#char.đ§ bakugou
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the merman is back.
itâs a little weird how used to him youâve gotten. heâd only shown up for the first time a few months ago, but when youâre largely alone out on the boat or in your oceanfront lab thereâs no shortage of ways for him to visit with nobody around.
heâs yet to tell you a name, but after the first few weeks of silence he suddenly revealed a passable understanding of english; when he speaks it's rudimentary, but he clearly understands everything you say, even if he doesnât listen half the time.
you havenât gotten the nerve to get in the water with him. in fact, you havenât gotten in the water at all since he arrived, even when your colleagues are around and heâs notably not. heâs massive, his tail alone being well over two meters long and possessing the torso of a man who would tower over you on dry land (a handsome man, you're begrudged to admit, with those broad shoulders and blood red eyes and that ash blond hair that somehow looks good immediately coming out of the water). heâs assured you in his blunt, curt way that of course he doesnât want to eat you but you still have anxieties about getting out into the open water youâve always loved and being pulled under by a fucking sea monster.
heâs getting bolder, though. when you take the boat out today, he follows it, like the dolphins used to back when you operated out of the keys; that sleek black body would be terrifying just from the size, like seeing a fully grown orca bump up against the hull.
and when you weigh anchor, almost immediately, the boat keels aftward when he pulls himself onto the deck.
you shriek and he immediately pins you with a steely glare. heâs never done that before. itâs fucking terrifying, though heâs not managed to drag his whole body up and youâre a little comforted by that. itâs just his armsâtwo massive, heavily muscled things that are flexed and crossed in front of him, holding his head, shoulders, and much of his human-like torso up out of the water with ease. that enormous tail trails behind him and itâs still terrifying to see, your heart skipping a beat every time the shimmering orange markings catch your eye.
you donât know what youâll do if he decides to come all the way onto the boat. he wouldnât be able to maneuver that well, but where the fuck would you go? into the damn water?
âfucking christ!â you yelp. âdonât just do that, motherfucker!â
âcalm,â he snaps as he rolls his eyes.
the urge to flip him the bird is overshadowed by the knowledge that he wouldnât understand, and youâre too frazzled to explain what go fuck yourself means. instead, you turn back around to clean up the cabin that heâs managed to mess up.
âoi, human, come.â
you huff, shouting your name at him and pointedly refusing to turn away from your task. heâs clearly annoyed at that, and you belatedly realize that perhaps if youâre really that terrified of him coming onto the boat you shouldnât provoke him. luckily, rather than heaving himself up, he jerks the entire hull.
itâs a smooth motion for him, gripping the stern and rolling his tail so that the boat moves with him. itâs like being out in a storm, and though youâre well aware that itâs just your needy visitor, your sea-hardened stomach still lurches at the familiar feeling.
you stumble out of the cabin, careful not to be thrown over the edge. âiâm out! holy shit, i have a damn job you know, i canât spend all my time catering to your whims.â
he stops as soon as you get back on deck. âcalm,â he tells you again, and you're really starting to hate the word, âtoo loud.â
âwhoâs fucking fault is that? donât rock my damn ship.â
âsit,â he demands rather than apologizing.
there are a plethora of reasons not to. you wonât be able to get away quickly if you need to, you shouldnât be encouraging his demands by obliging immediately, you really do have a job to do instead of⊠whatever this isâinstead of listening to any one of those reasons, you ease yourself down with your legs crossed a little ways away from where heâs holding himself.
he snarls, baring a mouthful of sharp teeth. âcloser.â
âno,â you snap. ânot if youâre threatening me.â
his mouth shuts immediately, brow furrowed and lips pouting in an expression thatâs less pleading or apologetic and more contemplative.
ânot a threat,â he seems to settle on saying.
you roll your own eyes. âyeah. okay.â
âcome here.â
âwhy?â
âwanna feel you.â
that throws you for a loop. what could he mean by that? you realize that perhaps heâs as fascinated by you as you are by him.
youâve caught him staring at your body in the past. heâs never reacted like youâd expectâif youâd caught a human looking at you like that and then turning away when you caught his eye, heâd have been checking you out. but when itâs an apex predator of a different species, thereâs an entirely different context, one youâre even less enthused about.
youâre standing before youâve fully thought it through, fully freaked and ready for him to go. you barely get to uncross your legs, however, before he lunges.
itâs far faster than your not-normally-hunted-because-youâre-a-modern-person mind can follow. a cold, clawed hand snaps out to latch around your ankle and yanks you downward, slamming your back into the boatâs coarse deck and then dragging you towards the edge. thereâs not even time for you to shriek.
this is it, you think. heâs going to eat you now; heâll drag you under and rip you apart, or maybe heâll drown you first as a mercy. you hope he doesnât want to play with you further, drag you into the water and let go to make you swim because he wants a chase.
the moment your ankle hits the water he stops.
youâre breathing heavily, free leg still braced on the deck, arms finding purchase on a pole nearby. his whole body is underwater aside from his eyes and the very top of his head, but you can still see that massive dark shadowâonly little flashes of that pretty orange-gold patterning visible as his scales glint beneath the sunâand it sends a thrill through you. heâs so ungodly enormous.
that hand is still around your ankle, but itâs looser now. his mouth is beneath the waves so he doesnât speak, but his eyes are soft and almost regretful as he regards you.
âokayâŠâ you move slowly, getting to a better position. it pulls your captive ankle from the water and the movement causes his grip to tighten as if heâs reluctant to remove itâhe doesnât stop you, but he doesnât let you go. youâre forced to sit on the edge of the deck with your feet dangling over the side.
âlet me feel you,â he tries again, as if heâs giving you a choice.
âask,â you decide upon demanding. his words have made you realize, with a burst of shame and a promise to never tell anyone in the future, that youâre not entirely opposed to the strange rude merman feeling you.
youâre gifted a growl, not unlike the snarl from before but lacking the teeth. heâs learning, you realize, not only in not baring those terrifying weapons at you but also in removing his hand from your ankle.
âcan i⊠touch you,â he spits out, like the words and your request are insulting.
and again you think there are far too many reasons to give in just like that. youâve been around enough children to know that rewarding problematic behavior is hardly the way forward, but thereâs a certain part of your brain thatâs in control right now and itâs not particularly interested in breaking him of his demanding attitude (quite the contrary, to your chagrin, this very annoying part of your brain is enjoying it).
âare you sure youâre not going to eat me?â
âno eating.â he huffs, wrinkling his nose.
âwhat, i smell bad or something.â
he regards you, approaching a little closer, and you resist the urge to pull your legs up to hold your knees to your chest.
âsmell good,â he says, ânot like food.â
all right.
âfine, then. if youâre not going to take a bite out of my calf, then⊠sure. feel me, i guess.â
heâs just as fast as before, not even waiting for you to finish your sentence before heâs lashing out and grabbing your leg again. this time, heâs not looking at your face; heâs focused entirely on your feet, those big hands inspecting them thoroughly.
itâs rough, and youâre a little glad because if heâd been gentle it would have likely been too ticklish. heâs still careful with his massive claws; youâre sure theyâre sharp enough to pierce your skin with ease, and heâs clearly skilled enough to avoid it. youâre more than thankful, because youâve seen how he hunts with them (heâs dropped disemboweled fish in front of you before as strange gifts) and you donât want your legs to end up like his prey even if he doesnât eat you.
he moves on from your feet, both hands latching onto one calf and almost massaging it in reverence. his face is even closer now; you really ought to be more worried by the proximity of those teeth to your skin, but the fascination on his face is so enthralling.
by the time he reaches the back of your knee, you're tensing. while before heâd been mostly in the water, heâs very nearly at your height now, holding himself up by his grip on you and an awkward hold on the deck with his spare hand.
and then heâs at your thigh, and your breath is heavy.
because heâs basically laid out on your lap, one arm wrapped entirely around your upper leg such that his large palm rests flush, fingers spread, against the plush flesh of your inner thigh. and heâs no less fascinated, expression no less sincere, as he pulls further up to get closer.
âwarm,â he says, more to himself than you. he blinks, as if shaking away a daze, and his eyes jump up from your thighs to look at your stomach. âsoftâŠâ
his head drops. you jump, caught up in the strange haze he's brought with him but snapping out of it as he lays his head on your lap. your heart thumps erratically, your breath long bated. heâs not looking at your thigh anymore, and not your face eitherâheâs locked on your stomach, your loose t-shirt having ridden up slightly to reveal more bare skin.
you ought to see it coming, really, but when that big, cold hand moves from your thigh to your torso, sliding smoothly beneath your shirt and running up your bare stomach, you yelp and jolt back.
he startles, and then heâs gone, slipping back off you and disappearing down into the murky water. youâre left panting, with nothing but a very wet body and the ghost of his touch on your legsâŠ
and the heat of your face at the knowledge that, while youâd been surprised, you kind of wanted him to go further.
#bnha x reader#bakugo x reader#mine.đ§#char.đ§ bakugou#that one beach episode#just a lil merbaku đđ#for the soul#w a spitfire reader bc im me JHSBDF#this is reposted!!! i wrote it like two yrs ago for jotato kujo lmfaoooooo but rewrote it for bakugo who tbh i think it works for even bett#but the og is still up on my ao3 so
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oh, oh !! for your prompts, can i send 15 and 17 with bakugou đ„șđđ§Ą
15: A borrowed sweater, soft and well-worn and still smelling of its owner
17: Bringing chilly hands up to warm with hot breath
!!!!! willow hi!!!! tysm for sending smthn in i hope u enjoy đ„ș
Katsuki finds you huddled out on the balcony of his luxury apartment when he comes back from his run. It faces east, and you like watching the sun as it rises over the shining metal and glass of the city, observing from above as everything slowly wakes.
Youâve made yourself tea, hugging the mug to your chest as it steams and provides warmth in the face of a crisp autumn morning. Katsuki seems to have thought you needed more.
The door behind you opens, and then thereâs a soft fabric falling over your lap. Heâs brought out the throw from the couch just inside, a nice knit that you think his parents might have gifted him.
You let a free hand leave your mug to scratch at the back of his head as he fusses, bending over to tuck the fabric beneath your thighs and tug it up over your stomach, grumbling inaudibly but never saying a word. It has you leaning down to press your lips to the crown of his head, which makes him pause.
He turns his head toward you, clearly intending to speak, but instead his eyes fall on the thick pullover youâd procured and thrown on before coming out. His brow furrows, a little scowl marring his faceâitâs hardly intimidating when his eyes are so soft.
âThatâs mine, brat.â
âI donât know what youâre talking about.â Pulling the blanket closer around you, you shuffle further down into your seat, satisfied now with your cozy accoutrement.
âThe sweater. Itâs mine.â
âIs it?â It is, you both know it. But he likes the sight of you in it, and you like the way it smells like him, so you both also know it wonât be coming off.
He rises to his full height, now looming over you, and you stare up at him as youâpoorlyâbite back your grin. Instead of continuing to berate you, he heaves a sigh that has you laughing quietly. Before he can speak, you do.
âMy teaâs not as warm anymore.â Itâs a playful almost-whine, accompanied by a pout as you lift your arms up towards him. âMy hands are getting cold.â
âNeedy.â
Despite the word thereâs no bite to his toneâitâs heartachingly affectionate, and he reaches out to cup your offering in his own larger palms, dipping low to cover his mouth with them and exhale over your skin. Warmth blooms; not merely in your chilly fingers but also in your chest, sweet and soft, a little in awe of how those scarred weapons handle you so gently.
When he pulls them away he doesnât quite let go. He turns as if to go back inside, but he hovers, red gaze lingering from the side of his eye, waiting. If you didnât know him so well you might be confused, but you do know him, and you know what he wants.
Your fingers tighten around his, dragging him back closer to you. He allows it with an amused little smile; you pout up at him further. âNo, I meant I want you to stay. Keep me warm.â
As if you havenât made the request heâd been silently pleading for, he heaves a long-suffering sigh. âFine. Just âcause you need my help.â
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Izuku prioritizes his work but would, if push came to shove, renounce pro heroism for you. Heâll cancel four and five and six dates in a row, run off on you because of a fire downtown, when you said you wanted to spend time with him. But you could come home one rainy night, with drenched clothing and weariness in your bones, and you could tell him of the man who just accosted youâthe words heâd spat, the helplessness youâd felt, the pain in your wrist where heâd grabbed you. And you would see Izukuâs face shift, see the furrow in his brow and the lightning in his eye as he crouches down beside you, and know, right then, that he would burn the world for you. Or perhaps simplyâhere and now if you askedâhide a body.
Katsuki prioritizes you but could never not be a hero. Heâll leave work early to make dinner for you, take days off if youâre sick or if you just want a vacation, step out in the middle of a meeting to answer your call even if he knows itâs merely to hear the sound of his voice. He dreams of retiring before his body gives out so that he still has decades left to keep holding you, so that he can watch you go grey and see your face form wrinkles, so that he can grow old with you. But Katsuki is a hero; he has trained for it since the day his quirk manifested, has formed his being around it, has burned it into his very marrow. He will always be one even after he puts away the uniform. He could never stray from the path.
#pattering on the roof#um. yeah#idk just thinking about their personal views of heroism and their relationships#char.đ§ midoriya#char.đ§ bakugou#mine.đ§
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*eyeball* *eyeball*
Bakugo no kids talk!!!
Send in a đ (and a fandom if u want!) and Iâll give you a snippet from a fic I started this year
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Katsuki calls you when he leaves work every day.
When you started dating him that was the deal. He risks his life constantly; thereâs no assurance ever that heâll return home to you. So even now, years after the tradition began, now that the pair of you wear matching rings on your fingers and the bed he stumbles into each night is the very one you occupy, he still calls.
Itâs never anything substantial. Sometimes itâs quick, barely a minute long, a quiet greeting and a simple home soon before he hangs up to change out of his uniform. Sometimes you stay on the phone for an hour; talking about your days as you both commute, planning dinner, discussing your upcoming visit to his parents over the weekend. More often than not itâs at 5:00 almost to the minuteâhe scarcely likes to dawdle, preferring instead to end the work day and have dinner with you regularlyâand you typically know ahead of time when heâll be working late.
Of course, there is a downside. On the rare (very rare) occasions when you donât get that call, it makes you panic.
He calls you a dumbass every time, rolls his eyes and scoffs, yet he always holds you tighter afterwards. There is always food in his hands when he opens the door, shoved into yours in silent apology. You always catch him as heâs drifting off, pressing a kiss to the nape of your neck and promising that heâll always come home safe.
Youâre certain thatâs what will happen tonight when you donât get your call at five.
Youâre still pretty certain heâs okay at 5:30. You text him a photo of the meal youâve made, the two place settings, with a caption telling him not to let it go cold.
By the time 8:00 rolls around youâre worried. Thatâs bedtimeâheâd never voluntarily miss it. Yet you assure yourself by turning on the news, aware that if pro hero Dynamight had fallen to a villain or been crushed by a collapsing building it would be talked about and nothing of note was being said. He typically told you when he was going out on more secretive missions, too; not directly, but subtly. Heâd implied nothing of the sort today. Heâd likely just been dragged out to some bar by his high school friends, the only people able to do it. Heâll come stomping through the door at midnight smelling like booze but stone sober, and youâll shove him into the shower and sit on the sink while he bitches about Denki and Mina and Hanta with affection in his voice. Yeah, thatâs it.
9:00
10:00
11:00.
Youâre still in your work clothes, you realize, yet itâs far too late now to change. The lights are off in the living room save for the multicolored display of the television, which you keep on out of a sinking feeling that any moment your fears will be confirmed. An image is ingrained in your mind: his body, broken and bloody. Lifeless.
You wonder what villain could have taken down Katsuki. You think theyâd have to be terrifyingly strong to even stand a chance, and still have to play dirty to win. Maybe theyâd looked like someone he knewâIzuku or Eijiro, or maybe even you. Heâd have gotten a shock from that, a villain strong enough to harm him would have only needed that chance. Or perhaps it had been a building, perhaps heâd charged in after hearing an old lady calling for help. Foolhardy heroics had always been Dekuâs thing yet your husband could get caught up in it at times. You blame their shared mentor. All Might had more than enough to spare.
Katsuki would chide you for staying up so late, especially on a work night. Heâd take one look at the clock on the wall and bark at you to go to bed, never mind that he could be dying in an alleyway or bleeding out on some rooftop. Heâd drag you to the bathroom to wash your face. You wish he were here to do it. Your conjured version isnât persuasive enough.
But then you get a call. Itâs 1:34 in the morning. Youâre on the couch, curled up in the corner with the cat pressed into your side and a blanket thrown over your legs, staring sightlessly at the news half dozing off. Your phone is on the coffee table in front of you, and it startles you awake when it buzzes.
You lunge for it, too relieved upon seeing the contact on the screen to care about the sound of your cat scrambling off into some safe corner of the apartment. Itâs Katsuki. His name is like a beacon of hope as you press accept, as tears spring to your eyes and your thumb shakes just barely. You can already hear his gruff voice calling you a dumbass for being so worked up, the offended tone as he asks you if you have any faith in him at all.
Except itâs not Katsuki on the other side of the line, not this time.
Itâs Deku.
#uhhh sorry Shay#đ„°#mine.đ§#char.đ§ bakugou#bakugo x reader#bnha x reader#will pluvi ever have a consistent format for their drabbles? stay tuned to find out!
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Pro hero Bakugo Katsuki who, after over a quarter of a century of life, has long come to terms with the idea that heâll never fall in love until it suddenly and inexplicably clicks with you.
Bakugo Katsuki who spent his hormone-fueled teenage years silently baffled by how easily his friends got crushes and how much theyâd talk about sex, who graduated high school having rejected every poor soul who confessed to him, who stepped into the limelight of pro heroism brushing off the affections of models and socialites because theyâve never once interested him.
Bakugo Katsuki who never really went looking for loveâwho has friends, who has work, who has many more important things than dating around desperately to find the oneâbut who canât help but to yearn for it, in abstract, despite it all; who reads romances and watches cheesy romcoms and listens intently when his friends seek dating advice (and gives good advice despite his lack of experience) but thinks, sadly though heâd never admit it, that such things arenât within his grasp, and wants to be okay with that.
Bakugo Katsuki who meets youâmaybe itâs pure chance at a coffee shop or on his morning run, maybe youâre a fellow pro hero who managed to shove your way into his close-knit circle, maybe youâre his manager or his secretary and youâre the only one skilled enough in your field to keep up with himâand you strike up a friendship. Bakugo Katsuki who slowly lets you in, slowly allows you past those prickly spines intended to keep annoying extras out, slowly comes to genuinely enjoy your company until youâre so much a staple in his life that he canât imagine it without you anymore.
Bakugo Katsuki who, after literal years of friendship, suddenly starts feeling feverish when youâre around; who begins to feel his heart race when you smile at him and his breath hitch when you say his name, who has been perfectly content withâin fact come to cherishâa friendship with you for so long but now has to look away when he sees you wearing the sweatshirt he left at your place months ago and never bothered to demand back because you never have anything of the right weight anyway. Bakugo Katsuki who brings this upâcasually, gruffly, bashfullyâover drinks with Kirishima one night only to get an astonished laugh and a dude, I think youâre smitten in return.
Bakugo Katsuki who thinks his best friend is insane because heâs in his late twenties and heâs never so much as kissed anyone, because he doesnât do anything for the hell of it and heâs never had the desire to kiss or be kissed. Bakugo Katsuki whose mind conjures up the traitorous thought of kissing you once he articulates that concept.
Bakugo Katsuki who canât stop thinking about it afterwards, not when the moment he sees you again his mind goes foggy and he has to duck away before you see the reddened tips of his ears, and who is frankly more terrified about it than heâs ever been before in his life.
#bakugo katsuki x reader#bnha x reader#char.đ§ bakugou#mine.đ§#demi bakugo my beloved#thats what im going for anyway
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Pumpkin Spice & Everything Nice
in which you donât know much about ground zero, except that heâs a selfish asshole who keeps stealing your coveted pumpkin spice muffin in the morning and eating it. right in front of you. with that stupid smirk on his face
bakugo katsuki x reader
word count: 4.9k
genre: fluff, pro hero au, slow burn
type: one-shot
reader: neutral (no pronouns, neutral terms, neutral clothing)
warnings: none
part of the sweater weather collab || prompt #8 from this list
âthe fuck was that?â he asks, incredulous but clearly amused. you like the expression heâs giving you right now far better than the arrogant smirks and shit-eating grins that youâre so very used to; heâs fighting back a genuine smile like heâs enjoying your dumb antics.
âi donât know,â you whine in response. âi panicked.â
âwhy? jeez, and i was looking forward to seeing you today, too.â
âyeah, thatâs why i panicked! how do you think most people would react if they saw some pro hero looking for them?â
ground zero blinks. a little frown forms on his lips, almost a pout. itâs kind of adorable. clearly, he hadnât thought about that. âkinda figured i wasnât just some pro hero to you by now.â
The first time it happens, you donât think much. You get in line at your favorite cafe and note that thereâs only one pumpkin spice muffin left (the best pumpkin spice muffins youâve ever had, the very reason you found this cafe in the first place, and something you look forward to for the scant time theyâre offered every year). By the time you get to the front, itâs gone. And youâre disappointed, of courseâitâs the first day theyâre available and youâve missed outâbut thereâs always tomorrow. Youâll just have to be quicker. You donât even notice the blond hero whoâd been two spots in front of you in the line.
The second time it happens, you do notice him, mostly because the barista does. She greets the man by what youâre fairly certain is a hero nameâGround Zeroâand doesnât wait for him to order before starting a medium black coffee for him.
âWow. She sure likes you,â you remark dryly from behind him. âI was a regular before they even hired her and she only just started spelling my name right.â
âHero privileges,â he grumbles in response, low and annoyed like talking to you is a chore.
You roll your eyes from behind him. âBut common courtesy, apparently, isnât a privilege the mighty hero Ground Zero will grant me.â
Your words make his lips quirk up just slightly, a tiny smirk that makes you roll your eyes again as you huff and cross your arms. He doesnât speak, which youâre glad for considering how insufferable the look on his face is, but itâs because the barista has returned with his drink. Itâs then that he gruffly orders none other than the last pumpkin spice muffin, and when you make a disappointed noise as he takes his newly bagged pastry the beastly man laughsâjust slightly, little more than a huff of air through his nose, but undoubtedly finding your indignation amusing.
The third time it happens he does it on purpose. He doesnât even hide it; he glances back at you, eyes the pumpkin muffin, and then raises an eyebrow to give you a look you canât quite decipher. You think, briefly, that maybe heâs offering to let you have it, but instead, when he gets to the front of the line, he simply buys it himself. Youâre stuck glaring at the back of his head as the barista gives him his prize, and when he passes you on his way out you hiss, âVery mature.â
He doesnât respond, or even really look at you; he just gives that little smirk and walks out.
So you decide to arrive five minutes earlier the next day. And you do; except that so does he, coming the opposite direction, the door to the cafe right in between you.
A door which he sprints for when he sees you. You might have considered racing him except that heâs an entire pro hero and apparently absurdly competitive, so he gets there in record time⊠and then waits for you, smugly, so that he can hold the door open for you to walk in after him. He orders the muffin, gives you that dumb smirk, and leaves no pumpkin spice goodness for you. If you were a different person, you might consider finding another cafe to get your seasonal fix, but to be honest youâre probably as competitive as he is. Youâre not about to just let him win like that. Besides, you havenât found any places nearby with comparable quality.
He beats you again when you come five minutes earlier the following day. Youâre beyond pissed now. Itâs Friday; you should be looking forward to the weekend, but instead youâve spent every morning since Monday missing your favorite treat. Itâs hell on earth, and the devil is a blond pro hero who takes pleasure in your misery.
You pout as you take your spot behind Ground Zero. He snickers, addressing you for the first time since your initial meeting.
âSomeoneâs grouchy.â
âGee, wonder why,â you drawl, sarcasm dripping like venom from your words.
âGotta be quicker next time,â is all he says, and though he hasnât bothered to look back you can hear the obnoxious smirk on his face.
You donât dignify that with a response, and you try not to stomp your foot like a child as you watch him leave. He doesnât even have the decency to wait this time; he looks directly at you and takes a huge, crude bite, winking with his mouth full and pushing backward out the door.
When Monday rolls around, youâre even earlier. But heâs caught on. You push back by five-minute increments on Tuesday, then Wednesday, then Thursday, and he beats you every time, always going out of his way to taunt you or even just eat the muffin right there while youâre in line. As each day passes, you grow angrier and angrier. Youâre pretty sure this is going to be your villain origin story.
Youâve shifted your whole morning routine by an hour by Friday; itâs a struggle to wake up, you nearly miss your alarm and you speed through your morning routine, but itâs worth it because thereâs a glimmer of hope as you reach the cafe.
Donât get it twisted. Ground Zero is still there, annoyingly smug expression and allâthe hope comes when you get a look at the display case because there are two muffins standing proud behind the glass. Youâve arrived early enough that they havenât all been bought, so youâre not as dejected as normal when you take your place behind him in line.
Heâs wearing what is clearly workout attire; grey sweatpants and a loose tank that makes you want to scream (not because his arms look good, certainly not, just because heâs annoying) with a pair of wired headphones draped over his shoulders. Itâs unusual; normally, heâs in what youâd probably call business casual, presumably commuting to his agency where he changes into his hero uniform.
âYouâre early,â he comments. Heâs turned backwards in the line so that he can face you.
âSo are you.â
âIâm always up at this time. I just saw you at the end of my morning run and decided to beat you again.â
You wrinkle your nose, giving him a glare that could kill. âYouâre a real piece of work, Ground Zero.â
He doesnât even try to stifle his laughter, much to your increasing annoyance. âYou sound worse than some of the villains I fight.â
âMaybe Iâll become one, then. Iâm angry enough.â You huff. âBut not today! Because thereâs two, so you canât ruin my morning.â
You regret saying it immediately because the words make him quirk his eyebrow in a manner that isnât reassuring. He doesnât say anything else; he just turns around to face the cashier and greets her like he has every day since your unfortunate meeting.
You figure out what heâs going to do mere seconds before he does it. You watch him gesture at the display, and youâre gasping as he holds up two fingers and orders both muffins.
âYou asshole,â you say, less of an accusation and more of a statement of fact. âI fucking hate you.â
The asshole turns to face you, leaning back against the counter with that shit-eating grin on his face and his arms crossed (donât ogle his fucking arms, youâre better than that, and heâll definitely notice). âMaybe I wanna see you snap. I think youâd make a great villain.â
âI fucking hate you,â you repeat, having very few other words available in your mind to string into a sentence. âGo rot in hell.â
The barista returns with his drink and two brown paper bags, holding them out for Ground Zero to take the cup and one bag with his right hand and the other with his left. He turns back to you, holding out the single muffin, but you donât take the bait.
âI bought this for you, you know, but I donât really wanna do someone who hates me any favors.â
âSpare me, I know youâre lying.â
He makes a tsk sound, shaking his head. âItâs okay, Red Riotâll appreciate my gift more than you would have anyway.â
âFuck off,â you groan.
The bark of laughter that he lets out as he leaves definitely doesnât make your face heat up.
You keep trying the next week, but itâs futile. Ground Zero is just too dedicated to ruining your day. Still, you canât deny the small part of you that feels warm every time you see him.
Halfway through the week, thereâs an incident that reminds you quite suddenly that your annoying cafe companion is a famous pro hero.
It starts like normal. He greets you with his usual smirk. âMorning. You look like shit.â
To be fair, heâs right. Youâd worked late last night and are set to work another late night today, so you really only have the energy to flip him off. Youâd say that only a pumpkin muffin would cheer you up⊠but to be honest, only a pumpkin muffin combined with beating your new nemesis would do the job.
Said nemesis goes keep talking (probably to taunt you about being lazy or slow or something) but you donât get the chance to hear it. Instead, you get shoved back when a trio of squealing teenage girls rushes over from their table across the cafe and crowds around him.
âGround Zero!â their apparent leader exclaims, âGround Zero! We wanted to thank you for saving us yesterday! That villain was so scary but you were so brave!â
The other two give a chorus of agreement, shrill and high-pitched, and itâs painfully obvious that Ground Zero doesnât want them in his face any more than you do. Serves him right. Heâs looking over their heads at you as if you can save him; thereâs a quip on your tongue about how he should be doing the rescuing, dashing pro hero that he is, but you decide against saying it while theyâre around.
He does rescue you, ultimately, though it takes far too long in your opinion. After a minute too many of the teens shamelessly flirting with a grown man and him uncomfortably trying to get them to leave, one of them stumbles into you, shoving you back violently against one of the rods that hold up the line divider. Itâs accidental, but it hurts, and the girl doesnât even bother to apologize as you hiss out in pain.
âOi!â Ground Zero snaps, none too happy and dropping what little civility heâd been offering. âThatâs enough, fuck off! Donât you brats have parents? Who the hell taught you manners?â
The chittering pauses for a moment, then the trio bursts into giggles.
He growls and you raise an eyebrow at him, but he doesnât notice. âThere are other patrons here, donât be fucking rude. If you ainât gonna apologize then fuck off. If you are, then say youâre sorry and then fuck off. Thereâs a time and place to talk to pros, donât just ambush them in a fucking cafe.â
Finally, they seem to get that heâs really pissed. All three give you an apology, and theyâre better than youâd expect, seemingly fairly genuine, before they leave.
Ground Zero doesnât ask you if youâre okay, not verbally at least. He takes his spot in front of you and asks with his eyes, barely turning his head and quirking an eyebrow.
âIâm fine,â you assure him. Your ribs arenât hurting much anymore, so thatâs certainly the case. And now you have fodder to taunt him with. âThank you for the save, though. Youâre so brave, Ground Zero, rushing to my aid like that. I donât know what I would have done without you.â
He groans. âChrist. Please, youâre not a damn high schooler, I get more than enough of that shit.â
âReally? You donât want me as your number one fan, fawning over you? Thatâs good. Stealing my pumpkin muffin every day isnât a very good way to win me over.â
âIâm not stealing shit. Iâm paying for it. Not my fault youâre not fast enough.â
âYouâre so immature.â
âIt doesnât have your name on it.â
âYes it does, right on the bottom. You just swallow it whole and donât look.â
âThen itâs basically not there.â
You give up on being earlier than him that Friday.
The following Monday, you relish the extra hour of sleep you get. The sun fully rises by the time youâre out of bed and, despite a little voice in your mind telling you itâs unlikely that youâll get your muffin today, youâre chipper, not necessarily hopeful but not quite as pessimistic as the previous week.
Thereâs another little voice, significantly quieter, that wants Ground Zero to be there. Only because heâs interesting, not because you like his company or enjoy losing your muffin every damn day.
He doesnât disappoint when you arrive. Itâs strange, though; you remember that previously heâd wear his work clothes (not his hero uniform, but clearly for working). but now heâs in his running gear like the week before, the grey sweats and the tank and the headphones around his neck. Heâs seated at a two-person table, too, hunched over with his forearms on the table as he scrolls through his phone.
His head snaps up when you walk through the door, and he doesnât wait to leap up and scramble to the line, making you throw your arms up in exasperation as he takes his spot right in front of you.
âAre you a child?â you ask.
âYouâre late,â is all he says in response.
âLate? Look buddy, we werenât meeting here. I didnât ask you to wait for me.â
âWell, thanks to your tardiness, Iâll have to go straight to work in this shit.â He gestures down at his body. âDo you know what my damn sidekicks are gonna say?â
ââNice sweats, boss,ââ you chirp. âOr something along those lines. I imagine theyâre a bunch of kiss-asses.â
âTheyâre not,â he growls.
âIâm not even late for my standards. Iâve been coming earlier because youâre such a dick. This is the time Iâve been coming here for years.â
âWell, maybe you should consider fixing your fucking sleep schedule.â
âMaybe you should consider antagonizing someone new for a change. Iâm sure someone out there likes blueberry muffins, go bug them!â
Youâve gravitated towards each other, practically nose-to-nose (though the fucker is looking down at you, ungodly tall as he is), chests all but touching. Itâs impossible to miss when his red irises drop to your lips.
Ground Zero doesnât move. You donât know what youâd have done if he did; you still feel like you barely know the guy, itâs only been two weeks, but it doesnât happen so thereâs no real reason to ponder it.
What does happen is the barista tentatively calls for him, forcing him to turn around and order. He still gets the pumpkin spice muffinâyouâre not surprisedâbut he doesnât speak to you on his way out. He doesnât even taunt you with it.
You decide to make your new normal fifteen minutes earlier than it used to be before meeting Ground Zero. Though it doesnât occur to you when you decide it, itâs because you intend to spend that extra time with him.
When you arrive, heâs at the table he was the day before, in his expected work clothes rather than his running gear. Again, he leaps up and beats you in line, seemingly past whatever strangeness had taken over him last time.
âNobody saw my clothes yesterday so Iâve decided to forgive you,â he announces.
âThere we go, everything worked out.â
âNo thanks to you. You just got lucky.â
âAnd what would you have done if I hadnât? Steal my pumpkin muffinâoh, wait.â
âI told you, dumbass.â Heâs grinning, teeth sharp. âI canât steal what you donât already own. I just beat you every time. Get better.â
âDonât you ever get tired of being this way?â Youâre grinning, too, despite yourself. It probably takes away from your banter, but you canât help it.
âWhat, the best?â
âThat was dumb.â
He doesnât get to defend himself, because heâs gotten to the front of the line. He turns to the barista instead of responding.
âMedium black coffee and that pumpkin spice muffin.â He points at the display, waiting for her to start to get the indicated pastry before raising his other hand to jab his thumb at you. âOh, and whatever they want.â
You blink, genuinely surprised.
âFor here or to go?â
âHere.â It comes out as a statement, but you can see the question in Ground Zeroâs eyes, and you nod your affirmation. He nods back. âYeah, here.â
âYouâd like your regular, then?â She turns to you, and you nod once again. She goes to start ringing him up, but then you speak.
âActually, Iâd like a bacon egg and avocado breakfast sandwich, too, please.â
Itâs one of the most expensive things on the menu, but Ground Zero doesnât bat an eye as he pays. He just looks around, clearly scoping for a table. Damn pro heroâs salary. You wonât complain if he wants to pay for your coffee more.
He settles on the very table heâd taken to waiting for you at. You eat breakfast together, and you donât really care that heâs eating your pumpkin spice muffin.
In fact, it becomes the new norm for the remaining week and a half of October. You arrive fifteen minutes before you used to and find him sitting at the same table, whereupon he leaps up to beat you in line as soon as you enter. He pays for your coffee and sandwich, and then you two spend your extra fifteen minutes sitting at that same table, talking. He even takes to walking you most of the way to your office; he has to split off to go to his agency a few blocks before you get there, but itâs still nice. You never forget that heâs still eating your fucking muffin, thoughâmostly because he spends breakfast taunting you, and because you donât want to let it go.
Itâs on the first of November that the realization hits, and you hesitate at the door.
Is it silly? Petty? To want to just pass by and take the bitter, over-brewed coffee at your office because youâve definitely lost this strange competition youâve been engaging in for weeks? You can see Ground Zero inside, waiting at the pick-up spot. Youâre definitely overthinking this. You shouldnât let it stop you from getting the coffee you so require, but you know that now that there are no more muffins it wonât be the same. Maybe he wonât even want to spend time with you anymore.
Isnât that stupid. Youâre nothing without the muffin? Without the meaningless, biteless bickering? You like being around him. You like to think the feelingâs mutual.
You watch as Ground Zero is approached by the barista and receives a pair of drinks in a cardboard carrier, watch as asks for what turns out to be a sharpie for him to write on one of the cups, watch as he returns the marker and his hand falls to pick up the little white box youâre just now noticing on the counter and glances around toâ
You squeak. He locks eyes with you and his narrow immediately. You have no clue what gets into you, but the look on his face makes you turn heel and rush away from the door.
You know damn well how fast he is, you know that if he wants to catch you he has the damn capability (heâs a pro hero for fuckâs sake), but for whatever reason the sound of the door opening after you only makes you go faster.
âOI! Why the fuck are you running?â He shouts after you.
âI donât know!â
It hits you how stupid this is, right then, and you halt so suddenly that when you whip around he very nearly runs straight into you. He reacts quickly, dropping the drinks and the package on the metal table right next to you so that his hands are free to fly up to your shoulders, both steadying you and stopping him from bowling you over.
âThe fuck was that?â he asks, incredulous but clearly amused. You like the expression heâs giving you right now far better than the arrogant smirks and shit-eating grins that youâre so very used to; heâs fighting back a genuine smile like heâs enjoying your dumb antics.
âI donât know,â you whine in response. âI panicked.â
âWhy? Jeez, and I was looking forward to seeing you today, too.â
âYeah, thatâs why I panicked! How do you think most people would react if they saw some pro hero looking for them?â
Ground Zero blinks. A little frown forms on his lips, almost a pout. Itâs kind of adorable. Clearly, he hadnât thought about that. âKinda figured I wasnât just some pro hero to you by now.â
Now itâs your turn to blink in surprise. âWell, I wasnât even gonna go to the cafe today. I was actually about to leave when you saw me.â
âWhat? Why?â He sounds panicked now. Your eyebrows knit in confusion momentarily, but his loss of composure helps soothe your nerves.
âUh, because I spent a month with an asshole purposefully antagonizing me and stealing the pumpkin spice muffins that I look forward to every year right out from under me? Kinda makes going to get coffee a little less refreshing.â
He has the decency to wince at that. âYeah, alright, I talked to a few of my friends last night about yoâthat and they convinced me that maybe I took things a little far, especially âcause I realized I was intoâI mean they were helping me plan to askââ
He cuts himself off, eyes widening quickly before narrowing and darting suddenly to the side.
âHuh?â
âItâs nothing,â he mutters gruffly. âHere.â
With that eloquent introduction, he grabs the little white box from the table and shoves it into your chest.
âWhââ You take it from him, choosing not to comment on his less than polite manner of handing it to you. Whatever is inside is heavier than youâd expected, and hot enough that your chilly fingers are warmed just by holding the bottom. âThis is for me?â
âYeah. I made âem this morning, âcause I realized Iâd prevented you from getting any of those muffins while they were making âem, so I talked the old lady into giving me the recipe and I figured you wouldnât open it right now in front of me yanno I just thought youâd wait until Iâm not right hereâŠâ
You pause halfway through opening the lid to raise your head and shoot Ground Zero an incredulous look. Heâs glancing away again, eyes fixed on some spot to the left of you, face pink and cheeks puffed as his lips pout and he bites the inside of his lip.
âYou donât want to watch me open your present?â You deadpan your response.
âNo, itâs yours, you can open it whenever you damn well want.â
âFine. I wanna do it now. In front of you. Because youâre apparently very embarrassed by the contents.â You pause. âChrist, itâs not some creep shit, is it? You didnât like, stalk me and these are hundreds of candid photos of me?â
âWhat? No! The fuck?â
âJust making sure. One can never be too cautious.â
âI wouldnât fucking do that!â
You hum in response, enjoying his spluttering as you return your attention to the box to findâŠ
Well, now. Heâd practically told you before, hadnât he? The old lady heâd been talking about must be the cafeâs owner, because the four muffins within the package look exactly like the ones heâd been stealing from you. And theyâre steaming, still hot.
âUsed my quirk to keep âem warm,â he grunts in answer to your silent question.
You look up at him, one eyebrow raised. âYou can do that?â
He shows you his palms and you watch as they swiftly begin to steam in the cool air just like the muffins.
âFun.â
âYa think?â
You snort, rolling your eyes and leaning in to nudge him playfully with your shoulder. âDonât be gross.â
âI didnât say shit, thatâs all your mind.â
Again, you hum your answer rather than speaking, this time reaching in to pinch off a little bite from the top of one of the muffins and place it into your mouth.
Itâs better than you remember. Maybe itâs because of the agonizing wait, or maybe because of the anticipation, or perhaps itâs because a hot pro hero made them just for you and is standing right before you gauging your reaction. Either way, you moan your approval and donât even regret it when Ground Zeroâs obnoxious arrogant smirk makes its triumphant return on his face.
âGood?â
You nod enthusiastically, plucking the muffin from the box and shoving the whole thing back at him so that you can use your free hand to remove the wrapper. Thereâs a part of you thatâs disappointed heâs no longer so flustered, but youâre also no longer particularly focused on him. You toss the wrapper back into the box to see that youâd missed something: a little card, folded in half, with your name on it. Youâll look at that soon; you have a muffin to eat now.
âI donât think four is enough, though,â you say as you take a real bite of the muffin. âYou owe me a full monthâs worth of these. How are you good at baking, too? Thatâs not fair.â
âIâm good at everything.â That earns him a scoff, but youâre smiling. He grabs one of the drinks from the cardboard holder still on the tableâyour drink, you realize, heâs bought you the one you get every dayâfrom the table and shoves it, too, into your chest. âHere, this too.â
You take it with your free hand, treating yourself to another bite. âThis is⊠really sweet. You remembered my order?â
âHah?â he sneers. âWhat, you think I canât remember your order? Like I havenât heard it every day for a month?â
âItâs a complicated order. Iâm allergic to milk, you know, so if youââ
âI got oat milk, dumbass. You keep trying all those weird alternatives and I figured thatâd taste best.â
You frown. âI didnât even know they had oat milk.â
âItâs new. Not on the menu yet; theyâre gonna add it tomorrow.â
âHowâd you learn about it, then?â
âThe old lady did, while she gave me the muffin recipe. Itâs more expensive. She just wants me to spend more money on her.â
You note, though you donât comment on it, that heâs done exactly that despite his clear disdain.
Heâs right, you realize as you take a sip of your coffee; the oat milk is best, better than your previous attempts with almond and coconut and soy, but you resolve not to tell him. As you go to take another bite of your muffin, you realize thereâs a phone number written on your cup.
âUh⊠I think you got a message.â
âWhat?â
You turn the cup so that he can see it. âThink itâs the cashier?â
Just like that, heâs flustered again, the bridge of his nose getting a dusting of pink as he snaps his head away and looks back at you through the side of his eye.
âItâs me,â he mumbles, just barely loud enough for you to parse out, though the words donât make sense.
âWhat?â
âI did it,â he repeats, glancing down. âItâs my number. For you.â
You open your mouth, gaping slightly for a moment before closing it again. Oh.
He doesnât wait for you to speak as he reaches into the box and picks out that folded piece of paper to hold out to you. âThis, too.â
Raising an eyebrow to look at it, you drop the half-eaten muffin into the box and take the paper from him with your free hand. Itâs a request, phrased as a demand. Let me take you out to dinner. Signed with a name: Bakugo Katsuki.
When you glance up, your face is probably as hot as his looks. Youâre gaping again, jaw slack, and heâs brought up his free hand to cover his face, crimson gaze peeking through his fingers.
âAnd the mighty hero Ground Zero has decided to⊠write his number on a coffee cup and ask me out with a piece of paper instead of. Talking to me. All right. Okay.â
âKirishima said itâd be romantic,â he says, voice muffled by his large palm.
Youâre pretty sure heâs lying.
âWell, I agree with him.â You drop the card back in the box, pulling out your phone to save the number as Muffin Thief â„ïž and send a quick text.
The sound of his phone (an explosion. Of course his text tone is an explosion. Itâs probably one of his own) Ground Zeroâno, you correct yourself, Bakugoâremoves his hand from his face to check it. His eyes widen and he looks up, breaking into that endeared smile heâd been refraining from giving you when he first caught you.
âYeah, Friday works for me.â
You lean in, unable to resist, and press a kiss to his cheek. âGreat. Pick me up at 7.â
#bnha x reader#bnha imagine#bakugo x reader#bakugo imagine#mha x reader#mha imagines#bakugo katsuki x reader#bakugo katsuki imagine#ground zero x reader#ground zero imagine#pro hero ground zero#pro hero ground zero x reader#pro hero ground zero imagine#bnha server collab#mine.đ§#fic.đ§ pumpkin spice#char.đ§ bakugou
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mmmm another soup for the soul excerpt!!! we hit 10k today with this exact scene lmfao; with a liiiiiiiittle luck and a lot of work i hope to post the first chapter on Friday đł
in which bakugo katsuki is your next door neighbor, and heâs just gotten custody of two girls heâs far too young and far too inexperienced to be a father forâbut heâs bakugo katsuki, so heâs damn well going to do it anyway
Riko gives Hayao a hug, wrapping arms around his waist and looking up with a bright grin to say, âBye-bye!â
He seems to startle from it. 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. âUh, yeah, bye.â Then he looks up at her father with a strikingly nervous expression. âGood toâto meet you, Mr. BakugoâMr. Dynamight, sir.â
Ayame pulls her off him, hissing something like stop being weird before grabbing Hayaoâs 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 youâre 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.
âDid he notice?â he asks, still looking down the road.
âNo, daddy,â she says sweetly, giggling like itâs the funniest joke sheâs ever made. You glance down at her to find that sheâs not-so-subtly trying to shove something into Bakugoâs hand.
âNothing less from my best fuckinâ sidekick,â he responds gruffly as he takes whatever sheâs trying to give him. You can only gape as he turns to youâno, your dogâand bends down to offer Tadeo the mystery item.
Itâs 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; youâd asked them where they bought the things, because they looked fancy as hell and Tadeo always seemed to adore themâstill does, clearly, judging by the way he barks and his whole lower half shakes with the force of his tail waggingâbut youâd never gotten a straight answer. Now you think you might have found it.
âPlayed your part well, too, mutt.â Itâs surprisingly affectionateâfor Bakugo, anyway. He gives Tadeo a pat on the head as the dog snarfs down what youâre realizing is a homemade treat. You havenât yet overcome your shock when he stands.
âWhat the fuck,â youâre saying before you can stop yourself. âIs that why he was being weird?â
âUsed to love those things. Made âem for him all the time.â Bakugo stands to his full height before turning to his daughter. âReady to go, bug?â
âWhoa, whoa, no you canât just leave after that, I need an explanation.â
Bakugo doesnât answer you at first; he lifts Riko with ease, resting her on his hip. Sheâs still acting incredibly self-satisfied.
âMy dad asked me to put a dog treat in Hayaoâs pocket,â she tells you smugly. âBut I wasnât supposed to let him find out.â
Her father frowns, turning to her and lifting his free hand to press a finger to his lips and shush her playfully. âShhhh we agreed not to tell anyone. Secret mission, yeah?â
She pouts at the reprimand. You interrupt, slightly annoyed.
âWhy, exactly?â
âHayaoâs not really interested in Ayame,â he tells you angrily. âPunkâs just some fuckinâ hero fan. Wanted to meet me, weasel his way into my good graces or some shit. If I tell Ayame sheâll just get pissed off at me. Trusts the mutt, though, so figured Iâd use that.â
You roll your eyes. âYou couldâve asked me, you know. She trusts me. And I told her yesterday that I didnât think the kid was into her.â
#pattering on the roof#char.đ§ bakugou#fic.đ§ sleeping in the garden#bakugo x reader#bnha x reader#THIS IS PARTIALLY A REQUEST TO TELL ME HOW WE FEEL ABT BKG CALLING HIS DAUGHTER BUG#i have been Struggling to find a good nn that he'd use...........#bc flowers & nature is a motif n i kinda wanted to lean into that#so i settled on bug??? i think it works well???#n e way#this scene titled in which bakugo tries to get his rebellious teenage daughter to do something without /telling/ her to do something#really he shouldve just had riko do it she trusts riko too#a list of people in this fic who ayame would listen to before bakugo: the reader. her 7 year old sister. a dog#ayame when her dad doesnt like her bf: you cant tell me what to do im just gonna date him HARDER UR NOT MY REAL DAD#ayame when the dog doesnt like her bf: blocked deleted he was toxic anyway ur totally right :/
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A little snippet for Soup for the Soul! The first part is still planned for later this month, but I just canât keep single dad Bakugo and his youngest daughter to myself đł
Edit: stop liking this post I posted the fucking fic already go read that
in which bakugo katsuki is your next door neighbor, and heâs just gotten custody of two girls heâs far too young and far too inexperienced to be a father forâbut heâs bakugo katsuki, so heâs damn well going to do it anyway
Bakugo doesnât ring the doorbell, he texts you insteadâa curt, cryptic âhereâ with no punctuation to speak of. Still, you barely need to glance at your phone to know what it is, and youâre already moving towards your door as you call out to your guest.
âRiko! Your fatherâs here!â
Heâs standing on your front stoop when you open the door, arms crossed and glaring as always. His attention seems to be on a flower pot youâve placed at the top of the steps.â
You should water that,â he says.
âIâll take it into consideration,â you reply cheerfully, as if his words donât make you want to throttle him. Itâs like every time you think you make progress he manages to say something rude and youâre right back to square one wondering if itâs worth dealing with his shit.
(It is, for the girlsâ sake.)
You gesture for Bakugo to follow you in, lingering by the kitchen as he makes a beeline for where Riko sits at your table. He crouches down next to her and you have to pry your gaze away from his thighs.
âWhatâre you working on?â
âWriting.â
âReady to go home?â
âNo.â
You bite back a grin. Riko hasnât looked up since Bakugo had arrived; pointedly focusing on her schoolwork, sheâs being so passive-aggressive youâre almost impressed.
âPrincess, Iâm not a damn mind-reader. You gotta tell me what you want.â
She sighs, exaggerated and adorable like only a little kid can manage. âCan we play princess and dragon before dinner?â
He sighs in response, giving the exact same energy: long-suffering but clearly endeared. âCan I be the dragon this time?â
Her answer comes terse, stern, like this is a conversation theyâve had countless times and he should know better by now. âNo.â
You cover your smile with your hand, holding back giggles, but you canât help it as Bakugo glances back at you from the dining room. His expression makes you burst into laughterâsilent, so Riko doesnât think youâre laughing at her, but he can see. His eyes narrow and he mouths at you, not a word. You reach up to make a show of zipping your lips as he turns back to his daughter.
âAll right,â he relents. âGrab your shit, then.â
Sheâs already packing up her things, shoving papers and books into her bag, so certain of her victory before heâd even said a thing. Her sparkly pink backpack is miniature in his hold as he takes it from her offered hold. He dwarfs it when he slings it over a broad shoulder, and he equally dwarfs Rikoâs hand when she reaches up to place it in his. She gives you one last wave and a gap-toothed grin before tugging her father towards your door.
#bakugo x reader#bnha x reader#mine.đ§#char.đ§ bakugou#fic.đ§ sleeping in the garden#the latter half of this scene is straight nabbed from ted lasso will not lie#but it worked too well#and roy's niece in ted lasso is the only reason im getting riko's char right bc im so bad at writing little kids đđđ#yes bakugo swears around his kids he tried to stop but he Couldn't and now the best he can do is make it so normal they don't know its bad#posting this and then passing out gn dash!!!!
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In Your Arms Masterlist
i wish time would just stop when iâm in your arms
A collection of short fics about cuddling with various characters, with no particular organization and updated entirely on the authorâs whim. Characters to be added as inspiration demands
Hawks
Shigaraki
Bakugo
Aizawa (COMING SOON)
#bnha x reader#bnha imagines#hawks x reader#hawks imagines#shigaraki x reader#shigaraki imagines#aizawa x reader#aizawa imagines#mine.đ§#fic.đ§ in your arms#char.đ§ shigaraki#char.đ§ hawks#char.đ§ bakugou
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youâre awakened by a flash, a sudden crack of thunder. when youâd gone to bed it had been raining lightly; now, it beats heavy against your window pane, wind howling strong beyond the walls of your apartment.
you move on instinct, pulling your covers up as if to protect you with one hand as the other reaches out blindly to find your phone. thereâs no time for you to think about who youâre calling; your heart is beating heavy and your breath hitches with each bolt and your finger shakes as you press the contact name of the man youâve only just started dating, not fully realizing how ridiculous it is or how he might respond until you hear his gruff voice answer.
âshouldnât you be asleep?â
âare you on patrol?â your words come almost timid, followed by another flash and rumble, making you jump as your eyes dart from the inky darkness of your room to the window, where the rain flows down in sheets like curtains.
ânah. fuckinâ paperwork. âll head home in a few, no need to nag.â
âi justâi wanted toâto make sure you werenât out in the storm.â
bakugo pauses slightly, brief like heâs had a realization. âyou good? you soundââ
he cuts himself off as you gasp sharply; the wind has picked up and you can hear something rattling against the sliding glass door in your living room leading out to the balcony. your laundry line, you rationalize; but logic doesnât stop your heartbeat from speeding up, your breath from hitching, your eyes from squeezing shut like that would make whatever monster your mind is conjuring up disappear even if it were there.
âsorry,â you choke out. âsorry, iâm being silly, iâll hang up. sorry to bother you.â
âdonât.â
it comes fast, before you can even finish speaking. and he doesnât say any more; you canât parse out the silence, canât figure out what heâs thinking when his face isnât in front of you. heâs easy to read, easier than he knows or anyone else might assume of him, but only if you can see him.
âsorry,â you whisper again, so soft you almost hope he hasnât heard it through the receiver.
you know he has, though. and you feel self-conscious; for so many reasons, now that the adrenaline of being woken up has worn off and youâre left sitting in your bed feeling like the biggest fool on earth, sinking down into your covers like thatâll protect you from your newly-minted boyfriendâs judgement. outside, the storm rages on, flashes of lightning still lighting up your closed eyelids and the thunder still shaking your bed, rain still battering your window pane and your whole building groaning against the wind.
âsâokay if youâre afraid, dumbass,â comes his gruff voice finally, surprisingly lacking in the sadistic amusement youâd expect from him making fun of you. âiâll protect ya.â
âdonât make fun of me.â
ââm not...â his voice trails off. he clears his throat. you can almost envision what he looks like all the way across the city, holed up in that office with ears glowing red, blinds shut to ward the other night owls away from interrupting him. heâd let you do it, though; heâd answered your call and indulged your sudden inexplicable anxieties.
âiâm worried for you,â you mutter finally, sheepish and petulant, ânot myself.â
outside, the wind picks up again, howling against the windows and slamming your laundry line into the sliding door even harder. a flash of lightning illuminates your room for mere milliseconds, the crack of thunder rattling your bones.
âmy office ainât any more dangerous than your apartment. safer, even. âsides, thereâs nothinâ i canât beat.â
âyou canât fight a storm.â
âiâd do it for you. iâd win.â
itâs stupidâchildish, evenâbut somehow that helps. somehow his words make you feel safer, make your heartbeat slow and your breathing steady. âarrogant bastard.â
âiâd win,â he insists. âif ya promise to patch me up after.â
youâre about to respond when thereâs another flash of lightning, the accompanying boom louder than any before and immediate. you yelp, burying yourself under the covers and pressing your phone closer to your ear like bakugo is actually with you.
âthatâs it,â he barks suddenly.
you wince, hearing the shuffling of papers in the background. âsorry... you can get back to work now. i shouldnât have bothered you.â
âhah?â his sneer comes louder than the storm. âno, dumbass, iâm coming over.â
âbut your paperworkââ
âcan fuckinâ wait when my girlfriend needs me.â
he shows up dripping wet, soaked to the bone, still in his hero costume. but you canât hear the storm as you sit in the bathroom while he showers, and you certainly canât hear it when youâre in bed with him, warm and dry and safe, burrowing yourself into his chest with his strong arms secure around you, his breath lulling you to sleep.
#bnha x reader#bakugo x reader#pattering on the roof#mine.đ§#char.đ§ bakugou#i love storms n raining (in case u couldnât tell from my theme LMFAO)#so I rarely get scared by thunder n stuff#but I just got woken up by a storm in the middle of the night#so enjoy my adrenaline-fueled midnight rambling
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bakugoâs one of those guys who insists that you canât get a cat (theyâre impossible to train and hes not gonna be cleaning the thingâs litter and wet food is disgusting) but the moment one comes into your shared home itâs already his
he spoils the damn thing; getting new toys and cat trees and scratching posts to put in every room, ordering about fifteen different water fountains until he finally decides heâs found the right one, changing up the food over and over until finally deciding to just make it.
itâs a stray cat, one that you spent a year coaxing into your apartment, and itâs skittish and flighty but heâs patient and calm with it. In six months it goes from hiding in corners around the apartment to sitting pleadingly next to him while he works, begging to get up in his lap. And he always lets it, without fail, mostly because the moment he gets up itâll immediately jump into whatever seat heâd just been in anyway. He refuses to move it, too; when you want to sit somewhere with him and the catâs gotten there first, you have to move it before he shows up or heâll grumble at you about disturbing it.
heâs a total softie and a complete pushover for it, and youâre not even jealous because heâs even more whipped for you
#bakugo x reader#bnha x reader#pattering on the roof#mine.đ§#char.đ§ bakugou#heavily inspired by my own father btw JAKHDSFV#he never went through a ''no cats in this house'' phase but#all the other stuff is entirely what he does#n e way im a big fan of bkg and pets of any kind#but im not a dog person so if he wants a dog he has to have adopted it before dating me đ#the bakugo cat saga
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