#dynamight imagines

[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.

[i-amm-mj]

Breeding kink - smut to fluff

afabreader! x Katsuki Bakugo

⚠️ smut, breeding kink, dirty talk, creampie ⚠️

Katsuki doesn´t come from a big a family, so he doesn´t know where this craving for impregnate you with at least four of his kids is coming from. He woke up one day with you beside him, and saw your beautiful body sprawled on the mattress and he realized that you had awoken his most primal desires. He wanted to fuck you day and night until he got you pregnant; until he could see your belly all rounded and your breasts swelling and big from the milk that he was going to help you got out with his own mouth.

“That´s it, baby” he growled in your ear while pounding his dick in and out of your pussy “I´m gonna give you all of my cum and you´re gonna take it like the good girl you are, right?” You were so lost on the pleasure that the only thing you could do was dumbly nod.  

 “I´m gonna get you fucking pregnant. Going to give you as many kids as you want” he gulped hard when your walls pulsed around his dick “you´d like that, wouldn´t you?” you moaned. His sinful words and the way his hips moved against your own had your head spinning without a single coherent thought allowed to form.

“Yes, yes, please” you closed your eyes trying to enjoy the feeling starting to erupt in your lower belly.

“Please what?” He smirked while adjusting himself on the bed so he could lift your left ancle to his shoulder and have a better angle to that spot inside that had you curling your toes.

“Plea-please make me a mommy. I want your cum deep inside me” his breath hitched. Fucking hell, he loved when you responded to his dirty talk even with your mind all numb from the sex “Oh, fuck, I´m so close Kats, don´t stop” you said, and he inclined towards you to exchange a passionate kiss. It didn´t matter that it was all teeth and tongue because it was so fucking hot. You were fucking hot.

“Give it to me, gorgeous. Cum on my dick. Make a mess on me” He continued pounding into you so deliciously. You could feel every vein on his dick and the way it pulsed inside you wanting to explode right there.

“Cum with me, Kats. Please cum with me” you begged. A shiver went through his spine and his dick almost burst at the way your voice shook with every word.

“Fuck, I´m close too” he answered furrowing his brows, concentrating on the way your pussy sucked him in. You were so fucking wet that it slipped easily. He hissed.

“Right there. Right there” you cried out and Katsuki moved his thumb on your clit to amplify the sensations. That was all you needed to reach your peak. You moaned even harder and convulsed around his dick which made him cum at the same time. He spurted his cum in your pussy like he promised and then collapsed on top of you. You massaged his scalp, and he purred in contentment.

“I´m serious though” he murmured after giving your collarbones a light kiss.

“About what?” you asked a little confused.

“Knocking you up with my children” you giggled. He raised his head from your chest and pouted “What´s so funny idiot?”

“Aren´t we too young?”

“We´re 26”

“Exactly” you answered with a smile “Kids are a great responsibility and a very big investment.”  

“I´m hero number 5 right now, and in a few years I´ll be number 1 if fucking Deku doesn´t beat me to it, but even if I´m number 2 for the rest of my career I´m sure I can provide even a family of ten. And I´m sure you´ll get promoted sooner or later too because you´re the fucking best at what you do.” He stated.

“Ten!? Omg, didn´t you say four!?”

“Plans change” he smirked playfully. You laughed softly but wholeheartedly. Katsuki loved your laugh. He loved everything about you.

“We are not even married Kats,” you caressed his face with a smile on your face “my mother would never forgive me having a child outside marriage.”

He considered his words for a few seconds, and you tried to guess what was going on in that pretty but stubborn head of his. He then looked you in the eye and without doubt said “Let´s get married then. What are we waiting for?”

[joy-laufeyson]

Bakugo Katsuki fic recommendations

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

・・・・・・

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

・・・・・・

fluff / fever talk

sfw / the jealousy type

sfw / lucid dreaming

fluff / freckles

sfw / number neighbor (smau, masterlist)

sfw / “shut up and heal me”

fluff / apologizing

fluff / be my (fake) girlfriend

angst fluff / mean it

sfw fluff / truth or dare

fluff / falling in love with you

fluff / he hasn’t told his friends about you

angst fluff / petting his hair

fluff/ you fell asleep on him

fluff / helping him with his tie

nsfw ish / lends you a shirt

angst fluff / seeing you cry

angst fluff / he wakes up

time-skip (aged up)

sfw / drunk-dazed

fluff / as the sun goes down

fluff / permanent ink

angst fluff / kiss me!

fluff / runaway party

fluff nsfw / birthday

fluff / valentines day (part 1, part 2)

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

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

fluff / Hero Awards

sfw / going to bed upset

fluff / most beautiful woman

fluff / late night confessions

fluff / anyone would be silly not to love you

angst fluff / tears

fluff / interviews (masterlist)

fluff / skincare

fluff / he only likes real kisses

fluff / hot cocoa

fluff / scars

fluff / 4:29

fluff / secret santa

angst fluff / you remind him that he is a person

fluff / baby

fluff / "go back to sleep"

fluff / a lot better now

fluff / can’t sleep until you’re home

fluff / the stages of me and you

sfw / you get dumped twenty seconds before meeting your boss

angst fluff / emotionally constipated

fluff/ he doesn't want to go

fluff / eating your leftovers

sfw / drunk

angst fluff / when you have a bad day

nsfw ish / victoria secret set

nsfw ish / nails

angst fluff / charred dreams

・・・・・・

Updated:27-March-2024

Other BNHA fics

[little-fairy-forest]

Katsuki stares down at the tiny sonogram of your baby. Not even big enough yet to move, but damn does this kid already look like him.

"When does it start to look like me?" Katsuki asks as he doesn't take his eyes off the black and white photo in his hands whilst you tidy up the kitchen.

"Who said the baby will look like you? That would be a crime against humanity, " you joke as you move around to your husband

"The fucker looks like me already, can tell by it's massive head"

*thump*

"Katsuki, stop calling the baby 'it' firstly, secondly, it hasn't fully developed yet! The baby will grow into it's features the bigger they get.." You roll your eyes as you look down at the newest sonogram of the little life growing inside of you

"Besides, if the baby turns out ugly like you were, I'm sure they'll get my gushing personality," you joke as it's now Katsuki's turn to roll his eyes

"Yeah, yeah, I may have been an ugly duckling, but look at me now, babe! I'm a fucking god" katsuki proudly stated as he shows off his muscles...

Where did you get his man from?

Are you ready to have a mini Katsuki running around the house?

[mysteriesmuse]

Every single concept with ProHero Dynamite having socials and showcasing his s/o to the world only to receive a crazy online following response and get amazing PR points. IS. SO. GOOD. 👏

———— BUBBLEGUM POP————

Personally I like to imagine that Bakugou likes to do the occasional gym workout video. his socials include quite a lot of shirtless pics of him at the gym with kirishima anyway so he’s not opposed to having a gym livestream (he’s got a pretty solid following from his cooking videos!) And so Bakugou usually just sets up his phone or laptop on some shelf in the corner of the gym. The whole stream is just him going about his workout. In his tanned chiseled, glistening, and shirtless glory. The signature Dynamite scowl center frame! The videos are usually punctuated by him being greeted by various ProHeros floating around the gym. However, once again Red Riot is a frequent guest as he’s more often than not Bakugous spotter and gym buddy. - but there’s sometimes where you like to go to the gym with him. and despite the eccentric looking plethora of proheros his online followers seem to notice you whenever you do show up in the background. and it’s just little you tagging along, doing your own thing. usually you’re dressed up like you’re secretly supposed to be the star of this show. some cute little matching sports bra and bike shorts number, and a sporty updo, but you’re never actively interested in being on the stream. you’re understandably a little body self-consciousness in front of the camera, it’s completely normal, even tho ‘tsuki thinks you’ve got nothing to be ashamed of. - you are damn gorgeous. yes, it’s a fact. and you actively try and take care of yourself

regardless Bakugou loves when you tag along. always moving things around in his duffel bag to accommodate your water bottle, wireless earbuds, and a spare towel. he knows you’ve gotta have these things. and he always has a spare hair tie on his wrist even tho his bag already has a healthy sprinkling of scrunches stuffed in the side pocket. ————

Katsuki’s checking his social media one week raising a brow as he sees your name popping up in all the comments from his last gym video

“the fuck’ what’s so crazy ‘bout what she’s doing in the background at 23:45??”

Bakugou curiously hovers his mouse over and finds that exact timestamp to see what these extras are all chatting about ??

and it’s just him doing some regular deadlift routine and he can’t figure out the hype until he starts to notice some movement behind him

“Huh?” and if he zooms in there’s a lil’ mini you on the screen absolutely lip-singing and strutting/ arm-dancing your little heart out over on the treadmill

and suddenly all those comments . . .

‘Y/N’s on fire 🔥’

‘PARTAYYY IN DA BACK’

‘Turn around.’ ‘ TURN AROUND DYNAMITE UR GIRLS GETTING IT BACK THERE’

‘does she have her earbuds in? WHAT is she listening to?? 🥹😂’

‘quick! someone tell @proherodynamite!’ . . . on his feed make perfect sense. and Katsuki just keeps replaying the little clip of you being in you own world. until he puts up one comment that blows up in response.

‘yes. she’s got her earbuds in you fuckin’ extras.’ —————

but you bet the next time you’re tagging along to the gym. the people are on a mission. On. A. Mission. and your bf Bakugou Katsuki, for that matter. so the next time you’re going he makes sure you have your “fuckin’ earbuds fully charged and all that shit’ “

and you just breeze past him in your neon pink outfit that reminds him too much of Pinky and press a chaste kiss to his cheek with a small “thanks” as his palm rests against the small of your back to steady yourself on your tiptoes in those chunky cushiony running shoes of yours

And he wanders off to set himself and the livestream fans up in a corner of the gym that’s got a good angle of you over at the treadmill area

And he can’t lie . . . he’s kinda invested. Bakugou is doing some mindless arm work so he can focus on the music playing in his earbuds from the Bluetooth pairing mode he has turned on so him and the fans are all watching as he grunts and walks over to grab another weight

“so far nothing yet” he mutters towards the laptop. It’s just your usual playlist that he recognizes filtering through his ear. All bubbly and pop. Just like you, he grins. catching a look over at your form walking it out; with that perfect posture you pride yourself on. your hair all done up in a bubble braid ponytail. - and yes he knows what that is he had to wait for you to do it before driving your ass over here. when suddenly your stride starts to change and Bakugous perceptive red eyes notice the way your face lights up and all of a sudden you’re glowing

like a queen caught up in your own world as the next song comes on

and it’s . . . BTS’s Dynamite . . ?!

that’s the one that’s got you strutting and dancing and lip singing all the way across the room?

And Katsukis back is to the livestream, facing you, as he rolls his eyes and shakes his head.

“Of course,” you went ga-ga dancing to the one KPop song with HIS hero name as the title. Katsuki then, expertly schools his face back into the scowl as he turns to type in the chat to the livestream:

‘Attention Extras’: the song Y/N is listening to is Dynamite. 💥’

[dekus-fellow-crybaby]

Crybabies

Pairings: Katsuki Bakugo x Fem!reader x Izuku Midoriya

Summary: Bakugo gets his two favorite crybabies on their knees for him.

Warnings: NSFW. 18+ only. Minors DNI. Aged-up Characters, threesome (mmf), dacryphilia, vaginal sex, anal sex, oral sex (m and f receiving), Katsuki Bakugo x Fem!reader established relationship, polyamory, slight dom/sub dynamics, spitting, brat-tamer!Bakugo, name calling/pet names (babydoll, babygirl, brat, nerd), slight degradation, slight praise, slight asphyxiation, rimming, overstimulation(?), short one-shot, let me know if I forget anything, and enjoy! Please remember to reblog so I continue to have the motivation to post these 🙏🏼😁

Word Count: 700

"Cute, isn't she?" Katsuki questioned lowly in Izuku's ear. Izuku flinched at the sound of his voice coming behind him, and the green-haired boy jumped, flushing like he'd just been caught red-handed...which he had been, essentially. He'd been caught staring at you, someone who wasn't his to stare at.

You were Katuski's.

Izuku only stammered, uttered false denial. A quirk-heated hand landed heavily on his shoulder, stalling his stuttering. Izuku fell silent and stared skeptically at the smirk on Katsuki's face. He looked back at you, eyes twinkling at the smile on your face. "She's so pretty when she smiles. One of the best views in the world."

"Kacchan, I didn't-"

"One of the best views." Katsuki leaned in close, his front pressing into Izuku's back, their cheeks barely brushed as hot breath fanned his skin, and a whisper tickled his ear. "But I really prefer it when she's crying." The chill that shot up Izuku's spine riddled goosebumps over his entire body, his chest heaved and his eyes lidded. Katsuki put such a nice image in his head. He could practically taste the salty substance off your skin as he pictured your adorable cheeks splotchy and wet, bulging with a cock in your mouth.

Yeah, he'd like to see you crying, too.

Funnily enough, Katsuki was picturing Izuku in that exact same position. That thought alone prompted the question, "Wanna see?" to tumble out of Katsuki's lips. Which was how the three of you ended up in such a situation.

Izuku has always loved your smile, but Kacchan was right, you were breathtaking while you were crying and on your knees. But so was Izuku. And Katsuki had the best view of all. You and Izuku both looked so, so pretty on your knees just for him, his cock being sucked and kitten-licked by his two favorite crybabies. Oh, he could get used to watching you both making out with his fat dick between your lips. It was addicting. And who knew that Deku had such a magical tongue? Or that those rough scars littering his thick hands would feel so good while rolling his heavy balls.

"I think that Deku has earned a treat," he said, his fingers tangled in your hair, tugging you off of him. Your mouth reluctantly released his cock but not without a defiant whine tumbling out of your lips. Katsuki chuckled. "Don't worry, little brat, your slutty mouth will be filled up soon enough. But I'm not really sure you deserve it with this kind of attitude. What do you think, nerd? Does she deserve to choke on your dick?"

Deku hummed on his cock, the vibrations sent tremors through Katsuki's body, his thighs flexing. Katsuki ran his fingers through his green curls, gently eased him off. Deku gasped, his tears shining alongside his spit. "Hmm? What's your answer?"

"Please, Kacchan!" He practically whined. "She'll be such a good girl! She'll earn it!" If Katsuki thought that his tears were beautiful, then his wrecked voice begging Katsuki so sweetly was ethereal.

"Such good manners, Deku!" He petted Izuku's head which the green-haired man nuzzled into. His fingers tightened in your hair and you whined. "Didn't even have to teach him. You could learn from Deku, babydoll." When you rolled your eyes playfully, Katsuki's fingertips were instantly sinking into your cheeks, pouting out your lips, your mouth puckered.

"C'mon, now, little brat. Don't go making a liar outta Deku when he just said that you deserved a prize. You gonna behave like he said you would?" Your squished face could barely move enough to nod in his grip. His fingers dug deeper, opening your mouth a little wider before his saliva coated your tongue. He was a bit more gentle as he made his next command: "Don't swallow." You nodded in understanding as he nudged your body down. You're laid out on your stomach between Izuku's spread knees. His chest heaved at the sight. Your tongue let Katsuki's spit trail off and drip onto Izuku's angry, red mushroom head. He shivered and jerked at the feeling, fresh tears sprung from his eyes as he moaned out.

"Shit, love how vocal you are," Katsuki groaned. Izuku looked up at Katsuki with his big, glassy eyes, his shiny, swollen lips turned up in a wobbly smile. Kacchan's hand pushed back his messy emerald curls, he wanted a better view of his glistening eyes that fluttered as you started to trail kitten licks down his shaft. The gasp that rippled tremors through his body had both you and Katsuki moaning at the sound.

"Get him ready for me, baby girl," Kacchan said, which caught both of his pretty little crybabies off guard. After a moment of hesitation, you grasped the intentions of his words and you got to work while your tongue trailed further down. That had Deku reeling: his hips jerked, his back arched, his head had thrown back as you licked at his puckered hole. If only Katsuki had a camera.

The sight alone was too much that when the breathy whines left Izuku’s lips, Katsuki couldn’t take it anymore and harshly gripped the back of Izuku’s head, pushes his hot, wet mouth down onto his cock so he could release deep in his throat with a grunt after a few thrusts. Izuku couldn’t breath with his nose pressed into Katsuki’s bush at the base of his cock, but he didn’t care to either. He was high off the asphyxiation, the lightheadedness only worsened when your fingers wrapped tightly around his cock again, while your little tongue poked so sweetly into him. His cum shot out without warning and splattered over your face and his stomach. You scooped a bit of the cum off your face and fingered it into the hole you’d been working before using the rest to swirl over your swollen little clit, moaning while you wrapped your lips around his sensitive cock head again.

When his balls were finally drained and his breathing slowed Katsuki couldn’t help but twitch at the sight before him. He chuckled at the red that coated Izuku’s face down to his chest. He couldn’t tell if it was post-orgasmic glow or the asphyxiation setting in over Deku’s face, but it had him hard again in seconds. He let Izuku off of himself with a pop and Deku fell to lay on his back against the carpeted floor. His entire body twitched and slumped again and again as he weakly pushed at you who still sucked at his spent cock.

Katsuki wasn’t a very patient guy. Nor was he a very forgiving guy. So when the opportunity arose, he took it. That included payback for the nerd staring at his girl. Deku might’ve earned himself a spot in his relationship, and it might have worked out in the best situation for Katsuki, but that damn nerd still gaped at what was his. Kacchan was a cruel man at times, this being one of them as he let you keep working the poor overstimulated man to the point of going stupid. He didn’t allow you to let up until Izuku was cumming down your throat before he dragged you off. You were pushed onto your back, your body held down by the thick hand against your sternum. At the same time, Katsuki was busy manipulating Izuku’s body onto his hands and knees, his mouth instantly being pressed into your neglected bundle of nerves.

Deku wasn’t getting a break. But he didn’t seem to mind as his tongue made lazy work of circling your clit and running the tip of the muscle up and down your slit. Katsuki came up behind him, a finger prodded at the spit-slicked hole, which sent Izuku retreating in surprise, pushing more into your cunt. Kacchan chuckled before pressing two of his fingers into the other man’s tight hole, groaning at the resistance from his digits entering the ring of muscle. And suddenly Deku found his energy again as he pushed back against the fingers, his tongue worked faster. Katsuki tapped the fat head of his dick onto Izuku’s entrance a couple times before his fingers sunk into the meat of the cheeks and spread him open, his dick finally sinking slowly into the tight cavity he’d been dreaming about. The sound that was ripped from Izuku's lips reverberated through your sensitive cunt, causing your back to arch into his mouth. Katsuki's hips snapped against Izuku's slowly, and he grunted at the grip around him.

After a few deep strokes, Kacchan's hand reached out and wrapped his hand around Deku's throat, pulled his back flush against his chest, and fastened his pace. The room filled with loud, lewd squelching, skin slapping, and near-screams that echoed off the walls. As Katsuki pounded into his body, the blonde grasped his dick in his hand, and tugged at him firmly, and lips messily peppered open-mouthed kisses over his jaw and neck. You couldn't help but groan at the steamy sight, your fingers circled around your swollen clit.

"Look at her," Katsuki whispered hotly into his ear, it sent a shiver down Izuku's spine. His lidded eyes fell onto you, and his mouth ran dry at the sight. "She's been waiting for this, y'know. Wanted your cock, wanted to share you with me..." A groan rumbled in his chest as he listened and watched you writhe and gasp in front of them while your fingers worked quickly over your little bundle of nerves. Izuku couldn't take it anymore and leaned forward, dragged you closer by your thighs, and lined himself up with your slit as Katsuki kept pounding away at him. The moment the two of you connected, your eyes sprung with tears. Fuck, what a pretty sight. Both men had that same thought while they stared at you getting split in half on the thick cock. "Make her cry, Deku." Their hips picked up their pace: Katsuki's hips rocking into Izuku's while Izuku smashed into you and your hips bucked up to meet Izuku's. Moans and whines and whimpers bounced off the walls, and it brought the three of you closer and closer to your collective release. You were the first to fall apart when your boyfriend reached past Izuku to circle his thumb over your little button. The grip your weepy cunt had on Deku sent him over the edge, and he threw his head back onto Kacchan's shoulder while his ass was being pumped into. The sight, the sounds, the tears falling from both of your eyes finally caused the blonde to fill the green-haired hero's hole with his cum.

Yeah, there was no way Katsuki was ever going to let go of his two favorite crybabies.

[hoezhatelola]

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[stankacchako]

ochako: it wasn’t a close fight bakugo: close one

[agendercrisisx]

The world sucks but as you move in with the number one hero, everything turns a little easier. You get to be a stay-at-home partner and they take total care of you.

You get everything you ever wanted and everything you point at. They spoil you rotten, but nothing compares to the sex.

They use you as a way to get the stress out, you are their personal fucktoy. But god they love you so much. One day they need to fuck your brains out because they couldn't catch the villain. Using you for their own selfish gain.

And the next day, they would eat you out for hours as a way to tell you how much you mean to them. Then fucking you so gently and whispering sweet nothings in your ear, because they love you so much. You are their precious angel.

[shih-coulda-had-it]

teenage menaces

wc: ~850; context: set a few months into the last year of Aldera, Toshinori baits Bakugou into a fist-fight and they got in trouble with admin. this was mostly me testing out whether or not I could write Bakugou without stepping into the bashing zone. izuku pov.

//

The three of them wait outside the classroom: Kacchan impatiently, Izuku anxiously, and Yagi cheerfully.

“Yagi-san, what if you get expelled?” Izuku hisses, weaving his fingers together to stop them from twitching.

“Then I’ll get homeschooled? Honestly, Midoriya-kun!” He laughs under his breath, grinning way too big for a boy who got in trouble for beating up the star pupil of Aldera. Kacchan—looks small, next to him. Small and furious, like he doesn’t know the right way to get Yagi to shut up and sit down. Izuku prays that Kacchan never finds out that Yagi is actually All Might. Something might really break.

“Shut the hell up,” Kacchan snarls. “I can’t hear what they’re saying.”

“Ah, if I know my old man…”

“I told you to shut up!”

“You don’t want to place a bet on it, Bakugou-shonen?”

“WHO ARE YOU CALLING ‘YOUNG’?!”

The door swings open to reveal a pale-faced principal and a deeply unimpressed Gran Torino. The latter is out of uniform, but the clean-cut fashion of the button-up and slacks does an effective job at communicating Torino’s professionalism. He swipes the end of his cane at Yagi’s ankle, and Yagi yelps and jumps in surprise.

“Who are you calling ‘old man’?” Torino snaps.

“Sorry,” Yagi says unapologetically. “What’s gonna happen, jii-san?”

“You’re suspended for three days,” the old man announces, and because Yagi looks delighted at not having to attend school, meaning Kacchan looks furious at this apparent light sentence, the principal valiantly steps in.

“You’ll obviously have assignments over this period, to reflect on your actions. And Bakugou-kun must have an apology made to him.”

“I don’t want his stupid apology!” Kacchan spits.

“Fujita-san,” says Torino, “I believe I told you what was going to happen. I’ll get the parents’ permission. They might even be happy about seeing their son in action, if the boy wants to be a hero. Just get me two teachers.”

“Torino-san, this is a deeply improper way to handle the situation—!”

“The entire way you’re running your school is improper,” he drawls. “Don’t worry, it’s not an issue unique to your administration. I know what I’m doing, and I know my boy. He won’t be the one hitting below the belt.”

Izuku connects the dots faster than either Kacchan or Yagi. He blurts out, “Are you having them fight?”, and two blond heads whip around to stare (or glare) him down, then back at each other. Yagi’s grin widens. 

Torino says mildly, “In martial arts classes, they call it a spar. Clears the head, knowing the hierarchy… of who’s better.”

The principal’s distress is palpable. “It’s not legal,” he protests.

“I’d win,” Kacchan declares, bristling. Izuku bites his tongue to stop himself from trying to intervene. This is not a fair fight that Torino is setting up; however Quirkless Yagi is, he hasn’t lost the experience of his time as All Might, and with all the training that Torino’s put them through, his muscle memory and reflexes are sharp. Just because Torino is promising to get parental and teacher supervision—god, it’s a whole trap. Kacchan can’t beat Yagi unless Yagi overestimates him. It would take a legitimate miracle for Yagi to lose.

“I don’t know, jii-san,” Yagi says playfully. “Isn’t that a little mean to Bakugou-kun? He won’t be able to use his Quirk in the fight.” Unlike today, his smile says. 

“You need a Quirk to punch someone down?” Torino responds, and he rolls his eyes at Yagi’s tone. “That’s when you cross into villain territory. No. This is going to be good old-fashioned fisticuffs.”

Does Kacchan sense it? He must. He’s never been an idiot. The way his eyes dart down to Torino, assessing, attempting to reassess the old man’s threat level, to so casually propose arranging a fight between two fifteen year olds—Kacchan knows the shape of the trap, then. It just depends on whether he believes he can win.

And Kacchan, Izuku knows, believes in winning.

“Midoriya-kun,” the principal suddenly says, and Izuku flinches at the sheer hope in the man’s tone. “You’ve known Bakugou-kun for a long time. Did he start the fight?” 

The weight of all their eyes is overwhelming. His loyalty is being torn two ways, and he doesn’t know who to save. If he stops this fight, and denies Kacchan the chance to show off his skills and heart, Kacchan will hate him. If he stops this fight, and affirms that Yagi threw the first punch, then—All Might won’t hate him. The wry twist to Yagi’s smile is basically a blessing to disavow his fellow Quirkless classmate.

But Izuku doesn’t want to disappoint All Might, or even Gran Torino.

He trembles, breathes shakily, and says, “Kacchan would never miss a fight he couldn’t win,” and in the time his audience takes to process, Izuku quite deliberately sides with Yagi. Not hiding. Standing elbow to elbow, in solidarity.

Kacchan’s face twists. “Deku,” he hisses.

“Focus, boy,” Torino says, and his cane clacks against the linoleum flooring. “Your fight’s with Toshinori. That is, if your parents agree to supervise.”

“What if they’re too busy?” 

“We’ll find a time.”

[pluviophile-imagines]

Sleeping in the Garden Masterlist

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

bakugo katsuki x fem!reader

wc: ~80k genre: pro hero au, neighbor au, single dad au, slow burn, kidfic type: longfic (6 parts) reader: fem (she/her pronouns, fem terms, neutral clothing) fic warnings: children (7&16 years old), parent illness/death, absent fathers, discussions of neglect/abuse (pre-fic), discussions of toxic relationships (pre-fic), discussions of age gap (pre-fic; 20 & 34), underage drinking, eventual smut (optional)

for the @mybigbangacademia​ collab

note: post dates are approximate and subject to change. I will post when I think the chapters are ready to come out.

part i part ii part iii part iv part v part vi SFW version || NSFW version

read on ao3

[i-amm-mj]

Is it really hate? - NSFW

A/n: So, this is my first post here in Tumblr... i was very nervous about posting it, but my mom didn´t raise a coward so here i am. I hope you all enjoy it, and please be kind, i´m not a native speaker and my anxious ass could´ve ommited  something. :)   

Words: 2k.

Prohero! Bakugo x reader

Warnings: NSFW themes, cunnilinguis, hate fucking?, lots of cursing. 

Summary:  You work for Bakugo at his agency, but your job is not that easy... Bakugo and you hate each other... or at least that´s what you thought. 

You hated Katsuki Bakugo. No. You loathed him with every fiber of your body…

He had been an egocentric annoying bastard since UA, constantly criticizing you and making stupid comments about your lack of talent in your field. He hated you too, that was pretty obvious. But you think that God hated you the most because you ended up working for him in his agency after the one you were working on had closed.

You didn´t know why he had accepted your job application, maybe just to keep torturing you like he used to back in high school, but today he had crossed the line…

“This is bullshit” He said making a disgusted face while holding the gauntlets you had invested an entire month to design and made “I didn´t ask for this shit”

“I just thought that you'd like an upgrade or two…”

“Are you kidding me? I´m not paying you to be “creative”, I´m fucking paying you to make what you are fucking asked for”

“I didn´t mean any- “

“Shut your fucking hole and listen for the first time in your shitty life, Y/N!” you opened your eyes in complete shock. He had a shitty attitude, that was true, but he had never talked to you like this, and you weren´t going to tolerate a man to treat you like that, not even if that man was your boss. So, you stood up from your sit and closed the distance between you and him while holding a finger up.

“Don´t you fucking dare to talk to me like that!”

“I´m your fucking boss”

“So, what!? You think you can treat your employees like shit whenever you are having a fucking bad day!?”  you raised your voice “I´m tired of your shitty attitude, not just to me but to the entire building! I have thanked you enough for the opportunity you gave me while nobody did, but I can´t and won´t take this shit anymore! I´ve tolerated you enough for years!”

“You are free to go then”

“Yes! I know! That’s why I´m fucking quitting this job right now! You will have my resignation letter first thing on the morning” you turned on your heels.

“Who are you going to work for? Nobody´s gonna give you what I gave for your shitty work” you froze. You were fuming. Was he fucking serious?

“You didn´t say that…” you said trying to control yourself.

“I fucking did” you snapped.

“You are a fucking bastard, Bakugo!” you turned so fast that you almost broke your neck but you didn´t care at the moment. “I´ve designed for Shoto, for Deku, for Uravity and even the damned Hawks, and they all were amazed by my fucking work! It´s just you the one that don´t recognize me! Why!? Why are so obsessed with making my life a living hell!?”

Bakugo stayed silent and it was your turn to speak “I hate you! I´ve always hated you ´cause you´ve been a bully for all of us! I don´t even know why such a nice guy like Eijiro can be your friend! You don´t deserve him! You don´t even deserve to be a fucking hero! I´m SO happy that Deku turned out to be the number one… ´cause he does deserve it. He is so much better than you…” you were just a few inches from him, and even with Bakugo towering over you, you didn´t back out. The tension was evident and suffocating...  

“You done?” he said with a blank expression.

“I´m sure that Deku´ll hire me. He mentioned he wanted me in his agency not long ago. I´ll be better in there” 

“You serious?” Bakugo contorted his face with something similar to pain and anger. 

“Course I am. I´ve never been surer about something like this in my entire life” you turned again with the intention of getting out of the room, you had said enough... but then something in Bakugo´s head just broke, so he held your wrist with a strong but not painful grip. He couldn´t let you go, not now, not never. He had always been asshole with you, that was true, but he did like and admire your work. You were amazing in what you did, but he had had a terrible day, no... a terrible week since the last attack of a villain and the media critizing him for everything he did or didn´t. He was tired... He was angry... And he didn´t know how to exprese it if it was not through his shitty attitude towards of whoever was in front of him at the moment...

 “What the fuck are you doing!?” you tried to shake your arm free “I´m gonna scream if you don´t let me go”

“Do you really mean it?” Bakugo asked. 

“What?”

“Do you really hate me?” you scoffed.

“After all you´ve done and said to me, that has to be pretty obvious, don´t you think?” Bakugo smiled. A sarcastic smile that had your head spinning from rage “What´s so funny!?”

“You´re so fucking sexy when you´re mad…”

“You gotta be kidding me” your expression turned from rage to complete shock.

“Not at all”

“Are you insane? Did you hit your head or something?”

���I fucking hate you too… you get on my nerves every damn time and I can barely stand you.” Bakugo put his free hand on your waist and you let him, listening close to what he has to say. “But you are a tease, you´ve always been… and so pretty and smart too” his lips were on your neck, sucking a little on the skin of your throat. You moaned because of his words... “Those fucking skirts and shorts you constantly used back in UA… always bending in front of all of us.” you tried to protest but he bit your neck “Are you gonna fucking tell me that you didn´t notice the huge erection on shitty Deku´s pants when he came to the office and you were wearing that slutty red dress of yours?”  

“I didn´t” He raised his head to look you directly in the eyes. He huffed. He knew you weren´t that naive. 

“Even nice guy Kirishima was constantly glaring at your cleavage” He smirked “The walls in our apartment are thin, you know? I´m pretty sure he jerked off thinking about you that night. I heard some noises coming from his room…”

Something in you snapped again but in a different way. You knew that Bakugo was a good looking man with the body of lust demon, but you had ignore it because of his personality “What about you?” you purred, feeling a little brave and honestly, turned on.

“I wanted to fuck you on that same table. Bend you over in front of everyone and make you scream my name, punish you for being such a slut in front of all of them” He kissed you hungrily and you responded moaning higher when his tongue got into your mouth, exploring the inside of your mouth and battling for dominance with your own tongue.

Bakugo softly moved his hands to under your knees to lift you up like if you weight nothing and then proceeded to put you on the table. He stopped for a minute to confirm that you wanted this to happen, and when you nodded with half lifted eyes, he started to slowly take off your blouse.

His complete attention was now redirected towards your breasts still covered in the lacy of the bra, he massaged your boobs and kissed them with such dedication that your pussy throb at the sensation. You knew he was damn good at this and hasn’t even done anything yet.  

Bakugo kissed you again, this time a little bit softer. You didn’t know he were capable of such display of softness towards anyone. He was always rude and honestly, insufferable, so you felt yourself a very lucky person for being the one receiving this treatment.

“Lay on the table” he said softly and you happily obeyed. Where did your hatred run? You didn´t know and you didn´t care, not with Bakugo positioning himself between your legs.  

Bakugo lowered his head towards your sex and put your knees on his shoulders to have a better access. You moaned when his lips kissed your inner thigh and bit the same area seconds after.

“Be sure to not cover your mouth, ok? I wanna hear you moan my name” Bakugo moved your panties to the side and with a flat tongue started to taste your pussy. Just the first lick took to heaven you and back. You didn’t know how he did it, but the sensation was like nothing you had experienced before. He had a golden tongue, a real prodigy of oral sex. He knew where your most sensitive parts were just by the little sighs you let escape. 

He sucked your clit a couple of times after that and continued giving licks to your pussy lips, but your moans got louder when he put his tongue inside you and started tongue fucking you like there was no tomorrow. Your hands flew to his hair and you pulled a little rough, he groaned satisfied. You could feel the little smile that formed on his face.

“Omg…” you sighed “Don´t stop. I´m close. Please, don’t stop” he pulled out his tongue to redirect it to your clit and then inserted a finger and curved it to massage your insides. You closed your thighs when the feeling was too much and almost suffocated him, but he didn’t stop there, fortunately.

“Say my name…” he groaned without taking out the finger inside you.

“Bakugo…” you moaned.

He inserted another finger and moved the both of them a little faster “I said ´my name´, not my last name, pretty girl”

You were close… so close. You knew that if you didn’t answer to him the way he wanted you to, he could stop and ruin your orgasm, so you obliged “Katsuki…” you whispered.

“Didn’t hear you”

“Oh, Katsuki, please, let me cum” you moaned again. He smiled and helped you with his mouth, sucking your clit again, oh, so heavenly…

“Cum on my face, doll. C´mon, make a mess” he said and you did so. Your pussy contracted against his digits and your entire body convulsed on the table. Katsuki let you ride your orgasm using his entire face, and when you were done, he stood up with a proud face and your juices on his mouth, chin, nose and even his right cheek. That made you smile with a dumb post orgasmic face.

“Was I that good?” he joked for the first time in years after seing your cute face… you laughed.

You sat up after a couple of minutes, your eyes immediately focusing on the erection that he wasn’t trying to cover from you.

“Can I help you?” you suggested and he nodded with a lopsided smile.

“Use your words, pretty boy” you teased with a seductive voice.

“I´m not gonna fucking-¨ you cut him off with a kiss.

“I was just joking… I know that big great Dynamight himself would never beg, not even for a blowjob” you laughed and his face softened.

You got up, pushed Katsuki a little to make room for you and proceeded to kneel down… but just when you where ready to put his pants down, a low knock was heard on the door. You looked up to Katsuki with big surprised eyes.

“Yeah?” his voice harsher than normal. You pinched his thigh and he flinched a little.

“Uhm, Mr. Dynamight, sir?” the voice of your assistant was heard. You stood up immediately. “I- uhm, sorry to bother you, but Miss Y/N and I have a meeting in 15 minutes…”

“Fuck…” you groaned while getting up and clothed again. “Yeah!” you shouted “I´ll be with you in a minute”

Katsuki stood there, just looking at you, his face unreadable. You finished fixing your hair the better you could.

When you were presentable, you faced Katsuki. He had something similar to a pout painted on his face.

“We´ll talk about this later… I promise” you said… He avoided your eyes, and then nodded.

“Yeah, whatever”

You took the papers you had brought to the meeting and opened the door to encounter your assistant blushing to her ears.

“Omg, how much did you hear?” you mumbled while closing the door behind you.

“All of it…”

[pixeldemonia]

Wake up gourgeus people, Horikoshi gave us some Bakubaby crumbs ñam ñam ñam

Projecting myself here 'cause those are literally like my favorite fishnets

[little-fairy-forest]

The interview

pro hero Dynamight is questioned on his choice of partner. Will Dynamight be honest with the press about his secret love life?

Bakugo x gn! reader, fluff, romance, foreign reader, protective bakugo

Pro hero Dynamight wasn't interested in the whole world knowing about his private life. Numerous news outlets and journalists try and squeeze the tiniest amount of information out of the stern hero, ending with no information worthy for a click bate title for their blog.

Dynamight only shared what he sees as 'necessary' to the public. His workout routine? sure he will demonstrate what he does in the gym, what he eats in a day? sure but he does the voice over. He is very strict with what gets posted about him. He can't always choose what the press posts about him, knowing the hero will react a certain way if the information is twisted beyond belief.

You both wanted to make sure your relationship was private from the public as you liked your privacy. Even the slightest hint of bakugo having a partner will put you in danger of villains. So when Katsuki was approached by a tabloid to do a questionnaire, he insisted his assistant and manager triple checked the questions to make sure he was safe and prepared.

---

"So Dynamight! Welcome to our annual hero questionnaire to start the hero year after the popularity polls - congratulations on number 5! that is an amazing achievement for a young hero like yourself. " The host asks bakugo as he waits for the questions to start. The sooner, the better so he can go home.

"Right, lets get into the questions, firstly how did you and your partner meet"? the interviewer was listening with big ears as Bakugo huffs and bluntly explains how you guys met

"They where workin' with Earphone jack, they arrived to Red Riots birthday a few years back. Couldn't take my eyes of em" Katsuki says with a small smirk paired with a light chuckle back on the fond memory

"That's wonderful, Did you wait long before getting together after meeting?" Katsuki slumps back in his chair, thinking about his answer before replying to the eager interviewer

"After a few dates I asked them just before I dropped them home, Couldn't let them make the first move– I'll always be number 1" Katsuki says with a shit eating grin on his face as he waits for the next question confidently,

"That's so sweet, but why did you want to date a foreigner? do they understand much Japanese at all?" The interviewer didn't seem to pick up on the level of disgust his question brought to the hero in front of him. More questions like this, and he will blow a fuse

"What type of fuckin Question is that huh? Doesn't mater to me where they're from. Once they aren't a pain in the ass" Katsuki tries to blow over the question like his agent told him to when he is asked an inappropriate question. Unfortunately this interviewer didn't get the memo.

"Is this an arranged quirk marriage?" The interviewer jumps straight to the question most of Bakugos haters want to know. He has a large follow across the world, but his haters really know how to piss him off. They can say all they want about him, but you? that's too fucking far for this blond boy

"So what? you thinking we're gettin married for some quirk marriage or some shit? what makes you think that, huh? because they have a cool fuckin quirl? or is it because they're from (home country) and Japan is on the decline of arranged quirk marriages?" Katsuki asks sternly as he sits up in his heat, He was moments away from blasting the man in front of him to the moon if he even dared make a racist comment about you next

"Look at the people from that country! they're in need of strong quirks as their ratio to quirkless to quirk users in on the decline. They also seem very comfy in your penthouse sitting on their ass all day, rather working a hard job like you do Dynamight. No hate is meant from my answer, but it is alright of you having an arranged quirk marriage. " How dense was this interviewer. Bakugo has found a hater who clearly is asking biased questions. None of his real fans would care who where why when and how he gets married.

"They work so god damn hard. They don't need the media blowing smoke up their ass for just lifting a finger like most pros sniff for. Not only do they own their own franchise, but they are also the ambassador of (luxury brand) . What do you do? except asking people invasive questions all day?" The film crew was hinting to the interviewer to cut the questions short before the explosive hero kicks off.

"Think we're done here, don't message my team." Katsuki stood up before walking off the set, leaving the interviewer pissed off as he wanted to ask more invasive questions to the fiery hero. Too bad he didn't follow the script

---

@heronews247 : pro hero Dynamight storms of out interview after hurtful remarks towards his fiance !😲 follow for more updates 🔔

@heronews247 : pro hero Dynamight threatens any news outlit with a lawsuit if they make racist comments towards his fiance 🤯

@Ilovedynamight33 : any true Dynamight fan knows not to make fun of y/n! they give us all the gossip! 😍❤️

@RedRiot : very manly 🥹💪@OfficalGodDynamight stading up for y/n!

@OfficalGodDynamight : Whisper lies about @y/nlovelylife your days are numbered.

-> Masterlist

[queer-obsession]

on my bullshit again and thought abt if MHA characters (pro heroes) would hard launch or soft launch your relationship so here you go:

Izuku Midoiya: soft launch - he's definitely the type to take a relationship slow in general anyway and with his status as a pro he wouldn't want to just throw you to the wolves. His manager helps him out and after you've been together for honestly almost a year he'll carefully start stepping back from being single. If asked if he's in a relationship in an interview instead of "no" he'll say "no comment", he'll purposefully get caught buying something for you a couple times, he'll tweet a quote abt love, and eventually post a picture of him holding hands with you or hugging you where your face isn't visible, then his next interview when he gets asked if he has a partner he'll say yes and that's it, a few days later he posts a photo kissing you with your face visible and captions it with a simple heart

Katsuki Bakugou: No launch - He is a firm believer of it's nobodies fucking business so he just doesn't talk abt it. Eventually you guys would get caught by fans or paparazzi and he'd probably be like "yeah that's my partner got a fucking problem with it?" and that's it. Honestly people are to afraid to bring you up in interviews

Shoto Todoroki: Soft launch - he doesn't know the fucking difference but his manager would eventually want him to soft launch your relationship when people start to catch on so he does. He does the classics, gets caught buying flowers, posts abt love, takes a photo of a candlelit table for two, and eventually posts you two together. What the world doesn't know is that your actually the one that crafted all the soft launch posts

Kaminari Denki: Hard launch (by accident) - he can't help himself 😭 you guys probably planned on keep your relationship on the low for a bit longer but he accidentally mentions you in an interview or he posts a photo of you talking abt how cute you are and doesn't realize he did it on his main

Kirishima Eijiro: Hard launch - He can't shut up abt you. The second you guys are official EVERYONE knows. One day he just gets asked abt his relationship status and he just praises you for a minute straight and you only became his girlfriend a month ago

Mina Ashido: Soft launch - I think she would love crafting and organizing a soft launch. Taking fun teasing pictures and watching people in the comments freak out. She just finds it cute to soft launch and practical. She eventually posts a photo of you two together probably on a holiday with the cheesiest and sweetest caption. She defiantly planned everything with the idea of announcing your relationship on said holiday to

Keigo Takami (Hawks): Soft launch - He's a very high ranking hero and let's not forget that the hero commission helicopters him like a bunch of stalkers. your relationship would be a secret for a while, over a year 1/2, because of the commission. When they realize your not going anywhere and that the public is catching on they organize for his handler and PR team to soft launch the relationship. I feel like his PR team definitely built up a bachelor reputation for him so they have to soft launch to get people shipping you guys and not being as mad he's no longer single. Shit goes on for months, him getting caught buying gifts, getting caught at a fancy restaurant, his PR manger tweeting cryptic shit, organizing a fake paparazzi shoot where they "catch" him holding hands with an unknown person. Eventually he mentions being in a relationship in an interview, but he doesn't post you for another few weeks at his managers request so that people can "digest"

Hizashi Yamada (Present Mic): Hard launch - he doesn't really mention his personal life to much but his students know abt you and he mentions you on his radio show. He just casually mentions you one day and then doesn't talk abt you again for two months when he casually mentions you again

Aizawa Shouta: No launch (lowkey secret) - Another firm believer of it's no one's fucking business. There is no launch because your relationship would most likely be a secret. Never mentions you at work, is an underground hero, and a definite homebody. There was never any hope of any type of launch. Present mic is the only one that knows except maybe Midnight. Nezu knows to but he's a stalker

Rumi Usagiyama (Mirko): Hard launch - When i say hard launch i mean it. This women legit just makes out with you in public one day and that's it. The internet almost breaks because it comes out of no where for the general public. Never talks abt you because she likes the focus to be on her hero work but doesn't shy away from PDA and doesn't care if people know.

i hope someone finds this interesting 😭 reblogs appreciated ❤️ have fun down the MHA rabbit hole

[derpymidnight]

Katsuki Bakugou dating a single mom of two. He is so whipped for her. He's got the looks, the reputation, the status, but he genuinely thinks he's the lucky one. So very charming with her, which he usually never is, and that's how you know she's special.

He absolutely hates kids and thinks they're gross and irritating, but he loves hers. He is so infatuated with the kids, and does surprisingly well around them. They love him too, it's practically a match made in heaven.

You both marry and he makes the most wonderful husband and father.

Before meeting her, he considered his number one hero status the most important thing in his life, but afterward he is dedicated to his little family. Katsuki constantly takes time off work to spend time with them, which has a big impact on his case resolution count. Eventually he drops to second rank on the Hero Billboard Charts, then fifth, and then eighth. The hero business is unforgiving, and you apologize profusely for it, but Katsu makes it clear that he's a father and husband foremost, and his job as a hero comes third.

Just,,, Katsuki raising the reader's kids