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Tales of Arcadia Oaks:
Douxie Masterlist 🤘
Immortal Game Night
BNHA/MHA:
Bakugou Katsuki Masterlist 💥
More Below —> (read for character here)
Being the PR Manager for Shoto, Izuku, and Bakugou Headcannons
Driving in the Car Headcannons (with Shoto, Izuku, and Bakugou)
Childhood Trio (Izuku and Bakugou)
Fall for me ~ (fairy prince! Shoto Todoroki)
This agency pair-up might just kill him . . .
Katsuki Bakugou never took orders, but when he did he never hesitated.
Vanilla. “Hold on.” No. Vanilla and honey.
A quick sharp tug to his blonde hair sent Katsuki’s carmine gaze on your face. Oh my god was he whipped. Those thick lashes kissing those lethal cheekbones as his grumbled underneath your fingertips, a quizative hum rumbling through him. It did nothing to help quell your instincts as he placed another hot kiss to the nearest available skin.
Katsuki’s lips finding purchase in the soft sensitive junction of your exposed elbow. The stubble on his jawbone scratching its way down your forearm, eyes never leaving yours.
“What’s the matter, Kaida,” he rasped. Little Dragon.
You huffed at that infuriatingly Japanese nickname rolling of his tongue in his native language.
Katsuki had the audacity to chuckle and place another soft wet kiss on the sliver of skin peaking out on top of your jeans. Out of instinct your legs zipped together with a little whine. Beforehand you thought you’d made yourself clear when you grabbed a fistful of his collar.
You tilted your head to see his eyes, hand running through his hair which he happily leaned into pressing another kiss to your wrist.
Had you always been this soft underneath the snarky comments, the “ — Katsuki. Dynamight.”
This time Katsuki’s seemed to snap out of his stupor. “Fuck,” another kiss, “whatcha’ say? I didn’t mean to make ya’ say my hero name.”
He watched as you through your head back good-natured giggles escaping you, “I said I need you to touch me, Katsuki. Otherwise I’m gonna fly away.”
You gestured to the space between your bodies. Your fist bruising the air between you. You’d not stopped clutching that immaculately pressed collar all wrinkled between your knuckles.
His eyes darted down to his neck with that classic Dynamight furrow between his brows. In a flash his hand flew over yours, thumb caressing over your fist absent-mindedly.
Katsukis eyes followed down to your toes his blonde hair brushing over your stomach as his tilted his head to see the comfy house slippers he’d gifted you for hero’s day on the linoleum as you hovered feet-clad in your own hero merch . . .
“You’re serious?” Whiplash. He was gonna get whiplash.
A smile…
A real dangerously gorgeous smile curved along the side of his face as his gently lowered you from in the sky. If you could you would most certainly stop the involuntary beating of your wings just to fully kiss this man. I mean this was the first time you’d actually gotten this far and you wanted more.
“trust me, you’ll be getting more.”
I guess you said that part out loud, but you couldn’t even find it within you to care as his hands dug into your hips, thumbs rubbing warm gentle circles against your skin. The hem of your hoodie had risen up and yet still your wings rubbed together incessantly.
The annoying cicada like buzz growing louder and more excited as he guided your ankles to lock around his waist. Yes. And suddenly his lips were on yours, “I know.” This was heaven.
Your toes curled at the feeling.
“Wait.”
“Hmm, what, am I hurting you?” Red eyes sear your skin in their trail of analysis. You shake your head vigorously hands already brushing reassuringly over his. Sure, Katsuki’s fire and smoke and all sinewed muscle coiled up with a bad attitude and explosive power, but he would never . . .
You nearly break his nose stealing another kiss, another kiss that’s really more gums and the knashing of teeth onto his wet pouty lips.
“I’m much less delicate than you think,” you say tugging him backwards.
He’s got no idea where you got this notion from because you’re not a shitty fucking extra heroine at all. Katsuki scowls, “didn’t think that—“ he trails of midway feeling your inner thighs coil around his waist. Your pretty little face determinedly dragging him with you and those ethereal wings. Katsuki’s jeans were already fucking tight before you manhandled him, but now?
You’ve pinned yourself against the wall wafting little minty huffs onto his chin as those wings flap uncontrollably against the wall.
His mouth grows dry.
The lashes on Katsuki’s cheekbones ruffle in the wind the same as they do when he’s in the mask leaping across the rooflines. The explosive palms are clamped down on your hipbones like your life depends on it.
“That’s it,” you nod, “you’re doing good. keep it like that, okay?”
The smoldering embers behind those carmine eyes ignite. Oh praise? Well, massive check. before you the bulk of Prohero Dynamight is back onto you pressing into you — a big beautiful bug pinned to the wall exactly like you want — before he’s on you dissecting you like you’re his next mission.
Shoto half-listened to the conversation behind his sisters closed door. His long elegant fingers busy absentmindedly tracing the artistic renditions of the kanji for horse. Various shades of wobbly watercolor; some deep blue, some vibrant red, and some a curious orange.
Everyday this week when he’d come to visit his sister Fuyumi she’d seemed to be busy. The team of teachers on her hallway stopping by her room with increasing frequency.
Last time it was Kato Sensei with the thick bangs and sugary perfume. The time before that Sugawara Sensei and her penchant for sneezing. If he was lucky, he’d not be categorically ambushed — or caught — by some of the more outspoken teachers making themselves know to him.
Right now, however, he was in the clear soft murmuring from behind the closed door in his sisters classroom.
That is, until the soft squeak of the door opening and you slipped into the doorframe — your hands bunched up tightly at your sides and the knees of your trousers slightly crumpled.
Todorokis fingers stalled on the second stroke of Uma the children’s watercolor forgotten as he turned to drink the rest of you in: the slight flush to your face, your plump lips and singular lopsided dimple curled inward with your pout, your straight lashes that seemed to refuse to curl as you stared at your polished penny loafers, and nestled again your sternum the little susuwatari charm he’d gifted on your lanyard with its unsettling bug-eyes.
The only acknowledgement to his presence an adorably distinctly accented konichiwa as you frantically made your way to the copy room.
He’d hardly finished replying before you were gone and Fuyumi emerged precariously teetering a gigantic stack of paper in one arm. Her other hand fiddling with the keys on her lanyard — a distinctly similar branded kodama charm tangled in her fist.
He spoke first, “Is something bothering L/N?”
Fuyumi let him take her binder of extra papers to grade without any complaint as she answered,” — yeah a little, she’s had a lot going on outside of work. It’s been busy for all of us as is.”
Shoto stared, waiting for her to continue. They passed by another wave of New Years themed displays in the hallway; fiery red horses made of construction paper galloped along the exit. He’d hardly ever seen you speed pass without at least making small talk. In fact, after his sister Fuyumi delightfully confided that her new teacher friend (at the time) enjoyed having conversations with him, Shoto was under the impression that small-talk in your given language was a mild comfort he could provide. That, and perhaps becoming the quickest vehicle to high-quality caffeination.
“Well, not that you heard it from me…”
Naturally, he would never indulge in casual office gossip from his sister.
“— you’d have to ask her exactly what’s bothering her herself,” she paused, as if deciding whether or not to tell him something as they turned down the hallway.
“But I will tell you that — I think — she just needs to stick to her standards and finally date someone that’s actually reliable, and considerate, and consistent.”
His ears perked at that. Someone reliable. Someone considerate. Someone consistent.
Fuyumi continued, “It does sound an awful lot like someone I know. I could try to set them up.”
“Who?” So his sister was already about to set you up with someone?
Fuyumi made a choked sound, her baby brothers heterochromatic eyes fixated on her with such intensity a barely disguised eagerness and glimmering jealously behind his irises.
He pushed again, “Who does it remind you of? This reliable, considerate, and consistent person?”
He watched as Fuyumi looked up at him with utter disbelief. Shoto blinked, gears turning, and turned his attention straight ahead. The stack of papers growing heavier as his tongue turned leaden in his mouth at the idea.
The look on his sisters face promised that the answer was going to be distinctly embarrassing too if he could not guess it right away.
And as they crossed the threshold of the school building and made their way out on the sidewalk — sunny yellow monkey bars occupied by students waiting on the trains. Shoto and his sister waved to them; a chorus of “Bye Sensei!” called in their wake.
His sister turned back to him biting her lip to try and keep her teasing smile from growing wider. “— would you like a hint, Shoto-kun?”
Shoto hummed affirmatively.
“Okay,” Fuyumi adjusted her tote bag strap as she considered the best choice of words, “He’s very reliable. A lot of people rely on him to keep them safe.”
Shoto grimaced. A fellow prohero then? With their father’s connection she’d know plenty.
“And he is definitely considerate. He always helps without being asked like when I go home for the day or when making time for his friends or showing up for others by visiting them — even when they’ve not always treated him well. He’s also very considerate by being observant and always remembers the little things like someone’s favorite flower, or soba order…”
Shotos eyes narrowed almost imperceptibly to anyone but someone close to him.
“Fuyumi these facts don’t narrow it down—“
Naturally a man should keep schedules and remember things about his friends and family.
“Well then, this person is really consistent at being kind and soft-spoken and a good friend to others,” Fuyumi paused looking directly into her brothers eyes, “but also consistently terrible at chopping chives.”
Fuyumi nearly fisted her hand into the top of her scalp as her brother fell behind her. Shotos once even long-legged pace coming to a complete stop. That strange infamous reboot flickering across his whole body as his red and white eyebrows shot straight into his hairline — a finger prodding directly in the center of his sternum where his phosphor scar lay.
“Me?”
“Yes you!” Fuyumi was slightly hysteric, laughter bubbling out of her, she was going to tear all her hair out if she had to deal with Shoto’s strangely endearing oblivion any longer.
“I know my brothers and you all have the same himura lovestruck look — you get it from mom,” her baby brothers shock melted into a heartbreakingly soft smile.
Her heart ached, and she grabbed onto her lanyard. The kodama charm pressing little point limbs into her palm — oh she loved seeing him this way. All grown up and happy and healthy and learning to do things he liked — just being Shoto who’s soft-spoken, and immensely thoughtful, and considerate of others…
Fuyumi wasn’t a hero in the same way that the rest of her family was but she could do this in her own way because Todoroki Sensei made people lives better.
Shoto was still beside himself hand running through his newly cropped hair, “So you’ll assist me in making my affection known? You’re sure I would be a good partner for her?”
Fuyumi shoved her finger directly into her brothers chest, “You — baby brother, would be a good partner to anyone.”
And Shoto could only grin ear to ear as his sister made a declaration into the cold afternoon air her voice coated with that resolute Todoroki tone — the one that constantly shook the nation…
“If this is what you want Shoto-kun, then I will help you get the girl!”
Midoriya wouldn’t call himself an uninformed teacher, but sometimes there’d be special events his students had for other classes that he just didn’t know about.
For example this Monday he’d shown up to his classroom early — like usual — a cold bottle of Pocari Sweat in hand and the smell of fresh expo markers as he wrote the days announcements. And honestly it was pretty normal right up until his students started filling in — various bits of tape and glue and shoestring now littering the desks.
“What’s this for?”
The frantic teamwork of meter sticks and shoestrings and tape a chaotic mess. One of the girls peddling knotted bundles of colorful feathers around the room.
“Oh it’s for English class review with Yamada and L/N sensei.”
“Yeah! We all agreed to help gather stuff for the spirit day in homeroom today!”
“Yumiko made us all cute fishing lures!”
And just like that the state of his classroom no longer mattered. “Oh I see! Well if this is for L/N sensei we better hurry! Ganbatte kudasai! Everyone do your best. I’m not sure what Yamada and L/N sensei are doing but it must be plus ultra!”
————
It isn’t until later that afternoon that Midoriya’s curiosity gets the better of him and he decides to find the answer to his students excitement — lingering outside the English Language classroom.
Inside he finds the room turned upside down the desks all grouped together, various flash cards strewn about, dozens of fishing poles, and what should be a concerning amount of gummy worms piled up in the largest bowl he’s ever seen!
At the center of this insane scene is you and Yamada. The two of you decked out in matching fisherman gear: hats, boots, vests, poles! The two of you matching energy and intensity as you run about the room calling out word classes for the kids to catch with their homemade fishing poles.
Izuku nearly jumps out of his skin when Aizawa appears out of nowhere, “It’s spirit week for review. Today is Gone Fishing for Vocabularly.”
“I see,” he hums. The bowl of gummy worms is passed around the room to the winners.
“Hizashi has been looking forward to it all month. We’ve had L/N over at the apartment more than usual to coordinate and plan their outfits. It’s all been her idea to do review spirit week — I came by to check on how the first day is going…” His former teachers gaze lands squarely on his husband as he darts to the front of the room with a smile and a big fishing net full of flashcards.
Midoriya beams, “That’s very sweet of you.”
“Nah,” Aizawa shrugs it off as they remain watching side-by-side, “just doing my job.”
————
And ultimately Izuku Midoriya finds himself lingering outside longer than he thought when the bell rings and his students filter out of there on a fishy sugary vocabulary high.
Aizawa darting in to talk to an animated Yamada.
Izuku’s eyes linger on you for a second longer than they ought to before leaving — pretty face alight as you bend over redistributing “flashcard fishes” onto the floor for the next class.
————
The rest of review week continues on much the same and Midoriya can’t stop himself from stepping into the hall to catch a glimpse of you…
On Tuesday his students walk into home room with hilarious neon construction vests and hats and one jackhammer — which he confiscated immediately.
And in the hallway he learns that today’s theme is “Sentence Construction.” And he and Aizawa find the blue drafting paper entirely unnecessary.
But he thinks your decorated hardhat and bedazzled toy hammer is the most adorable thing on this planet.
On “White Lie” Wednesday he spends the first few minutes genuinely believing that his students are pulling a prank on him…
The entire class frantically assuring him they were not because “Midoriya Sensei we would never!”
And he finds that they are in fact wearing plain white ts with common grammar misconceptions written on the front.
And his coworkers end up teasing him for the remainder of the day because yes they do look like something he owns — and he finds himself distracted because he thinks he rather likes the way it looks on you.
On Thursday he’s asked to release his students a few minutes earlier — a change of outfit needed for “Phonics Fest.” The English class now a cheerful mix of yukatas and very American concert festival outfits.
He likes how comfortable you look. Finds himself entirely too impressed with your laser pointer proficiency. And thinks you look straight out of a western magazine in your matching cowgirl hat and boots as you weave between desks with an air of importance.
————
And by the time Friday comes around he begins to grow to eager — the excitement palpable — and he asks Aizawa in their home room teachers meeting what is planned for today. Supposedly, he doesn’t know.
Which is how he finds himself emboldened as he inches past the threshold of the doorframe — the lights off and curtains drawn. And it’s here that you speak to him for the first time.
“So glad you could join us.” And like a bioluminescent angel you loop an extra wreath of glowsticks around his neck. You’re on your tiptoes as you do so, knuckles brushing over his green curls, fingertips barely touching the collar of his work shirt as you adjust the necklace to your liking.
And suddenly Izuku Midoriyas clothes are all too much, and all too heavy, and all too cloying, as his pulse trips over itself. And he wants nothing more than to pull your hands back and to push your hands away.
But you hum satisfactory and give his chest a little pat before pulling away and return to the front of the room to commence Yuuei’s first ever “Review Rave” before he has the chance to make up his mind . . .
————
And honestly, weeks later, his new habit is embarrassingly normal at this point. A couple of his students wave to him eagerly. He waves back, before pulling his attention back on you, he just can’t help himself.
Izuku Midoriya is absolutely smitten with you.
fixating on the endless possibilities of what jobs a centuries old Douxie has had over the years ….. like imagine having to explain you had a century long Waffle House employee side quest or something just for the hell of it
thinking about the ethereal glow brand spanking new hero intern Katsuki has when he picks up the phone and hears your voice asking him to pick you up from your trip abroad.
all his colleagues have been weary of him since the start — they’d seen this young man before — prickly gruff blonde with an attitude. but now — their prickly blonde intern has accompanied them on a couple coffee runs. has taken up his employee discount on new agency jeans. has even been caught taking the occasional aesthetic picture on patrol.
but when he walked in one morning to the men’s locker room hands shoved into the pockets of the agencies newest jeans to ask for a shift swap — oh boy now that was enough to make for agency hot gossip.
it’s been a couple months since he last saw you. you’d taken a beautiful internship opportunity off mainland Japan and even beaten out a lot of other people who applied. It was you dream, and he and your other friends back home had been watching. Or rather he’d been thumbing through your stories in the dead of night after his brutally late patrols.
the regular posts of you and your coffee. a small sliver of your laptop peaking through with your research project data.
the gorgeous landscape photos of rolling hills and towering mountains in the background of your apartment.
and the frequent selfie with the sun basking in your radiance all eons away from here, and from him.
and for the few days notice you gave him to pick you up he’s been swapping shifts and pulling doubles. the last time you swung by had only been for a few days and you’d just stayed for your family holiday celebrations. so he’s making damn sure that he makes time in his schedule for you … and you actually managed to make Katsuki Bakugou excited about driving up to the airport at 9 o’clock at night.
9PM. after. his. bedtime.
Eijiro Kirishima is convinced that this “old friend” of his pals has extensive blackmail on him. (and obviously he wants to know the dirt) Izuku Midoriya is thrilled talk your ear off as you teach him everything you know from your education studies. (his new career path and lesson plans are kicking his ass) And Katsuki’s calm level-headed father, Masaru Bakugou, gladly texted him back agreeing to tailor him a fresh new button up to match his recent gains.
At the airport Katsuki Bakugou kept a strong grip on his caffeine. He didn’t want any, but the awful scent of badly ground coffee grounded him in this obnoxious hell of unwashed people. He couldn’t understand how you willing revolved in and out of these places so often. He took a sip, his eyes fixated on the blue screen of rotating flight arrivals waiting for people to flood out of Gate 57D.
… and 20 minutes later it happened. And that’s when Katsuki managed to spot your bright hair peaking out of the crowd. And he quickly made a fuss of picking stray lint and fixing his shirt and carding his fingers through his hair.
Katsuki stood up, “Oi y/n over here.”
his mouth twitched, as you yawned and fumbled through the gate. You looked good. You also looked tired dwarfed by your hiking pack and the tall business men off-boarding at your gate. He can see that brand new suitcase in hand as you briskly made your way through the crowd.
you stop a few feet apart blinking up at him. The silent awe only lasted for a split moment before you throw your arms around him, “It’s so good to see you!”
and suddenly everything feels clammy and tingly as he hold you in his arms. and that new heart of his thuds loudly against his ribcage. and shit — he forgot how much he loved the way you learned how to touch people. your full strength poured into a hug. even your chin gently hugs his shoulder.
and then you pull away.
blinking as if to dissuade the tired edges of sleep tugging on you. in truth it is — but to be honest it’s such a dream to see Katsuki like this, like Dynamite, finally after all this time. And even your own quirk acts up in some emotional response to his presence despite the suppression aids. Katsuki places the coffee in your hand with a boyish smirk, “figured you’d want one. you know, after you’re done eyeing me with your quirk.”
you groan heavily and take a sip of the terrible airport coffee to hide your flushed face.
and he’s quick to offer a hand as you trail after him through the airport and to his oddly sensible Subaru in the parking lot.
“just admit I’m a good specimen and that’s why your quirk is acting up.” Katsuki barks.
you scoff watching him load your stuff into the back of his car, “you know my anatomical stats doesn’t work that way. also what’s with the tight jeans and shirt then if you didn’t mean to automatically trigger it hmm?”
your quirk, anatomical stats, was a part of the reason you applied to work abroad on your research project. Able to find definitive information on a person merely by looking at them. It was perfect for your study to track developmental stages on quirk growth in young children. The only downside of your quirk — that Katsuki was well aware of — was that you regularly wear quirk suppressing aides because it is rather irritating seeing everyone stats fly around in your head.
your longtime friend looks like he’s been shot from your quip as he shuts the trunk and casually shrugs looking over — what your quirk supplies — a perfectly sculpted muscular collection 73% stronger than the average 24 year old man.
“it just happened to be what I had in my locker after my shift, which I so graciously moved for you.”
you roll your eyes and grin as Katsuki stalks over all 6’ 2” and 5/8ths of him. Your friend has always been a perfect specimen and he knows it. Despite the annoyance of making your quirk glitch it isn’t half as bad when the person happens to fit into Da Vinci’s “perfect man” golden ratio.
“hmm that’s right, your boss makes you dress nice now.”
he opens the door for you, “you can’t argue with agency policy.”
Katsuki reaches over to buckle you in almost as if you’re more than friends and you give him an award winning smile, as you do it yourself.
“Can’t have you straining that new 19.8 inch bicep over little ol’ me,” you tease, “wouldn’t want to destroy that Bakugou original you’re wearing.”
Katsuki coughs into his fist.
“I’ve been hitting the gym lately. My companies quirk analytics specialist and nutritionist have got me on a new plan. It seems to be working,” he shrugs again, but there’s a question hanging in the air as he glances at you.
“uh-huh well it looks good on you golden boy,” you reply and from somewhere in the car Katsuki shoves a familiar coffee cup back into your hands.
“It’s definitely working,” you take a sip. It’s your favorite. It’s almost hard to be mad.
“you didn’t need to dress-up like that and purposefully cause a quirk glitch for me to tell you that.”
He knows that come tomorrow morning you’ll even endorse his obsession, and yours truly although you’d never admit to his fave that he’s your favorite specimen, by going in to the agency and doing a regular full physiology chart.
Katsuki glances at you again. The way you happily sit back and blink lazily at him. A teasing lilt to your lips as you sip at your coffee. He knows he’s all lines and angles and numbers to you right now.
He knows because he’s seen that impressive quirk of yours on display once or twice about two years ago on a high-tech quirk interface projection system…
It was then that he saw a glimpse of what you’d always described ‘anatomical stats’ to look like. The way the numbers seem to blink and yawn and stretch into smooth lines that dot across a person.
At the time everyone in the room gasped to see it one display, but Katsuki couldn’t shake off how when your eyes flickered to his; how much smoother, and brighter, and even gilded the edges of your vision got when looking at him. This tiny little image of himself onscreen a dashing blur of numbers — like a giddy little nerdy system overload — before assuming a rather angelic golden tint
And suddenly the maddening blinking and frustrated held tilts and endearing flush across your cheeks and the ‘golden boy’ commentary finally clicked into place.
He did have some effect on you.
And it’s been this little glimpse that makes Bakugou Katsuki feel like he’s got a decent chance.
synopsis: every time the pro hero sees you, he asks you the same question. or you’ve got a boyfriend and bakugou just wants one chance. or “you single yet?”
warnings: nothing! fluffy, a little tiny bit of violence but it’s valid, swearing, bkg tipsy scene. (i wrote half of this back in 2022 and i have edited it to sound like 2026 me. you might be able to tell.)
the first time you meet bakugou katsuki, you’ve got a boyfriend. a boyfriend of a few months that you met at university and you’ve just kinda been together ever since. but just like everybody in the country who was up to date with the news and social media, this explosive pro hero caught your eye. you knew him before you met him. not only that, but he was often a topic of conversation when you were just starting out on the publicist scene for heroes. he was a young, brash yet insanely strong rookie that ditched the golden boy persona all these all-might fanboys had and instead took on something completely new.
you spent your first year as a publicist analysing how he interacted with the media and the media with him. he was an interesting subject because for starters, pro hero dynamight was mean, looks like he bites and kicks children for fun. if it wasn’t for his literal career as a professional hero, you could imagine him being the complete opposite. argumentative with pretty much everybody and always another article about how his quirk was simply too strong for the city whenever he’s on patrol because he creates more damage than necessary.
though luckily for you, you’ve never had dynamight on your client roster. (prayers for whoever his publicist is, if he’s even got one at this point.) but since it’s not your job to tell him what he should and shouldn't do, mostly shouldn't, he often becomes a buddy for you in boring events. easy, flirtatious conversation and he loves cussing out a hero who couldn’t do anything right which was rich coming from his wild public image.
events, galas, parties, product releases and conferences. he always found you throughout the years, against whatever wall you decided to blend into this time. you were technically still working as heroes drunk their pains away at the open bar, observing your clients while he would start at the front of the room, slouched in his seat, stage lights beaming on him and answering questions. he always looked uninterested at the table with the puffy black microphone dangling from his hands and his brows low, casting a shadow over his eyes. his tone would lack any bit of excitement though his words always carried wit and smarts. you weren’t really thinking of him romantically, you did have a boyfriend after all, but he did possess traits you loved. strong, brave, cocky and rude. and well, you couldn’t deny that he was easy on the eyes. very easy on the eyes. with wheat blonde hair that always looked styled but you’ve seen him rake his hands through it so you’ve concluded he just looks like that. the scar on his left cheek adds to his sex appeal if that’s even possible and his scarlet pupils say everything without his lips moving. it doesn’t help your wild imagination that he leaves every conversation with you asking the same question.
the first time you meet bakugou was at the buffet of a conference, paper plate in hand choosing which party finger food should plop in your plate. it was another conference that was so dead, you’re sure if you gave villains in jail the option to escape if they sit through an old guy drone on about how sexual relationships between pro heroes isn’t recommended, they’d prefer to add another few years onto their sentence.
“if i didn’t know you, i’d think you have a personal vendetta over those prawns.” the voice makes you jump in your spot slightly, though you recognise it instantly. it’s deep and familiar, especially from hearing it multiple times on the stage. now that it’s so close, it’s much more intimate and raspier without the projection.
the number three pro hero stands beside you in an expensive pinstripe black suit with light blonde stubble decorating his jaw. you’re around large men often, working with heroes all day but this was the first one you felt intimidated by. it was his beauty. how boyish with his pearly sharp canines and beauty spot on his neck. his eyes were a pretty ruby red with intrigue floating behind them and the gold chain on his neck sat on his collarbones cleanly, noticeable around the crisp white collar of his shirt. he doesn’t carry a plate of his own, he just stands cross-armed beside you, black suit jacket hugging his biceps deliciously.
you laugh, flustered. does he mean that he’s seen you around? “you don’t know me though?”
his eyebrows rise in curiosity, a little quirk of his lip. “so tell me. what’re you thinkin’?”
heat spreads at your chest first, drawing right up to your neck and his attention alone makes you feel special. something about the question, how broad it can be, feels personal and you can’t grasp if he’s flirting with you or if this was a normal conversation for the man? you didn’t think thee dynamight was the type to conduct casual conversation with strangers, though you know better than anybody that news articles and tabloids don’t cover everything about somebody.
“they both look good. i was thinking which one i should get more of,” you say with a small smile before picking up the tong and pinching another. you turn to him, offering him the plate, “wanna try one?”
bakugou looks suspiciously between you and the breaded prawn. you’re not sure if you should be offended by the look but you’re enjoying his attention. probably a little too much, “i hope you don’t think i’ve poisoned it. you’ve been here the whole time.”
he scoffs, cheeks rising in amusement. he takes the prawn between his fingers and pops it in his mouth. your eyes drop to his plush lips like it was inevitable, then his moving jaw and his thick neck as he swallows. can watching people eat be sensual? you’re now sure it can be.
“verdict?” you ask, breathless.
“it’s alright, i know something that would taste better,” he murmurs, low and the deep timber sends vibrations down your body. there’s no way he’s not flirting with you now. his pupils are locked onto yours and his tongue swipes a strip across his lip.
you clench the stupid paper plate in your hand without realising, “w-what?”
then he turns to the rest of the food, nudging his head towards it, “the pork ribs are always so goddamn good.”
you let out the breath you were holding, your whole body deflating like a balloon. that was good. though a little disappointing. you also shouldn’t be feeling disappointed about a man not flirting with you when you’ve got a boyfriend.
“you single?”
you freeze as his voice cuts into your ranting chain of thoughts. the disappointment that blew away momentarily, fans back into existence.
“no, i’ve got a boyfriend.”
bakugou katsuki is a regular occurrence from that day on. he tries to keep his space from you during galas, meetings, visits and conferences, but he can't stay away.
his gaze always lands on your head amongst the crowd of bubbling personalities. your job meant you had to be a wallflower in these situations, making sure your clients were acting right. thinking of tips to give them in their next interview, telling them they need to stop using the press pencil as a toothpick. but occasionally you allow yourself to have a little chat with the blonde that appears beside you every time you think about him like a trick and always leaves you wanting more. bakugou never pushes the conversation further and you always want him to.
what’s worse is that you knew he wanted to because every conversation ended with the same question.
when your client, a pro hero friend of his slips up in an interview accidentally revealing their secret idol girlfriend, it’s always dynamight, laying his head back on his seat before you to meet your grimace with an upside down smirk. then he’d wander over to you, hands in his suit pockets, posture lazy but he could never be.
“he’s a fuckin’ idiot but cut him some slack with the moanin’,” he smirks, sliding beside you with his scarred arm brushing your bare one.
“i don’t think my moaning does anything for him now. think he’s numb to it,” you sigh and he huffs a laugh. you’re more comfortable with him, coming up to nine months of knowing each other.
“if you were my publicist, i’d be good to you,” he says, looking straight ahead at the heroes saying their thanks into the microphones, “your moaning would definitely do somethin’ to me.”
you flick your eyes up to him with a warning glare, hoping everything can be said with the creases between your eyebrows, “dynamight.”
everyone says bakugou hardly smiles and you haven’t heard such a false statement. the man grins at you with a shrug, gold canine winking at you, “yn.”
you never tell him to stop with the flirting. you also never give him the answer he wants.
“you single yet?”
“nope. still got a boyfriend.”
he sighs, rubbing his jaw in thought. his eyes waft over your outfit, a simple black dress to match the theme for the night and to blend into the shadows. he speaks again, guttural, almost pained, “you look beautiful. best lookin’ here.”
then he wanders off to a group of pro heroes he also calls his friends.
another time was the after party of a new hero perfume release (hero perfumes were all the rage nowadays) and it was your first time seeing bakugou tipsy, on the verge of drunk. at this point you were almost sure you saw a different side of bakugou that he doesn’t show anybody. you never got the angry frowns, the unsympathetic grunt or the sarcastic replies. he was always loud laughs, funny comments and sweet compliments, a whole lot of compliments.
you caught his eyes from across the room and it must have been a record the way his bored pout became a dopey smile quicker than you could blink. the crowd made way for him to move because it’s dynamight, and he stops at your feet with rosy cheeks.
“hey baby.” deep. his voice was like soft velvet across your skin, a rasp at the end of the pet name paired with a shiny glint in his eyes. also, he probably shouldn’t be calling you baby.
“hi dynamight. you look like you’re enjoying yourself,” you reply, nursing your second drink in your hand. you were nowhere near as drunk as him but you guess a more intimate room with just heroes and friends means he can let go.
“i am. much better now you’re here,” he flirts, brushing his fingers through his hair and looking you up and down. he’s got a plain black t-shirt on and dark wash jeans, unlike the suits and shirts surrounding you. he’s bigger than this event which means the rules are always lax for him. if you had more alcohol, you’d definitely be asking to bite his bicep.
“‘like your outfit. ‘s sexy. tights and skirt. makes your legs—,”
“dynamight.” his stare makes you burn, undoubtedly lustful, like he’s undressing you with his eyes. if he asked, maybe you’d let him. he’s always asking the wrong questions.
“you single yet?”
you huff a laugh at his consistency, you’ve got to give it to him. “boyfriend’s still in the picture.”
your hand flies to your mouth with a laugh when bakugou flings his head back in a childish groan. you’re surprised he doesn’t stomp his foot also. it’s so unlike the dynamight you read about on the hero news that you so badly want to snap a picture. “can’t you ever just lie to me? make a poor man happy?”
“you’re definitely not poor.”
“i’m poor without your love and affection.”
his bottom lip is puffy and pink, unintentionally pouting at you but you think it’s from all the glasses of drink he’s been pressing to it. he’s so handsome, you’re almost certain he’s wearing day three facial hair, a light moustache forming on his upper lip, hair dusted against his cheeks. you wonder what you’d have to say for him to let it grow out.
you roll your eyes and down your drink. this needs to end before you let him do what he wants. “goodbye dynamight, have a nice evening. don’t drink too much!”
the last time bakugou asks you this question, he’s had a shit day at work. it’s been physically and emotionally draining. back to back government meetings with nonstop bad news. he was down a sidekick on patrol so it took longer to take down a villain than necessary which meant he missed seeing his mother before her flight to france. he hasn’t seen her in a few months now.
the pro hero just wants to go home, look at his ceiling for an hour before falling asleep with help from a melatonin gummy. nothing crazy or intense. he just wants to fucking sleep this day away, tugging his hood over his head and rubbing his face with his palm. he storms through the hallway of deku’s agency having taken the stairs for a few flights and now opted to just take the lift instead. he almost trips up on his feet once he ears the melodic voice he loves. but he’d hate for you to be sounding like that to him.
“i wasn’t on anything! i told you i wasn’t!”
“then why was my email flooded with photos of you snorting white powder in your car and then walking into a school to speak to children?”
“photoshop? it wasn’t me!”
bakugou doesn’t care if he’s being nosy. eavesdropping on a conversation that’s literally nothing to do with him. his excuse is that he likes you and he wants to say hi to you since he now knows you’re here too. he can just wait, ask if you wanted him to drop you home since your stupid fucking boyfriend wasn’t going to.
bakugou peeps through the slit of the open door to the small meeting room, all his stealth training coming in handy. you’ve got your head in your hands in defeat with tired eyes, utterly exhausted with the man before you. you’re pointing to your laptop screen on the table while starstarter, this new rookie sits cockily before you. bakugou recognises this ignorant, arrogant hero. his obnoxious blue and yellow costume and bakugou means costume because it’s this latex generic one piece that looks like it was on sale in the party section. bakugou’s not going to be the one to say it outloud but this kid is a fanboy, an upcoming wannabe dynamight lacking all the parts the world loves about real dynamight.
like care and finesse when it matters. to staff, to those that are there to help and make being a hero easier. instead starstarter’s legs are spread obnoxiously, one knee bouncing in irritation as he rolls his eyes at you. bakugou wants to stick his fingers in the kids eye sockets, so he can’t even look at you. doesn’t he understand you’re just doing your job and he isn’t playing his part?
you twirl the laptop to the orange haired rookie, glowing screen in his face, probably showing the photo of him doing exactly what you said.
“that’s not you, is it?” you ask incredulously, “you just had to stay out of the media for a month! you’ve had three articles already!”
bakugou’s hand flies to the door handle as soon as starstarter whips out of his seat in anger, the plastic chair falling back on the ground. you jump in your seat at the abruptness, eyes weary and… scared.
“i didn’t even want a publicist! fucking deku thought i needed one but i’m fine without you! as long as i’m saving people who gives a fuck about what my rankings are!”
“can you shut the fuck up and pick up the chair?”
you spin around on your seat to find dynamight and just seeing him, calm and controlled, one eyebrow raised in expectation, soothes you. you didn’t even realise how worked up you got from starstarter’s outburst, your heart rattling against your rib cage, breath stuck in your throat. you release your grip on your skirt, smoothing out the creases you just made. he’s only in a hoodie and a pair of jeans, probably just had a meeting after a night patrol.
“d-dynamight? do you need me?” starstarter asks, standing up straighter, plastering a goofy smile on his face like he’s the chosen one. everything in one ear and out the fucking other.
“fuckin’ listen to me kid. i said shut the fuck up and pick up the chair,” bakugou spits like he’s stupid, stuffing his hands in his pockets. then he looks over at you, fidgeting around trying to look like you weren’t terrified just a second ago. “you okay, yn?”
you’re not. not really, but embarrassment seeps through you at the conversation between you and starstarter being loud enough that he heard it. that he heard someone speak to you like that. but you just nod, giving him a small smile. “we’re just packing up here.”
starstarter picks up the chair, not bothering to tuck it under the table and completely forgets your existence. instead, he walks over to bakugou like they’re long lost friends despite the almost ten year age gap between them.
“so dynamight, i’ve been thinking about how my quirk matches with yours—,”
the dynamight you see on tv, in conferences and interviews is alive. top lip curled in disgust, eyebrows sharp in a frown and voice so harsh that even your eyes widen.
“is your head stuck up your asshole?”
starstarter steps back, confusion etched into his face, “n-no? w-what did i do?” then the rookie points his thumb over at you, who is starting to pack your laptop back into your bag, trying to remove yourself from the situation, “oh you know how scandals go! you get loads of them. publicist just on my ass at the moment.”
it’s as if time slows down for a few silent seconds. you notice the golden sparks from bakugou’s right hand first then in a split second that same hand is around starstarter’s neck against the wall.
it’s impressive how bakugou keeps his face deadpan while starstarter splutters and dribbles, baffled by the turn of events. his legs kick out from how bakugou’s holding him up and starstarter is so confused, he completely forgets to use his quirk. not that it matters against dynamight.
you gasp, grabbing your bag and rushing over to the two men.
“dynamight! put him down!”
bakugou looks down at you, your plush lips and your pretty dangly earrings. you’re clutching your bag to your chest, hand tapping his left bicep like he’s a button to let go of starstarter. fuck that.
bakugou eyes starstarter, the faux bravo he had before completely gone. his dull finger nails are scratching at bakugou’s hand around his throat but it’s only a gnawing annoyance for the older, stronger hero.
“first, don’t fuckin’ talk to me. i’ve never liked you. secondly, apologise to yn, you bastard.”
you mumble a small, “oh,” in realisation. your hand that was once tapping him to let go, now just resting on his bicep.
bakugou likes you holding him.
starstarter, however, has his eyes bulging out of his head, “what? what the fuck for?”
bakugou squeezes his fingers around his throat and starstarter gasps for breath.
“for fuckin’ shoutin’ at her? treatin’ her like shit? or are you too up your own ass to notice your pisspoor attitude?” he scoffs, lifting and slamming him against the wall for good measure. that knocks the wind out of the younger, causing him to wince in pain.
“oh, oh, i’m sorry yn. didn’t mean t-to do that. i promise,” starstarter cries and only then does he remember he can use his quirk to try and escape, his hazel irises beginning to glow a bright white gold.
“use your quirk on me and i’ll kill you,” is all bakugou has to say for starstarter to relax and turn it off immediately.
“f-fine! i said i was sorry! i won’t shout at her or anyone!” he’s flailing around like a newborn baby, every breath stuttered and gasped.
bakugou looks over at you beside him, now pressed to his side. “is that good enough for you, yn?”
you should say yes to stop this madness, to stop this one sided fight to protect your honour. but starstarter has always acted like such an irritating child. your most difficult client who never realises how self destructive his behaviour is and how hard he makes your life.
“promise you’ll fix up. no more scandals next month. it will make both our lives easier.”
“yes!” starstarter blubbers, imagining bakugou blasting his head to smithereens, “yes! no scandals. fuck, n-none.”
with that, bakugou releases his grip and starstarter falls to the floor in a heap. his hand clutches around his neck, taking in massive gulps of air like a fish that plopped back into water.
you and bakugou ignore his mutters and mumbles as he slides out of the room like a sorry slug. you’re sure you’re going to hear rumours about dynamight tomorrow, how he tried to kill starstarter. though it’s nothing bakugou’s pr team can’t handle.
bakugou faces you, eyes scanning every inch of your face, then your body as if he’s checking for bruises. “you sure you’re okay? i’ll break his arm next time he tries shit like that.”
you shake your head. every time you breathe you can taste the caramel of his quirk. “no it’s okay! he was particularly annoying today. you know how the new gen get.”
you’re trying to deflect from how scared you were before, adjusting your bag over your shoulder. every word comes out breathless, unable to make eye contact with the hero.
“no i don’t. i don’t want anyone speakin’ to you like that again. if any hero, no anyone, does you gotta tell me,” and bakugou holds his palm out to you.
you frown, “what?”
“gimme your phone.”
this conversation is so unlike the usual flirty back and forths you both have that you have no clue how to navigate his serious tone.
“oh. oh! i don’t need you as a bodyguard, this is a rare occurrence,” but you still pull out your device, unlocking it to slide into his palm.
“i don’t give a fuck. next time, you tell me and i’ll sort it.”
“is this an excuse for you to get my number?”
you say it so innocently, playing with your hands behind your back as you look at him jabbing his number into your phone and then his face.
he’s completely flushed red, matching his pupils. nothing like the man that was just holding up another against the wall.
“you think i did all that to get your fuckin’ number?”
you wave your hands in the air in disagreement, “no! not everything but this part. the getting my number part.”
bakugou looks to your phone, how he added his name as Bakugou Dynamight and his number half complete.
“n-no, i meant what i said, dumbass. ‘sides you’ve got a boyfriend anyway.” he spits, not in offence to you but in offence to the fact itself. he cannot be bothered to be rejected again, he doesn’t even have it in himself to ask you if he’s still in the picture because this boyfriend doesn’t seem to be leaving. from before he met you, for this last years, to now.
“we broke up last month.”
“you’re lyin’ to me.”
bakugou blurts, your phone slipping out his hands though he catches it just in time. you giggle at the fumble but you have no time to adjust as bakugou steps closer towards you, right in your space.
“tell me you’re lyin’.”
though when you look into bakugou’s pupils, the ruby has been eaten by the black of his pupil, staring at you like he’s begging for you to say the opposite. his lips are parted, waiting to reply to your next comment, every possible answer on the tip of his tongue.
“i’m not. we… we weren’t working out and i think he was cheating on me? well not physically but definitely emotionally with someone at his work and i thought i couldn’t even be mad because… you know,” you offer in a ramble because there’s still something slightly tender about the topic.
bakugou follows every word, watches your pulse race under the skin of your neck. he frowns for a moment, looking away from you and then back on your form. arm holding your forearm, then brushing your hair away from your face.
“w-why couldn’t you be mad?” is where he starts, despite how he sounds, he wants to punch this fucking loser ex-boyfriend of yours in the face. who would mess up their chances with you? he didn’t know how good he had it. he sighs internally at the fact he seems to want to kill anyone who bothers you.
your white teeth sink into your bottom lip, refusing to make eye contact. “because of you. we always flirt. i always enjoy when we do and for a while i pushed it aside that it’s just a work thing but then it got to a point that i realised i would rather find out what it would be like to be alone with you even when i was alone with my ex.”
you deeply inhale, “it’s okay if it wasn’t anything serious for you! it’s not anything serious to me yet, it was just a sign that i—,”
bakugou grabs your hand, just so that you focus on him again instead of these loopy rambles you’ve got going on. you’ve never been like this, he’s never even seen you nervous before today.
“y’gonna let me take you out? since you’re single now?”
bakugou can barely believe the words he’s saying, the corner of his lips stretching up with every syllable. you feel as if you’re floating, the rush of a crush fully formed rumbling inside of you.
you laugh though you’re nodding slowly, fingertips brushing your bottom lip, “you still need to finish adding your number into my phone.”
“oh, oh fuck yeah,” he mumbles and he can feel his heartbeat shake at his temples. he’s finally getting a chance with you. bakugou enters the last few digits of his phone number and when you reach to take back your phone, he shakes his head, editing the contact name.
“text me so i get your number and i’ll set somethin’ up for us,” and his grin becomes a chuckle, loud and full of bass. he holds his jaw in pure surprise, handing back your phone, “i can’t believe this.”
you shrug lightly, “i can.”
“thought i was gonna be benched for another year until i’d have to get involved. threaten him or some shit,” and you can tell there’s a tinge of seriousness behind his words but you ignore it because the sentiment is sweet.
“you would have waited another year?” you balk.
“i still would have liked you in a year so yeah,” bakugou tries to be nonchalant, shrugging and adjusting the chunky watch on his wrist.
the watch, the time. you gasp, looking around the room that you’ve packed everything, “oh shit, i have a meeting in literally two minutes on the top floor. i’ll have to text you later, okay?”
bakugou stands up straight as you dart around him, “y-yeah okay.”
you’re just about to run out the door but you spin around, reaching on your tip toes, sliding your palm on to his jaw and pressing a soft kiss into his cheek.
“thank you for earlier by the way. i fucking hate him.”
warmth radiates through bakugou, from his toes to the top of his head. he’s not gonna get used to your touch anytime soon.
“n-no probries. fuck, i mean no worries and no problem.”
your giggle can make caterpillars become butterflies on command, skirt blowing past as you wave the pro hero goodbye.
“bye dynamight!”
as soon as you hop on the train home, the first thing you do is whip out your phone to text the hero. you remember him backspacing his name and you’re expecting something silly but you’re surprised to find it as just Katsuki.
You: we’re on a first name basis then?
his reply is instantaneous. a bubble with ellipses and then a pop of his reply.
Katsuki: We’ve been on a first name basis. You just took ages to give in.
likes don’t do anything on tumblr! but reblogs, comments and asks mean the world! i delete comments asking for the another part. thanks xox
synopsis: your friend with benefits decides to gift you your dream bag on your birthday.
warnings: minors dni. fluffy! suggestive! a little bit of angst! mostly cute!!!!! bakugou downloads pinterest for you. reader works in finance in the hero commission.
notes: the bag i’m imagining is my dream bag this miu miu one. the LARGE!! but imagine another if u want. also very chanel by tyla because it’s soooo bakugou to put you in pretty shit because he loves you. yes he can afford it actually. i also maybe went crazy with the similes but i had lots of fun doing it sooooo. also one line is very evolve by 5 seconds of summer.
“i got you gifts.” bakugou wipes under his nose, then rubs his top lip against his septum. “you know. for your birthday.”
that’s a sentence you don’t expect to hear on the morning of your birthday before he even utters the two celebratory words. at this point you should know that bakugou katsuki is unpredictable, from the way he loves being submissive in bed to how instead of getting your favourite drink when he sees you in the office, he’d bring you a completely new one with syrups and flavours you always end up loving. he’s an odd enigma, full of multitudes that you’ve only passed a few layers of. you’re happy to say you know him more than others.
especially when you get to lay in the pro heroes bed wearing one of his old white t-shirts with a vintage all might print on the front, sleep probably in the corner of your eyes and your underwear in the next room over. he’s not your boyfriend, you guess something closer to your friend with benefits… sneaky link? do people say that anymore?
despite the details of labels, you clap your hands like an excited seal, sitting up in his bed. you’ve never given each other birthday gifts before, despite being friends for a few years now and then turning into whatever it is you are now. you think you purposely avoided each other on birthdays to ignore these gifts what are we? dilemma.
you work in the hero commission in payroll and finance. paper work here and there, signing off expenses, cheques and oftentimes talking to a few heroes. it’s where you met this blonde one beside you. you took to dynamight, in a way few people do. enjoying his dry humour and witty responses. his face wasn’t half hard to look at, something pretty much everyone could agree with. the scar on his cheek only added personality and those sharp ruby pupils were addictive, especially paired with a hooded gaze.
one staff party led to him bringing you back to his and now he’s a habit you just can’t break. dragging him to your apartment after work. him texting if he can bring you to his. you were friends before the benefits and now you believe you’re a good mixture of both. no strings attached.
you stare as he rolls out of bed, looking ever like the men’s health cover you saw him in last month. thick arms lifting up his muscled scarred body as he walks over to his wardrobe. he’s only in tight black boxers, these ones that have a brand in white fabric at the hips and make his dick look double the size. it’s already hefty to begin with. you bite down on your lip at the red scratches dragged down his back, by his left shoulder. the sight flashes the memory behind your eyelids.
“you didn’t have to get me anything!” you say, though you’re sitting up, arms out in offering, “last night was more than enough.”
bakugou’s shoulders bounce in a half laugh, turning around to carry two large boxes. your jaw drops like those fake email giveaways actually ended up being real. with eyeballs as big as golf balls, he plops them on your lap. they’re wrapped neater than you expected. pink wrapping paper with yellow polka dots all over. you imagine him in his living room cross legged on the ground taping it all up, grunting when a fold looks bad. adorable.
“you did not have to get me gifts, katsuki. these are massive,” you gawk and again, bakugou just shrugs, sliding back into bed beside you.
feigning nonchalance, bakugou rests his arms behind his head, eyes bouncing from you to the gifts in anticipation. he can feel his heartbeat rattling against his temples, his palms beginning to sweat. this is why he avoids gift giving, especially with you. this is a representation of how he knows you, of how he pays attention and listens to you. he hopes he got this right.
“it’s nothin’. i wanted to.” bakugou grunts and he’s wiping his nose again. nervous tick.
you hum, unsure. perhaps it’s a joke gift, something cheap in a big box. but then again, with everything you know about bakugou katsuki, that’s not something he’d do.
your grin finds its way back to your cheeks. gift giving has always been a top three in your love languages. call yourself materialistic, oh well.
“okay, here i go then.”
you put one of the boxes on the ground to focus on one at a time. you choose the bigger box of the two and you’re surprised to find it actually has some weight to it. there’s a stiff squish to it and you’ve got no clue to what it could be. you lift up the cube to shake but there’s no sound.
“is it a dildo replica of your dick? i’d love that,” you pat the gift, “i hear lots of heroes are getting them done for fans.”
bakugou rolls his eyes, enamoured. if you want that he’d make it for you. “my cock isn’t that big but i’ll keep it in mind for next time.”
with all your patience out the window, you rip open the paper like a tiger protecting their babies. reading the packaging of the gift, the stars and moons, you laugh, full of glee. “oh my god, you’re so smart for this! i literally go on about yours all the time.”
pleasure fills bakugou, like ice cream pouring perfectly into a cone from a machine. one down two to go.
“i kept imaginin’ you stealin’ mine during the night. it’s newer than mine too.”
it’s an electric blanket, similar to the stupidly expensive one bakugou’s got that you’ve cooed over since the first time he invited you around. it’s white and quilted and something you’ve been planning on buying for yourself but never got around to doing. you study the multiple settings on the packaging, the promises of the feathersoftness and most especially, the warmth.
you kiss his cheek, twice. then his lips. bakugou leans in for it all, paw-like hand resting at your waist to balance you, “thank you for this! wow. i’m excited to sleep in my own bed for once.”
bakugou’s chuffed. crossing his arms over his chest and chewing the inside of his cheek so his smile doesn’t spill out everywhere. “no problem. i knew you wanted one.”
you’re still grinning when you put your gift onto the floor, replacing it with the second box.
“you know the blanket was enough. whatever this is really wasn’t necessary too.” you try to excuse but bakugou shakes his head. he will buy you anything you want if it gets you looking at him like he’s holding the earth over an electric blanket.
“just open it. you’ll like it.”
with a delighted sigh, you don’t even take the time to guess or shake the box. this time you rip open the wrapping paper to find a beige dust bag with your favourite designer logo embroidered on it. you freeze like you were zapped with an ice quirk.
you gasp. turning robotically to stare at the blonde beside you, “what the actual fuck katsuki?”
you know how much money he makes, up and coming, on the top twenty heroes at the moment. whatever is in this box, is perhaps twice his rent, more. it’s absolutely ridiculous compared to your pay at the end of the month. your fingers still trace the edge of the box beneath the bag.
red spreads across bakugou’s cheeks like you got the jam and knife yourself. a hundred to zero really fucking quick here. “what? just open the fuckin’ box.”
you’re still like the hero figurines he collects in his office. you’re watching his awkward frown, how he clicks his knuckles and back to the dust bag, your favourite designer. way out of your price range, you need at least four job promotions to even afford this casually.
“i’m going to look at it but i’m not taking this from you. i can’t.”
“why not?”
you ignore him for a moment, opening the beige dust bag to reveal a box the exact size of a bag. he could have given you a key ring from this company and you’d be satisfied but a bag?
you hold your breath to imagine all the possibilities of which bag it could be. too small for a luggage bag, too big for their mini handbag range… there’s no way he could have gotten you that bag. the chocolate brown leather bag you’ve dreamed about since your first job, that you have on every vision board you’ve ever created, the bag you dreamed about buying yourself once you reach the top of your career.
“you’re insane for this.”
then you pop open the box and there it is. you’ve never even seen one off the screen. it’s gorgeous, your dream everyday handbag and you can already picture it with all your outfits. the smooth brown leather and golden hardware. an extra strap to have across your shoulder if you want. the logo is right there, sown in the centre and you can smell the luxury. the beauty, the—
you shut the lid on it.
“i can’t take that, katsuki.”
he’s not even your boyfriend. he can’t afford this. you don’t deserve this from him.
“i’m not asking to marry you. it’s just a bag.”
bakugou scoffs but he wipes his hands on his duvet cover, scratching his scalp so hard he might find blood beneath his nails. fuck, he went too far didn’t he?
“but it’s not, it’s…,” you’re opening the lid again slowly. you just want another peek. chocolate brown, you can imagine the charms you’d hang off it, how it would look tonight at your birthday dinner.
“do you not like it? i saw you staring at it on that photo app you have. i downloaded the app and looked through your folder—,” bakugou’s words slow down like a dying car engine once he notices the look on your face.
a mixture of endeared but panicked.
“fine, i’ll fuckin’ return it. keep the blanket.”
bakugou reaches over to grab the box and you let him, “it’s so expensive! i know you can’t afford it! and… and it’s not like we’re dating. you should give something that big to your girlfriend, you know? not me.”
the pro hero stops, casting the box aside to the end of his bed. the humiliation is so thick he feels like it’s going to show up on his skin.
“if you know how much the commission pays me, you should know it’s less than sponsors and companies. i wouldn’t buy shit i can’t afford, yn.”
your heart thumps against your chest, your mouth dry. “i just meant—,”
bakugou sits up grabbing his pyjama bottoms off the ground and shoving them on. it’s the rejection, his own denial that’s turning him into a bratty child who didn’t get the new gaming console for christmas. he wants to stomp around, he wants you to take the bag and kiss him and tell him you love it. “i didn’t think gettin’ a fuckin’ bag would cause all this. but it’s fine. i’ll see you at your dinner later.”
your birthday dinner this evening. you allowed him to invite some of his friends so he wouldn’t feel awkward and you’ll admit, you’re surprised he even wanted to go in the first place. all your closest friends will be there and he’s going to meet them for the first time. little does he know they know everything about him already.
before you can even form a sentence bakugou is up, stalking over to his bathroom to freshen up. it’s your sign to go, to leave him to wallow in his embarrassment but you follow after him.
you find him by his sink, arms holding the rim with his eyes closed. he looks large, imposing and you want to wrap your arms around his waist in a cuddle.
instead you stay by the bathroom doorway like a vampire that needs to be welcomed, “i know it sounds stupid but it’s my dream bag, i’ve wanted that bag for years and i don’t expect you to just give it to me.”
he refuses to move but his eyes open, studying the white tile of his floor.
“and i know it’s expensive, it is to me and you know boyfriends usually get expensive gifts for their girlfriends… we… i don’t even know what we are.” your hands are bouncing all around, working overtime in case your words can’t suffice.
friends with benefits sounds too childish to say aloud. fuck buddies sounds inappropriate. bakugou turns to look at you. your bare feet, your soft thighs, the big ass all might t-shirt you’re wearing and then your face. pretty features in all the right places.
“how did i fuck up so bad?” bakugou’s laugh is humourless, shaking his head. he stands up to lean on his sink. “keep the fuckin’ bag.”
“i said i’m not keeping it!”
“i’m gonna make you my girlfriend. i was just too many steps ahead here.”
you don’t want to smile, you’re not supposed to start smiling here. you pinch your arm and order your thoughts. you especially don’t focus on how it looks like bakugou’s got formulas and a whole plan running behind his eyes, fully formatted with a smirk.
he rubs his palm over his bare chest, smoothing out the rejection from before and your gaze follows the action.
“make me? you are not supposed to ask to be my boyfriend like this.”
but you’re walking towards him, because if his chest, naked and bare before you isn’t him welcoming you in, you don’t know what is. you keep your arms crossed, a barrier for whatever he’s summoning.
“ask to be your boyfriend,” his eyebrows raise, head tilted to absorb you, “huh.”
you narrow your eyes at him but his are alight with interest, burnt orange specs glowing in both pupils. he grabs your forearm and drags you closer to situate between his legs.
“i wouldn’t be doin’ this shit with someone i wouldn’t wanna date. idiot.” he punctuates his comment with a flick on your forehead and you’re an inch away from growling at him.
you palm flies to the spot, “it’s my birthday! be nice to me!”
“i bought you a bag i had to call my bank to confirm and i’m not being nice?”
he wants to kiss you, lean in and smush his face onto yours. taste your tongue and touch you where you’re soft. his head is dizzy at the sight of your nipples poking through your tee and it doesn’t help how your crossed arms tighten the fabric against your chest.
you’re still defensive though, argument at the tip of your tongue. lips pursed like you want to wrap both your hands around his neck and shake.
“just ask me, katsuki. go on, do it.” you tilt your head in expectation, almost snootily like you know he will. “then i’ll go and walk around in my dream bag that you bought me.”
bakugou wasn’t built for you and that’s probably why he’s so into you. he wasn’t built to practically fall in love with you when he passed your desk when he had a meeting in your work building. nor when he had an issue with his taxes where he was put in an email thread and finally learnt your name. he didn’t mean to have lunch on your usual table that one time but he did mean to talk to you at that work party. he’s forever grateful you were into him too and actually went home with him. nothing about you is what he expected, constantly prodding and taunting him to evolve.
the blonde exhales, loud and dramatically. it doesn’t help when you step in close to him, both your feet between his legs yet only your crossed forearms press against his chest.
he looks tired, lethargic though it’s all an act to hide the nerves that make him want to vomit. his eyes are half lidded, fixing the collar to your tee. he should have done this ages ago so this was avoided in the first place. he wishes he could make this more romantic but at least it’s your birthday.
“wanna be my girlfriend?”
you recoil, face scrunched, “ask me the other question.”
a slow smirk reaches his cheeks, “can i be your boyfriend?”
your grin is electric, infectious. your eyes glow and there’s even a little jump you do. “how cute! asking me on my birthday!”
bakugou rolls his eyes, untangling your arms from around your body and forcing your hands on his waist. your touch is a nicotine patch for him, finally a sweet release from the withdrawal of you.
“can you answer the question before i chug the bleach—,”
your hand flies to his mouth with a giggle and an adorable bite to your bottom lip, “shut up. yes, you can be my boyfriend, katsuki.”
he kisses your palm lightly. fireworks are going off inside his head and not those cheap ones from new years but ones as powerful as the ones from his hands. “you’re gonna keep the bag then?”
your nod is slow, before speeding up like a dial was turned to full speed. you’re speaking a million miles an hour, “yes, i love that bag. i’ve wanted it for years. can’t believe you got me one of those! thank you so much!”
this is what bakugou wanted, you grabbing his neck to stick your tongue in his mouth. he moans instantly, his hands on your lower back to press your front against his crotch. you’re all tender and sensitive in the mornings, lips and thighs. he wants to lift you onto his bathroom counter and duck between your legs.
he’s about to suck on your tongue when you pull away, pecking him twice. “hold on! wait there!”
you run out of bakugou’s arms, back into his bedroom. he can hear quick footsteps, a squeak of his bed frame, then tissue, the box.
you return looking like a sleepy model. the chocolate brown leather bag is on your shoulder and you’re clutching it like he’s about to snatch it from you.
“isn’t it so cute! this is a bag that will go for thousands when it’s vintage!”
“you’re not thinkin’ of sellin’ it, are you? you better not.”
you dismiss him with a wave of your hand. “no, of course not!”
you’re posing in front of his bathroom mirror whilst he stares directly at you. he’s your boyfriend now, is all bakugou can think, he’s yours. you’re fixing your hair and angling yourself to properly see the bag in every possible way. holding it as a handbag, then on your shoulder. it’s when you pause to actually open the bag, that you squeal, “there’s five pockets, katsuki! five!”
bakugou rakes his hand through his hair, the joy that comes from looking at you not letting up. he stares at you as you stare at yourself. the fireworks in his head are doubling, bursting all over his skin. “fuckin’ estatic that you like it.”
“like it? i love it!” you’re back in his arms, bag on your shoulder, “my handsome boyfriend got me my dream bag and an electric blanket. he knows me so well.”
bakugou loves the sound of that, all his insides going to baby puree. he nods like a good puppy, listening like a soldier. “yeah, i do. i know you so well.” he kisses the corner of your lips, “happy birthday.”
“thank you. best birthday yet.”
you’re a ball of giggles when bakugou, softly sinks his teeth into your cheek and scoops you up onto his bathroom counter.
he’s immediately on his knees and you swoon, “my boyfriend is so giving on birthdays.”
bakugou can’t keep his eyes off you at your birthday dinner. under dim intimate lighting, he sits a few seats away from you diagonally as your friends demanded to surround you. you’re chatting away with an audience of your favourite people looking absolutely stunning. fresh hair, a short little dress and the bag he got you perched like a trophy in your lap.
he can’t hear you properly from where he’s seated next to kirishima and kaminari but he knows exactly what you’re saying when you try to secretly nudge your head over to where he’s sitting. it also doesn’t help when all your friends turn like penguins to stare at him at the exact same time.
“seriously! it’s about time he asked you!”
“it’s going to be hard for him to beat this next birthday.”
“wow! you finally locked down dynamight!”
you shake your head, earrings jingling while there’s cheers, laughter and even a high five.
that’s when you lock eyes with bakugou who firstly gives you a shy smile because he’s never been in your solar system like this. around your friends on a day dedicated to you as more than your something. he’s your boyfriend now. your long ass eyelashes flutter, head tilting towards the entrance to the restaurant. he misses you and you look like you want to ask him how he is. he’s eager to stand, not bothering to excuse himself from the table because he knows you’re about to be right behind him, slipping your fingers between his.
“it’s not awkward is it? you’re enjoying yourself? i just told everyone we’re official.”
fuck, he’s going to try and keep you happy forever, even if his life depends on it.
likes don’t do anything on tumblr! but reblogs, comments and asks mean the world! i delete comments asking for the next part. thanks xox
kiri: uhhh can u come get bakugo. he's drunk. like. weird drunk.
You blinked at your screen, then rubbed your eyes.
Weird drunk? That man didn’t do drunk. He was the definition of self-control, always rolling his eyes at others who got sloppy. The most he ever did at parties was sip dark liquor like it owed him something.
But now here you were—hair in a messy bun, hoodie half-zipped, keys jangling in your hand as you stood at the front of the packed bar. Music thumped through the walls. Lights bled red and gold across your shoes. And somewhere inside was the boy who once swore, “I’ll never be one of those idiots who drinks until they can’t walk.”
You spotted him immediately. Katsuki Bakugo, slumped across a booth like a Shakespearean tragedy, surrounded by a half-amused, half-concerned BakuSquad. His shirt was wrinkled, one sleeve pushed up as if he'd tried to fight it off. His cheeks were flushed, his spiky blond hair somehow worse than usual, and his expression—
Oh god. He looked soft.
“Katsuki?” you called.
His head popped up, slow and dramatic. And then his whole face lit up like someone turned on the sun.
“There she is!” he shouted, pointing at you like you'd just arrived on a red carpet. “That’s my girl. That’s my whole world right there.”
You blinked. “How much did he drink?”
“Uh…” Kirishima scratched the back of his neck. “Enough to start monologuing about stars and quantum physics five minutes ago. Also he tried to kiss Sero on the forehead and cried when he missed.”
You pinched the bridge of your nose and sighed. “Katsuki, get up.”
“Don’t wanna.” He flopped dramatically onto the booth again. “S’comfy here.”
Eventually, with Sero pushing from one side and you pulling from the other, you got him standing. He swayed once, then dramatically threw his arms around your shoulders, burying his face in your neck.
“You smell like happiness,” he murmured, muffled. “And those pancake candles. ‘M hungry now.”
“You’re unbelievable.”
He grinned against your skin. “I’m in love.”
He even started composing one on the spot:
“Roses are red,
My girlfriend’s the best,
If anyone hurts her,
I’ll blow up their chest.”
“Katsuki!” you hissed, laughing and half-horrified.
You barely got him into the cab, where the chaos continued.
At one point he tried to roll the window down and serenade you with a made-up love song that rhymed grenade with first grade. He kept pointing out passing billboards and whispering things like, “That guy looks like Endeavor if he forgot leg day,” or, “I bet you’d look good on a motorbike. Let’s get one. Matching helmets.”
By the time you arrived home, you were exhausted and wheezing from laughter. Bakugo, still clinging to your side like a backpack, tripped over the doormat and yelled, “THE GROUND’S A TRAITOR.”
You finally got him into bed, tugging his shirt off with effort as he kept trying to pull you closer.
“You’re so warm,” he whined. “Like a walking microwave. My favorite microwave.”
“You’re ridiculous.”
“I’m yours,” he insisted, voice thick with sleep. “Tattoo it somewhere.”
“Sleep, Katsuki.”
He was already halfway there, mumbled words blurring into nonsense about naming your future child Nitro, followed by a sleepy protest that you wouldn’t let him spoon you the right way.
But just before he passed out fully, barely audible, he murmured:
“Don’t ever leave me, okay? You’re home.”
The Morning After
You woke to the sound of groaning and the gentle rustling of sheets. Turning your head, you saw him—Katsuki Bakugo, Japan’s future number one hero, curled into himself with one arm flopped over his eyes like the light had personally offended him.
His other hand reached out blindly, and when it found your side, it stilled. “You’re here,” he muttered, voice gravelly.
“I live here,” you said softly, brushing his hair back.
“I thought I dreamed you.”
“You did. You tried to name our baby Nitro and threatened to fight the moon.”
He made a sound between a sigh and a growl. “Fuck. I actually said that?”
You nodded, grinning. “You also called me a pancake candle.”
He groaned louder. “I want to die.”
“You were actually kind of cute. Really, really sweet. Like... a soft drunk nerd who loves quantum physics.”
“…I hate you.”
“No, you love me. You said it. Loudly. In front of the whole bar.”
He peeked at you with one eye, eyes red-rimmed and bleary. “I’m gonna kill Kirishima.”
“Too late. I have video evidence.”
“Delete it.”
“Say pretty please.”
He scowled, then grumbled, “Pretty please.”
You kissed his forehead and tucked the blanket around him again. “I’ll consider it.”
“Never drinking again,” he mumbled, already drifting back to sleep.
But just before he dozed off again, his voice dropped low, sincere in that rare Bakugo way that only came out when his guard was completely down:
Todoroki is quite fond of his classmates and he, luckily, likes his floor mates as well. Sato on the right of the hall and Sero on the left. Their hallway always has the lingering scent of vanilla bean and sugar, and the creamy scent of browned butter in the fridge. Or controversially the earthy smell singed aroma of Sero’s smudge sticks. Or even the sweetly cloying scent of expensive perfumes and lotions seeped into Yaoyurozu’s skin that lingered when she walked by.
Whilst all pleasant, and infinitely better than the multitude of other smells Todoroki’s experienced in other parts of the dormitory his favorite scent only drifted by on occasion.
And he, honestly, enjoys inviting his neighbors and female floor mates over. Yaoyurozu, Tsu, and yourself always sneaking past when Sato’s baking begins to rise and the wafting smell rounds the corner.
And Shoto Todoroki would busy himself, sitting on tatami and slowing simmering that spare coffee pot that somehow migrated into his room. A smattering of mugs and paper cups and the lone teacup purposefully set out of his table.
Sero and himself already locked-in on the little chime of the Sato’s kitchen timer. But it’s Sero who comes bounding over into his room first raising his arms above his head before shooting a quick text to their floor group chat.
It’s usually only minutes later before the girls come bounding in. Yaoyurozu in her frilly nightgowns and cozy jumpers. Tsu in her crochet cardigans and basketball shorts sleepwear. And you in your tank and sweats as you plop down right next to him — preferably on his left hand side. Where he can’t see you as clearly from his left peripheral vision. Your figure sometimes the mere bell-like sound of your laugh, a glossy blur as you gossip and study and chat with FloorFive.
The lot of them piled into Todoroki’s floor enjoying tea and sweets and each others calm company.
And Todoroki may invest in contacts if it means he doesn’t have to crane his neck just so to see you clearly. The way you smile and leave your paper cup pulled away with a shimmery pink lip gloss stain on his table. And he’s entranced by the way you fiddle with the silvery jewelry adorning your neck and hands — a pretty little pebble of bluish sea glass hammered in.
that you suddenly fling an arm across the middle of his chest — shoulder blade brushing his nipple through his shirt and your recently damp hair nestled under his chin. The soft aroma of honeyed blossoms and a hint of a sandalwood-ish log within. An underlying note of eucalyptus buried into your collar as you pull back with a polite, “sorry.”
Your lastest freshly poured refill curls steam around your ear as you nibble at Sato’s latest test bake — orange chocolate and cardamom cookies — the pastry you far exceeded your reach to get. And Todoroki watches rapidly as the thrumming in his flushed ears subsides. you and his friends detailing your joint session in the gym today with Cementoss — a fray of exaggerated hands filling about the airspace of the table.
He likes this feeling, and he loves the smell of tea and fresh baked goods and even the herby cleanse and perfume all melting together.
But Todoroki can confirm that the toying delicate smell of your skin has him hooked — especially when the first cold snap hits.
“N/N is out right now, but go ahead and please borrow our adult-sized guest slippers. I’ll go ahead and make us a some coffee while you have a look around .”
Shouta Aizawa is overwhelmed by his son’s new apartment. Small, cozy, and messy enough to be considered decorated and lived in. there’s a pair of children’s house slippers set neatly on the top of the shelf, that he’ll ignore for now.
But looking around it definitely has a partners touch — and it reminds him a little bit of the apartment he shared with Yamada when they first moved in together.
He could tell that this was a new thing, although he already knew that. Knew that Hitoshi had moved in with his partner, knew that she was his lockscreen. Knew that whatever-her real name was made him happy.
Much like his own partner he had to assume the apartment plant life was all credited to Hitoshi’s partner. Because Hitoshi never quite had a thumb green enough to have a pot of cosmos blooming at the entryway. Or the gorgeous potted monstera that stretched nearly as broad as his frame. Yamada would surely be insanely envious it unfurling another big bright new leaf in the corner of the hallway. Otherwise the smattering of smaller plants around the apartment livening up the place could have been something Hitoshi helped out with.
Aizawa dodged a macrame vine hanging from the ceiling and stepped further into the threshold. . .
In the living room a pile of half-finished activities sit. The mismatched collection of floor cushions crowded around the tatami mat. There’s a collection of beads in a bowl waiting to be strung together. The makings of friendship bracelets and little fake plastic windchimes ready to be hastily strung up near the balcony door for summer — oh how Hitoshi and Eri loved to do that as children.
But before Aizawa can truly inspect and critic the art gallery of achievements and invitations in the refrigerator door he’s greeted by a familiar face.
“Why hello there little one,” in a second the familiar white calico headbutts into his hand.
“Ah, I see Pochi hasn’t forgotten you. Poor kitten has been hiding from my girlfriend’s nephew. We’re watching him this week while her sister and brother-in-law go on a business trip.”
“Ah, well that explains the little shoes,” Hitoshi nudges another set of inquisitive whiskers away from his drink like its second nature, “— that’s a rabbit.”
“Oh yeah, I forgot to mention, that’s Rita. Short for Margarita, and she will stick her face into your cup if you’re not careful . . .”
Cute. Aizawa covers the steaming mug with his palm as the rabbit sniff his knuckles, “How old is her nephew then.”
“Ah Tatsuya just turned 4 last month. He’s a sweet kid. Calls me Pochi and calls Pochi Toshi though. N/N can’t seem to convince him otherwise,” Hitoshi shrugs.
His son takes another sip in an attempt to conceal the smile on his face — he’s gotten good at mimicking him, but not good enough. The tight lipped smile says enough of something. and it’s astonishing how simple of a thing it is to come have a cup of coffee among half finished crafts and aquarium brochures.
there’s more stuff he sees sitting around your shared home as he sips of his mug, a hand still protectively over it as your grey fluffy bunny Margarita tries to get a taste.
theres a series of recognizable polaroid photo frames that he recognizes as the two of you in the hallway. Another on the fridge of his two children next to a dinner party invitation from Monoma. And identical copy of the engagement announcement from Jirou and Momo that just came in the mail at their house too.
There’s the eerie beginning of what may be a purple beanie stashed away into the couch. The oversized knitting needles safely out of sight and a small stack of more library books outside your bedroom door.
and overall while Hitoshi may be nervous Aizawa is pretty convinced that evidence suggests that you will get along with the rest of the Aizawa-Yamada household.
and begrudgingly he supposes his purple haired son takes after him in more ways than he thought, because if nothing else he seems to be softer, happier, healthier. The dark circles under his eyes a little less aggressive because he seems to have also picked a partner with warmth and a that kira-kira kind of personality.
The same kind of person that he is eternally devoted to.
He sips on his coffee, he’ll have to inform his husband when he gets home that whatever-her-name is seems good for their son.
Katsuki Bakugou doesn’t like to break rules — at least it’s not always his intention to do so.
And as good as he is as stealth practice you’re far better at it than he is, which is why you’re the one that always sneaks into his room after curfew.
your smaller form and strange grippy little ghibli-themed sock/slipper hybrids make it easier for you to infiltrate the boys side of the dorm.
he doesn’t know how you do it so effortlessly, traversing the stairwell and THEN coming up to his floor. Some nights he’ll be leanning with his arms crossed and his chest puffed out at the doorframe. The text message thread in his pocket opened to: Not So Bad ❤️🔥 — omw! bringing my lastest book over 2nite while you study!”
He’ll glance red eyes throwing daggers down at the west entrance of the stairwell. Until your figure graces the top floor. The notoriously squeaky stairwell door only giving a polite little click as you ease it into place and gleefully skate over with arms wide open — the latest book in hand — before you come invading his space.
But the lovely shit-eating grin that splits across the Katsuki Bakugou’s face when your arms are thrown around his broad shoulders book poking at his shoulder blade. It’s like it’s out of a movie.
Katsuki simply grins and rolls his eyes as you lean back and see how far you can go. How far he’ll let you go. How far he’ll hold you.
The slope of your neck and nose careening towards the opposite wall (you’ll give him grey hairs long before anything else in the hero profession does) your hair falling down your back and tickling his knuckles as Katsukis warm hands hold you fast by the small of your back. And when Kirishima and Shoji happen to poke their heads out and see you both leaning over awkwardly in the hall confined to his doorframe, quietly whispering underneath the dimly lit smattering of stars from the courtyard window — well, they say nothing.
— Shoji and Kirishima they really don’t care because you’ll close the broken stairwell door with the utmost care. you’ll greet their explosive gremlin floor mate with you arms lazily looped around his broad shoulders and a book corner stabbing him and honestly it’s more surprising than annoying.
Shoji and Kirishima, honestly, are more likely to thank you than snitch.
and when you two walk back in for the night it’s sweet and quiet. you really do end up reading that book everytime.
Summer Camp Counselor Kiri’s water bottle can always be found next to yours . . .
The unwashed red naglene hosting a singularly important half-finished bracelet as beads of condensation roll down its sides adorned in national park stickers. The icy puddle on the arts and crafts picnic table left alone as little hands with chipped nail polish pluck out tiny plastic beads and swap scissors across the table.
You yourself have a plethora of half fleshed out bracelets dangling off your Nalgene handle — each one waiting to be deemed perfect before gifting it out to your lover or counselor friends.
You loved your job post in the afternoon. A clear patch of buggy grass festering with fireflies and mosquitos underneath the springtime shade. The arts and crafts table gave you plenty of quiet time to work on your masterpieces as the girls schemed on color patterns and silly acronyms to fit on their bracelets.
The arts and crafts table also stood beside the big grassy lawn; big enough for kickball and frisbee and tag and all other manner of fun silly camp games. Today it had a makeshift volleyball game.
You sat crisscrossed on the table bench hands deftly knitting another pretty chevron into the friendship thread. The water bottle you had held tightly between that clammy crease between knee and thigh. The kind of space that a particularly nosey boyfriend would likely poke and prod just to get a snicker.
You rolled your eyes. you liked the arts and crafts table. it was the perfect angle to take glances up every now and then to see Counselor Eijiro play games against the children — right now you glanced over at the lawn.
Eiji’s tawny summer tan kicking around the dust in the infamous red sport mode crocs — the legendary sign of defeat, as the Sharknado cabin boys put it.
— your shark denim fanny bag laid next to you on the table. the bag filled with what you knew to be a tube of lipgloss, sunscreen, a men’s wallet, and a couple of extra sweatbands for casual wear around camp as well as a red phone that matched the red naglene.
“hey yo’ ladies what’s up? How’s the bracelet making going?”
Dozens of heads swirl as your boyfriend jogs over — adorable frizzed black roots sticking to his forehead slick with the effort from the game. A sight you’d frequented from his athletic games throughout the year, normally he’d both fumble to card his hair back and tuck the frizzy mane into his headband.
The girls peppered answers get cut off by loud swigs of water getting drowned in that bobbing Adam’s apple of his. Eijiro’s deep rosy eyes cutting a glance at the nearest friendship bracelet before the water bottle fully leaves his lips. He prods a fat finger at the nearest friendship bracelet, “hey that looks great! I love the colors!”
“thanks! Counselor N/N taught me this new one,” the girl holds up her twirly bracelet, “it’s called a spiral staircase bracelet and it’s surprisingly easy!”
the pipsqueaks attention is solely on her new proud bracelet creation, but your boyfriends eyes slid over to yours as your tongue prods the edge of your gums fighting off a smug face. and a creeping flush dusts the bridge of Eijiro’s, lightly crooked, nose.
“is that so?” he asks, pearly sharp canines flashing against his lower lip as his mouth pulls tight into a smile.
“N/N is pretty good at the whole bracelet making thing —“ “Yeah I bet she could teach you a thing or two!”
“—yeah counselor kirishima the bracelets on your arm are sooo good, but the one on your water bottle is kinda wimpy!”
“how come it’s so bad but the others aren’t?”
“Woah now,” Kirishina chuckles raising his hands in a placating manner. It’s a funny look on all 273 lbs of your heavyweight champ camp boyfriend, but Eiji is as sweet as can be.
And despite keeping your relationship under wraps for the summer he’s been nothing but warm and pleasant, even with a lack of PDA.
“— all of these that you see here are different ones I’ve gotten from my friends see this one is from Counselor Midoriya and this one Counselor Mina but most of them come from my girlfriend she’s also pretty darn good at making me friendship bracelets and things!”
A look of blatant understanding strikes across the girls face, “ohh so that’s why yours sucks!” The rest including yourself peel into giggles as the tips of his ears burn hot.
“wait is it gonna be for your girlfriend? Are you gonna give it too her at the end of camp?” “does she even like those colors??” “wait kirishima how do you know she can wear that size?”
The onslaught of questions has caught him off guard — a cute panicked expression taking place before he plops down on the seat across from you and answers them all earnestly and wholeheartedly. The table of little girls firing all their demanding and important follow up questions such as, “does your girlfriend know you play lots of pranks on Counselor Sero? And is she really pretty?”
Why, yes, you do. In fact, you asisst. And if your shared morning off together was any indication you’d say he’d thought you were fairly pretty.
Meanwhile, you simple allow your hands to weave along and make knots on the red bracelet you’d been working on.
the caterpillar cabin girls gasping as they poke and prod at the bracelets adorning your boyfriends beefy forearm which he rests against the table. the little camp gossips in them demanding to know all there is to know about his girlfriend. To which he cuts a cool glance across the table at you, your ears perked as you listen to him in fervor stumble over gushing without revealing too much about you.
And naturally the most important question is geared towards the half-finished threads knotted messily on his unwashed red water bottle . . .
with eyes down cast you keep your smile from blooming across your face as his optimistic voice says “well I’m not so sure that she’ll like it but I know that I’ll love whatever she swaps with me at the end of camp.”
oh the outrageously outdated and frankly useless “love quirk” family a romantics comedy and action movie gag — there’s nothing like it for taking a relationship from amicable to please-let-the-earth-swallow-me-whole on speed run.
which is precisely where shouto todoroki found himself — frantically hiding behind the kitchen island for the thousandth time, trying to keep some obstacle between you and himself. It had simply been an internship patrol gone wrong, the whole way back to the agency you’d refused to extricate yourself from his arm. The loathsome freak setting off some kind of love-inducing attack against him. Now, he’d run frantically behind the counter — the abnormal gleam in your eye threatening to do something to him you’d regret. He knew you wanted to jump his bones — which was frankly making him a touch delicious in that thing between his ears that he can’t happen to name right now because his motor functions were glitching out. But he wasnt going to let what you wanted to happen happen under these circumstances.
He braced himself on the counter hand gesturing to you, “No.”
Shouto’s body shivered, as he let go of a long suffering sigh, “I am not letting you whore yourself unto me. You are my friend and I respect you and your autonomy way too much for this, so until you calm the hell down we will not be so much as holding hands.” This seemed to only elicit a loud whiny pout to which Shouto furiously ran his hand through his disheveled hair in response.
He could not keep playing this game of get away.
. . . and that’s when an awful idea entered the chat — truly his brother Touya would be proud.
Which is how the rest of his classmates walked up to find shouto todoroki lounging on a beach chair in the front of the 3-A lawn. a pair of sunshine yellow striped party shades throw on, a white cotton button cover up — unbuttoned, plain ol’ khakis and flip-flops. A little worn paperback copy of “101 Traditional Japanese Love Stories” that he had releaved from the library for the foreseeable future and a lemonade (pink little paper umbrella included) in hand.
His extremities were covered in tanning lotion and the condensation of the lemonade had made his fingers pruney as he turned each page — his right hand clutched in your feverish delirious grasp. Your eyes shone brightly (and unnaturally!) as he intoned the onslaught of different poems and love songs — somehow the artistry of it keeping you satiated.
. . . plus he may or may not have somehow convinced you to dress warmly so that he could safely entrap you in ice. But Shouto had taken the opportunity to gently place a hideous floppy hat on and an endearingly ugly smear of sunscreen across your nose.
Kirishima, Mina, Jirou, and Froppy passed by the front walkway to the dorm all giving out greetings to him along the line of “umm hey todoroki?”
“Uhh why is y/n glowing pink? And, why is she encased in ice? And, uh — why are you out here having a beach day with her in the middle of September? Wait did she get quirked-up?”
Shouto took a long sip of his lemonade letting you reach out and ruffle his hair before your needy clammy little quirk-fever hand clasped his again, “our classmate y/n saved me from a very embarrassing quirk attack in our joint internship patrol.”
they all slowly nodded taking in y/n’s appearance — it was definitely a little concerning.
“— oh shouto please do go on! my heart beats only to accompany the angelic melody of your voice.”
“ahem,” a white arched eyebrow peaked over the hideous sunshine-y glasses, “and that was the moment that the icy hare came at last to court his princess after his unbelievable trials . . .”
