Bakugou being so in love with you but he won’t ever admit it, my beloved.
Can you imagine Bakugou, who’s been in love with you since the moment he met you, catching you one evening trying to bake cupcakes in the kitchen. And he can see how angry and frustrated you are instantly, even without the evidence of many many failed attempts strewn all over the countertop.
Uneven batter, burnt edges, no rise— each time seems to get worse, even though you’re following the recipe to a T. But it’s late, you’re exhausted, and the only pleasure you have now is eating the leftover cake mix off your wooden spoon as you sit on the counter overlooking the mess you know you’ll have to clean up.
“You’ll get sick eating raw cake batter, dumbass.” Bakugou rolls his eyes as he looks at the mess of burnt cupcake failures strewn across the kitchen, “Why don’t you just buy yourself a cake?”
“Because I wanted to make the cupcakes,” You pout pathetically, dumping the spoon into the sink as you prepare to start the tedious cleanup.
“But you can’t bake for shit.” Bakugou scoffs.
“I know,” You heave a sigh, “But it’s Valentines tomorrow, and I thought—”
You trailed off, not knowing how to explain to Bakugou that the cupcakes were supposed to be for him.
But of course Bakugou doesn’t realise that, however perceptive he thinks he is he can’t see the big, fat crush you’ve had on him for just as long. Trying to ignore the ache in his chest at the thought of you gifting these cupcakes to someone else as he shoulders you out of the way with your dirty bowl, sticking it beneath the warm stream of water as he begins to clean it up.
“You don’t need to do that, Bakugou. I made the mess, I can—”
“Shut up, shitty woman,” He rolls his eyes, trying to mask the pained rasp in his throat, “We’re gonna bake the best fuckin’ cupcakes you’ve ever had.”
And he’s right. The cupcakes that now sit cooling on the counter look perfect, all of them the same shape and consistency as you watch Bakugou hover over them with the piping bag as he swirls the orange mixture onto each one with precision.
He doesn’t say a word when you’re finished, only a gruff grunt as he excuses himself from the kitchen. Cheeks flushed pink from the praise you’d given him, the sweetest words from you.
“Have you got a valentine, Bakugou?”
“Nah, it’s a stupid fuckin’ holiday.” He despised the glow of hurt that flashed through your eyes at that, despised that he was the one to make you feel shitty about trying to do something nice.
When the truth is, he loved that you were trying to bake cupcakes for someone, it showed just how sweet, kind and perfect you really were— he just wished you were baking those stupid cupcakes for him.
If only he knew that you’d wanted them to be perfect because they were for him.
And now you weren’t going to gift them to him because he thought it was a stupid holiday, and it was a stupid idea to think he might actually want them.
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