his jeans before they’re pushed down too. 

The smile you give him makes his heart pitter-patter in his chest, you’re smiling up at him as if he’s the world to you. But the rational still-sober part of his mind insists that it’s just for the sex – he’s just a one-night stand to you and the feeling is mutual. Right? That is what Bakugou wants out of this, right? The tension in his stomach is unnerving, something akin to nausea at the idea of letting this not blossom into something more.

But he doesn’t get to ruminate on it further, your fingers drift downwards along the deep V on his hips until you’re at the top of his boxers. Automatically his fingers stroke up along your jaw, across your cheek until he’s hooking his fingers to the back of your head when you start to lean in closer. 

The feeling of your lips against the hard outline of his cock makes him jolt and melt at the same time, the rumbling moan is deep in his chest. How long had it been since he was last with someone? Fuck, he doesn’t even know but he can’t focus when the tip of your tongue slowly drags up along the thick vein on the underside of his cock.

He must jolt too harshly because you laugh a little to yourself before you take pity on him. Bakugou wants to snap at you, shut you up for even daring to laugh at him but the words die on his tongue the second he even thinks of them. Your hands are undeniably soft when you wrap your hand around his hardness. 

There’s a small crease between your eyebrows, an indication of either your concentration or perhaps your trepidation for what’s to come. 

“Lie back,” he offers instead, your eyes drifting back up to meet his and you slip free from the hand hooked on the back of your head, the loss of your softness around his length leaves a longing that lingers in the depths of his stomach. This time he takes the time to undress you, sliding you free of the dress Mina had managed to wrangle you into. 

It looked far too good on you, something he wouldn’t admit at the start of the night but his inhibitions continue to slip. “Look at you, so beautiful.” 

His fingers skim up along the now bare expanse of your hips, brushing past your panties line and mapping their way up your sides. You’re just as scarred as he is, but yours are so different from his. He can see the almost invisible lines where someone has taken a scalpel to you and modified your body. Did you even know who did it?

He swallows the lump down in his throat, forcing his attention up to your breasts once his hands brush along the sides. His thumbs roll up over your nipples beneath your bra, the pebbled skin hard enough–sensitive enough to earn him a shiver of delight. The smile that brightens up his face is nothing short of sinful, it shows the modified canines and displays all his carnal desires without him having to even utter a word.

You lift your body up when he demands it, letting him slip you free of your underwear until you’re as bare as he is. And Holy fuck, you’re fucking gorgeous. His eyes leave no part of you unseen, his gaze roaming over you until you’re practically squirming.

“Please.” You whisper, gasping when his fingers finally find a home in the width of your hips. “Stop staring and do something.” 

That has an eyebrow rising in your direction. “Oh? Someone’s demanding when she wants something. You want me to hurry up and fuck you until you’re too dumb to remember your own name?” 

“You’re too much.” You all but whine, and he imagines he’d be able to feel the heat in your cheeks if he were to lean in closer.

“You have no idea.” Bakugou grins, a sultry smile that has your hips bucking beneath his iron grip and he’s swooping down. 

Lips pressing into yours in a much more hurried fashion compared to earlier; it’s a hunger that can only serve to work someone up until the point of completion. It has his tongue rolling into your mouth, brushing against the back of your teeth and trying to hear you choke on him when he’s bearing his weight down on you.

He’s positively devouring you, and his hands work to spread your legs wide for him on either side of the thickness of his own thighs. Then his fingers make their way down between your legs, brushing against the crease between where your thighs bend. You’re whining, moaning and biting back just as hard when he dares to bite your bottom lip. 

He wants to fucking ruin you. 

Bakugou draws his head back just enough to peer down at you, the light filtering in through the half-shuttered window highlights parts of you that are otherwise shrouded in the darkness. It illuminates the harsh rise and fall in your lungs, the way your nipples are pebbled in the cool air and the slight glisten on your inner thighs.

Finally, he indulges you. His fingers press between your folds to slide against your clit before they slowly venture downwards. His middle and ring fingers circle against your entrance teasingly slow, his lips parting to breathe in your whines for more. 

His eyebrows crumple with your own when you moan at the intrusion of his thick fingers, his head is swimming with how intoxicating it is to be above you like this. To have this level of power over someone who could definitely kill him before he could blink.

The stretch is easy enough with how wet you got so quickly for him, and he groans all low and rumbling in his chest at just how tight you are. You’re so soft and velvety inside, your walls clenching rhythmically with your deep inhales.

For a moment, he just holds his fingers deep inside of you completely still. Relishing in the way you try to shift your hips beneath him despite how he’s pinning you down beneath the weight of his own body. It’s such a stark difference to the nervous wreck he’s seen you as, and so fucking better than the cold-blooded killer he knew you were deep down. 

“Fuckin’ look at you.” He whispers into the heated air between the sparse gap between you two, his eyes half-lidded as they meet your own. You’re trying your hardest to glare at him, but you can’t quite fight the euphoric feeling of him curling his fingers just a little to shut you down. 

“Who knew all it took to get you nice and compliant was to stuff you full with my fingers?” His tone is a little mean, a little condescending. The tears don’t come for you however, but he can see you slowly dropping into the headspace he wants you to be in. 

“Please,” you beg—a plea, a sweet melody that Bakugou thinks he wants to listen to for the rest of his life. But this was just a one-night stand, right? 

“Tell me what you want.” 

“Just–... Move already, please.” He grins wide at the whimper at the end of your words. A small part of him wants to draw this out, make you suffer just a little but the rational voice in his mind tells him he’ll only get more out of you if he obliges. 

So he does. His fingers crook upwards, brushing against the spongy spot that no one but he could reach with the length of his fingers. The reaction is immediate, you moan so sweetly that it has his own eyes threatening to flutter and roll into the back of his head. 

You’re practically gushing around his fingers as he fucks them into you, repeatedly crooking his fingers in an attempt to see how quickly he could make you crumble beneath the palm of his hand. Your thighs tense up, squeezing around his own when you try to close your legs to stop the onslaught of his fingers. 

Bakugou noses into your cheek when you tilt your head back, your lips parted as you try to breathe in. But he doesn’t give you the chance, he pushes you further into the bed with his weight, shifting his body up just slightly so your hips are forced to bend with him – then suddenly he’s fucking his fingers into you impossibly deeper.

His lips hover just next to your temple, panting heavily against you. It’s a task and a half to stop himself from painting the inside of his boxers that he’s still yet to remove. But he’s a man on a mission, and that mission is to make you cum on his fingers.

He doesn’t stop when he feels your hand clamp down around his forearm, the strength there is enough to stop a moving truck—except you’re distracted, lost in the pleasure that races up and down your spine until it settles in the back of your mind. You’re too lost in your own head to be embarrassed about the sloppy sounds between your thighs, his fingers forcing more and more juices from you until he’s certain his bed will be soaked through.

As much as Bakugou wants to watch your pussy take his fingers so well, he can’t move his gaze away from your face. You look like something they used to paint in cathedrals, an angel. Your head is thrown back into his pillows, eyes scrunched closed and mouth open to let your moans spill free. The light from outside bathes you in neon colours, catching on the metallic strips of your chrome. 

Even if it is just a one-night stand, Bakugou doesn’t think he’ll be able to forget the image of you in the throes of pleasure. 

Especially not when you finally do reach your climax for him. Your hand at his wrist tightens immediately, your thighs lock up with a tension that would worry him if he wasn’t aware of the intricate materials that you were composed of. Your chest stutters, and your mouth opens wider until he’s gifted with the most beautiful sound he’s ever heard; a series of moans that grow breathier with each pass of his fingers. 

“‘S too much.” You protest weakly, the hand that was wrapped around his wrist pushes in an attempt to free your swollen pussy from his long fingers. But he doesn’t pull out yet, only slowing down the roll of his wrist until finally he pulls free. Your entire body relaxes finally, muscles growing lax from where they’re wrapped around his waist. 

“It only takes one time and you’re done?” Bakugou questions with a teasing arch of his eyebrow, watching in amusement when your head rolls slightly to glare at him. It’s a hardly-there glare but you still give it to him regardless, it makes him grin down at you. “Nah, you’re not done.”

You’re like putty in his hands with how easily he manoeuvres your body around, tucking both of your legs together before twisting your lower half to the side. A large arm keeps your legs held up and off to the side, whilst his unoccupied hand strokes along the rigid length of his cock. It aches, pearled with pre-cum from just watching you cream all over his hand.

He levels the tip of his drooling cock to your entrance, easily finding the hole that was previously spread so wide around just two of his fingers. The warmth is intoxicating, flooding his senses and clouding his mind. He doesn’t even notice you moving just slightly to slide a hand down over your hip to feel the length of his cock disappearing deeper and deeper inside of you.

The groan Bakugou lets out once his hips fall flush against your own is sinful enough to have you clenching around him, turning that beautiful groan into a hiss through clenched teeth. He snaps his gaze up to you, only to see your own gaze heedy with lust and half-lidded. He can feel every single inch of your velveteen walls, can feel the way you’re still panting and clenching around his cock. 

He thinks he could die here, quite happily might he add.

A large hand comes down to your ass, shifting the flesh just enough so he can flit his eyes downwards and see the sticky mess that’s already tacking his pubic hair. That same hand comes back down again to level your ass with a firm spank, and it has you squeezing around him tight enough to stop him from rolling his hips back to start fucking you.

It’s enough to make him forget he’s fucking you raw.

“Squeezin’ me so fuckin’ hard. You like it that much, hm?” Bakugou goads with a bite to his bottom lip when he feels you pulse at the tone he takes with you. With enough willpower, he rolls his hips backwards just enough to pull himself out halfway before fucking his cock back into you. “Tell me how much you like it.” 

His stomach tenses when you brush the pads of your fingers against the tensed muscles there, his eyes drift away from where he was connected to you, along your arm until he finds your face. You’re looking him in the eye, eyelids heavy and lips parted when you moan low at the feeling of him rolling his hips smoothly once again. 

“Say it,” Bakugou bares his teeth at you, the modified fangs in his mouth gleaming with the passing lights through the window.

“Bak—” 

He moves before he can even think, faster than you can react. His hand engulfs the entirety of your lower face, thick fingers digging into the flesh of your cheeks until he can feel the solid metal that was buried in your very muscles. Your eyes are wide, more alert but you don’t fight him surprisingly. Bakugou hunches his body over your own until his forehead connects with yours, forcing you to look directly into his eyes.

The angle he’s at now has your eyebrows crumpling together, mouth opening in a wordless moan—he’s so fucking deep that he’s pretty certain he’s pressed right against your cervix.

“No, use my fuckin’ name.” He growls in your face, hissing his words through clenched teeth. You’re clenching around him so tightly that his head feels like it’s filled with nanites, infiltrating his brain until all he can think about is you, you, you.

A harsh thrust of his hips has you gasping, he can see you fighting the urge to let your eyes roll back and eyelashes flutter closed to bask fully in the pleasure. But you keep his gaze, sturdy and unyielding. 

“Katsuki.”

He’s never heard his given name on your tongue before, so breathy and sweet that it has his pace faltering for a split second. His name sounded perfect when you said it like that, as if your very vocal cords were crafted just to moan his name like that—like an angel. Bakugou gives in to the urge to moan in return, jaw falling slack. 

Your hand is delicate around his wrist, guiding him to free you from the grip he still had on your jaw to slide it downwards until he finds your throat. His fingers latch around it naturally, digging in just enough to have you gasping against his open and waiting mouth but not enough to hurt you. He can see that you enjoy it—can feel it in the way your pussy drools for him more.

The second his hand locks around your throat, everything empties from his mind. His hips move as if they were designed to fuck you, to feel your skin slap against his and to have your entire body jump with each harsh rut. Your moans vibrate against his palm, a shiver working its way down his spine whenever your moans grow louder, more desperate when he shifts his weight just enough to bully the tip of his cock against your cervix.

The hand around his wrist tightens, the tips of your nails digging into his flesh. It makes him hiss in pain, gritting his teeth to fuck you harder. His entire body glistens with sweat, dripping down along his hairline where strands of his ash blonde hair stick to his dewy skin. It pools in the hollow of his throat and builds along his biceps, which flex and bulge with the effort of keeping up his position hunched over you. 

“G’nna—” You gasp, his hand instinctively closing around your throat before relaxing. “‘M g’nna cum.”

And fuck, if he thought you whispering his given name was hot then he’s not sure where that ranks. He’s not sure why he’s never considered just how hot it would be for you to admit you were close to orgasm, to inform him that he’s doing such a good job at fucking you that you’re about to cum.

“Yeah?” He huffs in the effort of his pace, suddenly rearing back and releasing your throat in favour of shifting your position. He throws your legs over his shoulders, large hands grasping at your hips to pull you to the edge of the bed properly. “Then cum.”

With his hands lower down on your body, Bakugou’s able to free one hand from grasping at the meat of your thigh to let his thumb roll over your clit with enough pressure to have your knees turning inwards and back arching off of the bed. The moan that comes you from is angelic, a sound that has his stomach twisting in anticipation and the need to cum—but not yet, he’s going to fuck you as much as he can before he reaches his end.

He can feel you clamping down on him, squeezing the ever-loving fuck out of him to the point where his hips are forced to take shallow thrusts. But his hand doesn’t give up on your clit; he switches to his fingers to pinch and cruelly swipe at your swollen clit. Your toes curl against the back of his head, and Bakugou finds himself leaning into the feeling—needing to feel every single part of you whilst your pleasure crests.

And when you do cum, Bakugou can’t help but groan alongside you. 

“Fuuu—... That’s it, good girl.” His tone is a little breathy, his chest rising and falling with the quick breaths he has to take to keep up the pace to fuck you through your orgasm and beyond that. His hand drops away from between your thighs, sliding up to grab at your waist before moving you up along the bed whilst situating himself on top.

He tugs your legs down from his shoulders, wrapping them tightly around his waist—you move easily for him, so pliant and willing to do anything for him after he made you cum on his cock. Your thighs mould easily around the thinner part of his waist, your ankles locking naturally. 

His cock remains buried deep inside of you, still savouring the aftershock waves of pleasure that have your walls throbbing around him. Bakugou leans down into your space, with one elbow to the side of your head whilst the other latches itself onto the headboard. You meet his gaze, finally gaining back some clarity. 

“Back with me?” He grins, sharp teeth on display when he looks down at you. He wonders if you find him intimidating like this, you’ve shown you were somewhat afraid of him in the past—never stepping on his toes, or overstepping when he ordered you to stay the fuck out of his way. Part of him doesn’t want you to be afraid of him anymore, he wants to make you smile more, laugh more, moan more—

A hand caresses itself along his cheek, drawing him out of his lust-ridden mind until he finds your eyes. Your thumb drags itself along the apple of his cheek, across the corner of his lips until you press your thumb against his lips. He’s not sure what’s enthralled him exactly, maybe it’s just the look in your eye—because you’re not looking up at him like you’re afraid, but rather you’re looking up at him with something scarily close to admiration. 

Your thumb drops down from his lips and to his chin, and with the slightest of tugs you pull him down into your space. He collapses onto both of his elbows on either side of your head, his breath coming out in warm puffs against your face. He can smell you this close, a mixture of sweat and that sweet perfume Mina had bought for you. 

Again, he doesn’t fight it when you pull him that final inch. Your lips are smooth against his own, so gentle and intoxicating. You kiss him like you want to savour this, savour him. And so he lets you, he lets you savour him just as he savours you in return. His mouth pries yours open easily enough, your tongue eager to meet his own in a smooth curl.

His hips begin to move on instinct, both of his thighs spread wide so he can thrust hard and deep. Your skin slaps against his, a wet sound that has the pit of pleasure in his stomach tightening and tightening with each passing second. His balls smack against the roundness of your ass, drawing up with the urge to spill deep inside of you—but he won’t, as much as he’d love to feel your walls milk him for all he’s worth.

You’re the one who breaks the kiss off, head falling back into his pillows whilst he props himself back up over the top of you. With a better view of your body, your tits that bounce with each rut of his hips, he finds himself standing right on the precipice of his climax. His thrusts grow faster, more erratic in their strength and depth—effortlessly fucking you through your next orgasm when you open your mouth in a silent scream.

“Fu-fuck, fuck,” Bakugou pants, his stomach clenches and his balls draw up tight. He pulls back suddenly from your space, away from the intoxicating heat that radiates off of your body to pull from your pussy entirely. His hand wraps around his cock and he fists it aggressively, thumb pressing against his head before he sucks in one deep breath, only to release it in a loud groan.

His cum comes in thick waves, drawing lines up along your stomach and up along your chest. You lay there, with your legs wide open and eyes half-lidded; watching him cum all over your body. Bakugou finds his hips still thrusting with each spurt from his cock, squeezing every last drop before tapping the sticky tip against your belly button where it had mostly gathered. 

His entire body relaxes immediately, the weight of his responsibilities disappearing into nothing when he lets his mind bathe completely in that post-nut haze. You seem in the same mind, letting your legs droop at his waist and an arm coming to rest over your eyes, giving you a moment to catch your breath. 

Slipping away from you, Bakugou doesn’t bother to pick up the clothes scattered around and instead beelines it for the bathroom attached to his bedroom. He pauses by the door leading out, he can’t hear any noise—hopefully, Kirishima was still out, if not then he’s going to be up Bakugou’s ass about fucking you. 

Rummaging through a stack of towels, he finds a light and small one to wipe you down with. But as he’s about to re-enter the bedroom, he turns to see you’re standing up and looking around for your underwear.

“Where you runnin’ off to?” He gruffs, his own voice ruined from the session—he needs a drink of water, he makes a mental note. 

You look up at him, quite like the image of a deer in headlights. “Uh, well—I just thought you’d want me to… go.” 

Bakugou’s eyebrows furrow together before his eyes flit down to the ropes of cum still on your skin and he wants to ask if you planned on ruining your clothes with his cum. Instead, he shakes his head, stepping back into the dimly lit bedroom. 

“Get back in bed, let me clean you up.” He watches as you stare at him for a second more, hesitating or debating on refusing his offer. But clearly your exhaustion wins out, because you turn with a drop of the dress in your hand and climb back in his bed, careful to not drip any of his cum on the sheets. 

On the way past, he reaches down to a compartment in his wall to pull out two bottles of water. Placing them on the bedside table, he stands at the foot of the bed looking down at you. He can see you squirming under his gaze, the embarrassment starting to creep up on you but Bakugou can’t find it within himself to be embarrassed about the fact he was still completely naked. It felt good, with you.

You don’t squirm away when he wipes you clean, careful between your legs when he sees how puffy and swollen you look down there. But it still makes you flinch, a quiet gasp leaving your lips and it’s impossible to not smirk up at you before he drops the towel somewhere in the pile of abandoned clothes to be dealt with tomorrow. 

Grabbing one water bottle, he offers it to you. “Drink up, and then actually get in bed. ‘M tired as fuck.” 

He turns away when you take the bottle from him, still sporting that slightly bewildered look on your face as if you expected him to kick you to the streets—or rather, the sofa. Part of him does question why he’s letting you stay in his bed in the first place, but the idea of you going out to that shitty sofa after sex… it just doesn’t sit well in his chest.

He gives you the time to bury yourself beneath his sheets whilst he kicks the dirty clothes towards the far wall, next to the laundry basket before returning to you. You look tiny in his bed, made especially large to accommodate his height. You’re nearly lost beneath the thick sheets and mountain of pillows, it makes his lips curl into a playful smile before he crawls into bed with you. 

You shift out of the way to let him lay down, the room dimming further until you were both plunged into darkness save for the passing lights through the slatted shutters on his window. He can still make you out in the dark, with his optics shut down and eyes naturally enhanced—he can see you’re looking at him over the top of the covers, debating on if you should still make a run for it.

“Fuckin’—...” He huffs a sigh, shifting under the sheets so quickly you don’t have the time to stop him. “Stop actin’ like I’m going to bite you or some shit.”

You curve into his muscle easily enough, moulding into the shape needed to be held close. His chin rests atop your head, thick arms looped around you. It’s odd—Bakugou wasn’t a hugger, definitely not a cuddler but having you in his arms, the smooth feeling of your softer skin beneath his and the warmth that comes from your very being is comforting. 

His heart flutters in his chest when he can feel your arms slowly wrapping around him until you’re embracing him fully. You cling to him as if you were expecting him to rip you away at any given moment and ruin the moment. Has he really been that harsh to you? Sure, he’d been a bit of a dick when he first met you but you were choking out their only Ripper whilst holding a gun to their faces that’d eradicate them before they so much as blinked.

And sure, he had a tongue as sharp as a knife… fuck, maybe he was that harsh with you. He blames it lazily on the drink still in his system, despite the pestering fact in the very back of his mind that he worked most of it out of his system fucking you into his bed. It makes his head ache with the sudden rush of conflicting feelings, thoughts that clash over and over—

Forcing his eyes to shut and muscles to relax, he basks in the warmth of your much smaller body wrapped around his own and lets himself fall asleep.

You wake up feeling… warm. Not hot, nor cold. Comfortable too. The softness of the sheets around are some of the best you’ve felt in weeks, the blanket you’d been given to sleep with on the sofa was somewhat scratchy when you’d tuck it under your chin. This one is smoother, doesn’t catch on the thin intricate strips that are near-invisible to the naked eye that line your body. 

There’s a weight across your body, a leg wedged between your own and a heavy arm draped over your waist. The warmth is coming from directly behind you, a solid press of muscle that breathes steadily against the back of your head. And if you glance just enough over your shoulder, you find a head of blonde hair that’s softened after a night of sleep. 

Bakugou has himself plastered against you, completely. His face is buried into the back of your hair, and with him this close, all you can smell is him. His bed smells strongly of the aftershave he uses, and the man himself smells like your late-night activities—a musk that has your head in the clouds in remembrance. 

You’ve never felt anything like that before. Not that you can remember, anyway. Bakugou treated you more than just someone he wanted to fuck, he didn’t toss you around or disregard the fact you had to cum too to enjoy yourself—he made sure you were on the same level as pleasure as he was, if not more. He kissed you like a lover would. 

That last thought has your face heating, an odd feeling of butterflies fluttering up into your stomach until they settle in your lungs. It was ridiculous to have such a childish thought flit into your mind, Bakugou certainly wasn’t the type of man to settle down—his lifestyle didn’t fit with it.

You could tell just from the way he lived in his own home, he functioned to serve himself only—with the exception of Kirishima when he forgot breakfast. But outside of the walls of his apartment, his work lifestyle wasn’t fit for a partner in any sense of the word. He was a merc, mercs didn’t lock themselves down with someone because it was dangerous. Simple as.

Having a partner in Night City was the same as putting a target on your back. You became weak and vulnerable—something Bakugou would never let himself be. You knew that just from the weeks of living beside him. 

“What’s got you thinkin’ so hard this early?” Bakugou’s voice is deeper, raspier in the mornings… and it’s impossible to not clamp down in longing that he was still buried inside of you. 

He shifts behind you, one long deep breath in before he releases it. His muscles ease off of you when he breathes out, the weightlessness of sleep disappearing with each second. Instead, the arm that was slung over your waist grows bold in it’s movement. His large hand guides his fingers delicately over your skin, circling your belly button before meandering off until he finds your hip.

“Hm?” He nudges you with the tip of his nose, prompting you to glance over your shoulder at him. His eyes are smouldering, barely open and yet the red that stares back at you is bright. The long eyelashes you’ve never had the chance to see so clearly bat delicately against his cheekbones. 

“Nothing, sorry for waking you.” You whisper back, and his eyes automatically drift down to watch the movement of your lips. The hand at your hip kneads softly at the flesh there before it moves lower, the tips of his fingers skirting up and down along your thigh. It’s enough to draw a harsh shiver up your spine, and in turn, causes Bakugou to let out a raspy chuckle.

“Yeah?” You pick up on the playful tone in his voice, a teasing grin growing on his face. “How ‘bout you make it up to me? Hm?” 

You’re drawn to him biting on his bottom lip before his grin grows wider, watching you watch him—a back-and-forth dance to see who snaps first under the surmounting sexual tension in the room. The hand on your thigh slips down, hooking his fingers into your inner thigh to hoist your leg a little higher up on his hip. His cock is hot and hard where it presses between your thighs, the tip tapping against your clit. 

Shifting himself up onto one elbow, partially hovering over you from behind, he finds your lips with his own. The kiss starts off softer than he kissed you last night, it’s not as hurried—not yet anyway. Bakugou kisses you like he wants to savour your flavour, to save the taste of you on his tongue. He tilts his head just slightly to delve in deeper, and then prying your mouth open with his. 

His tongue is invasive, in the sense that he has to dive as deep as he can into your mouth. His tongue curls against the roof of your mouth, feels along the points of your teeth before he’s back to caressing your tongue with his own. The hand between your thighs spreads you lewdly beneath the blankets, a middle finger finding your clit before he strokes it down along your slit; wet and slippery for him.

Bakugou groans into your open mouth, before greedily going in again after the single breath he takes. This time the kiss is more energetic, more consuming. His cock twitches between your thighs, tapping against your thigh with its sticky tip. You can’t help but roll your hips back into him, push your ass out in invitation—

A loud bang in the living area has you both flinching, lips parting just enough for you to see the scowl starting to form on Bakugou’s face.

“Fuckin’ Ei. Just ignore ‘im.” His voice is harsh with desire, a low whisper that has your stomach tightening. Bakugou swoops back in, devouring your lips with more vigour, desperate to get what he wants now he knows that his roommate is awake—who knows when he’ll get a chance like this again. 

He manoeuvres you on the bed, climbing over the top of you until you���re in a similar position as last night; your thighs at his waist and his hands pressed into the sheets on either side of your head. His cock bobs again between the two of you, smearing his pre along the smooth skin of your inner thigh. His lips part from yours once again, this time to chart a path down along your jaw and neck. He bites and kisses in tandem, sucking your skin until you can feel the bruises starting to blossom there. 

Bakugou continues to consume you from the outside, pressing his hips down finally to relieve himself of the pressure building in his groin. He groans beautifully against your skin, a sound so intoxicating you can’t stop your eyes from rolling and your hands seeking purchase in his hair. It’s soft to the touch, and it doesn’t go unnoticed when you accidentally tug on it, his hips press harder against your own. Rutting his cock against your pussy.

“Shit, g’nna fuck you—”

“Yo, Bakugou!” The bedroom door opens with a loud hiss, and you can only squeak out in surprise when Bakugou all but presses you into the bed in an attempt to hide you. “I thought you said we had food in, and—... uh–...”

“Get the fuck out!” Bakugou snarls, reaching over to grab the closest thing to him on the bedside table. There’s a shift of his entire body, something flying through the air and the resounding plastic crunch of Kirishima being smacked by the poor water bottle that was launched. 

“Sorry!” Kirishima back peddles it out of the room before Bakugou can scramble to find something else to throw, the door hissing to announce that he was well and truly out of the room. 

The air is no longer thick with sexual tension, instead, there’s a lingering awkwardness that has Bakugou deflating on top of you. His face is buried into the crook of your neck, and you can feel the heavy sigh that’s pushed out of his body in acceptance that he won’t be fucking you again today. 

“He’s such a fuckin’ idiot, can’t trust him to do shit on his own.” He grumbles against you, his lips so close you can feel each word forming on them. He leans up off of you, kneeling between your legs and you try your hardest to not grow embarrassed at your nakedness on display. He looks almost sad, defeated at the fact he knows he has to go deal with the red-haired giant that’s no doubt ripping apart his kitchen looking for food.

“Sorry,” he huffs, leaning down to leave a lingering kiss on your lips before he’s up and out of bed. “You can just sleep in here if you want. I know that eyebags said you need to rest after whatever the fuck happened so—just, rest here.” 

You raise an eyebrow before realisation dawns on you; he means Shinsou. You smile at that, tucking the comforter back around you and burying yourself among the pillows. You watch as Bakugou blindly digs through his wardrobe, plucking out various clothes until he finds what he wants. 

As if sensing your eyes, he glances over his bare shoulder at you with a wicked smirk on his face before bending down to draw his boxers up his legs. “The showers just in there, feel free to use whatever's in there.” He nods with his head in the direction of the bathroom.

“Okay, thank you.” You smile at him when he turns to look at you, he looks awfully handsome like this. Half dressed, a shirt in one hand and belt loose around his waist where he still has to button up his black cargo pants. He hovers for a second, fingers curling a little tighter around his shirt and you can see his jaw working to help him spit out the words he wants to say.

Except, he’s interrupted again by another bang—one that sounds suspiciously like the microwave door being broken. Bakugou groans in annoyance, running a hand through his hair before giving you one last glance just before he leaves the room.

You’re left in silence, the outside world still asleep despite the sun rising. 

“You fucking idiot!” Bakugou yells, muffled but still loud enough that you feel like you’re in the room with him. The rest of the argument fades out into muffled voices, and soon sleep retakes you with the comforting smell of Bakugou still clouding your mind.

It isn’t until a handful of hours later that you emerge from the bedroom. It had quieted down soon after Bakugou had come out to confront Kirishima, and you managed to shower uninterrupted—you found clothes laid out on the bed for you, no doubt from Bakugou who must’ve heard the shower running at some point.

When the door hisses open, you’re met with the smell of beer and the voices of multiple people. People you’ve come to know as Shinsou, Sero and Kaminari. Of course, Bakugou and Kirishima are there too but the former is quiet as he watches the group yap about something he’s uninterested in. 

“Nah, man. I’m telling you, she was looking at me.” Kaminari whines, earning him a snort of laughter from Shinsou and a shake of a head from Sero.

“You’re delusional, she’s a doll. They don’t see a thing.” Sero snickers when Kaminari pouts at that, leaning into Kirishima’s side who mockingly consoles him for thinking he had a chance with a doll.

The name is something that most people know, it was a way for people to get away with doing whatever they wanted to another person without the repercussions. Fuck a doll and they have their memory wiped by the end of it, confess murder and they’ll just smile at you. Dolls. You’d seen plenty of advertisements for it last night whilst visiting Jig-Jig Street, the idea of a chip like that existing made you feel sick.

A call of your name has your eyes blinking, snapping out of the trance and looking towards the source. Shinsou. Immediately Sero and Kaminari flinch in realisation that you were standing right behind them on the sofa, an unwanted reminder of when you had nearly blown them to pieces no more than 48 hours ago. 

“How’re you feeling?” Shinsou asks, head tilting slightly.

“Fine, better than yesterday.” You smile back a little, eyes making their way automatically towards the ash blonde who sits with his knees apart on the opposite side of the sofa, an arm draped over the back of it and a beer can cradled in the hand on his thigh. “Still tired.”

“Even after you slept all day?” Kirishima asks next, and you make the mistake of glancing at him because he has a very knowing smug grin on his face. “Or maybe it was because you didn’t—”

“Oi, shut the fuck up.” Bakugou grunts before taking a sip of his drink, and you’re thankful for the intervention. You use the momentary distraction created by Bakugou to slip into a seat, finding the only place available between Bakugou and Shinsou—there’s a large enough gap that you know was reinforced by the blonde. 

Bakugou only offers you a sideways glance when you settle into the seat next to him, you can feel him watching you; observing to see if you had any regrets from the previous night. But you have none, not a single one. You felt… happy. You didn’t have an overwhelming sense of dread sitting on your chest, instead you felt at ease. You relax into the plushness of the sofa, indirectly sinking into the spot where Bakugou had his arm slung over the back.

The conversation has already moved on, thankfully. All four of the men engaged in the conversation, with Bakugou drinking away at his beer whilst observing the group gathered. 

“Do you remember that gig over in Watson?” Sero snorts, earning him a groan from Kirishima and a laugh from Kaminari. Sero flicks his gaze over to you, and you can see the mischief there when he realises he has an audience who haven’t heard the story.

“Hanta, don’t.” Kirishima whines, sinking into the seat with a large hand coming up to cover his face. You’ve never seen him quite like this; embarrassed. It was new, and you can’t help but smile at the idea of hearing something that would cause the giant of a man such emotions. 

“But she hasn’t heard the story!” Sero exclaims, grinning from ear to ear as he leans forward to put his beer down on the coffee table. “Alright so, we had this gig over on the Northside, up in the Watson district. It was probably one of the easiest gigs to date, a simple in-and-out steal.”

You can feel Bakugou shift next to you, and out of the corner of your eye you can see him grinning over the lip of his beer can. 

“Anyway. It was me, Denki and Ei.” He gestures to each of them in turn. “And for some reason, big Red here wanted to be the guy to do the stealth portion of the mission.”

“Don’t look at me like that, Uraraka just installed some new cyberware. She said I wouldn’t make a sound!” Kirishima huffs when you shoot him an incredulous look. A man who was over 6 ft 7 was definitely not suited for stealth work. If anything, you would’ve picked Sero—lanky, tall, light-footed.

“You’re about as heavy as a bull, you’re heavy footed as fuck Ei.” Bakugou goads, a grin on his face when Kirishima turns the glare his way. 

Sero snickers, leaning his elbows on his knees. “We were meant to just steal this van, apparently it was Maelstrom property but we needed what was in it. All Kirishima had to do was sneak in, hotwire the van and get the fuck out of there. Instead, he trips every alarm known to man and has to hightail it out of there in a van with only two wheels.” 

Bakugou offers a laugh, a genuine laugh at the memory of Kirishima returning to the hideout with a van hanging on for dear life.

“What about the time we had to eradicate that Daemon on the Net?” Kaminari snickers, which in turn has Shinsou turning his sights on him. “Shinsou popped a boner when his connection was flooded with those sex toy ads.”

“Shut the fuck up!” Shinsou growls, and you watch quietly when he lashes out at Kaminari who dares to laugh in his face. “I told you, the next time you tell someone that shit I’m—”

The conversation fades out slowly, your eyes focused on the spot in the centre of the coffee table. Daemons on the Net. Something about that sounds too familiar, would the man you saw in your own subconscious connected to the Net count as one of those daemons? Has someone injected you with something to cause a break in your cyberware? 

You can still hear his voice, calling out your name. You could still feel the shards of glass he shattered in your mind, in your soul. They were lodged so snuggly against your vital organs, pressing yet waiting to be given the order to execute. That happiness you had felt just moments ago is washed away, replaced with the reminder that you were clueless as to who that man was—clueless to who you are. 

A nudge to your foot has you blinking rapidly, glancing down to see Bakugou had knocked his foot against your own. You look at the man at your side, only to find his eyes already set on you. His hand is empty of the beer can he was drinking, and he’s staring at you like he was able to see your inner struggle. 

“C’mon.” He grunts, standing up suddenly and you have no choice but to follow after him. You follow him towards the front door of the apartment, where he suddenly turns to you with the black and orange bomber jacket you’ve grown attached to. You don’t fight him when he throws it over your shoulders, holding the arms to help you with putting it on. 

“Where you goin’?” Kirishima calls from the living area, all of the guys turning their heads to watch you adjusting the jacket on your body whilst Bakugou does the same with his own riding leather jacket.

“Out. Need more beers, figured I’ll take this one with me to save her from you guys being a bunch of freaks.” That earns him a number of groans and insults. “Shuddup, last time you were left with a girl alone, you all had to stiff leg it out of there.” 

He doesn’t wait for the next round of insults hurled his way, instead, he pushes you out of the door first before letting it shut with an audible hiss behind him. You can still faintly hear them arguing through the door but Bakugou shows no issue with the fact he probably just left his own apartment to delve into chaos. 

Bakugou leads you down the stairwell that leads to the garage, he holds the door open for you once you reach your destination and you’re met with a large parking lot. You’ve never been in here before, all the times you went out it was with Kirishima and he was adamant about walking around Night City instead of driving—he hated traffic just as much as the next person it seemed. 

You follow behind Bakugou like a lost puppy, eyes darting from car to car. All of them ranging from heavily modified or straight-up pieces of junk that should be scrapped for a few Eurodollars. When he comes to a stop at the end of the garage, a light flicks on overhead to show the sleek black motorbike you saw when you had been first introduced to Aizawa. 

Bakugou steps off to the side, rummaging around through a bio-coded locker which leaves you to investigate his motorbike a little more closely. It’s beautiful, obviously one of the pride and joys of the ash blonde. Your fingers ghost delicately along the smooth leather seat, it looks untouched—or rather, well-loved and cared for. 

You tilt your head to look down along the expensive body, eyeing the fact there wasn’t even a single scratch on it. Just how well did he care for this bike? Your eyes spot what you’re looking for; Yaiba. 

“It’s a modified Kusanagi CT-3X, if you’re wondering.” Bakugou finds himself next to you, one helmet perched atop his head and forcing the hairs down into his eyes, the other is under an arm.

“A rare Arasaka bike, right?” Bakugou nods at your words, an eyebrow arched as if he’s impressed you even knew that—to be fair, so are you. Your mind buzzes at the information you’re able to pull effortlessly from the bank of information sitting in your mind. “One of the fastest and most expensive bikes out there, how’d you get it?”

“Callin’ me cheap now?” He sneers but there’s no heat to it, he grins when you turn to look at him. He adjusts the helmet under his arm, holding it up to you so he can place it carefully over your head. “It was something I got with my first real paycheck, I always wanted one. Even as a kid when I lived in Tokyo, Yaiba had some of the best bikes out there and I just knew I wanted one.”

You smile up at him when he reveals just a slither of his past. So he wasn’t from here, it made sense. There was something about him that was never truly comfortable about being in Night City, no matter how long you live here—you’re never truly a part of the city as an outsider. Bakugou’s careful in pulling down the helmet, pressing a button on the inside before pushing down his own helmet.

“You hear me alright?” He questions, and you have to stop yourself from flinching at the voice in your ears. You nod at him, and you can hear him snicker quietly over the Bluetooth connection between the two helmets. “Alright, let’s get going before Ei comes and hunts us down.”

He slings a leg over the bike effortlessly, the entire thing bouncing on it’s suspension before he looks over at you through the small lifted gap of his visor. You hesitate for a moment, glancing from him to the seat behind him—if you can even call it that, there’s hardly any room and you’re going to be pressed up right against him. Why does that even matter when you were naked and under him this mor—

“Stop thinking and get the fuck on.” He grumbles, going as far as to reach over to grasp at your forearm to tug you forward. You have no choice but to clamber ontop of the bike behind him, your hands coming to loosely grab at the material of his leather jacket. Bakugou sighs heavily through the comms, using one hand to grasp at each of your hands individually to secure them snugly around his chest. “Hold on, this thing goes fast.”

The bike rumbles to life beneath you, Bakugou no doubt revving it on purpose to make you scoot closer to ensure you weren’t going to slip away when he put his foot down. You cling to him, your arms tucked tightly around his ribcage and head tilted so you’re not poking the front of your helmet into his back. 

Soon enough, you’re out on the road, and you’re amazed by just how easily Bakugou moves the bike with his own weight. He makes it seem effortless when he weaves in and out of traffic, how he bends easily forward forcing you to move with him so that he can pick up speed. You can only watch the world blur past, streaks of rain hardly leaving a mark against your visor from just how quickly you’re going.

You cling to Bakugou, hands grasped tightly on his stomach. You can feel each of his muscles under his shirt, they tense and hardened when he rounds corners much too quickly. He sits back up from his leaned position, forcing you backwards and tilting your head to look over his shoulder. You can see from the speedometer that he’s way above the legal speed limit, hitting a solid 150mph.

The wind and rain batter against the exposed strips of skin on your body, and your hands sting like you’ve been pelted with a million little rocks but you can’t complain too much. The rush, the adrenaline, it’s something else. You feel weightless when Bakugou expertly rounds corners or when he picks up speed along a long stretch of road, weaving between cars that beep and no doubt scream at him for being such an idiot.

“Look to your right,” he speaks into the microphone that’s connected directly to your helmet, his voice sounds calm—at peace. This was his peace, his getaway. To speed his way through a city that could kill him in the next moment. 

You do as he says, glancing to your right to see… you. It’s a clear reflection along some corporate building, you can see yourself attached to his back holding on for dear life. The city on the other side of you is bright, flickering and flashing despite the downpour of rain. You didn’t notice it when you were in the garage but Bakugou had modified his bike to light up, the inner trim of the wheels is set alight with bright neon orange lights.

In a moment of bravery, or perhaps stupidity. You let go. You can hear Bakugou over the comms shouting at you to grab ahold of him again but you feel free. Weightless. Truly weightless. You can’t hear that man's voice in your head anymore, you can only hear the howling wind and the beat of your own heart. You can’t feel that barrier in your mind, splintered and fractured, irreparable because you’re free. 

When your arms extend out at your sides, you can feel a frantic hand grab at the fabric of your jacket. Bakugou holds you in place whilst you let yourself go; to feel free, for the first time. Your heart races in your chest, the feeling like nothing you’ve ever experienced before in your life and you want to cling to this feeling, to this freedom. To the man in front of you, the one who had gifted you that freedom so easily. 

The reflection of the two of you disappears quickly, the building left behind and you can’t help but grin when you finally hear Bakugou again over the whistling wind.

“I swear to fuckin’ god, I won’t be scooping your brains off the road. Put your arms back around me!”

You laugh into the helmet, wrapping your arms once again around his body. You can still feel the tension in his back but it melts just slightly when you grasp tighter than before, holding the entirety of your body against his own. 

“You got a death wish or somethin’?!” He still growls despite you being reattached to him, and you give him another laugh that makes his shoulders sag just slightly in relaxation. “Fuckin’ idiot—...”

“Thank you for bringing me out tonight.” Your words are met with silence, your head comes to rest against the broadness of his shoulders comfortably as you watch the world pass by. The city eventually bleeds out into green, grass and trees that tower high into the sky. You’ve never been here before.

“Yeah, whatever.” Bakugou grumbles quietly, and if it wasn’t for the connection between your helmets you would’ve missed the bashfulness in his voice. “We’re nearly there so just hold on this time, dumbass.” 

You let your body move effortlessly with his, swaying from side to side when he does sharp turns around corners that would have an inexperienced rider thrown off the back of their bike. The rain has started to lessen, only a light drizzle that drenches the back of your jacket and you only squeeze tighter around the single source of warmth. 

Bakugou slows the bike down to a complete stop once he reaches the destination in mind, with a glance around you can see you’re in the middle of nowhere. There are a few houses dotted around, if you can call them that, they’re more like massive mansions. 

“C’mon, keep that on and keep quiet.” Bakugou taps your thigh to get you to climb off the bike before he follows after you. You watch him manually move his bike to hide in the shadows behind some bushes and you’re furrowing your eyebrows immediately in confusion. Just what exactly was he planning?

He tilts his head in a gesture to get you to follow, taking you off of the road and down a steep hill that leads further into the underbrush. The city is obscured by the number of trees and large shrubs, and you nearly lose sight of Bakugou when he ducks in and out of the shadows—but as you watch him, you realise he knows his way through all of this a little too well.

“You’ve been here before?” You whisper over the link, and you see Bakugou glance over his shoulder at you for a moment before returning his gaze forward.

“Yeah, been comin’ here since I first moved here. It’s the only place with some real grass.” His voice lowered down to a whisper has your stomach set alight with butterflies. You continue to wordlessly follow him until he abruptly stops, throwing a hand back to grab at your forearm before pulling you down into a crouch next to him.

You peek around his shoulder, your eyes silently activating to see what he might be seeing. Immediately you hone in on a large SUV parked up on the ridge of the road, around fifty feet in front of you. There’s four heat signatures, all of them belonging to men who are in thick armour and strapped with multiple weapons.

“Arasaka.” You whisper to Bakugou, who quietly nods his head. He doesn’t move a muscle, holding your wrist tightly in his hand as if he’s waiting for them to just look in your direction and open fire. “They’re not holding their weapons, they’re not looking for anyone.”

“The Arasaka estate is up ahead. They’re still on guard dog duty.” Bakugou supplies, causing your eyes to move away from the group of men to the estate he speaks of. You can see it much more clearly with your augmentations active, you can see the heat signatures within and the overwhelming amount of security measures in place.

There’s an indistinctive shout causing you to dart your eyes back towards the group of people only to see them piling back into the car. Bakugou visibly deflates in relief, his hand around your forearm slips down to your wrist before he’s tugging you after him. You follow lowly just behind him, mindful of each step as you grow closer and closer to the edge of the underbrush. Bakugou exits first, standing to his full height which drags you up next to him.

When you glance around, you’re silenced by the view. It’s beautiful. Night City is in the distance, so wide and yet so tightly compacted into tall skyscrapers and tall flashing neon signs. Bakugou’s hand slips away from your wrist when you take steps towards the cliff edge that looks down on the lower level of residents, you can’t take your eyes away from the city before you.

It looked so… small. So dense and yet you knew the intensity of it all from the very moment your eyes opened in that ripper’s office. Night City was a vicious beast, a machine that chewed you up and spat you back out if you weren’t strong enough to survive—but when you look at it from here, look at how insignificant the people are and how tiny the city is. It’s almost impossible to comprehend.

“I come here when I need to clear my head,” Bakugou speaks clearly next to you, having taken off his helmet and holding it beneath his arm. You follow suit and remove your own, thankful for the fresh breeze and slight drizzle against your face. You glance towards Bakugou only to see his eyes set on the city before you, absorbed in his own thoughts. “Figured you could use it too.”

“It looks so beautiful from out here, but inside… it’s—”

“One of the worst places to live. Yeah, I thought it’d be great moving here all those years ago. But I was a dumb kid with a dumb idea, and now here I am.” Bakugou huffs, running his free hand through his flattened hair to re-fluff it before settling himself down onto the ground.

You take his lead and sit next to him, putting your helmet to the side and being careful to not let it roll off the edge of the small cliff in front of you. Setting your eyes back onto the city, you feel that sense of freedom again. You were free from the city, even for just a moment, you felt like you could breathe for yourself for the first time. Your heart wasn’t pounding, your mind wasn’t racing and your skin wasn’t itching in knowing what lay beneath it all. 

“Any reason you spaced out when Dunceface started talking about Shinsou’s gig with the Net?” Bakugou inquires after a moment of silence, you turn your attention to him to find he’s leaning against his propped-up knees, head tilted in your direction. “Don’t gotta tell me shit but—”

“It just reminded me of when I was… healing.” You admit, not missing the way Bakugou visibly winces at the reminder of what put you there in the first place. “When I was in there… Something happened, and hearing Kaminari talk about Daemons—it made me think about why I can’t remember anything.”

“What, like someone’s infected your network or something?” Bakugou shifts slightly, raising his head to look at you properly with a level of concern that looks frankly terrifying on his face. He looks… worried.

“I don’t know, maybe? It’d make sense. I have this empty part of my head that I can’t access, like it’s been cut off from me or something. What if there’s a Daemon in my system? Or worse.” 

“Shinsou would’ve picked up on that. Or even Jirou, she’s the one who said you had impressive firewalls inside that head of yours.” 

A part of you wants to agree with him, because it does make sense. They would’ve found the source of whatever was wrong with you, but instead, they came out empty-handed and you, empty-headed. But you can’t shake the vision of that man, the blurred green of his eyes and then when you saw him in the street… something just wasn’t right. 

“Maybe you’re right. I just—it’s scary, y’know? Not knowing who I am.” You whisper that last part, and Bakugou’s eyes turn from concern to a shade of pity. He shifts himself closer to you, slinging a heavy arm around your shoulders to pull you in close until your head is tucked against his shoulder.

“It doesn’t matter who you were, that’s what I always told myself when I moved here. I’m not the same guy as I was back then, I found myself. I found a new purpose. That’s just what you need, a new purpose, a new life that you created yourself.” His words are mumbled from where he presses his cheek against the top of your head. 

A new purpose, a new life. That’s what you wanted. To shed yourself of whoever you may have been before all of this, before you had met Bakugou and Kirishima—before you had been let into their family even with them knowing you were capable of killing them all. Your heart aches but not in agony this time, it aches with joy. 

You wanted so much more than what this city had to offer, you wanted to find out what you liked; your favourite foods, your favourite movies, your favourite smells and also the things you hated. You wanted to live.

“I think I’d like that,” you smile, shifting your head against Bakugou’s shoulder to look up at him. He meets your gaze with a soft look on his face, an almost invisible smile on his face. “I want to see the world.”

“Yeah? The world? That’s a lot to see.” His smile grows when you laugh quietly. 

“Would you show me the world, Katsuki?” 

Bakugou is quiet at your question, his eyes flit down to your lips before they find your eyes again. He looks so beautiful this close, the different shades of red in his eyes are breathtaking. There’s so much captured in them, every emotion he feels and every thought he has flicks behind them before his eyebrows visibly relax, his body holding you closer.

He leans in, lips brushing against your own before he speaks. “I’ll show you it all.”

And when he kisses you, he kisses you softly and gently like you were to be handled with such care. It’s not love but you have a feeling that it might blossom into something like that. One day.

Before you know it, the three days of rest have come and gone. It felt like you had blinked and you were back right where you started before everything had happened in that plastic-wrapped room. But this time you had Shinsou on one side and Kaminari on the other in the back of Bakugou’s car. 

Currently, Shinsou was connected to your interface via a cable that slipped free from his wrist and fused itself into the plating on your palm. He had told you it was to relay all information that you’d need to ensure you got in there unnoticed, he loaded you with visuals of maps, layouts of their cameras and their usual patrolling routes.

Kaminari on your other side was fiddling with a hunting knife, the jagged edge was glinting in the passing street lights and every now and again it would buzz with electricity. He told you it was connected to his own chrome, he’s able to absorb electricity and pass it back through objects—something that had earned him plenty of shocks to the system that left him reeling.  

Even with the presence of Shinsou in the back of your mind offloading a multitude of data, you couldn’t tear your eyes away from Bakugou who was once again in the driver's seat. He had been different in the three days since that night outside of the city. He was more open to the idea of intimacy, often opening his arms for you at night and holding you in the mornings until he had to inevitably get up.

Kirishima had noticed it too, grinning along with the back-and-forth jokes between you and Bakugou. He thankfully didn’t make a scene out of the gentle touches he absolutely caught the two of you exchanging when you assumed no one was around.

Your chest fills with those pesky butterflies, the smile on your face must look mushy because you can feel the ache in your cheeks. You felt genuinely happy, an emotion that was your own and something you were able to hold onto. You wanted to experience everything with Bakugou at your side, and no doubt Kirishima would tag along too. 

After that night out in North Oak, you had returned home to find that it was just Kirishima left and Bakugou had offhandedly said that a trip to Japan was on the table. Kirishima had leapt at the opportunity to talk about his hometown, about the different shops and restaurants there. He spoke about his country with so much love, and Bakugou had a nostalgic look on his face—so you asked if he’d take you there one day. He agreed, of course, stating it’ll be the first stop on your way to conquering the world.

Kirishima, of course, had no idea just what that meant.

“Try to keep your head clear,” Shinsou comments from the side, effectively dragging you free from your thoughts. “It’ll go more smoothly if you’re not actively trying to force me out of that brain of yours.” Your eyes drag along the cable connecting the both of you, something that could open you up in the most vulnerable of ways. 

During the three days of rest, you spent more time with Shinsou too. He had been a Netrunner for a long time, even coming from Arasaka’s very own prestigious school with the help of Aizawa funding him through the entirety of it. The rest of the crew hadn’t been so fortunate, coming from no education at all or limited from when they lived in Tokyo.

That was another thing you were curious about. People didn’t just come to Night City for fun, it was a city designed to trap you here until your inevitable death. Apparently, Shinsou had always been in NC, born and raised in Japantown but almost everyone else had tales of the way things were being run back in Japan—long story short, it was being overrun by corporations that had no regard for people who were beneath them. It was either leave or die.

“Done. Should be good to go.” Shinsou says, withdrawing the cable connected to your wrist. The information flickers through your mind rapidly, similar to how someone would graze through a filing cabinet. Everything was here, this would be a simple operation if you pulled it off correctly.

You hadn’t realised the car had drawn to a stop until Bakugou turned his head to look at you, eyebrows furrowing together as if he was trying to figure out something to say. But instead, it’s Kaminari who speaks up, slapping a hand against your thigh before he grins. 

“Ready to pull off the coolest fucking job?” You don’t miss the way Bakugou’s eyes lock onto the hand for a second too long before he meets your eyes again. All you can do is nod along, still unable to break your eyes away from Bakugou until he forces himself to look away first.

With a nod of his own head, Kaminari deems that worthy enough of a response and grins at you. His hand squeezes your thigh absentmindedly before he climbs out of the car, yelping with Bakugou grunts a command at him the second he steps out of the car.

Soon enough, you’re out of the car too whilst Kirishima ensures you have your weapon loaded and Shinsou talks over the game plan again. “You need to get to the underground levels. On the first floor, it should be primarily empty, the rest of Maelstrom will be beneath that. All you have to do is get into that room, snag a shard and leave. We’re here for backup.” 

“I’ll have to go dark when I’m inside.” You see Bakugou shift on his feet a little at that, the uneasiness of you being unable to communicate with them properly if anything was to go wrong. They all nod in agreement regardless, stepping back when you slip the handgun into its holster on your waist before shrugging off the orange jacket that Kirishima had given you all those weeks ago. Bakugou wordlessly takes it from you.

Looking at the building just across the street, it looks unassuming. A simple warehouse, but even you could see the spray tags on the walls of the Maelstrom, this was a significant base of theirs. 

Just as you’re about to step forward to begin the job, a hand grabs your elbow and you turn to see Bakugou looking at the building instead of you. “Don’t do anything reckless this time.” His eyes drift down to meet yours, the red flaring to life in his eyes for a second. “Got it, hotshot?” 

Your eyebrows raise. “Hotshot?”

“You took a pulse rifle shot—”

“Oh, you’re terrible. Really? Hotshot?” You grin at his words, it was another terrible joke he couldn’t stop himself from making. His lips twitch in a small smirk before it fades, the gravity of the situation settling on him once again. “I’ll be fine, I have you to back me up this time. Right?”

Bakugou stays silent for a moment before he nods. “Right. I’ve got your back.” He looks hesitant when you take a step backwards, his fingers that had been in contact with your elbow twitching at his side before he ultimately decides to pocket them. “Don’t play hero either, you get out of there if you have to.”

“It almost sounds like you care for me Katsuki,” his eyes widened the tiniest amount at the use of his name, no doubt a flurry of memories from just a few nights ago flitting through his mind. “But don’t worry, I’m not going to be taking bullets for anyone today. I have the world to see, remember?” 

But before Bakugou could say anything, you fade into nothing right before him. Even when his eyes flash to life, he can’t see you anywhere. His eyebrows draw together in concern, this plan felt rushed—he should be going in with you, you shouldn’t be taking this on alone. What was Aizawa thinking? A hand clapping on his shoulder draws his attention away from where you may have gone.

…Your shoulders drop once Bakugou looks away, you could see the concern on his face, painted as clear as the sky above. You couldn’t remember if you had ever done solo missions like this before—having a partner to help would’ve been nice, but you had no time to dwell on it when you started to walk towards the big warehouse. You note the multiple cameras as you pass by them, the red blinking light flickers for a moment before they’re shut down. Have you always had cyberware that could shut down electronics? 

“That was me.” Shinsou’s voice is loud in your head, as if he were speaking directly next to you. “Sorry, should’ve said something.” 

“Yeah, no shit.” You murmur back, eyes darting back and forth once you slip through the open warehouse door. There was a big truck in the centre of the room, modified with spikes and reinforced windows. Definitely Maelstrom. 

“About twenty feet in front of you, and then to the right there should be a door that will lead to the stairwell. That’s your way in.” 

You follow Shinsou’s guidance without hesitation, feet moving silently across the floor whilst your eyes dart back and forth through the dark warehouse. It was odd for it to be so empty, were they all really below ground? Surely there should be a guard— “Stop!” Shinsou all but hisses at you, your entire body freezing at the edge of a rack of crates. 

There’s movement, and your eyes dart upwards to see a drone scanning slowly. Drones? Since when did Maelstrom have the money for drones? You don’t say anything as you watch the silent drone pass by, thankfully having not detected you even through your invisibility. This could prove to be a problem if they’re using tech like that, who knows what else they have hidden. 

“There are no mentions of drones anywhere. They’re chromeheads, sure, but they always liked doing shit themselves.” Shinsou supplies once you’re moving again. Slipping into the stairwell that Shinsou had directed you to, you notice the difference in temperatures almost immediately. It’s freezing. 

“Turning off comms.” 

“Wait—” His voice cuts out immediately, something doesn’t feel right down here. It shouldn’t be so cold, it’s like stepping into an industrial freezer. Maelstrom didn’t like the cold, for one simple reason; it fucked with their cyberware. 

Freezing temperatures caused it to malfunction, which meant… it’ll fuck yours up too. You need to back out, and report what you think might be down there but—something is stopping you. Aizawa would be pissed if you back out of this with your tail between your legs, he definitely wouldn’t let you come back empty-handed either. 

With slow careful steps, you continue to descend into the freezing depths of the basement. Rounding the corner that leads to the final set of steps, you stop in your tracks. The lights are off, save for a slow, long blink of a red light. All the hairs stand up on the back of your neck, something screaming in the back of your mind to back out now. Your hand slips to the handgun on your holster, withdrawing it when you press your back to the cold concrete wall. 

You can do this. You can find out what’s in this room, slip by and find the shard. You can do this. You can. Sucking in a harsh breath, you brace your body before whipping around the corner with your gun raised but your blood runs cold, determination falling from your face and morphing into fear. “What—”

...

“What the fuck do you mean you can’t contact her?” Bakugou snarls, glaring at Shinsou who’s hunched over a laptop that was once tracking your whereabouts. 

“She said she was turning off comms, but she wasn’t even in the basement yet.” Shinsou frowns, running a hand through his unruly purple hair for a moment. “Fuck, you don’t think she…?”

“No,” Kirishima replies, leaning against the car with his eyes locked on the building in front of them. “She wouldn’t do that, not now.” 

“Should we go in?” Kaminari offers, glancing over Shinsou’s shoulder to stare at the blank map. 

Shinsou opens his mouth to talk before all heads whip towards the warehouse, their hearts thumping in their chests whilst the sound of the alarms being tripped drowns out any words any of them may have wanted to say. 

There are approximately three seconds of calm before the storm hits full force. The Maelstrom weren’t in fact in the building at all, instead hiding in the surrounding smaller buildings dotted around. Yet none of them looks at the group that is sitting staring at the scene unfolding; they’re all descending onto the warehouse. 

Onto you.

“It’s a setup,” Bakugou says, words coming out monotone as if he wasn’t quite aware of what he was saying—unaccepting of the ugly truth. “She’s been fucking set up.” 

He doesn’t hesitate. His feet move before he fully registers that he’s barreling towards what is most likely certain death, he thinks he can hear Kirishima shouting at him to stop but he can’t. You weren’t going to fucking die now after everything. 

His heart hurts from how hard it pounds against his ribcage, the rifle in his hand is light when he raises it to shoot anyone who steps foot into his path. Bakugou barrels through the open warehouse door, following the directions Shinsou had given to you no more than ten minutes ago. It seems a lot of the Maelstrom have made their way below ground, or had been shot on Bakugou’s way in.

His stomach twists uncomfortably at the thought of you being trapped beneath the ground with a gang of twenty or more descending on you with the intention of killing you. His hand itches around the rifle, fingers twitching with the urge to open fire the second he can. 

Something like true fear starts to pool into Bakugou’s stomach once he deduces that you must’ve descended the only set of stairs. The freezing fog slowly creeping up the steps is enough to make him shiver, the chrome in his body aches from the slow approaching cold. There’s no way you could be down there and still be alive, you were more metal than human than he was.

And yet still, Bakugou pushes through the veil of fear that washes over him and descends the stairs. The fog swirls and wraps around him like tendrils, tugging him further into the icy depths of the dark basement. His thumb brushes against the side of his gun, flicking it off the safety and soon a red laser helps guide him through the dense fog. 

He can’t see anything, or anyone, it does nothing to quell the horrid feeling that’s making a home in his chest. Had they already gotten to you? Kidnapped you? Did they know you were a high-priced target? The Maelstrom were no strangers to wanting to get their hands on money, they’d do anything for it.

In the darkness, Bakugou stumbles as the tip of his boot catches on something. He catches himself quickly enough, gun darting downwards and he’s unsurprised to see the remnants of one of the gang members. They already weren’t people anymore, but seeing them like this was something else. You had certainly been the one to cause such damage, but that just leads to the question – where the fuck are you? 

A hand clamps onto his shoulder, jolting the large blonde to move and reposition his gun until it was under the chin of whoever dared to sneak up on him. Just through the thickness of the fog, he’s able to see the illuminated red eyes of Kirishima staring down at him. It only soothes his heart a little, he knows Kirishima will have his back through this and for whatever is to come next. 

“You fucking big idiot, who just grabs someone in the dark?” Bakugou hisses regardless of the relief that settles into his rigid bones, his heated breath puffs out to add to the ever-growing fog that surrounds them. 

Kirishima smiles a little, albeit sheepishly and lets his hand drop from Bakugou’s shoulder. “I didn’t want to shout, who knows what’s in here.” Kirishima manages to whisper back, his eyes finally darting away from Bakugou to scour the darkness.

Bakugou can only grumble about that, Kirishima did have a point. Neither of them knew what was in there, and Bakugou couldn’t rely on his eye enhancements in the frigid cold. So he just moves, and Kirishima moves naturally along with him. 

“Do you think they got to her?” The dreaded question comes tumbling from Kirishima’s mouth.

“I fuckin’..- I don’t know.” Comes Bakugou's blunt reply, but he doesn’t mean for it to be so blunt. There’s just no other way around it, the possibility of you being taken or worse is slowly increasing. Bakugou doesn’t know what to do with the slow-building guilt in his conscience. He should’ve turned this job down for you, you were just blindly following whatever Aizawa demanded of you.

A click has both of the men freezing, Bakugou’s rifle in his hand poised and ready to fire the second the threat shows itself.

…The gun feels like a ten-tonne weight in your hand, it makes the synthetic fibres in your muscles in your body ache. But nothing is quite as heavy as the shard in your hand, it makes your stomach lurch uncomfortably to the point where your breakfast threatens to make a return. 

When you rounded the stairs and found the shard in a lone storage slot within an open cabinet, you had never wanted to run more. It wasn’t the fact it was a shard—but rather that it had your name engraved into the delicate metal. 

As soon as you had picked it up the red blinking light had turned off, the freezing air spilling from the now empty cabinet and tumbling onto the floor. You were plunged into darkness, and yet you could still see the shard as clear as day in your hand. 

However, it wasn’t just any data shard; it belonged to Militech. They were known for their ruthless advances in A.I. and other technological achievements, and the very thing in your hand with your name etched into it—you knew it could only mean trouble, whoever had dropped it off here wanted you to find it. But why? You didn’t understand, with each passing thought that involved Militech and the shard in your hand, it felt like your brain was ripping itself apart trying to recover memories that were locked behind a thick wall. 

You had to get rid of it; destroy it or make sure no one ever got their hands on it. This thing could hold countless pieces of information on the inner workings of Militech and its operations. 

“Hurry, or they’ll kill you.”

There’s a quick shuffle of footsteps coming down the steps behind you, and your fingers tighten uncomfortably around the chip. If you died here, you’d never be able to get away and ensure this thing never saw the light of day. The Maelstrom must’ve paid a pretty price for this thing, or perhaps they were keeping it safe until Militech came and picked it up. You couldn’t risk any of them getting their hands on it. 

You only had one choice. 

It’s not a painful procedure, it feels more like a tingle when the chip slides into the slot next to your own data shard on the back of your neck. But then it locks in, and it feels like you’re injected with nanites; they bite and chip away at you until they take root in your brain. They skitter and scamper across your spine, wrapping themselves around every vertebra. You can feel the way it spreads and wraps itself around your frontal lobe, squeezing until it’s too painful to bear. 

You squeeze your eyes shut, and your fingers press fruitlessly into the slot to try and pry it out of your body but it won’t release. It feels like your very soul is being warped and pressed into a mould, ripped and torn until you’re no longer a person anymore. 

The scream that tears apart your throat doesn’t sound like your own, it’s mangled and distorted—you can feel yourself fragmenting, your very skin splitting apart to rebuild itself in an attempt to save itself from the A.I. that was rapidly infecting your system. Your mind feels like it’s on fire, burning in the deepest depths of hell until finally, you feel nothing. 

Everything clicks into place, and the pain vanishes just as quickly as it had latched on. You move automatically when the first wave of Maelstrom approaches you, your handgun tossed to the side in favour of the gun embedded in your arm. It whirs to life, and you can only watch through the tinted glass of your eyes as you make your way through people as if they were nothing more than wet paper.

It all slowly comes to a lull, bodies slumped to the floor and blood sticks to your skin. It should feel cold but you feel like you’ve been locked out of your own body—everything is numb. 

It’s all so empty now, the memories you had formed over the last few months of being part of a family flicker and fade from existence. You couldn’t put a name to the faces in your mind, the voices and laughter becoming nothing but static that blinds you to the noise of approaching footsteps.

Not until it’s too late. You hear a shout, your eyes adjusting to the darkness to make out two outlines of gang members. One has a gun raised to you, the other has their hands raised to you as well yet you don’t spy a weapon. The Maelstrom weren’t known for their chrome for nothing, you suspected they had some interesting weaponry just like your own. 

Your eyes flicker, the augmentations in your eyes malfunctioning the longer you resist the command to execute all those who pose a threat to you. A warning flashes across your vision, a clear message that if you continue to resist you’re at risk of imminent death.

You raise your gun in response. There’s a presence looming just behind you, out of sight, yet you can hear a low chuckle – the familiarity of it has your blood freezing, and yet you can’t find the strength to stop yourself from acting on command for whoever was in control of the A.I.

“Put it down!” One of them yells, yet it’s muddied by the static in your ears. It sounds like they’re shouting through an old radio. “Lower your fucking weapon!” 

“They’ll kill you. Make sure you get there first.” The voice over your shoulder supplies, and you swear you can feel the puff of warm breath against your neck. There’s a soft brush of curls against your cheek when they lean just enough into your peripheral you can see green.

There are more whispers between the two of them, words you can’t make out but their momentary distraction is enough. Your arm tenses, the warning across your vision vanishes and then there’s a blinding light, it illuminates the darkness of the basement enough for you to finally make out the faces of the two men who had approached you. 

You can only blink, the familiar red and blonde hair makes your heart lurch. This all seemed so oddly familiar, a strange sense of deja vu washes over you. You expect to see one of them fall to the ground, but instead, it’s you who watches the world tilt and fall away.

You can’t move. Your limbs feel like they’re too heavy for your bones, and the cold finally starts to seep through your bones the second you make contact with the floor. 

“FUCK!” The blonde all but screams, and before you know it he’s in your face. Your body moves like a ragdoll until you’re scooped into his lap. You think you can feel the brush of his fingers against your forehead, frantically swiping away the hair that clings to your sweat-ridden skin. You can feel one of his hands move away from your face to press hard against your chest, you watch his face crumple when he realises something.

He’s speaking, rocking just slightly and the static starts to fade away until you hear him. “‘M sorry. ‘M so fucking sorry. I didn’t–I knew I shouldn’t–.” His sentences aren’t complete, broken up by the wet sobs that shake his body. His hand is wet when it comes back to your face, the smell of synthetic blood clogs your nose. 

The unnamed blonde continues to press his fingers against your face, squeezing your cheeks in an attempt to get you to respond but you can feel something now; a tug to just let go. You can only watch when the red-haired one squats down next to you as well, his mouth moves but there’s no sound.

You don’t think you have it in you to speak, to tell them something—anything, your world slowly starts to darken around you. But you hope the man cradling you knows he meant something to you; even if you can’t quite grasp the reason why. You just know that perhaps you might’ve come to love him, if you were given the chance to.

“Another disappointment.” The unknown man shrouded in a cloak of darkness watches from over the shoulders of both men who crowd you, but neither of them seems to notice him, too preoccupied with attempting to stop the rapid warmth that is spilling from your chest. The last thing you see is him shaking his head, a flash of green before there’s nothing.

. . . .

There’s a clatter on the sofa, followed by a choked sob. Bakugou rakes his hands through his hair, pushing back the long strands that fell onto his face. He side-eyes the headgear next to him; a braindance. 

It wasn’t just any braindance, it was one he had made specifically for him. They called it ‘Soulswap’, it was a walkthrough of your entire time with him, from the moment he had found you in that warehouse and up to the moment he had shot you. How it was made was something that Bakugou fought with for a while, it was morally wrong. To have someone dissect you like some high school science experiment and implant strands of your data—your memories—into something that he could watch. 

A ding on the coffee table draws his attention away from the braindance, and he swipes up his phone to see Kirishima has sent him a message.

[22:34] RED: Stop reliving it. You know that isn’t what she wanted.

Bakugou scoffs, what the fuck did Kirishima know about you? What the fuck did he know about the weight in his chest that replaced his once beating heart? He knew nothing. No one listened to him when he said that it wasn’t you at the end, that you weren’t in control. 

It was charted down to Cyberpsychosis on your unofficial death certificate. 

The uneasiness continued to eat away at Bakugou, even when he chose to ignore the onslaught of text messages from the others. It’d been this way for the last four years and it had only come to fruition now. It was hard to find someone capable enough of creating a braindance that wasn’t just a cheap way to get off or to kill someone without repercussions.

It was a delicate job, and he had finally found the guy to do it. 

Yet now he’s unsure if he should’ve gone through with it. Whilst it was all in cyberspace, he could still feel the emotions you had in your final moments. You had felt something for him, just as he had felt something for you—does feel something for you. 

Sinking back into the sofa, the world buzzes around him yet it feels like Bakugou is still stuck in that basement all those years ago. It used to take a more violent toll on his body, his modifications often becoming the victim of neglect until Kirishima forced him to keep taking the blockers to ensure he didn't spiral into psychosis. 

Bakugou’s head lulls back, staring up at the spinning fan on the ceiling. It won’t be long until Kirishima comes back and lectures him about bad habits or whatever the fuck he wanted to be on his ass for. 

“And with the renewed partnership between Militech and Lazarus, I truly believe we’ll be able to bring a stop to crime here in Night City.” 

That voice causes Bakugou to snap his head up, glaring at the television that hung from the ceiling in the centre of the room. It wasn’t often he would make TV appearances but it wasn’t unexpected. He watches the camera pan across an array of Militech drones and other tech that he can’t quite understand before it falls back onto the CEO of Militech.

Izuku Midoriya.

Midoriya has a fake smile plastered on his face, hands buried in his deep expensive pockets as he stares at the interviewer just off to the side. His verdant eyes are dull, devoid of anything lifelike. Bakugou isn’t surprised entirely by that, Izuku was… once a friend, but he betrayed him and the rest of them for a chance at fame. 

He moved to Militech and quickly overtook the company, plunging them into tech that wasn’t short of war machines. 

“Hah, yes. It is true, we have been working on a new AI that we think will definitely be capable of deterring even those inflicted by Cyberpsychosis.” 

Bakugou blinks, his attention drawn back to the screen to see Izuku laughing about whatever had been asked, something about that laugh sounds familiar – not just from when he had known Izuku but from recent memory. 

And when it slowly dawns on him, it curdles his blood and makes his stomach tense. That laughter. The voice that lacks any emotion. The world fades into nothing around him the longer he stares at Midoriya talking animatedly about something in the interview, his chest tightens more and more until it feels like his heart may just burst.

It wasn’t a case of regular Cyberpsychosis.

Izuku Midoriya was the one who triggered it. He must’ve been the one who had planted that foreign chip, he wouldn’t just hand something like that over to the Maelstrom.

“We’re proud to announce the next line of fully-developed Artificial Intelligence; Akuma. This is just one of our newly created full cyborg—”

Bakugou finds his body locking into place, muscles growing tight and stomach twisting in knots before his heart plummets down into his stomach. His eyes widened. There. Right next to Izuku is… you. But it’s not the you he knew, it’s a duplicate, one of the new cyborgs created to withstand ‘Akuma’. 

He can tell from the way you hold yourself, rigid and cold like you were just some lifeless robot. You don’t respond to the stimuli around you, staring blankly ahead. It feels like his heart is being torn apart once again, shredded in a blender until there’s nothing left but an empty void that sits in his chest.

He knows for a fact that it’s not the real you, the one he held, the one who took a bullet for him—the one he was going to take home to meet his parents. He watched you go up in flames at a pyre funeral. It was Aizawa who had suggested it. “To make sure no one gets her.” Looks like that didn’t fucking matter, did it?

…No. Izuku must’ve had your DNA stored from when you worked at Militech. You were just an experiment, all the chrome you were sporting wasn’t just because you were a Militech worker, but rather because you were one of the prototypes for Militech. From the very start, you were destined to fail—another disappointment.

Bakugou doesn’t even register that he’s already moving, swiping up the bomber jacket you wore. The pulse rifle swung over one shoulder and the door slammed shut behind him. It was time to pay his childhood friend a visit.

[emmyrosee]

sssssSSSHHHHHHLEAVEMEALONE-

————

You’d gone to bed angry last night.

It was a promise you’d made to each other long ago, back when you’d gotten into your first big fight in the early months of your relationship, to never go to bed angry, to work through and compromise with whatever problems plagued your love. No one deserved to go to bed thinking their partner was angry at them.

But when Bakugo spit his venomous words, turned on his heel and slammed your bedroom door shut last night to leave you with the shattered heart he’d just created, your feet couldn’t even begin to move towards the closed door. You didn’t want to face him, want to give him the satisfaction of knowing just how bad he hurt you, and if he so badly didn’t want you in bed next to him, who were you to try and convince otherwise?

So, wordlessly, you climbed into the scratchy, lumpy couch he’d seemingly banished you to, and you pulled the too-small, too-thin blanket over you, and stared at the leather of the couch for the next six hours, the clock ticking all the while.

The rest of the morning was a blur; showered, brushed your teeth and had a cup of tea in the silence of it all, you’d finally found it in your means to make something to eat, and you’re also finally reminded of why you didn’t want to do that in the first place when a sleepy, albeit still tense Katsuki shuffles his way into the kitchen to face you for the first time since he’d yelled at you.

“Hey,” he mumbles, a calloused hand carding through the blonde locks of bed head that he sported. You don’t spare him a glance, instead, you keep slicing the fruit for breakfast, barely acknowledging him with a quiet, almost bored, ‘hi.’

In your peripheral, he winced at your coldness, clearly not used to it, “I… uh…” he chews his lip, and it’s a side of Katsuki you haven’t seen since high school, timid and hesitant to even look at you for fear of rejection. He’s always so confident in his snide remarks and quick reactions, but now he looks so… scared, like you’ll smack him with the pan you’re cooking on.

“Close your mouth, you’ll catch flies,” you mumble, breaking an egg in the pan and watching it sear under the heat of the stove. When you’re met with more silence, you force yourself to not look at the man you’d fallen so hard in love with, because you knew if you did, you’d immediately forgive him for the pain of last night.

“You didn’t come to bed,” he says, clearing his throat.

“You made it pretty obvious that you didn’t want me there,” your reply comes quick, and it silenced him immediately.

Then, the signals in your brain surge and cross as thick arms wrap around your waist and a face nuzzles into the crook of your neck, and when you try to squirm out of his grip to be alone for even just a little bit longer before breakfast, the lips against your shoulder mumble out a quick, but sincere, ‘I’m sorry,’ and it finally causes you to still.

“I was shitty last night,” he continues. “I said dumb things to hurt you, and it… it wasn’t cool.” Fingers fiddle with the waist band of your sweats, but you know it’s more for search of your loving warmth than anything else. “I hated waking up without you. I always want you next me, I always want to kiss the corner of your eye to make you smile in your sleep, I always want you to be the first thing I see when I wake up. I don’t know how I knocked out last night without you. But this morning, when I saw you weren’t next to me, I just… Fuck, I can’t believe I ever-“

“Katsuki?”

He shuts up at the use of his name, whole body tensing and arms tightening even more around you, almost scared to loosen them. You sigh, “you just… hurt my feelings last night.”

He whimpers. So you rest a reassuring hand on his wrist.

“I know,” he swallows.

“I don’t understand why…”

“There’s not a ‘why,’” he sighs. “I just did, because I’m an asshole, and it was fucked up of me.”

You hum in agreement at his words, turning around in his arms to finally face him. His eyes look sunken in and they glimmer with a certain shame, but they’re still the eyes you fell in love with so many years ago.

“Please don’t talk to me like that again,” you whisper, fingers moving back a blond lock from his face. Meaty fingers wrap around your wrist to keep it close, and he turns his head to plant a kiss to your warm palm. “And… and no more going to bed angry.”

“We won’t, baby,” he promises, giving your wrist a reassuring squeeze. “I promise..” maroon eyes blink longingly at you before his pink pout curls into a small, rare smile. “Love you.”

“I love you too,” you whisper, allowing him to pull you into an easy hug. Your cheek nuzzles against his shoulder, relishing in the familiar feeling, “even if you are the worst man ever.”

He chuckles shortly, “I know, babe.”

“I mean like, an absolute monster-“

“Got it, I’m an asshole.”

“-worst creature to shamble the face of the earth-“

“I fucking got it, dumbass!” He snarls, using his force to shove you backwards against the counter, your arms instinctively tossing around him to brace yourself while giggles pour from your lips. “Enough fuckin’ guilt tripping!” The hands on your waist gently move to your lower back to keep them from getting bumped and bruised by the counter; even in his worst, he prepares himself to protect you from anything, no matter how mad he wants to pretend he is.

But you don’t discount the way you hear the smile in his voice, and when you feel it stretched out against the skin of your neck, the weight off your shoulders eases in realizing that you two would be fine.

[bakuslove]

OUR LITTLE SECRET

﹒ॱ˖ 🖇️ FEATURING. pro hero!bakugo x f!reader

﹒ॱ˖ ☆ CONTENT. fluff, sfw, established relationship, pro hero!bakugo, fem pronouns are used for reader themes of marriage ahead WC. 1.096

﹒ॱ˖ 💬 SYNOPSIS. privacy's hard to come by nowadays, all thanks to social media. luckily, you and your darling have found a way cheat the system. at least... a little bit.

It’s not easy being the girlfriend of one of the highest ranking pro heroes in the world but you’d gotten used to a majority of the daily inconveniences. 

Paparazzi somehow finding you no matter how many layers you wore to cover your face that day, crazy fans who were just a little too friendly following you from a distance as you made your way to and from the supermarket, the constant, and I do mean constant, private message requests and comments and responses on posts from fans and haters alike on every form of social media you own. It was hard to keep track of, to say the least. 

Sometimes you’d forgo using your phone entirely just to avoid the snarky comments or prying eyes and questions of loyal fans. And that was just from those who wanted to know about you. Bakugo’s fans were far more insatiable.

However, there were moments you two were able to bask in your solitude together. Peace and quiet filled your dining room and Katsuki stood over the stove, keeping an eye on a frying pan filled with vegetables as he seasoned a bit of pork you laid out earlier for dinner.

You sat by his side as you always did, phone in your hand as you snacked on whatever he handed you in the midst of his cooking. Your phone was buzzing with notifications just as always, but you did your best to ignore them as usual. At least, until a certain headline caught your eye. 

You tapped on it, waiting as anticipation caused your knee to bounce. There’s no way they saw it... right? 

Your last trip out with Katsuki had been two nights ago when he had planned an extravagant dinner just for the two of you at that new expensive place that opened up just down the street. It was the best night you two had spent together in a very long time, no thanks to his ever-changing, bustling hero schedule. 

Your eyes widen as the page finally loads and you zoom in on the little detail everyone seemed to be talking about. 

It was blurry to say the least and you had to really be looking for it to make it out, but it definitely difficult to ignore now with the bright red circle photoshopped over your hand. 

Fans had noticed the little silver band conveniently placed on the ring finger of your left hand and seem to have been going insane about its implications since the last time you and Katsuki had been out in public. Which you were sure had to be about... three days ago. 

A groan leaves your lips as you scroll through the comments of fans and haters alike wondering if you and Katsuki were finally planning on tying the knot or if it was all just a coincidence. Either way, many of the comments further down the line seemed to speculate more, pointing out that your boyfriend hadn’t been seen wearing anything on his hand, and while many pointed out that he probably wouldn’t be so careless with an engagement ring while on the job, various pictures of him in casual dress since then proved that he still wasn’t wearing a ring.

Too bad they didn’t spark conversation about the new black chain he frequently sported around his neck. Katsuki was rather proud of it, seeing as it was the newest addition to his daily wardrobe. 

“What’s wrong?” Katsuki calls from the foot of your bed, and you’re blessed with the sight of him fresh from the shower, a fresh towel hanging low on his hips as he drys his hair with a smaller towel that drapes across his broad shoulders. 

How was this man, your man, so breathtakingly beautiful. 

“Nothing, just... the media,” you huff, opting to let your screen grow dark before placing it on the nightstand to your left. 

Bakugo only raises an eyebrow as his eyes trail along your exposed legs, a common indicator you’ve learned to mean he wants you to continue.

“They saw,” you sigh, crossing your arms across your chest as you gauge his reaction. But, instead of him rolling his eyes in annoyance or grumbling about ‘never getting any goddamn privacy these days’, he simply runs the towel over his damp hair one last time before hanging it back onto its rack. As if he’d ever leave even a towel out of place. 

“They were gonna find out anyway, not let’s just make sure we don’t give ‘em any more than they need, yeah?” 

The bed shifts as he crawls onto the sheets next to you, his large hands finding the soft plush of your thighs as he pulls you against him. You’ll never get over just how perfectly you fit against him. The way his arms could so easily wrap you in his embrace, keeping you safe and warm each and every time. 

“Well, at least we don’t have to hide the fact that we’re engaged,” you smile, making a quite note about how all of your fans will probably want to know the details of just how you got engaged.

“That’s why it’s our little secret,” he muses, a smirk morphing onto his soft, pink lips before they meld against your own. 

You hum against him as his hands move to rest on your hips, the rough pads of your thumbs sliding along your sides as he effortlessly clears your mind of everything and everyone else in existence. Just as he always does. 

“Let ‘em wonder, those nosy ass extras,” he breaths once you pull away, and you hum again in agreement, watching as Bakugo finally slips off his black chain over his head- he only ever took it off while sleeping -and you smile giddily as you spot the wedding ring it sports. 

It’s a simple thing, a black band without a lot of shine or sparkle, but it fit him perfectly in your eyes. If there was one thing your fans got right, it's that his ring was a little harder to spot since it usually hid underneath the neck of his t-shirt and hero costume. Bakugo would be damned if he entered the field without your ring somewhere on his body, and with his quirk being so dependent on his hands, it only seemed logical to keep it on a chain around his neck. 

“Sweet dreams, Mr. Bakugo,” you smile as he places a kiss to your temple before pressing his body against yours under the sheets.

“G’night, Mrs. Bakugo.”

If only your fans knew...

[not-your-fucking-kacchan]

♡︎𝐂𝐮𝐦𝐟𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧/𝐩𝐮𝐛𝐥𝐢𝐜 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐊𝐚𝐭𝐬𝐮𝐤𝐢 𝐁𝐚𝐤𝐮𝐠𝐨𝐮♡︎

Day 21 of Kinktober 2022

Summary: Katsuki likes to keep you full up.

Props to my beta reader for today @sasualblxd - thank you for your amazing help bae ur literally my crutch 😭

688 words.

Your face is the very picture of a nervous wreck as you sit at the restaurant table with your lover and public hero figure, Katsuki Bakugou. The two of you are currently on a double date with Kaminari Denki and Mina Ashido, and they stare at you like beady, bug eyed creatures, studying you with buzzing excitement at the fact that their best friend has finally, finally got a girlfriend.

Meanwhile, you shift awkwardly in your seat and hope to God that none of your boyfriend's cum has leaked from your stretched, aching, needy cunt.

He had just enough time to tease you before you left to meet up with his friends. He wanted you filled to leaking with his cum to show him how devoted you are as he takes you to meet his friends, meanwhile, you weren't allowed even a single orgasm.

Your belly bulges with just how many times he got to fill you up, and your legs rub together in an attempt to give your throbbing pussy some friction and relief.

"uhm... Excuse me- I- I'm gonna go to the bathroom-..."

Your hands shake as you get up from the table, noticing Katsuki's warning gaze as he watches you quickly scramble for the gender neutral bathrooms.

His eyes stay mostly fixed on your ass, but he's still suspicious of you. After all, he doesn't want all of that cum to go to waste after all he went through to gift it to you.

After about five minutes, he starts to get even more suspicious, and he excuses himself to come and check on you. Part of him is a little worried- you were looking a little queasy, but he just figured he'd make sure you were alright.

"Babe?..."

"In here-"

You were desperate for his touch and to finally have your orgasm that you just couldn't take his teasing anymore. So here you are, cramped up in the bathroom as Katsuki walks in, struggling to close the door behind him.

He can't resist you, and you know he can't, so your plan is to beg for it. There's no possible way that he could resist you.

His eyes immediately darken as he takes in your out of breath, blushing form, the top buttons of your blouse undone to reveal the freckle on your bust that he loves to pay special attention to.

It's like he's an animal in heat, suddenly invading your personal space in all the right ways and nuzzling the crook of your breasts. Wordlessly, he hikes up your thigh, squeezing the plush, squishy flesh and biting your tits like a man having his last meal.

The one free hand hikes up your shirt to press at the bulge of your bloated belly, pushing down. You squirm in response, whining and closing your legs as some of his cum leaks into your underwear, lubing you up easily along with your own arousal.

"Fuck- do you even know what you do to me?"

His words are lost on you as you focus only on the gravelly sound of his voice, grounding you like the gravel on the floor itself. You focus so hard on his voice, that the sound of his zipper being undone goes straight to the back of your mind.

Hopefully the two of you are alone in here, because your hushed whispers aren't nearly as discreet as you think them to be, and any sounds echo off tile walls in the bathroom. You pay no mind to it, though, distracted by the cool air hitting your most intimate areas before he's buried deep inside of you like you were meant to warm him, and keep him there.

The two of you aren't exactly quick about it, as Katsuki has his second orgasm in the deepest parts of you, his spend now leaking down your thighs in several messy rivulets, mixing with your sweat as you can no longer hold any more of him.

Mina and Denki may be idiots sometimes, but they're not stupid. They know exactly what you're doing, and the whisper and giggle among themselves as the thought.

© 2022 not-your-fucking-kacchan

◃ 𝐏𝐫𝐞𝐯𝐢𝐨𝐮𝐬 | 𝐍𝐚𝐯𝐢𝐠𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 | 𝐊𝐢𝐧𝐤𝐭𝐨𝐛𝐞𝐫 𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 | 𝐍𝐞𝐱𝐭 ▹

[ghxst-kun]

"Aww, man!"You hear bakugo hiss from the floor. "This always happens!" he cursed, standing up.

You try to breathe as quietly as possible but you knew it was useless.

Katsuki had great hearing.

He turned around at lightning speed looking right in front of your face.

"Y/n?" He asked.

"Shhh! Keep it down! I don't want the others to know I'm in here!" You whispered, putting your hands over his mouth.

When he nods, as u finally remove ur hands from his mouth and let them drop to ur sides

You did your best not to look down and admire his half naked body.

"Why are you in here?" he whispered. "Were you spying on us?" he asked, raising an eyebrow.

"NO! The girls wanted to pull a prank on you guys but I ended up getting stuck in here!" You explained desperately.

"Oh!" he sighed, smiling a little. His face soon dropped. "So...did you hear everything then?" he asked, looking down a little and blushing.

You were way too aware of the lack of room in the closet. You was an inch away from being pressed up against bakugo body and it was driving your mind a little wild. Your imagination was going crazy with the possibilities. You were finding it hard to concentrate.

"Not everything…" you said, wanting to tell the truth but not wanting to sound like you listened in on purpose. Even if you did.

"Fuck. I'm sorry, Y/n" he said, a little desperately.

You watch him, confused. What was he apologising for? He still looked down, away from you and he suddenly punched the wall beside him.

You flinched as a bunch of equipment fell off the shelf and landed behind u guys. He jumped forward to avoid u getting hit and ended up flush against You

"You're really close" You whispered, feeling his hot breath against the exposed skin on the top of your chest.

His head was still facing down and his lips were millimetres away from your cleavage. Your closed eyes, trying not to think bad thoughts. He was your best friend. You are not supposed to be in love with your best friend. He was probably in love with another girl.

Your heart was pounding and you could feel your skin getting slick with sweat.

"Y/n" he said, barely more than a whisper. You could feel his lips brush ur skin.

You couldn't help feeling like the room got hotter. You felt a fire spread through your body, rushing through your veins until it pooled at your lower belly.

His head rose until you were face to face. His eyes were hooded and his lips were close enough to kiss.

"Katsuki?" You asked, feeling the whisper of his lips against your own.

"What did you hear?" he asked, his voice deeper and raspier

"I heard you talking to Kirishima about a girl and then you guys all arguing...and the other stuff" you blushed, thinking about katsuki saying he was bigger than Kirishima . You swallowed, trying to dispel your bad thoughts.

“So you don’t know who I like?”he asked, squinting his eyes to assess you.

"No" you sighed, and paused before adding "I'm sure they’re wonderful though…"

You looked down, unable to meet his piercing gaze.

"Why d'ya say that?" he asked.

"Because any girl that you like has to be wonderful. Just like you" you said, sadness seeping through your voice.

"Yeah.. They’re pretty wonderful"

"Well I'm sure they feel the same way and you can get married and have kids. Have the perfect life. You wouldn't need me anymore..."

"Man, I think about havin' kids with them all the time" he said, moving his head so he whispered it in ur ear. You shivered. "But you're wrong. I'd still need you"

"W-Why?" You spluttered, feeling urself go red.

"'Cause they'd need their mum and I'd need my wife." he said cockily, drawing his face away from your ear so he could watch your reaction.

You immediately blushed more than before and spluttered.Your heart was running a mile a minute and you felt the familiar heat settle between your legs.

Before u could think about it any further, he kisses you.

It was a little hesitant at first, like he was worried you was going to push him away, but as soon as you responded, he pushed back with a renewed passion, as if his whole body was overwhelmed with the need to kiss you.

It was like he had caught on fire, he moved his lips against yours in a frenzied passion, not wasting any time as he pushed you against the wall behind you and let his hands wander, not caring about the equipment he knocked to the floor.

Katsuki was actually kissing you. Did that mean you was his crush? It must be, right? He practically told you they were going to get married and have kids. You was pretty sure if he asked then you would say 'yes' immediately to either suggestion.

U moaned, unable to keep it in when realised that having kids with katsuki would mean having katsuki.. seemed to take it as a good sign because he pushed further into you, pressing his body flush against urs so that u could feel his thick erection pressing into u.

U gasped as bakugo took the chance to push his tongue into you mouth, tasting and pressing his tongue against your own. He tasted like gunpowder. That was the best way you could describe it; warm and smokey just like his smell. It turned ur legs to jelly and, if katsuki had not grabbed roughly onto ur hips, u would have collapsed in a puddle in the ground.

The shuffling of feet outside only made katsuki pause for a minute, stilling his lips against urs, before he continued again. Obviously deciding that kissing her was more important than being found out. U couldn't disagree, and u found it flattering that he felt the same.

Luckily, no-one entered as Katsuki’s hands wandered from ur hips, pushing under ur shirt until they rested on the bare skin of ur side, his thumbs skimming the undersides of ur breasts.

Your heart was pounding against ur chest, your breath hitched when He pulled away to look at u with hooded eyes.

"Y/n," he moaned, before he ducked his head to kiss ur neck. U raise ur head to give him better access, shivering as u felt all of his burning kisses.

You weren’t exactly sure how they had gotten to that point but you was just about ready to rip ur shirt off when Katsuki started tugging at it. He only paused his hot kisses for a moment to throw the material away, taking a minute to groan at the sight of ur breasts only clad in a lacy bra, before he pressed his lips against u again, taking advantage of the newly revealed skin by kissing his way over the top of ur chest.

You grab tightly onto his back, so tight u swore u must have dug ur nails in, but neither of u noticed as Katsuki’s hands slowly made their way to the back of your bra.

"Shit wait Katsuki~!" You cooed, forgetting that they should probably be quiet considering their surroundings.

He deftly unhooked ur bra.

"Shit, y/n. You're even hotter than I imagined." He groans, watching ur chest intensely, as if he was trying to memorise it for a later date.

Before u could even reply - or question the fact that he had imagined u naked - he had dipped his head down to take one of ur nipples in his mouth, rolling his tongue around it experimentally until u gasped. He used a spare hand to play with ur free breast, pinching and moulding it until u were finding it hard to contain ur moans.

He pressed u further against the wall and grinded against u, swearing at the sweet friction it created. Just as he was about to buck against u again, u wrap ur legs around his waist to get closer together. It was so worth it when u felt his hard length rub u again.

"Ah! Katsu! So good!" You cried, hardly able to make fully formed sentences.

Head clouded with lust, you pulled one hand from his back and snaked it around his front, slipping it into his boxers to explore the one part of him u had never been able to touch before. He hissed as u wrap ur hand around him, moving his head away from ur breast to press ur foreheads together. His eyes were scrunched shut and he let a gasp out as u gently rubbed up and down his shaft.

Before u knew it, bakugo was pulling off ur shorts and diving a hand inside of ur panties. You gasped - unsure whether it was because of the shock or the pleasure - as his hot fingers found ur clit and started gently massaging it.

"So warm," he moaned, moving his face so he could give u a lingering kiss. "Fucking Wet," he said, as he slid his fingers along ur slit, trying to find ur opening.

You was desperately clutching onto both his back and his erection, moving ur hand faster so he could feel just as good as he was making you feel right now.

You bit back a cry as his finger finally slipped into ur entrance. It was new and strange but it felt so good and when he starting moving it in and out u had a hard time remembering what u were supposed to be doing.

"So good," you gasped as he let another finger slip inside you. "So, so good!"

He started moving his fingers fast, teasing ur clit with his thumb.

"Come on y/n." He demanding, curling his fingers until u let out a quiet scream, "Fuck. You need to come."

You weren’t sure if it was his demand or the way he kissed u - hard - after, but it u shattered instantly, Katsuki swallowing your whimpers as u came on his fingers.

U could still feel his hard, throbbing erection in ur hands and u knew u were far from done. You needed him. So bad

[sasa-slayer]

Bakugo Headcannon:

Ok, so in fanfiction everyone tends to project what they want/need onto the character (me included, that’s why I’m making this headcannon- ), and bakugo is widely viewed as a horndog. Like it’s always “bakugo is an ass man” or “bakugo would love your titties!”

which is totally fine, but I have a new personal headcannon:

Bakugo is Demisexual

Here me out-

Katsuki has always been extremely focused on becoming a pro hero. He has devoted year's of time and energy to making his dream come true. So, I don't think he ever got distracted by things like crushes and relationships. Or ever noticed the way someone’s ass jiggled.

Instead he was probably mentally evaluating their strength, not attractiveness.

But, then he matured and learned to let people in. And in doing so, he befriended you.

After years of getting to know each other, and being best friends, his love for you becomes more diverse. He starts to see you in a romantic light. And once you start dating, he learn to see the beauty in a human body.

He falls in love with your thighs and chest, and can’t help but want to place his hands on you. He grabs your waist, and relishes in the feeling of contact. Katsuki may be a horndog, but it's only for you, and only after forming an emotional connection with you.

[squishytenya]

semblance of touch - part two

prologue - part one

pairing - bakugou x gn!reader

warnings - press, harassment, negative comments, food descriptions, swearing (title from sedated by hozier)

Sleeping in Bakugou’s room was not the ideal way for you to spend your night. His bed was on the opposite side of the room to the ensuite so you couldn’t even piss in peace without that annoying tingly burn returning to your wrist and chest. Not to mention, for all his explosions and yelling, Bakugou was a surprisingly light sleeper. Whenever you would shift on the rickety camp bed, it would creak and wake him up. This was how you learnt that Bakugou needs a full 9 hours of sleep every night, or he’s a grouchy shit come morning. 

As made evident by… 

“Are you just having fucking toast for breakfast?”

Your shoulders fell as you sighed. There was no reason for you to turn around and look at him, he had looked the same since you got up: arms crossed over his chest and practically smoking at the ears. Not that this was anything out of the ordinary. You clenched your jaw. There had been non-stop criticism since you woke up. Whether it was about you not making the bed, or taking too long to shower or even the way you brushed your teeth. An issue had been found with every action you made. 

“Unlike some people, i’m not Gordon fucking Ramsay” you began, “and I am more than okay with my toast thank you”

You punctuated the last two words by slamming your butter knife on the counter, making the other occupants of the kitchen grimace. The other members of your class had been witness to you two going at it all morning and had been appropriately walking on eggshells around you both. 

“Move the fuck over” Bakugou grumbled, pushing you out of the way with his hip. 

You harrumphed around your bite of toast, but slid to the side nonetheless.  You watched curiously as he pulled out ingredients from all over the kitchen, clearly he does this often. You couldn’t help the way your eyes travelled across him as he cooked. The blonde had left the room in some sweats and a black vest that showed off his lean torso and upper arms. His muscles flexed gently when he pulled the bag of rice out of the cupboard and you had to bite your lip to keep yourself from saying something stupid. Your jaw dropped when he had the nerve to run one of those scarred hands through his spikey locks, the other thumbing at the waistband of his sweats. The glint of tan skin that peaked through the gap in the fabric made your mouth water and you couldn’t help but wonder what it would feel like gripped between your teeth. 

“You gonna eat or stand there like a moron”

Snapping out of your stupor, you peered towards the table. Maybe you were staring for longer than you thought. He had managed to make a decent sized breakfast for the both of you in the time you had been staring at his aggravatingly enticing figure. A fillet of perfectly grilled mackerel lay on a small porcelain dish, accompanied by a small, squarish bowl full of rice. The rice was paired with a dusting of toasted sesame seeds and a flawlessly fried egg on top - the round yolk glistening in the light of the kitchen. There was even a portion of seaweed sheets on a dish between the two meals. His mum must have raised him well. An embarrassingly loud grumble emitted from your stomach. 

“Tch, I told you toast wasn’t enough”

You scrunched your nose up but sat down in silence anyway. You would keep your mouth shut forever if it meant he wouldn’t take this breakfast away from you. Staring at the food, you creased your brows. Why would he go through all the effort of making a full breakfast for you if he supposedly hated you as much as you hated him?

“I’m not having you follow me around all day complaining you’re hungry,” he explained, “now fucking eat”

“Calm down, blondie, I was just checking if you poisoned the fish” came your retort. 

Still, you leant forward and took a bite of rice, adding some mackerel and egg before bringing it to your mouth. You let out a moan at the explosion of flavours. For all the shitty things about him, Bakugou could cook. The fish was perfectly tender, with a slight smokey flavour from the grill and the seaweed added an adequate crunch to the mix. It was probably one of the best meals you had eaten in your life thus far. You steeled yourself and decided not to inflate his ego any more than you already had. Still, you couldn’t stop little satisfied noises escaping your lips with every bite of the meal you took. 

A grunt in front of you made you look up. Bakugou had a look on his face that was indecipherable to you. His eyebrows were furrowed and his jaw was clenched in what looked like pain. The soft skin of his cheeks were stained a deep red and he was pointedly avoiding eye contact with you. 

“Uh dude are you okay?”

He nodded and pushed his now empty plate to the centre of the table roughly. The clash of his plate on the wood caused you to flinch but you were more focused on his figure as he retreated into the common area and planted himself on the sofa. His shoulder still seemed tense, you had no idea what you did to make him angry at you now. Continuing to stare, you watched as Denki perched on the sofa arm and opened his mouth to make a comment - for which he was promptly shoved back off the sofa arm and fell to the floor. 

“What the fuck” you whispered under your breath. 

 Jirou snorted from behind you where she was leant against the kitchen counter with Momo and Mina. The tallest of the three was making intense eye contact with her cup of tea and Mina was almost fuschia trying to hold in her laughter. You pursed your lips. Personally, you being stuck with a man that hates you was not something that you found overly funny. It already felt like you were being a burden to him, other people’s humour was not helping. 

“Don’t laugh at me,” you whined, “I’m stuck with him and all I’m doing is making him hate me more”

That appeared to be the final straw for the small, pink girl who let out a terrible guffaw at your comment. You stood, confused, and watching as Jirou shoved an elbow into her ribs. 

Momo met your gaze and her eyes softened.

“Oh honey, he doesn’t hate you” comforted Momo, “he’s just like that”

“that doesn’t fill me with confidence Momo”

She smiled warmly and patted your shoulder. You heard the grumbling from the living room get progressively louder and turned to see Bakugou with Denki’s collar in his grip - arm raised as if to strike him. Sero and Kirishima were behind him, trying their best to hold Bakugou’s arms back and get him to release his grip on their smaller friend. Denki was simply hanging lax, arms up in a surrender. The electric boy had a smug smirk on his face, which was apparently the cause of his attacker’s ire. 

It was kind of sweet to see his friendship with his little squad. As much as he won’t admit it, he was impressed with Kirishima’s abilities and they became fast friends in your first year. And with Kirishima came the rest of them, like baby ducks. A smile broke across your face at this. It was undeniable, you were rather fond of them all. 

“Oi shithead, we’ve got stuff to do” you yelled across the room, “let him go we don’t have time for this”

Katsuki scoffed, but dropped the grip on Kaminari anyway. He had no choice but to follow you to the lift but he kept as much distance as he could from your retreating figure. You noticed his apprehension but chose to keep your mouth shut. There was no need to rile him up more than he already was. Besides, you needed to get ready for whatever meeting Aizawa had set up for you two to attend. 

—

You fiddled with the fabric of your hero suit, rubbing the soft fabric between your fingers. Because of how close you were to graduation, you and your fellow students were being pretty much treated as pros already. This was fine, some of the more popular students were already receiving merch deals or agency offers. But it also meant the more annoying side of hero work, like paperwork and the dreaded press conferences. Luckily, you hadn’t been in enough high level accidents to warrant needing to do many conferences. Besides, Aizawa usually handled them for your class as most of the incidents you got up to involved the whole class somehow. Really, UA needed to give that man a raise. 

Unfortunately for you, the girl’s quirk had affected so many people that a press conference was needed. Maybe, in any other situation, this wouldn’t be a terrible thing. However, Bakugou was sort of renowned for not being a people person. This also meant that the main bulk of the press conference would fall onto your shoulders, just to ensure your lovely little patrol partner didn’t make this whole thing a bigger mess. For someone so insistent on being the top hero, he really needed to work on his social skills. 

As the crowd of reporters and civilians flooded into the small room, you felt your breathing pick up. Fighting villains? Small fish compared to this hoard of vultures. At least villains made it clear they wanted to harm you. Reporters hid their true intentions behind sugary-sweet words and blinding smiles, only to tear every word apart in their columns. You gnawed on your lip. 

“Hey, will you calm down,” Bakugou urged from his seat next to you on the stage. 

You hummed in response, not finding it in you to be able to meet his gaze. You had never experienced something like this going wrong, but you had certainly seen it. It took you back to the USJ incident. Seeing the way the reporters had grilled your teachers scared you, especially how they nitpicked and raged at their answers in writing after. How ungrateful they were astounded you, truly, they had no care that these people had just saved all their asses. Not that they would show it even if they were, nice words didn’t get readers. 

“I don’t know if I can do this,” you faltered. 

“Look” Bakugou stated, pulling your chair round to face him, “if I promise not to start an argument, will you calm down?”

You couldn’t stop the small laugh bubbling out of your mouth at that. At least he was self aware, you supposed. 

Turning to look at katsuki, you drank in his figure. He was wearing his hero suit, sans his heavy gauntlets. The mask hid most of his expressions from the camera but you could still see that piercing red gaze trained on your face. He was somewhat sunk down in his chair and he had both of his hands tucked in his pockets, looking like he would rather be anywhere in the world but here. For once you agreed with his sentiment.

“Yeah” you breathed, “yeah, okay, i’ll try”

And with that, the questions began. 

“Is there any new information about the effects of the quirk?” one reporter inquired. 

“We have our best experts on it now, but it doesn’t seem to be life threatening, only slightly painful” you explained, “but we’re hoping it may ware off on it’s own”

That seemed to satisfy her question and she perched back on her seat, noting down your comment on her notepad. You let out a relieved breath. The next few questions you answered professionally, just as you had been trained, and didn’t let your performance falter once. 

“What’s being done about the offender?” one reporter quipped.

You stared at her, this was the woman who grilled your professors after the incident all those years ago. Her shiny brown hair was pulled back into that same ponytail and the ever-present sneer on her face hadn’t changed. Both you and Bakugou had hoped she wouldn’t show her face around you again - she was rather known for being difficult to deal with. 

“I’m sorry, I'm not sure who you’re referring to?” you question. 

“The offender, the one who did this to all these people?”

You tilted your head at her. Surely she couldn’t mean Ayami, not that sweet little girl. You had talked to her since, she was shy but boisterous and you could tell she had a future as a pro - if she so wished. Her sweet little face appeared in your head. 

“She’s a five year old,” you stated with finality, “her quirk had just manifested, she was scared - nothing will be done about her”

A few murmurs echoed in the room. The general consensus seemed to agree with you, it had been reported the cause of the incident was simply a particularly scared child. 

“But she's dangerous, is she not?” the woman continued to prompt, “if this was an adult they would have been imprisoned - she could’ve killed you”

You bit your tongue. 

“Are you saying you’re simply going to let this danger out onto the street, into a kindergarten like every other child, I fail to see how that is adequate hero work from you-”

“She’s not dangerous, it was an accident” you began, but you were cut off.

“Are you suggesting we put a five year old in prison?” Katsuki asked from next to you. 

His body was lax in his seat but you could see his fists clenching on his thigh under the table. Regardless, he kept his face schooled and his voice tone neutral. 

The woman floundered, trying to make an excuse for her comments. 

“She’s a child. She was scared. So what, are you saying we just stick everyone in jail when this stuff happens? That you’ve never had an issue with your quirk?”

The woman had gone pale by this point, wavering where she stood. 

“And I don’t think I appreciate the implication that my partner is inadequate because they refuse to punish a child” he rounded off his statement. 

Aizawa leaned forward in his chair from his space in the centre of the table. He seemed aggravated at the woman's comments, and yet you saw that same amused face from earlier under his veneer of his teacher persona. Bakugou had been oddly eloquent in his critiques. If that had happened three years ago he would’ve bit her head clean off. 

“I think that’s enough for today” he mused into the mic, “the doctors on the case will be taking any further questions” 

You cast a mean look to the reporter. Pushing your chair out, you smiled at the screech it produced and stomped out of the conference room. From the sounds of the footsteps behind you, you could tell the angry blonde was following close behind. Trying desperately not to let your anger show until you were safely away from the venue. The heavy doors of the building smashed against your shoulders while you hurried out of the building. You didn’t bother to check if anyone heard you. The anger simmered in your stomach. It had been pretty obvious that the conference was not a good idea, neither you or Katsuki had the appropriate experience and those hyenas would stop at nothing to get a good scoop. But to go so far as to insult a little girl? That was a moral low, even for them. 

You didn’t even notice the rain pattering against your suit until you were shocked out of your rage by the grip of someone's hand on your shoulder. You span in surprise, gripping the offending hand in yours. It turned out to only be Bakugou. In your anger you hadn’t realised he was following you. Not that he had much of a choice you thought to yourself. In your anger, you had forgotten the quirk rule and your flustered state had allowed you to ignore the slight burn building up in your chest. 

“And you told me I should walk slower”

It felt somewhat inappropriate to laugh at his comment, considering what had just happened. But you couldn’t stop a smile from breaking across your face. The rain was a small drizzle, not enough to annoy you, but enough for the gel in your partner's hair to start drooping. Taking note of his pinched eyebrows, you nodded towards him. After all, it wasn’t just you that had been affected by the comments made. Gently, you took a step towards him. 

“You okay?”

He snorted.

“You’re asking if I’m okay?” he mused, “you were gonna strangle that woman”

You twisted the role of your boot on the ground, moving your gaze to your shoes. Embarrassment flushed your cheeks. Not that you thought you lost your cool, but it was still embarrassing that he had noticed your temper flair in the way it did. If you were going to be a pro hero, you had to gain more of a handle on your emotions. A tsk sounded from in front of you. 

“You handled it fine, she was being a bitch” he growled

You let a breathy laugh escape you at his language. Regardless, you nodded at his sentiment. 

“C’mon, I need to get out of this stupid costume,” he said bluntly. 

He punctuated his statement by walking past you, dragging his fingertips along your arm delicately. The pads of his fingers just skimmed your damp arm but it felt like the impact of a car on your body. You shivered at the feeling. The tingly-burning sensation erupted where his skin had brushed yours. You smiled at his withdrawing figure and followed along behind him. 

taglist - @bby-chloe

thank you guys for reading! sooo Katuski's getting defensive hmmm (¬‿¬) I'm hoping to bring more of the quirk side of things in next chapter so if u wanna be tagged let me know <3

[theglitterypages]

BNHA Headcanons: What kind of person they would fall in to and how they'd fall in love.

Bakugo Katsuki

• We all know how aggressive this boy is. But Bakugo's aggressiveness is only because he wants everyone around him to give the same efforts he gives toward everything.

• IMO, Katsuki would fall in love to someone as passionate as him. You don't have to be in a hero course, once this man meets a girl who's as passionate as him, he'll be interested.

• He'll be interested to someone passionate in everything she does but this man will fall so deeply when a girl shuts him down and calls him out for his jerky behavior.

• In conclusion, this guy would fall in love to someone who can call him out the way his Mom does. You could be as aggressive as him when you call him out or you could be so gentle that he'll find himself zip his own mouth once you scold him.

• It's something not everyone has the guts to do. Some just knew him for too long that they don't make any efforts to call him out because that's just Bakugo Katsuki to them.

• He will be annoyed at you at first, thinking that you don't have the rights to call out his behavior but as time passes by, you calling him out will be the part he always look forward to everyday.

• He will be in denial. He'll think it's just a phase, that it'll pass, that he's just amused of you and your antics but once he saw somebody else tried to make a move on you? Boy he'll risk everything.

• He won't drop the rough persona even when he acknowledges his feelings. Instead, he'll win you with his sincerity: when you're obviously having a bad day, he'll silently hand you a chocolate that you love. When he noticed you haven't eaten lunch, he'll have some delivered, and sometimes he packs up a lunch for you, would give it to you with a post it note pasted onto it with a note "Eat it."

• Of course, you'll confront him about the little things that he does once it starts making your heart flutter, you're scared to get used to it, scared that you'll fall for him and he won't be there to catch you.

• Once you confront him about it, he'll have troubles whether he'll kiss you or knock you lightly in the head. He's doing it because he likes you! Why can't you take the hint?

• He was preparing a confession for you but he'll just end up blurting out that he likes you coz you'll keep on saying that you don't know his agenda why he keeps on doing the things that he does.

—•—•—•—•—•—•—•—•—•—•—•—•—•—•—•—•

"Look, Katsuki. I'm thankful for everything that you do. But I don't understand whatever it is. So maybe you should just stop—"

"I like you, dumbass why can't you understand that?"

You'll freeze right then and there. Girl, you'll be staring at those ruby eyes with your knees shaking because of the sudden confession. "What?" It was all you could say. You couldn't believe what you just heard. Like you think that there's no way that this man just confessed his feelings for you.

Katsuki will be so frustrated. Sure, people will think he's unlikely to fall in love but he did fall in love and he didn't like that you're not acknowledging it.

"Look, I'm new to this as well. But I'm serious, I like you and if we're on the same boat. We could just try and see where this will lead us."

You like him as well. You hated him at first but you get to know the man underneath his rough and explosive persona. You've seen him risk his own life for others, the way a pained look will paint all over his face when he overhears people not liking him much.

There's a heart hidden underneath those layers of tough guy act and you fell in love with him because of that.

"What now? I said I like you. If you don't like me I won't bother you aga—"

"No! I like you too..." Your voice slowly quiet down, being a little shy to confess your own feelings and a smile made its way across Katsuki's lips.

Even though he was hesistant he slowly reached out to you and pull you gently against his chest. "I won't mind if you'll want to take it slow..." He whispered and you wrapped your arms around him with a smile as you bury your face in his chest to hide your red cheeks.

—•—•—•—•—•—•—•—•—•—•—•—•—•—•—•—•

[chargeeboltz]

thinning smokes - bakugo x reader

cw: 18+ nsfw, do not read if under 18 !! bakugo makes u cum on his fingers, gendered terms used (atta girl), mild praise kink if you absolutely squint

it doesn’t take long for you to realise your unforgiving crush on your classmate, given how his proximity makes your breathing stutter and your chest do somersaults. the day you come to the unfortunate conclusion that you’re very much into him, it’s possibly the worst conclusion you’ve come to in the entire time you’ve been in UA.

your eyes find him no matter the crowd, and honestly it’s not like you’re looking for him. he’s just hard to miss, with his abrasive personality and his loud voice. he’s with kirishima, the redhead shouting almost as loud as his blonde counterpart as they attempt to solve a dispute. the argument in question? kirishima bets bakugo can’t speak to anyone politely for more than one interaction.

“I absolutely could, shitface.” he scoffs, fixing kirishima with an unhappy look. it’s not quite angry, but god it’s enough to make you shiver from a distance. “for a day, even.”

kirishimas laugh reaches your ears, he’s grinning. “a week.” he challenges, and bakugo scoffs.

“easy.” he retorts, crossing his arms across his chest, and you feel your cheeks heat up as you watch the muscle ripple beneath his compression shirt. “it can be different people.”

“nope!” kirishima says, popping the p. he knows that he’s gotten under bakugo’s skin and he’s going to exploit this. “pick someone and stick to it.”

bakugo scoffs as he turns away, and your breath catches in your throat as he makes eye contact with you. you look away, your lunch suddenly the most interesting thing in the room despite the crimson eyes burning a hole in your head. you won’t look up, heart fluttering against your chest. the days of being able to hold a conversation with him were over, they ended the day he propped himself up against the doorframe in front of you and questioned you on your training regime with an expression so cocky you were half tempted to drop to your knees there and then.

denki grins, looking up at you. “oh you are so done, so fucking done for,” he taunts, fully aware of your little conundrum. “if he’s nice to anyone around you, you’re gonna be on your knees within-“ you cut him off with a cry, turning to glare at him.

“denki!” you snap, elbowing him with a little more force than may be necessary, but you figure he deserves at least that one. it’s lucky you did, because bakugo slams his tray down on the table, gritting his teeth as he does so.

“hello.” he mutters, casting his gaze down to the table as he sits down, looking around at his classmates. you respond after denki does, not wanting to be the first person to greet him. conversation flows easily between the group, casual insults thrown back and forth regarding recent test scores. you had done exceptionally, but you weren't going to bring it up for fear of 'bragging'. that plan, however, went out of the window when bakugo fixes you with a stare.

"what'd ya get?" he asks, tilting his head slightly. unbeknownst to you, he's actually nervous about your response. he's been determined to score higher than you, and he studied harder than previous for this test in particular, even abandoning his strict bedtime in favour of studying harder.

"92," you mumble, catching his eyes and fighting the urge to shy away. his face twists, and he slumps slightly.

"how'd ya do it?" he starts, forcing himself to be nice. "let me study with ya, ya always get too good results." he mutters, shoving a forkful of food into his mouth at the end.

your cheeks burn, a burn so intense you can feel it in your ears. with a nod, you go back to your food, taking a thoughtful bite and chewing it before opening your mouth. "when do you wanna study?"

bakugo looks down at his plate, then yours, then you. "now." he mutters, finishing his last mouthful and standing up. "we can go back to my dorm, yeh?" you nod, finishing your plate and reaching for it. before you can, bakugo has a grip on it and he's walking away.

you pause, looking at your friends for an idea of what to do, but they just shrug - equally clueless. before you get a chance to vocalise your confusion, bakugo is back and hes nodding for you to follow him, so you do. "this is - you don't normally do this," you manage, choosing your words carefully to avoid upsetting the blonde time-bomb of a person. he just chuckles lightly, an exhale of air that could be perceived as annoyance if he wasn't displaying the tiniest of smiles.

"i know. kirishima told me he bets i can't be nice to someone for a week. i figured you'd be the easiest bet. ya don't piss me off like the rest of those fuckin idiots." he scoffs, walking to his dorm with you in tow. "plus, yer smart as shit and i wanna learn from ya," he admits, pushing his door open with his shoulder and letting you in first, his eyes burning into the back of your head.

you smile lightly, looking up at him to thank him, before studying his room. it's typical of bakugo - black sheets and pillows, clothes hung neatly and desk perfectly empty other than the tiniest little cactus, and a photo of him with kirishima framed. you let out a chuckle, walking over to look at the photo, when bakugo gently pushes you.

"oi, come on. i wanna study," he grunts, pushing you to the bed where you sit with a little laugh, looking up at the blonde just in time to catch sight of him as he reaches over to tug a hoodie on. you inhale sharply, the thin sliver of skin showing as he reaches up, and your mouth goes dry. being in this close proximity to a bakugo who is this comfortable with you is going to ruin you, you're sure of it. before you can do or say anything, his eyes are back on you, and they're amused. "stop ogling me, ya ain't subtle,"

you just tut, rolling your eyes and looking away. "wasn't even looking at you, what is it you want to study?" you ask, reaching for your bag to pull out your books. your mind is preoccupied on both bakugo himself, and the idea of having to tutor him, so you don't realise when bakugo shifts himself closer to you and gently pushes his knee against your thigh.

"wanna see what i did wrong compared to yours," he mumbles, holding out a hand for your paper. his cologne tickles your nose, and you go lightheaded for a moment, passing him the paper wordlessly and looking back up at him. he takes it, his hand brushing yours and sending shivers down your spine, before he just chuckles. "you're real good at those 'fuck me' eyes," he teases, watching you closely.

your cheeks heat, yet again, he’s very good at doing that to you, you think. “fuck me eyes?” you counter, taking a step that’s a little more bold than you’re used to and leaning closer to him.

“are you projecting, bakugo?”

he laughs, eyes flitting down to your lips for a split second, a gesture you can't possibly miss when he's looking at you like that.

“maybe I am,” he hums, placing your paper down beside your thigh and resting his hand there instead, calloused fingers heavy through your pants. his eyes pierce, eye contact so intense that your breath runs lighter for a second.

"wanna fuck ya stupid, pretty," he murmurs, gently ghosting his lips across yours. "but i need ya to teach me first, you'd be too fuckin' dumb to teach me once i've had my fill of ya,"

you whine lightly, leaning forward to close the inch of distance between you, kissing him with a little more desperation than you'd like. katsuki bakugo moans against your lips, the noise sending a spike of heat between your legs, as he kisses you with equal desperation.

by the time you both pull away, panting and wide eyed, bakugo has your thigh firmly gripped in his hand, and he's trailing his other hand up your spine to grab the back of your neck.

"yer fuckin' lucky shitty hair told me to be nice," he hisses, tugging you in for another fervor kiss, tasting you with an intensity that has you squeezing your thighs together. your head swims, your hands bunching the fabric of his shirt and tugging him in closer, closer still. bakugo abandons all restraint, the hand on your thigh moving between them and gently running up your clothed core.

"off, now," he demands, voice gravelly, lips still only an inch from yours. "wanna see how wet ya are from me just kissing ya," he smirks, sliding his other hand to gently grip your hair in a ponytail.

you try to nod, whining at the sharp tug of your hair in return, hands fumbling to get your pants off for him. tossing them aside, you gently tug at his shirt, eyes wide and desperate. "please," you whisper, and bakugo just chuckles as he tugs his shirt off for you, lying you back against his pillows, surprisingly soft.

"ya okay?" he asks, looking at you with an expression that suggests nothing other than sincerity. "'m not gonna fuck ya, not yet anyway," he hums, waiting for your consent to move forward. you nod, but clearly it's not enough for him.

"yes, fuck- yes, please," you gasp, and he just chuckles, pushing your underwear aside and rubbing your clit lightly with his thumb. the noise you make goes straight to his dick, and it's all his self-restraint to not flip you over and make you scream his name there and then. his hands are rough, warm, and when he buries his fingers in you, you see stars, arching off the bed and crying out his name.

"mm, this what ya wanted?" he teases, curling his fingers to brush against the spongey spot that draws another moan from you. you nod, eyes squeezed shut as he breaks you with only two fingers. you're begging, breathless and desperate, and he increases the pace to bring you hurtling towards the edge.

"oh-! kats- fuck, i'm gonna-" he cuts you off, leaning down to kiss you with such desperation you're honestly surprised you don't clash teeth. teeth nip at your lip, and fingers brush against your spot, and that's all it takes for you to finish, vision whiting out and legs shaking.

he talks you through it, kissing at your neck and gently rubbing circles into your thigh. "atta girl," he purrs, pulling his fingers out and licking them clean, smirking at the way you squirm in embarrassment. "c'mon, i've got some shorts you can wear," he hums, standing up to grab you them.

"and you have some teaching to do," he teases, but there's nothing but warmth in his voice

(me when this sucks)

[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.

[animeniac-writings]

Food As A Love Language - Bakugo Katsuki

Anime: Boku no Hero Academia

Bakugo who threatens his friends, then tries blackmailing yours, to tell him what your favorite dish is, and your favorite place to get it.

Bakugo who goes to eat there, ordering your favorite dish, all by himself, then cooking it time and time again until that's the lasting smell in his mother's kitchen for days until he gets it Just Right the way you like it.

Bakugo who, despite all his self confidence and being talked up to do so, makes sure he has only the best, fresh ingredients on hand, has practiced so many times that both his parents and friends are honestly getting sick of the meal, chickens out decides to just ask you out to eat at the restaurant instead.

Bakugo who finally, on your anniversary, decides to make your favorite meal for you and you coo that he remembered what you had on your first date.

Bakugo who scoffs when you compliment him with his usual tone of "Well what else would you expect, huh??" but you can see his pink cheeks.

Bakugo who doesn't say anything on your mouth-full comment on how delicious it is 'on his first try' and has gone from blackmail to bribing his friends to never say anything about it.

[vampyrsm]

ꕤ 𝐀𝐥𝐥'𝐬 𝐟𝐚𝐢𝐫 𝐢𝐧 𝐋𝐨𝐯𝐞 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐖𝐚𝐫

ꕤ 𝐏𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: Ares!Bakugou x Aphrodite!Reader

ꕤ 𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐂𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 5.8k

ꕤ 𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: Female Reader, MDNI, 18+ content, reader is married, unprotected sex, no prep, reader is cheating on her husband (with Bakugou), implied soulmates, Bakugou is much bigger than you, pet names used (my love, sweetness, etc.), back-to-back orgasms, squirting, creampie, Bakugou is deeply in love (he's a sap), praise, breeding, talks of having a child.

ꕤ 𝐀𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫'𝐬 𝐍𝐨𝐭𝐞: So I decided to stray slightly away from the Greek Mythology we know, as in I didn't make them all related lol, that's just very complex and something I didn't want to think too much about. I do keep it somewhat 'canon' to what we know of Ares/Aphrodite's love affair and the outcome of the affair. When the reader refers to Enji as father, they are not related in my story - it's just how the other Gods often talked to Zeus as he was the Allfather. A quick rundown of the people involved: Zeus (Enji), Ares (Bakugou), Aphrodite (You), Hephaestus (Touya), and Hermes (Hawks/Keigo). If you're confused as to what Bakugou is wearing, it's this. Anyway, enjoy! Sorry for any mistakes, I tried to proof read but I'm only human.

Golden chalices filled to the brim with the finest of red wines clinked together, sloshing the crimson liquid onto the hand-carved marble table. It was always a grandiose event whenever the Gods were gathered, everyone in Olympus knew when they were in attendance. Mount Olympus was buzzing with anticipation for days and nights leading up to the event when the Gods would arrive to greet their King.

Though with all the theatrics, it was never a pleasant experience for some Gods. 

One of them was Bakugou, the God of War, who remained poised by the marble columns wrapped in ivy. His own wine had been long forgotten the moment it was given to him, he was never one to drink when such an event happened. He couldn’t trust the King as far as he could throw him – and Bakugou had quite the throwing arm. 

He was unusually angry tonight, his arms crossed tightly over his scarcely clad chest and he wore a deep-set frown as he glowered at the table. It was loud, as expected, with laughter and boisterous shouting whenever someone got a little too excited. But it wasn’t just the noise that was driving the God of War to madness, but rather it was you.

You, sitting at the table with your own chalice that was dainty and filled with a finer wine. You had always had a taste for the finer things, and Bakugou was no stranger to such things. You smiled and spoke when you had to, but everyone at the table knew you were amongst the strongest there – no one dared to make a comment on just what you got up to behind closed doors. 

Everyone knew about your lustrous adventures, perhaps it was just a side effect of being the Goddess of Love and Beauty – forever doomed to yearn and want more. You attracted far too much attention to yourself, yet you always revelled in the way people would worship you and beg. 

It drove Bakugou crazy. You had the ability to wrap people around your little finger with a bat of your eyelashes and a coy smile.

And he was tightly coiled around your finger like a snake, refusing to let go. He couldn’t quite remember just when it had happened, but Bakugou knew that he was very much in love with you and he assumed he may always be in love with you until the end of time itself. 

But the world was cruel, even to the Gods. Bakugou may not remember when he had first laid eyes on you but he does remember the day he laid eyes on you when you were forced into a marriage arranged by the King. Enji had forced you into marrying his son, Touya – the God of Fire. Whilst that was surely a powerful title, Touya was neglectful to you and was often rageful when he discovered just what you had been up to. 

Touya was indeed in attendance tonight, and sat directly next to you with a distasteful look on his face as he glared at the other Gods who surrounded the table. His own chalices were empty consistently, and yet the effects of the rich wine hadn’t quite taken a toll on the God.

As soon as Bakugou had entered and seen Touya, he had wanted to turn around and leave immediately. But it was you who called out for him, much to the annoyance of your husband who grunted at you standing up hastily, leaning against the table and calling his name.

He could never resist the way you said his name, nor could he ignore the way you plead for him. 

So that’s how he had ended up brooding on his own, overseeing the event taking place whilst lamenting on how he could be working on war plans.

“And tell me, are you still meddling with the mortals?” Enji’s voice was naturally louder than the rest, demanding attention and he always got it. Everyone turned to look at Enji before they all settled their eyes on who was on the receiving end of such a question; you.

Not many people recognised anger in someone's eyes; a burning desire to turn to violence but Bakugou did. He lived off of that feeling, that desire to destroy was something that burned deep in his stomach daily. And he could see it in your eyes when you turned your gaze away from the mirror sitting in front of you.

“And do tell me, dear Father, are you still tricking women into giving you illegitimate children?”

There were a couple of gasps and a muffled snort of laughter from someone further down the table which you assume came from Natsuo. Everyone waited to see just how Enji would react, to see if he would bring down the weight of the world on you with just a flick of his wrist or if perhaps you’d be the one to strike first. 

Bakugou felt his muscles tense, shifting into a prime position to protect you, if it came to that. His eyes were locked directly on Enji. He watched as the wave of anger contorted his face, his scar unsightly in the light that filtered through the open windows and made him look more like his exiled brother than anything. 

“Perhaps it’d be wise for us to calm ourselves before another war is afoot,” Hawks spoke from his own seat, eyes shifting uncomfortably between the other Gods before settling finally on you. The God of Speed silently communicates with you to back down from a fight that surely will turn out ugly, Bakugou is of two minds when he practically sees the fire inside of you burn brighter. He wishes to see the wounds you’d inflict on Enji if you were to truly speak your mind, but he fears what is to come of it.

But it seems you have made up your own mind, and you rise from your seat. You level Enji with one long stare before turning away, ignoring the protests of your husband. Bakugou knows he’s not the only one who watches you as you leave, the sheer fabric on your body leaves nothing to the imagination yet you always hold yourself with a sense of dignity. 

The laughter and talking resume shortly after your departure, and no one is aware of when Bakugou slips out of the room in pursuit of you. Except for Touya, whose hand curls into a fist against his lap and pulls the scars taut until they threaten to rip. 

He traverses the long halls as if they were his own; he had spent many years in the place that the King calls his home, often talking of war plans. The red cloak he wears billows in his large strides, and the metal armour on his shoulders and shins clink loudly. He knows exactly where you would’ve wandered to, you always had a habit of returning to the one place where you felt in tune with nature.

Bakugou turns numerous corners until he’s met with the archway that leads out into the hidden garden. One would consider it overgrown with flowers and greenery, ivy clings to the cracked marble arch that Bakugou ducks under to avoid hitting his head. He follows the obscured path just as he had many times before, careful steps to avoid the thorn bushes that lay in wait for their next victim. 

He follows the sound of running water until he comes to a stop. There you are. Sat amongst the bed of flowers beside the running waterfall that falls off the side of Mount Olympus. Your back is to him, yet he knows you well enough to know that you’re very aware someone is watching you. 

Your hands still on the flowers you had been chaining together, though you don’t turn to face him just yet. You remain in place whilst he approaches slowly – like he was approaching a wild animal.

“Have you come to give me a lecture on why I shouldn’t start wars without consulting you first?” You speak finally, and Bakugou recognises the tone in your voice. You’re exhausted. 

“It had crossed my mind.” He says simply, settling down into the spot next to you which earns him a glare when he crushes one of the roses with the heel of his foot as he stretches his legs out. He shifts the iconic helmet that he often wears off to the side, the red feathered strip blowing softly in the wind. 

“Then tell me, my love, why have you followed me? You know that it’ll only anger him further.” One would think you were referring to Enji as him, but Bakugou knows you’re speaking about Touya. 

“I’ll show him the true meaning of anger, he wouldn’t dare lay a hand on you or me.”

You hum in response to his words, not entirely believing him yet he doesn’t feel hurt that you don’t jump to his side in agreement. 

“Answer my question, Katsuki. Why did you follow me out here?” 

“Why did you return to our spot?” He always did this, answered you with a question until you huffed in annoyance and turned to look at him. He knew you could see the way his eyes lit up with your attention finally on him, and he bathes in the way you smile so delicately at him. 

“Because I knew you’d come. You always come.” 

His fingers brush along your cheek, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear before the same fingers that have murdered thousands of men brush down along your jaw. He takes the time to admire your beauty, much to your delight, he traces the hollow of your throat with his thumb when his hand hooks around the back of your neck.

“I will always find you, my love.” Bakugou breathes the words simply before he’s surging forward to press his lips to your own. The feeling of butterflies exploding in his stomach, an odd feeling when he’s so used to the eternal lust for violence that boils his blood. 

His lips move in time with your own, a dance between the two of you that had been practised for hundreds of years. You lean further into him, your hands brushing against the golden skin of his chest and the strap that holds his armour and clock in place. His own hand curls further against the back of your neck, holding you in place as he has his fill of you. The taste of the wine on your lips is still present, and even more so on your tongue. It has him dizzy with the sweetness of it, the way it blends so perfectly with the natural essence that oozes from you. You always had a talent for stuffing his head with soft cotton and filling every one of his senses with you.

You were like the sweetest fruit he had ever tasted, perhaps it made you sweeter that you were considered forbidden and he couldn’t help but sink his teeth further into you.

You all but moan when he does in fact bite the plumpness of your bottom lip, and it’s enough to surge him on. He’s laying you in the bed of flowers, your hair sprawling out behind you in a way that even the most talented of artists would only be able to capture just a fraction of your beauty. 

His body is huge over your own, caging you in from the outside world and capturing you in the world the two of you had built for each other. You both had always felt so enamoured with one another, true soulmates you had once said. He can’t deny the fact that you were very much correct with that comment, his soul had always been tied to your own from the moment you had first met him. 

Bakugou is the one to break first from the kiss (as always), yet he doesn’t move far. His lips still brush against your own when he pants, leaning onto one forearm beside your head whilst the other freely explores along your throat, down along your collar bones before he lays a hand over your breasts.

The sheer material doesn’t do much to protect you from his feel, his callouses catch on the silky material as he brushes the tip of his finger over your budding nipples. He can feel the way your heart hammers away beneath your skin like a tiny hummingbird, you’re excited he knows but this type of excitement was adrenaline induced. It was intoxicating. 

“You’re as beautiful as ever,” and the way he breathes your name is unlike any of the followers who say your name in prayer, it’s invigorating that you can get a man of destruction and bloodlust to whisper your name in such a tone. “I don’t think I’ll ever tire of your beauty.”

“And I’ll never tire of yours,” your fingers this time brush along his jaw, touching the scars that show just how dedicated he is to his role as the God of War. You follow along his jaw, his cheekbones and the crooked bump of his nose before you trace over his eyebrows with your thumbs. “I could admire you for all of eternity, and never grow bored of your comeliness.”

Bakugou chuckles, quiet yet you feel the rumble of it when your hand presses to the side of his neck. “You speak too much.” 

“Then perhaps you should change that.”

And he just grunts in return, before he’s diving back in to kiss you. This time with renewed vigour, a need to swallow you whole and devour the love you pour for him and only him. His fingers move to trace over your body once again, following invisible lines he had mapped out over the years of exploring your body so freely. It’s like second nature for him to drag his fingers over the fullness of your breasts before they dip down along your waist, your hips and across your stomach.

All the whilst you writhe beneath him, always one to submit to the lust first. Bakugou however wasn’t far behind you, his head span with the heavy scent that filled the air. Sweet like the richest of apples, delicate like the pink and white flowers that bend beneath the weight of your bodies tangling together. Yet there was always a tang underlying beneath the sweetness of it all, one that Bakugou had come to realise years ago was your arousal. So pure and so very intoxicating, it drove him forward once again.

Your legs all but part for him when he pushes forward, your knees bending to press into his sides whilst his hips settle against your own. He’s unsurprised to be met with the warmth, and wetness, that lies between your legs. You had never been one to adorn material that restricted you in ways, and he is thankful to have attended in his full attire for the party. His Pteruges does nothing to stop you from feeling just how hard he was already.

Bakugou continues to dominate the situation, just as he does with any task. Your hands paw uselessly at the metallic belt holding his pteruges in place, whilst your calves brush against the bareness of his thick thighs. He chuckles against your mouth, breathing in for the first time in what feels like an eternity. His eyes crack open just enough to see the look on your face; needy and wanting.

“Anyone could find us here.” Yet Bakugou makes no move to leave, his hips roll against your own to elicit the most beautiful of sounds from your throat.

“That’s never stopped us before, I need you Katsuki–.. Please.” You whine, finally getting your fingers to hook against the metal before it falls loose between the two of you. All he can do is smirk down at you, using his free hand to push the skirt-like attire down his thighs before kicking it off to the side to join his helmet.

Then he sits up on his knees, watching as your eyes immediately drop to stare unashamedly at his length. It droops against his thigh, thick and leaking precum profusely. He makes a show of unbuckling the large leather strap across his chest, shouldering off the heavy shoulder pads before his cloak flutters down with it. 

Bakugou remains on his knees as he watches you draw the sheer material covering your shoulders down until it falls apart around you, falling behind you like a sheet for the both of you to lay on. You’ve always been open to displaying your body before the God of War, dragging your fingers along your own breasts to toy with your nipples before you grow bored and move further down. 

Bakugou can’t draw his eyes away, following the invisible lines you trace down… and down… until they rest between the apex of your thighs. You spread yourself lewdly, uncaring for the squelch that tells him just how aroused you are at this very moment. It has him groaning deep in the back of his throat, his blood boiling just like it did before a fight. You’re another thing he must conquer, put you back in your place beneath him.

“You’ll drive me to madness,” Bakugou whispers, not intending for you to hear but you apparently do. You smile, yet you do not reply, clearly determined now to see just how quickly you can drive the man known for his courage and valour into the depths of chaos. 

Your fingers dance between your legs for a moment, brushing up and down along your soaked lips before they swirl and circle against your clit. The level of just how wet you are helps with the easy glide, easing you further into your delirious state of lust. 

Bakugou feels like he’s bewitched, eyes unable to blink away from the sight of you toying with yourself. It was nothing new, he had in the past made you masturbate in front of him for his own enjoyment. It was something that filled his chest with a sense of power, that you were doing all of this for him — it made him greedy for more.

“But perhaps madness would not be so bad, if you were by my side.” 

“I will forever be by your side, my sweetness.”

Sweetness – a name only you could use on a God like Bakugou Katsuki. Only you could call him something so gentle when he had witnessed enough bloodshed and war to fill four lifetimes. Only you could make the otherwise stoic man smile, and crumble like the weakest defences. His heart thunders in his chest when he dives back down into your space, the warmth of his bare chest against yours is all-consuming. 

He feels himself lose himself to the rhythm of your bodies, his hips rolling against your own once again but this time his cock is free. It catches against your lightly sensitive clit, drawing out a breathy sigh from between your bitten lips.

“Give yourself to me,” you mumble against his lips, your fingers moving from their previous position to thread themselves through his golden wheat-coloured hair, holding softly at the roots to keep his face just in front of yours. “All of you. I want all of you.” 

“Then you shall have me.” 

His lips press into yours as an effort to stop the volume of your voice when he breeches you with the thick head of his cock, whilst he would’ve loved to divulge in foreplay and excite you further he knows it’s too much of a risk to spend that much time alone with you. He already suspects soon someone will come seeking you, and that will only lead to more unfortunate events unfolding.

You don’t protest however to the way he splits you in half, your thighs fall apart further to accommodate him the best you can despite the sharp pain that fills your pelvis. Bakugou openly groans against your panting mouth, a low rumble that sounds like he’s in great pain when he finally bottoms out in you. 

It had been far too long since he had last fucked you. You had been sent away from Mount Olympus more and more often until it was once in a blue moon that he’d lay eyes on you. His soul yearned for you every single day, and the only way he had been coping with that loneliness was to become more ruthless with the men he commanded and the mortals who worshipped him. 

The two of you remain there, encapsulated in the little world the two of you build for each other when you come together. His forearms lay on either side of your head, his thumbs brushing delicately against your temples whilst he admires your features so close. Your own hand plays gently with the hairs at the nape of his neck, whilst the other strokes along the broad expanse of his scar-ridden shoulders.

“I’m in love with you,” it’s you who whispers it, and he wonders if you plucked that thought directly from his brain. It has him smiling once again, a rare occasion to happen so often in quick succession.

Bakugou leans down the short distance, his thumbs brushing into your hairline before he presses his lips to yours in a short yet fulfilling kiss, “I know.”

He so desperately wishes to declare his love for you but it would be no different to declaring war. It hurts his heart to not tell you just how much he loves you, yet he knows you understand this much. You don’t frown or get upset with his choice of words, not when he lays another kiss that lingers against your forehead before his hips roll once again.

It’s a slow pace at the start, sensual and it’s enough to convey his true feelings for you. A man who could crush another man’s skull in his bare hand holds you with such a delicate embrace, his hips don’t hammer into your own with the strength you know he harbours. He always took his time at the start, savouring the tightness of your walls when you clench around him as the tuft of the hair nestled just above his cock brushes against your clit.

He continues with this pace until one of his hands wanders down along your body again, retracing the same path until he finds your thigh. He takes a gentle hold of it, and the largeness of his hand squeezes as much of your thigh as he can before he’s hooking the same thigh over his forearm. 

It’s the only warning you get before he’s leaning back from you, it leaves him open to your eyes as you watch his muscles work with the new pace he sets. It’s more aggressive, more like the God of War that you know. It has your tits bouncing harshly with each rut of his hips, the slapping of skin against skin is loud in the otherwise silent garden.

His golden skin glistens in the sunlight, the sweat that gathers in the hollow of his throat expands all the way down to his adonis’ belt. His biceps bulge and tense when he rolls his head back in ecstasy, exposing the bobbing of his Adam’s apple when he swallows hard before his lips part in the most beautiful of moans. 

It wasn’t often he was so vocal in his pleasure, only reserving that right for you. It doesn’t go unnoticed either, you squeeze around him deliciously to pull another note from his throat that sounds a little more strangled. You giggle beneath him, only to be cut off by a particularly harsh slam of his hips against yours. The tip of his cock bullies its way through your walls, ramming against that one spot that only he seems to be able to reach. 

“You dare laugh at me?” He bares his teeth, quite the vision of the fearless God yet he shows no true malice behind his words. If you were to put a word to it, you’d say he was being playful.

“Never,” you manage to breathe between your moans, eyes fluttering in an attempt to stay open as you watch the man above you work as hard as he can to push you closer and closer to completion. “I-I would…” you trail off, and this time it’s Bakugou who laughs at you but it’s broken into a low groan. 

“Hah, drunk off of my cock already, my love?” He’s always been crude with his words, it makes your stomach do flips along with the added term of endearment. “How long has it been since you were treated like the Goddess you are?”

His words sting, unintentionally digging into wounds that grow old, tearing them apart for his prying eyes. You meet his gaze, eyebrows furrowing to show just how much his words hurt – the truth had always hurt the most.

“Too long,” you moan when he hoists your hips up just a little higher, both of your legs now wrapped around his waist whilst his hands grip harshly at your hips. He fucks into you harder at this angle, impossibly reaching deeper and deeper into you until you swear he’s going to touch your very soul; though perhaps that is his goal.

Bakugou doesn’t offer a reply, but rather a grunt. His thumb rolls down over your stomach before he reaches your clit, and he plays with it cruelly. The pressure is harsh, and he’s unrelenting in the speed at which he toys with you. He only has one thing on his mind right now, and that is to make you cum for him in a way only he can make you cum. 

“Give it to me,” he grits his teeth, jaw working as he tries to fend off the urge to fill you with his cum. “Cum for me.” 

He commands you, and you wordlessly obey. It feels like you’re freefalling from the top of the mountain you’re all perched upon, your head falls back into the plush bed of flowers and your mouth opens up in a scream of pleasure. Your eyes roll back until you see nothing but white, and Bakugou doesn’t let up in the way he’s fucking you.

He fucks you harder in fact, inflicting a tingling-like pain between your thighs. He not only works you through your orgasm but forces you right into a more intense one, it has your legs tensing and shaking. Your hands curl uselessly into the grass beside your head, tugging at your hair when you moan his name loudly. Perhaps he should’ve worried about how loud you were becoming, but a deep part inside of him wanted everyone to know just who you were devoted to. 

His thumb is replaced by two fingers, he swipes aggressively against your clit until you’re struggling to catch your breath. Your chest expands with the effort, whilst your knees try to crush into his sides fruitlessly. Bakugou has never shied away from the fact you were more of a generous lover when it came to orgasms, he beamed with pride whenever you blessed him with one such as this. He’s uncaring for the way your juices squirt against his pelvis and drips down his muscled thighs, if anything it encourages him to fuck more out of you.

“That’s it, such a good girl.” He praises effortlessly, fucking you through the intensity of your orgasm until his hips roll to a gentle stop. His hands that were once in a vice grip on your waist gently massage against your thighs, soothing the tensed muscles until you finally relax as best you can in the position he still holds you in. 

He lowers you carefully down until you’re flat again on the floor, and his hands effortlessly roll you over onto your stomach. Those same hands smooth over the expanse of your back, pressing into your lower back to ease the ache he knows often builds there whenever he bends your body to his will. 

Bakugou carefully raises your hips once again, positioning himself over you and you don’t protest when he pushes himself back inside of you. You rest your head on folded arms, angling your head just so that you can see over your shoulder at the mountain of a man who fucks into you slowly once again. He bends easily at the waist, pressing a delicate kiss to your shoulder.

“I’m not done with you yet,” is all he offers before he’s fucking into you again in earnest. You moan into the crook of your arm, eyes still narrowed in his direction to watch the way his mouth falls open and his eyebrows crumple together. The angle he holds your body in is sinful – your thighs squeeze together to make it impossibly tighter around the thickness of his cock. 

In this position, with your hips raised and head in the flowers, Bakugou can’t help but feel the rush of power that fills his body. To have such a powerful Goddess such as yourself bending under just a flat palm to your spine is driving him to fuck into you hard. Too hard perhaps, as he knows he’ll be leaving bruises on the back of your thighs and ass by the time he’s done. But he can’t help himself, this need to cover you in marks – his marks – was growing to be too much. 

You were his, and only his. He didn’t care what the fuck Enji nor Touya said. You were designed to be with him, you were his opposite, his other half. He’d die before he gave up on you. He’d do anything to ensure you were his, forever.

The idea hits him in the gut like a spear, it makes him grunt deep in his chest and fingers flex against the fat of your hips before he squeezes hard. He knows of one way he could secure you to him for the rest of your lives. 

“I should fuck a child into you.” He groans, the words pour from his mouth untapered whilst his mind runs haywire on the idea of you being round with his child – a child born from two Gods such as yourselves surely would be enough to kick Enji from his throne. “A son. Fit for the throne.” 

You watch him over your shoulder, and he meets your gaze easily. His eyes hold nothing but love and adoration for you, you know a child would definitely bring the two of you together forever. The idea alone has you nearly crushing him between your thighs, enough to cause him to grunt and come to a stop buried to the hilt.

“I take that as a yes, my love?” 

“Yes, Katsuki. Please.” You plead, and the ash-blonde God doesn’t have to be told twice.

He fucks you now with a new purpose, to breed you. His hips slap against the roundness of your ass, his fingers reaching to grasp and grope at you. Bakugou is unashamed in the way he marvels at your body, pulling your cheeks apart with his hands to watch the way your pussy swallows him whole despite the size of him.

His balls ache with the need to cum, he yearns for it every single time he’s with you. Yet he was never granted permission to do so; given you were the Goddess of Reproduction, he knew his seed would take to you – which would’ve caused many problems in the past. But now, he’s uncaring for the problems that may arise. He knows he would wage a thousand-year war for you as long as it meant he got to call you his. 

“Katsuki, cum for me, my love.” You moan, panting hotly into your arm in a futile attempt to muffle your whining. 

Bakugou has always been unable to ignore your pleas.

He cums, and hard. His hips stutter at first, fingers curling harshly against the skin of your ass. His hips rut down into your own, hard enough to make you yelp and bite at your arm. You can feel the way his cock jumps and throbs in the depths of your walls, the white seed he spills is molten hot, just like the fire that courses through his blood. 

Bakugou doesn’t stop the roll of his hips until he’s truly spent, both of his hands come to slam into the ground on either side of your head. His panting breath brushes against the sticky sweat on your bare shoulder before he lays kiss after kiss on you. 

“I love you.” He whispers against your ear, pressing his nose into your hair just enough to smell the delicate soaps you use to bathe in. 

“And I love you, more than anything.” You reply just as easily, turning just enough to let his lips brush against your own. The kiss you have now is just as it was at the start; it’s filled with adoring love and underlying longing.

He slips from you easily, but not without hoisting your hips up once again just enough to ensure none of his cum leaks from you. You laugh, but don’t stop him. 

“You truly wish to have a child with me?” You ask once he lays down in the grass next to you, tugging his red cloak from somewhere to the side over the naked expanse of his lower half. 

“Have I ever lied about something I want? Of course I want this.” 

You hum in response to his words, eyes finally fluttering shut to bask in the warmth of the sun and the tranquil feeling that slowly settles over the two of you. Bakugou continues to lay next to you, an arm behind his head whilst his free hand strokes through your hair to play with the various flowers embedded there.

“Then I hope you’re ready for everything that comes with a child.” You smile when Bakugou laughs, opening an eye to look at how he practically glows in the sun. 

“Woman. I have commanded armies of thousands of men, I have killed Gods with my bare hands. You think a child would bring down the almighty God of War?” 

“Maybe that’s your weakness.” 

“Madness,” he rolls over onto his side, brushing away the hair that’s fallen into your eyes before he kisses your eyebrow gently. “You are my weakness, my love.”

And all the whilst, neither of you is privy to the set of burning blue eyes that watch from the archway of the door. And neither of you are aware that Touya leaves to talk to his father – but not to demand you be humiliated for your adultery but rather for a divorce.

[emmyrosee]

... give me the soft bakugo 👀

If this flops or gets me ostracized from the fandom you’re uninvited to my birthday party-

-

Bakugo could never stay awake during movies.

It was a problem for him, genuinely. The amount of times he’s fallen asleep, and grumbles in annoyance when you tell him the movie’s over is truly staggering. It’s not that he wants to miss the action, he’s just so exhausted from being… well. Bakugo, that when the end of the day comes, and you’ve got a hand buried in his hair and a blanket tossed over you both, he never stands a chance.

And it’s a ritual at this point, merely part of your daily routine. He comes home. He showers. He curls up against you, and before the movie’s rising action can start, he’s out cold.

And nine times out of ten, you’re more than willing to stay, scratching his scalp and watching Bakugo’s handsome face twitch and lax with each detail of dreams…

But today? The one out of ten? You’re fucking hungry.

You so wish you’d eaten before you decided to be his snuggle buddy for the next few hours, knowing he’d already had a bad enough day and you leaving to have a snack would only disturb him further, but if it wasn’t you slowly leaving the warmth of bed, it would be your growling stomach.

Okay. Slowly now. You pinch the arm that’s tossed over your waist and slowly lift it up, slipping from under the appendage and out to freedom.

Once out of his warm embrace, you quickly scurry to the kitchen for a sandwich- heavy enough to get through the night, but light enough where you can quickly eat it- and a quick look through of your phone so you can update your friends and family to be officially his for the night.

And it seems to all go well! He’s still knocked out, as you assumed he would be after such a long day, and you’re just about ready to bite when-

“…the hell in the fuck are you doing?”

The voice makes your eyes wander from the brightness of your phone screen, to the culprit himself, standing in the hallway with sweats low on his hips and a blanket wrapped around just the top half of his torso. He knuckles his tired eyes, his lips in a sleepy scowl, and god he looks so snuggly you want to bring him straight back to his warm bed and let him sleep off the day.

But your rumbling stomach would never allow that.

Stopping your staring, your teeth hover over the sandwich before coming down to a biteless close, and you look at him with a clear of your throat, “I’m… eating?”

“You left the bed.”

“Yeah, because you don’t like crumbs-“

“You left me in the bed.”

You blink at him in complete confusion, trying your hardest not to laugh in his face as he growls deep in his throat, “you left me alone in the bed, to make yourself a sandwich!”

“Well I sure as hell wasn’t going to wake you up,” you snort, watching as he struggles back a yawn to continue his ‘threatening’ look. “You were tired babe, I didn’t want to disturb you.”

“Well… well I didn’t like not knowing where you were,” he grumbles. “And when I pat the damned bed and it was empty, that was an even worse way to wake up.”

All an elaborate way of saying ‘I didn’t like that you left me and our cuddle time.’ You could’ve sworn he’d only be mad if you’d woken him up in the process of leaving, but that’s very clearly not the case. When a loving grin spreads over your face, you know he knows he’s been figured out, and he crosses his blanket-covered arms and avoids your gaze. “Awww, Katsuki-“

“Don’t even.”

“Did you want me to-“

“Fuck off.”

“Stay and snuggle?” His words of empty threats do nothing to deter you from finishing your sweet coo, which he scoffs at while you slowly pull out the chair next to you for him to sit in. “Baby, you know I’d never leave if I knew it would make you upset!”

“It didn’t make me up-fucking-set,” he growls, but he does let his long legs carry him to the chair next to you, plopping down sleepily while maroon eyes struggle to stay awake. “It’s the principle of the matter- you leave, you fuckin’ tell me where you’re going. End of discussion.”

You snort and shake your head at his words, finally taking a bite of your sandwich and thus, ending the conversation. Despite his efforts, he doesn’t look half as mad as he thinks he does, lips pouty and cheeks a titch flushed from your affectionate words and the last remnants of sleep being pulled from his soul.

“For what it’s worth,” you hum, slowly tugging his chair closer to yours, which he instantly rests his head on your shoulder when he’s close enough. “I always want to cuddle with you, too, stinky.”

“Quit it with your stupid pet names,” he grumbles. “I am a man, and I find it disgusting the way you are able to make my heart race.”

“Of course you do,” you agree with him to relax his protests, turning your head to kiss the fluffs of hair that adorn the crown of his head. “Let me finish eating, then we can go nap for real.”

He grunts, a pouting language for ‘fine,’ before he lets you eat in slight peace, just without the use of your right arm which is now being held hostage by his own two limbs.

“C’ I have a bite?” He mumbles, opening his mouth expectantly, as if already knowing you’d say yes. You chuckle and bring the sandwich to his lips, which he bites softly and chews slowly. “‘fank you.”

“You’re welcome, my love.”

“Gross.”

[jikooks-butterfly]

I can't be the only one wondering why people think Bakugou smells like Caramel, I don't know unless I just don't have a imaginative thought for a guy like Bakugou to smell like some sort of sweets but idk how, some sort of spicy smell people say yeah I can see that but caramel? I don't know but I may not have gotten the memo

[not-your-fucking-kacchan]

♡︎𝐋𝐢𝐛𝐫𝐚𝐫𝐲 𝐬𝐞𝐱 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐊𝐚𝐭𝐬𝐮𝐤𝐢 𝐁𝐚𝐤𝐮𝐠𝐨𝐮♡︎

Day 23 of Kinktober 2022

Summary: don't tease Katsuki in public. Or do, if this is the kind of thing you're into.

Props to my beta reader for today @afterhourswjay - thank you for your amazing help!

494 words.

There's something thrilling about being here with your lover, all alone in the quiet, desolate library in the hero facilities. The two of you could do anything, right here, right now, and not a soul would find out, unless of course you get caught. That thought sends chills up your spine, and a flood of arousal to your belly.

Of course you don't actually want to get caught, though, which is why you're so quiet as you get up to straddle your blonde.

Upon being interrupted from his research he raises an eyebrow at you with a frown, but you've known him long enough. He's curious, lips tilted down at the corners like they usually are as if he's daring you to do something.

To be quite honest, you didn't think you'd even get this far, so what to do next is lost on you, until that little frown on his face turns into an evil smirk.

You know that look, and your underwear is already soaked. Unbeknownst to you, Katsuki can feel your warmth against his crotch, and can feel just how soaked you are already through his jeans.

He's not one to dawdle though, so it's not at all surprising when he latches his soft lips to your previously marked neck, hidden just behind the collar of your shirt. His hand trails up your thigh, stroking every stretch mark and squishing the skin absently, finally making it all the way to its intended destination. Course, tough fingers rub at your clit in slow circles through your underwear, and you receive a low purr in response to your hips bucking against his.

Neither of you say a word as the sound of a zipper being slowly undone echos in your ears, putting a heavy blush on your cheeks.

You're slow to pull your underwear to the side, feeling his quickly hardening cocktwitch between your legs and underneath your skirt. It's lubed with your own arousal smeared across him, dripping directly onto him and ruining his jeans, but he doesn't really care about the state of his pants as you suddenly lift your hips and start slowly taking him in.

No matter how many times he's had you, he'll never quite get used to the feeling of hot, wet walls clenching around him, hugging his cock so perfectly. It's like you were made for him, and he has to slap a hand over his own mouth to stifle his broken moans.

It's simply wonderful to watch him become so submissive when he's got his dick inside of you, and with a little grind of your hips he's arching his back against the back of the library chair uncomfortably, shaken by the pleasure of having sex in such a public space, and at his work, no less.

One would think he wouldn't risk his career like this, but he needs you. He's a mess for you, and he would do anything you asked of him.

© 2022 not-your-fucking-kacchan

◃ 𝐏𝐫𝐞𝐯𝐢𝐨𝐮𝐬 | 𝐍𝐚𝐯𝐢𝐠𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 | 𝐊𝐢𝐧𝐤𝐭𝐨𝐛𝐞𝐫 𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 | 𝐍𝐞𝐱𝐭 ▹

[tired-teacher-blog]

Mha characters (both male and female - and aged up, living together) reacting to their s/o going into the gremlin pose at random times (when their alone together) and chasing after them saying "👹GIMME THAT BOOTIE👹"

^gremlin pose bakugou for reverence lol

Thank you love ❤

Hi baby! This is such a cute request I love it.

Title : Gimme that bootie!

Characters : Shouto/ Ochaco/ Mina/ Amajiki/ Mirio/ Nejire/ Bakugo/ Gender neutral reader

Genre : Fluff/ Comedy/ Suggestive

Please do not read if you're a minor

Masterlist

Shouto :

He was flipping through the TV channels when you showed up in front of him yelling.

He jumped in surprise almost throwing the remote in the process.

_ "What? Y/n stop doing that!"

_ "Not until you gimme that bootie!"

You assumed position and moved slowly until you reached him.

He had a bored expression on his face, it wasn't the first time after all.

You jumped on his lap and sneaked your arms around his back and down to his ass, squeezing his clothed cheeks.

_ "Here we go again.." He mumbled rolling his eyes as a smile tugged at his lips.

He always pretends to hate it, but you know he secretly enjoys your playfulness.

Mina :

_ "Gimme that bootie babe!" You squealed preparing to launch an attack on your beloved girlfriend.

She turned around, beaming at the sight she was met with.

_ "You first!" She jumped as her beautiful laughter resonated throughout the appartement. She sprinted towards you at full speed, taking you in her arms and tackling you to the ground.

She was prepared this time around, palms seeking your bum and lips searching your own.

_ "Okay! Okay I give up!" You giggled, struggling to speak between laughter.

_ "Not until I get my kiss." She stated calmly before closing the gap between your lips in a sweet peck.

Bakugo :

_ "What?" He asked in a monotone voice holding his bowl of soup as he finished the last few spoonfuls before placing it in the sink.

He didn't really need to ask, he knew what you wanted as soon as he glanced at you over his shoulder.

_ "Gimme that bootie Mr Dynamight!" You smirked reaching out for his ass but was immediately stopped as his strong arms pinned yours over your head.

_ "You need to call me by my full hero name if you need anything babe." His free hand grazed your thigh and cupped your butt cheek.

_ "Your hero name is too long and too hard to remember Dynamight." You purposely stressed the last part, moving closer to his face in a teasing manner.

_ "Then maybe I should do something to engrave it in your brain." He gave you no time to react as he threw you over his shoulder and marched to your bedroom.

Nejire :

She looked enticing in those shorts that barely did anything to cover her luscious butt.

Your eyes never left her body and it felt as if she was doing it on purpose.

You couldn't help it, you had to do it, you had to have her.

You sneaked up on her as she was laying down on her stomach reading a book, and struck a pose:

_ "Enough teasing! Now gimme that bootie!"

She could barely turn her head around before your weight pinned her down in place.

_ "No! No stop I can't!" Her sweet giggles filled your ears and you couldn't help but join her laughter.

Eventually, you'll make her pay for seducing you, the night is still young after all.

Mirio :

It never works with him, he's always prepared for your surprise attacks and you always end up begging for mercy.

But do you ever learn...

You heard the bathroom door open and peeked from behind the wall, waiting for the perfect opportunity to attack.

_ "Babe I'm done, the shower is yours! I'll put on some clothes and start with dinner!" He spoke loudly since you were nowhere to be seen.

He was vulnerable and oblivious, perfect!

_ "Gimme that bootie! That's what I'm having for dinner!" You leapt, aiming for his ass but lost balance when he dodged your grabby clutch and lifted you up with one arm as the other delivered a swift smack to your buttocks.

_ "You don't give up do you? Maybe it's time for your daily reminder that you should. We'll eat later." His sweet smile and suggestive words didn't match at all.

Ochaco :

She was in the bedroom changing out of her hero costume after a long day of work.

She wanted to have a quick shower before dinner and it was the perfect opportunity to sneak up on her.

You timed your attack perfectly and jumped on her right when she bent over to pick up her clothes.

_ "Gimme that bootie sexy !"

A mixture of screams and laughter erupted from her throat and she could barely do anything against your eager hands.

_ "Everyday! This isn't fair come on!" She struggled a bit more against you before pulling you closer to bed.

_ " Alright y/n, I'll let you have it. Shower can wait."

Amajiki :

It was his turn washing the dishes so there he was doing his best as you decided to go ahead and take a well deserved bath after a tiring day of hero work. The sweet soul insisted you should go first even though he was as exhausted as you were.

Your heart swelled with joy as you watched him from behind. He was too focused on his chores to notice the way your eyes roamed his body.

Your vision stopped right on his cute little bum, and you were suddenly overcame with the urge to squeeze and knead it, so you went for it.

_ "Sweetheart! Gimme that bootie!"

He flinched in shock, almost dropping the plate he was holding.

_ "What.. y/n stop it.. please." His soft voice and blushed cheeks were a sight to behold, Amajiki Tamaki is by far the cutest creature that ever existed, and his adorable little butt will always be your palms' favorite resting place.

You sprinted towards your prize and he didn't even bother protest, he knew you wouldn't stop until you had your way with him.

You cupped his ass cheeks squeezing them hard and kissing the nape of his neck as you marveled at the way he struggled to keep his cool while finishing up the last few dishes.

You won again.

@thatone-gayweeb