katsuki

Bakugo’s kids are not spoiled, fuck you for even insinuating it.

Bakugo’s kids get what they need.

And what they need is a four tier bento box, every school day.

Insulated, of course, because “they aren’t fucking animals.”

And what starts as Bakugo just being a very attentive father, grows into you recording him coming home from his early morning run and grumbling while he puts on the frilly, lemon yellow apron your kids got him for Christmas two years ago, which grows into him carefully arranging a camera setup over your kitchen countertops, “because you’re the shittiest director alive, dumbass.” Which leads to the tiktok account dine-amight, where Bakugo uploads his intermediate-level character bentos, full to bursting with perfectly seasoned rice balls shaped like All Might and Hello Kitty, star and moon shaped fruits and veggies and occasionally, when your kids beg for them, Bakugo’s famous rainbow mini pancakes.

And of course a pro-hero with a reputation like Bakugo doing anything domestic is worth coverage and acclaim, blowing the account’s followers into the hundreds of thousands in a week.

In fact, people are shocked that Bakugo can even find the time. But he’d do anything for your kids, do anything to see them bring home empty bentos, bragging about all the kids drooling over their lunches that day. Anything to watch their missing tooth smiles when he asks how they were.

And if that means a couple of extra grocery trips at the end of the week and really early morning runs and gentle kisses on your forehead while you mutter and shift in your sleep before he starts the rice cooker, then so be it.

“Katsuki, they are not going to eat caviar. They do not need caviar.” Honestly, you were less surprised he was dropping it in the cart and more surprised your local supermarket even carried it in the first place. 

“They’ll eat whatever the fuck I give them.” He bites, pushing the cart just shy of too fast through the aisle, head swivelling back and forth for god knows what else. An elderly woman casts your husband a dirty look as he just barely swings the metal buggy to avoid her, to which Katsuki helpfully spits “Keep it movin’, hag!” 

“They’re 10!” 

“Doesn’t mean they need to choke down dry ass chicken nuggets and grape juice all day.”

izuku

Birthday party dad, the absolute worst party dad. Thousands of dollars on his kids’ birthday parties. Princess parties, pirate parties, any theme your kids can gurgle about liking and Deku has pulled out his tablet and is putting a pinterest board together before you can remind him that the twins’ birthday was two months ago. 

“We can get an early start on next year. What’ll you think it’ll cost to turn the pool into an ice rink?”

          “My sanity.”

        “Don’t be dramatic.”

Gets almost ridiculously bitter when the family across the street throws an All Might themed party when he knows, he fucking knows, they overheard him talking about throwing one for the boys months ago, But he is not changing his plan. Naw naw naw, your kids are gonna get their All Might party, they’re getting the All Might Party. Every single attendee is getting a vintage, tin All Might lunchbox stuffed to bursting with All Might merch; toys, branded candy only released in Sweden, keychains, those little retro bubble charms, anything he can cram in there. The yellow, red and blue bouncy castle he rented rivals the size of your house. And then, because there is not a soul on the planet pettier than your husband, he forces every pro hero he’s ever known to get in costume and take photos with the kids. He makes the one with the twins your yearly christmas card, then hand delivers it to the family across the street.

In October.

You bake apology pies for weeks.

“You know this is ridiculous right? Deku, she’s 2” you stress the number, pinching the bridge of your nose. “She isn't going to remember any of this.”

“I'm not listening, I didn't hear that, I am busy putting little princesses on cupcakes, a task you said you would help me with.” He’s grinning when he turns to you, and when you hold out your hand, he places a piping bag full of baby pink frosting in your open palm. 

Together you hunch over the kitchen island to ice and decorate twenty-four strawberry vanilla cupcakes, nudging and snickering at each other’s lopsided princess figures until the two of you are smearing icing on skin and tossing edible glitter into hair.

shouto

You know those “girl dads”? That’s Shouto. He takes her everywhere, takes pictures of everything that little girl does. School plays, holidays, playdates, you name it and there’s a dedicated, timestamped album that Shouto is begging to show every visitor, mailman and coworker. 

He prints them out, and maintains an instagram account filled with his favourite daddy-daughter moments, updated. daily.

Nevermind that he hasn’t used his own personal account in 9 years.

His favourite thing is buying and wearing matching outfits, carrying her in one arm. “Yes, I know she can walk, she’s very talented, she can do anything. She just likes to be as tall as daddy is.”

Whenever he picks her up from school, your husband slides her sweet little coat on and gently secures her into her car seat, right where he can see her when he looks in the rearview mirror. Then, Shouto drives your daughter wherever she wants to go. 

Wherever.

If it’s the zoo, they’re going, and they’re coming back with a gigantic, stuffed red panda to add to her own (not so little) plushie zoo at home. If it’s Starbucks, she comes toddling through the front door holding a VENTI, frozen hot chocolate frappuccino (no coffee, of course) and a brownie. Shouto asks them to make it special, he would never let her handle anything too hot.

“Shouto, stop. You’re gonna rot her teeth, she can’t even finish that.” Which is totally true, the cup’s as big as your daughter’s head. Not that she seems to mind, the way she hefts it up for you to see from the entryway while Shouto undoes her glittery blue shoelaces.

“I’ll finish the rest.” He shrugs, picking her up and plopping her down on the living room couch next to you, pressing a light kiss to the top of your head before shuffling off to hang up their identical winter coats.

He doesn’t even like chocolate.

“Why would she need a iPad?” You grab Shouto by his shoulders and make him look at you. 

“For…school.” His voice is quiet and subdued and you almost feel bad...before you remember your husband is clutching an $800 tablet he intends to give your 6 year old kid to his chest in the middle of an electronics store.

“Baby...she’s in elementary school…They aren’t even using calculators yet.” You try to pry the package out of his grip, steadfastly ignoring the gentle downturn of Shouto’s mouth at the development. 

“She’s very advanced for her age.” The frown is a full on pout by now and you shut it down as quick as you can. 

“No. Uh uh. Put that bottom lip back in. Then put the tablet back.”

It’s wrapped in shiny purple paper by December 19th.

🌿 join my taglist here 🌿

Your boyfriend, Bakugou was a very stubborn man. He didn’t back away from a challenge-no matter what it was. That included diving headfirst into missions even without back-up, he could be reckless and you knew this. Although that still didn’t stop your shock when Kirishima came by your house with a Shiba Inu on his hands-and no Bakugou. 

“Uh.. so not to alarm you, but this is Bakugou.” Kirishima said as he motioned to the blonde dog that seemed to have the same snarl that was always on Bakugou’s face. You blinked a few times to register what he had said before laughing, clearly not falling for the joke that Bakugou and Kirishima were pulling on you. 

“There’s no way you guys are fooling me, I know Katsuki is just hiding somewhere,” you said as you started to come outside, eyes scanning the area for the unruly head of blonde hair you had run your fingers through countless times. When you didn’t see him, you looked back at Kirishima and realized that he was being completely serious. You looked down at the Shiba again and the dog came towards you, his snarl disappearing as he licked at your hand as if to say, “yes, it really is me, dumbass. No prank here,”. 

“What the hell happened?” You asked Kirishima as you let them both inside, plopping down on the couch as Kirishima sat across from you and Katsuki jumped up on the couch, resting himself against you, his head on your lap. 

“Bakugou rushed in-as always,” Kirishima started and Bakugou let out a huff in frustration before Kirishima continued. “Bakugou rushed ahead and the villain used their quirk on him, they can make the person turn into whatever animal they want. It could last a few days, weeks to months.” Kirishima explained and your heart sank at the fact that your boyfriend could be a dog for months on end. Katsuki could sense your mood and let out a low whine, licking at your hand to give you a sense of comfort and a form of apology. Luckily, Kirishima was nice enough to stop and get a few things like a leash, bowls and toys for Bakugou’s state so you could likely process what had happened. 

In your daze, you hadn’t realized that Kirishima had left until Bakugou nudged at your hand with his head and you blinked before looking down at Katsuki, his eyes focused on you. You pet the top of his head, his ears twitching slightly at the new sensation and you smiled when he huffed in approval. 

“Want to watch some TV?” You asked him, giggling when he let out a short bark as if to say yes before you turned on a show that you two had been binging the past few nights. Bakugou curled closer into you, his fur brushing against you. This was going to be interesting. 

A few days had passed and Bakugou was still the cutest Shiba ever-although you really wanted your boyfriend back. Although he was a cute dog, he was stubborn and wouldn’t listen to you at all. Especially when you tried to give him baths after he would go outside and roll around in the dirt. He was still very protective of you so that was pretty cute, sometimes anyway. You had a feeling that you would definitely try to convince Katsuki into getting a dog after this though. You enjoyed having a furry little friend around. 

“Katsuki, are you ready to go on your walk?” You asked from the door, slipping your shoes on and grabbing his leash. You heard a bark and heard the patter of paws before Bakugou appeared in front of you, allowing you to leash him after struggling for a good few minutes. Little shit. You took Bakugou outside, allowing him to lead as he started to sniff at the flowerbeds in the neighborhood. You heard a call of your name and looked up to see Denki and Kirishima headed your way with a wave, to which you returned. Bakugou returned to you, acting as a sort of barrier between you and the boys. 

“Oh man, that quirk still hasn’t worn off?” Kirishima asked you, his red eyes filled with sympathy. 

“Nope, but he at least cuddles me without complaining now.” You joked, causing Bakugou to huff as he showed his annoyance. Kirishima and Denki continued to talk to you, but you could feel Bakugou tugging at the leash to signal that he was ready to head back to the house and you could swear you heard him let out a growl when Kirishima gave your head a pat, the leash being pulled tighter. After finally saying bye to the boys, Bakugou pulled you back to the house and you frowned when you sat down on the couch, expecting Bakugou to jump in your lap but he stalked off to the bedroom. Shrugging, you made your way to the bathroom as you passed a sulking Bakugou on the bed and started to strip, turning on the shower before you heard the patter of paws and Bakugou patiently sitting on the floor. 

“I’m guessing you’re going to stay in here?” You questioned as you threw your shorts aside, watching as Bakugou barked as if saying “duh!”. You smiled before stepping in the shower, turning on the music from your phone from the shower speaker. You hummed to yourself before lathering some of your favorite body wash in your hands, jumping when you heard a familiar voice in your ear. 

“Need some help, princess?” Bakugou questioned, giving you his signature smirk when you turned to face him. You touched his face, pushing at his cheeks slightly to make sure that it was actually Bakugou and not your touch starved imagination playing tricks on you. 

“It’s me, dumbass. The quirk wore off,” Bakugou said, his voice slightly muffled from your hands. As if you didn’t believe him, you trailed your hands down to his perfect figure, fingers trailing over his abs and Bakugou chuckled. “I’m guessing you missed me a lot, huh?” 

“I mean, don’t get me wrong, you were cute as a dog. But, I really missed you,” you admitted as Bakugou pulled you close, your confession causing him to smile. 

“I missed you too, especially being able to touch you….” Bakugou said as his knuckles brushed against your cheek, his thumb brushing against your bottom lip as his red eyes seemed to glow with intensity. “So…, can I touch you?” He asks, his voice low as his eyes flicked down your body. As soon as you nodded, Bakugou’s lips were on yours and he had you pressed up against the shower wall. His lips were hot against yours, one of his hands traveling to your hair and you moaned when his fingers tangled in your locks. His tongue met your bottom lip and slowly slid inside your mouth, his other hand going to play with the sensitive bud that had been begging for attention since you heard his voice. 

“K-Katsuki,” you moaned against his lips as his fingers trailed down to your already slick folds to brush against them. 

“Hmm, are you that eager? You’re so cute, wanting me so badly.” He mumbled against your lips as his fingers easily slid into you, a quiet chuckle escaping his mouth at the way you squirmed. His index and pointer finger started to thrust in and out slowly, his face buried in your neck while your hand went to his hair, your skin already on fire. It wasn’t from the shower, but from Katsuki’s hold on you. He was like a drug you couldn’t get enough of. 

A moan escaped your mouth when Bakugou curled his fingers, the pads of them hitting that spongy spot inside of you that had you seeing stars in seconds. You could hear his voice in your ear asking if you were about to cum, and when you nodded he abruptly removed his fingers. You met his teasing red eyes as he sucked your juices off his fingers, a gasp escaping your throat as he suddenly picked you up, wrapping your legs around his waist as his lips latched to your neck. 

“Now, now, baby girl… I didn’t tell you that you could cum. I prefer to have you cum around my cock, anyway.” Bakugou whispered in your ear, his teeth tugging at the skin before he lined himself up with your entrance, his cockhead teasing against your folds. 

“Katsuki… p-please,” you beg, desperately trying to move against your boyfriend so you could get a small amount of friction. 

“You’re so fucking cute when you beg,” Bakugou said with a chuckle, a low groan escaping his mouth as he slowly pushed into you. He paused for a minute to let you adjust since it had been a bit before he started moving, a growl escaping his mouth as he bit down on your neck, his tongue soothing at the inflamed skin as his thrusts picked up the pace. 

“Fuck…” you moaned out at the way that Katsuki’s cock brushed along your walls, the angle he had you in making him hit your g-spot. Your hands found purchase in his hair, your fingers combing through the wet locks as the water hit the both of you. Bakugou continued to lick and suck at your neck, leaving dark marks as he never stopped his pace. You whined when you realized that he had stopped again, his hands cupping under your ass to keep you steady as he turned the shower off before taking you to the bedroom. 

“Katsuki?” You asked, taking your face from his neck to look up at him, a yelp leaving your lips as he tossed you gently on the bed. 

“Turn around,” Bakugou said, and you knew it was a command, not a question. You did as you were told, getting on your hands and knees, a shiver running through you when Bakugou’s hands spread your ass, allowing him full view of your dripping cunt. 

“You’re so fucking soaked for me, I fucking love it,” Bakugou said before lining himself up again, a growl escaping his throat at how tight you were as he sheathed himself inside you.“Shit, you’re so fucking tight.” You felt as Bakugou’s hand tangled in your hair, yanking you back so you were close to him as he thrust inside you, his other hand wrapped around your waist to keep you steady. The sounds of skin slapping against skin and you and Bakugou’s moans filled the air as he kept a constant pace inside of you, his balls slapping against you as he pressed sloppy kisses to your back. 

“Katsuki… your cock feels so good,” you whine, pleasure coursing through you when Bakugou’s hand in your hair tightens. 

“That’s right, you fucking love my cock, don’t you? You love my cock stretching you out as much as it can, hah?” Bakugou says with a groan as his thrusts become harder, faster. You’re only able to nod in agreement as your orgasm starts to wash over you in waves, your cunt clenching Bakugou’s dick as your juices drip onto the bed. “Fuck, (Y/N), I’m-.” Bakugou cuts off with a groan as he spills his seed into you, his head pressed into your back as he bites down at the skin; overwhelmed with the orgasm flooding his system. He pulled out of you and pulled you close to him before falling back onto the bed, pulling the covers up around you both. 

“Oh so even though you’re back to normal, you still want to cuddle?” You tease, hearing Bakugou scoff. 

The third time it happens he does it on purpose. He doesn’t even hide it; he glances back at you, eyes the pumpkin muffin, and then raises an eyebrow to give you a look you can’t quite decipher. You think, briefly, that maybe he’s offering to let you have it, but instead, when he gets to the front of the line, he simply buys it himself. You’re stuck glaring at the back of his head as the barista gives him his prize, and when he passes you on his way out you hiss, “Very mature.”

He doesn’t respond, or even really look at you; he just gives that little smirk and walks out.

So you decide to arrive five minutes earlier the next day. And you do; except that so does he, coming the opposite direction, the door to the cafe right in between you.

A door which he sprints for when he sees you. You might have considered racing him except that he’s an entire pro hero and apparently absurdly competitive, so he gets there in record time… and then waits for you, smugly, so that he can hold the door open for you to walk in after him. He orders the muffin, gives you that dumb smirk, and leaves no pumpkin spice goodness for you. If you were a different person, you might consider finding another cafe to get your seasonal fix, but to be honest you’re probably as competitive as he is. You’re not about to just let him win like that. Besides, you haven’t found any places nearby with comparable quality.

He beats you again when you come five minutes earlier the following day. You’re beyond pissed now. It’s Friday; you should be looking forward to the weekend, but instead you’ve spent every morning since Monday missing your favorite treat. It’s hell on earth, and the devil is a blond pro hero who takes pleasure in your misery.

You pout as you take your spot behind Ground Zero. He snickers, addressing you for the first time since your initial meeting.

“Someone’s grouchy.”

“Gee, wonder why,” you drawl, sarcasm dripping like venom from your words.

“Gotta be quicker next time,” is all he says, and though he hasn’t bothered to look back you can hear the obnoxious smirk on his face.

You don’t dignify that with a response, and you try not to stomp your foot like a child as you watch him leave. He doesn’t even have the decency to wait this time; he looks directly at you and takes a huge, crude bite, winking with his mouth full and pushing backward out the door.

When Monday rolls around, you’re even earlier. But he’s caught on. You push back by five-minute increments on Tuesday, then Wednesday, then Thursday, and he beats you every time, always going out of his way to taunt you or even just eat the muffin right there while you’re in line. As each day passes, you grow angrier and angrier. You’re pretty sure this is going to be your villain origin story.

You’ve shifted your whole morning routine by an hour by Friday; it’s a struggle to wake up, you nearly miss your alarm and you speed through your morning routine, but it’s worth it because there’s a glimmer of hope as you reach the cafe.

Don’t get it twisted. Ground Zero is still there, annoyingly smug expression and all—the hope comes when you get a look at the display case because there are two muffins standing proud behind the glass. You’ve arrived early enough that they haven’t all been bought, so you’re not as dejected as normal when you take your place behind him in line.

He’s wearing what is clearly workout attire; grey sweatpants and a loose tank that makes you want to scream (not because his arms look good, certainly not, just because he’s annoying) with a pair of wired headphones draped over his shoulders. It’s unusual; normally, he’s in what you’d probably call business casual, presumably commuting to his agency where he changes into his hero uniform.

“You’re early,” he comments. He’s turned backwards in the line so that he can face you.

“So are you.”

“I’m always up at this time. I just saw you at the end of my morning run and decided to beat you again.”

You wrinkle your nose, giving him a glare that could kill. “You’re a real piece of work, Ground Zero.”

He doesn’t even try to stifle his laughter, much to your increasing annoyance. “You sound worse than some of the villains I fight.”

“Maybe I’ll become one, then. I’m angry enough.” You huff. “But not today! Because there’s two, so you can’t ruin my morning.”

You regret saying it immediately because the words make him quirk his eyebrow in a manner that isn’t reassuring. He doesn’t say anything else; he just turns around to face the cashier and greets her like he has every day since your unfortunate meeting.

You figure out what he’s going to do mere seconds before he does it. You watch him gesture at the display, and you’re gasping as he holds up two fingers and orders both muffins.

“You asshole,” you say, less of an accusation and more of a statement of fact. “I fucking hate you.”

The asshole turns to face you, leaning back against the counter with that shit-eating grin on his face and his arms crossed (don’t ogle his fucking arms, you’re better than that, and he’ll definitely notice). “Maybe I wanna see you snap. I think you’d make a great villain.”

“I fucking hate you,” you repeat, having very few other words available in your mind to string into a sentence. “Go rot in hell.”

The barista returns with his drink and two brown paper bags, holding them out for Ground Zero to take the cup and one bag with his right hand and the other with his left. He turns back to you, holding out the single muffin, but you don’t take the bait.

“I bought this for you, you know, but I don’t really wanna do someone who hates me any favors.”

“Spare me, I know you’re lying.”

He makes a tsk sound, shaking his head. “It’s okay, Red Riot’ll appreciate my gift more than you would have anyway.”

“Fuck off,” you groan.

The bark of laughter that he lets out as he leaves definitely doesn’t make your face heat up.

You keep trying the next week, but it’s futile. Ground Zero is just too dedicated to ruining your day. Still, you can’t deny the small part of you that feels warm every time you see him.

Halfway through the week, there’s an incident that reminds you quite suddenly that your annoying cafe companion is a famous pro hero.

It starts like normal. He greets you with his usual smirk. “Morning. You look like shit.”

To be fair, he’s right. You’d worked late last night and are set to work another late night today, so you really only have the energy to flip him off. You’d say that only a pumpkin muffin would cheer you up… but to be honest, only a pumpkin muffin combined with beating your new nemesis would do the job.

Said nemesis goes keep talking (probably to taunt you about being lazy or slow or something) but you don’t get the chance to hear it. Instead, you get shoved back when a trio of squealing teenage girls rushes over from their table across the cafe and crowds around him.

“Ground Zero!” their apparent leader exclaims, “Ground Zero! We wanted to thank you for saving us yesterday! That villain was so scary but you were so brave!”

The other two give a chorus of agreement, shrill and high-pitched, and it’s painfully obvious that Ground Zero doesn’t want them in his face any more than you do. Serves him right. He’s looking over their heads at you as if you can save him; there’s a quip on your tongue about how he should be doing the rescuing, dashing pro hero that he is, but you decide against saying it while they’re around.

He does rescue you, ultimately, though it takes far too long in your opinion. After a minute too many of the teens shamelessly flirting with a grown man and him uncomfortably trying to get them to leave, one of them stumbles into you, shoving you back violently against one of the rods that hold up the line divider. It’s accidental, but it hurts, and the girl doesn’t even bother to apologize as you hiss out in pain.

“Oi!” Ground Zero snaps, none too happy and dropping what little civility he’d been offering. “That’s enough, fuck off! Don’t you brats have parents? Who the hell taught you manners?”

The chittering pauses for a moment, then the trio bursts into giggles.

He growls and you raise an eyebrow at him, but he doesn’t notice. “There are other patrons here, don’t be fucking rude. If you ain’t gonna apologize then fuck off. If you are, then say you’re sorry and then fuck off. There’s a time and place to talk to pros, don’t just ambush them in a fucking cafe.”

Finally, they seem to get that he’s really pissed. All three give you an apology, and they’re better than you’d expect, seemingly fairly genuine, before they leave.

Ground Zero doesn’t ask you if you’re okay, not verbally at least. He takes his spot in front of you and asks with his eyes, barely turning his head and quirking an eyebrow.

“I‘m fine,” you assure him. Your ribs aren’t hurting much anymore, so that’s certainly the case. And now you have fodder to taunt him with. “Thank you for the save, though. You’re so brave, Ground Zero, rushing to my aid like that. I don’t know what I would have done without you.”

He groans. “Christ. Please, you’re not a damn high schooler, I get more than enough of that shit.”

“Really? You don’t want me as your number one fan, fawning over you? That’s good. Stealing my pumpkin muffin every day isn’t a very good way to win me over.”

“I’m not stealing shit. I’m paying for it. Not my fault you’re not fast enough.”

“You’re so immature.”

“It doesn’t have your name on it.”

“Yes it does, right on the bottom. You just swallow it whole and don’t look.”

“Then it’s basically not there.”

You give up on being earlier than him that Friday.

The following Monday, you relish the extra hour of sleep you get. The sun fully rises by the time you’re out of bed and, despite a little voice in your mind telling you it’s unlikely that you’ll get your muffin today, you’re chipper, not necessarily hopeful but not quite as pessimistic as the previous week.

There’s another little voice, significantly quieter, that wants Ground Zero to be there. Only because he’s interesting, not because you like his company or enjoy losing your muffin every damn day.

He doesn’t disappoint when you arrive. It’s strange, though; you remember that previously he’d wear his work clothes (not his hero uniform, but clearly for working). but now he’s in his running gear like the week before, the grey sweats and the tank and the headphones around his neck. He’s seated at a two-person table, too, hunched over with his forearms on the table as he scrolls through his phone.

His head snaps up when you walk through the door, and he doesn’t wait to leap up and scramble to the line, making you throw your arms up in exasperation as he takes his spot right in front of you.

“Are you a child?” you ask.

“You’re late,” is all he says in response.

“Late? Look buddy, we weren’t meeting here. I didn’t ask you to wait for me.”

“Well, thanks to your tardiness, I’ll have to go straight to work in this shit.” He gestures down at his body. “Do you know what my damn sidekicks are gonna say?”

“‘Nice sweats, boss,’” you chirp. “Or something along those lines. I imagine they’re a bunch of kiss-asses.”

“They’re not,” he growls.

“I’m not even late for my standards. I’ve been coming earlier because you’re such a dick. This is the time I’ve been coming here for years.”

“Well, maybe you should consider fixing your fucking sleep schedule.”

“Maybe you should consider antagonizing someone new for a change. I’m sure someone out there likes blueberry muffins, go bug them!”

You’ve gravitated towards each other, practically nose-to-nose (though the fucker is looking down at you, ungodly tall as he is), chests all but touching. It’s impossible to miss when his red irises drop to your lips.

Ground Zero doesn’t move. You don’t know what you’d have done if he did; you still feel like you barely know the guy, it’s only been two weeks, but it doesn’t happen so there’s no real reason to ponder it.

What does happen is the barista tentatively calls for him, forcing him to turn around and order. He still gets the pumpkin spice muffin—you’re not surprised—but he doesn’t speak to you on his way out. He doesn’t even taunt you with it.

You decide to make your new normal fifteen minutes earlier than it used to be before meeting Ground Zero. Though it doesn’t occur to you when you decide it, it’s because you intend to spend that extra time with him.

When you arrive, he’s at the table he was the day before, in his expected work clothes rather than his running gear. Again, he leaps up and beats you in line, seemingly past whatever strangeness had taken over him last time.

“Nobody saw my clothes yesterday so I’ve decided to forgive you,” he announces.

“There we go, everything worked out.”

“No thanks to you. You just got lucky.”

“And what would you have done if I hadn’t? Steal my pumpkin muffin—oh, wait.”

“I told you, dumbass.” He’s grinning, teeth sharp. “I can’t steal what you don’t already own. I just beat you every time. Get better.”

“Don’t you ever get tired of being this way?” You’re grinning, too, despite yourself. It probably takes away from your banter, but you can’t help it.

“What, the best?”

“That was dumb.”

He doesn’t get to defend himself, because he’s gotten to the front of the line. He turns to the barista instead of responding.

“Medium black coffee and that pumpkin spice muffin.” He points at the display, waiting for her to start to get the indicated pastry before raising his other hand to jab his thumb at you. “Oh, and whatever they want.”

You blink, genuinely surprised.

“For here or to go?”

“Here.” It comes out as a statement, but you can see the question in Ground Zero’s eyes, and you nod your affirmation. He nods back. “Yeah, here.”

“You’d like your regular, then?” She turns to you, and you nod once again. She goes to start ringing him up, but then you speak.

“Actually, I’d like a bacon egg and avocado breakfast sandwich, too, please.”

It’s one of the most expensive things on the menu, but Ground Zero doesn’t bat an eye as he pays. He just looks around, clearly scoping for a table. Damn pro hero’s salary. You won’t complain if he wants to pay for your coffee more.

He settles on the very table he’d taken to waiting for you at. You eat breakfast together, and you don’t really care that he’s eating your pumpkin spice muffin.

In fact, it becomes the new norm for the remaining week and a half of October. You arrive fifteen minutes before you used to and find him sitting at the same table, whereupon he leaps up to beat you in line as soon as you enter. He pays for your coffee and sandwich, and then you two spend your extra fifteen minutes sitting at that same table, talking. He even takes to walking you most of the way to your office; he has to split off to go to his agency a few blocks before you get there, but it’s still nice. You never forget that he’s still eating your fucking muffin, though—mostly because he spends breakfast taunting you, and because you don’t want to let it go.

It’s on the first of November that the realization hits, and you hesitate at the door.

Is it silly? Petty? To want to just pass by and take the bitter, over-brewed coffee at your office because you’ve definitely lost this strange competition you’ve been engaging in for weeks? You can see Ground Zero inside, waiting at the pick-up spot. You’re definitely overthinking this. You shouldn’t let it stop you from getting the coffee you so require, but you know that now that there are no more muffins it won’t be the same. Maybe he won’t even want to spend time with you anymore.

Isn’t that stupid. You’re nothing without the muffin? Without the meaningless, biteless bickering? You like being around him. You like to think the feeling’s mutual.

You watch as Ground Zero is approached by the barista and receives a pair of drinks in a cardboard carrier, watch as asks for what turns out to be a sharpie for him to write on one of the cups, watch as he returns the marker and his hand falls to pick up the little white box you’re just now noticing on the counter and glances around to—

You squeak. He locks eyes with you and his narrow immediately. You have no clue what gets into you, but the look on his face makes you turn heel and rush away from the door.

You know damn well how fast he is, you know that if he wants to catch you he has the damn capability (he’s a pro hero for fuck’s sake), but for whatever reason the sound of the door opening after you only makes you go faster.

“OI! Why the fuck are you running?” He shouts after you.

“I don’t know!”

It hits you how stupid this is, right then, and you halt so suddenly that when you whip around he very nearly runs straight into you. He reacts quickly, dropping the drinks and the package on the metal table right next to you so that his hands are free to fly up to your shoulders, both steadying you and stopping him from bowling you over.

“The fuck was that?” he asks, incredulous but clearly amused. You like the expression he’s giving you right now far better than the arrogant smirks and shit-eating grins that you’re so very used to; he’s fighting back a genuine smile like he’s enjoying your dumb antics.

“I don’t know,” you whine in response. “I panicked.”

“Why? Jeez, and I was looking forward to seeing you today, too.”

“Yeah, that’s why I panicked! How do you think most people would react if they saw some pro hero looking for them?”

Ground Zero blinks. A little frown forms on his lips, almost a pout. It’s kind of adorable. Clearly, he hadn’t thought about that. “Kinda figured I wasn’t just some pro hero to you by now.”

Now it’s your turn to blink in surprise. “Well, I wasn’t even gonna go to the cafe today. I was actually about to leave when you saw me.”

“What? Why?” He sounds panicked now. Your eyebrows knit in confusion momentarily, but his loss of composure helps soothe your nerves.

“Uh, because I spent a month with an asshole purposefully antagonizing me and stealing the pumpkin spice muffins that I look forward to every year right out from under me? Kinda makes going to get coffee a little less refreshing.”

He has the decency to wince at that. “Yeah, alright, I talked to a few of my friends last night about yo—that and they convinced me that maybe I took things a little far, especially ‘cause I realized I was into—I mean they were helping me plan to ask—”

He cuts himself off, eyes widening quickly before narrowing and darting suddenly to the side.

“Huh?”

“It’s nothing,” he mutters gruffly. “Here.”

With that eloquent introduction, he grabs the little white box from the table and shoves it into your chest.

“Wh—” You take it from him, choosing not to comment on his less than polite manner of handing it to you. Whatever is inside is heavier than you’d expected, and hot enough that your chilly fingers are warmed just by holding the bottom. “This is for me?”

“Yeah. I made ‘em this morning, ‘cause I realized I’d prevented you from getting any of those muffins while they were making ‘em, so I talked the old lady into giving me the recipe and I figured you wouldn’t open it right now in front of me yanno I just thought you’d wait until I’m not right here…”

You pause halfway through opening the lid to raise your head and shoot Ground Zero an incredulous look. He’s glancing away again, eyes fixed on some spot to the left of you, face pink and cheeks puffed as his lips pout and he bites the inside of his lip.

“You don’t want to watch me open your present?” You deadpan your response.

“No, it’s yours, you can open it whenever you damn well want.”

“Fine. I wanna do it now. In front of you. Because you’re apparently very embarrassed by the contents.” You pause. “Christ, it’s not some creep shit, is it? You didn’t like, stalk me and these are hundreds of candid photos of me?”

“What? No! The fuck?”

“Just making sure. One can never be too cautious.”

“I wouldn’t fucking do that!”

You hum in response, enjoying his spluttering as you return your attention to the box to find…

Well, now. He’d practically told you before, hadn’t he? The old lady he’d been talking about must be the cafe’s owner, because the four muffins within the package look exactly like the ones he’d been stealing from you. And they’re steaming, still hot.

“Used my quirk to keep ‘em warm,” he grunts in answer to your silent question.

You look up at him, one eyebrow raised. “You can do that?”

He shows you his palms and you watch as they swiftly begin to steam in the cool air just like the muffins.

“Fun.”

“Ya think?”

You snort, rolling your eyes and leaning in to nudge him playfully with your shoulder. “Don’t be gross.”

“I didn’t say shit, that’s all your mind.”

Again, you hum your answer rather than speaking, this time reaching in to pinch off a little bite from the top of one of the muffins and place it into your mouth.

It’s better than you remember. Maybe it’s because of the agonizing wait, or maybe because of the anticipation, or perhaps it’s because a hot pro hero made them just for you and is standing right before you gauging your reaction. Either way, you moan your approval and don’t even regret it when Ground Zero’s obnoxious arrogant smirk makes its triumphant return on his face.

“Good?”

You nod enthusiastically, plucking the muffin from the box and shoving the whole thing back at him so that you can use your free hand to remove the wrapper. There’s a part of you that’s disappointed he’s no longer so flustered, but you’re also no longer particularly focused on him. You toss the wrapper back into the box to see that you’d missed something: a little card, folded in half, with your name on it. You’ll look at that soon; you have a muffin to eat now.

“I don’t think four is enough, though,” you say as you take a real bite of the muffin. “You owe me a full month’s worth of these. How are you good at baking, too? That’s not fair.”

“I’m good at everything.” That earns him a scoff, but you’re smiling. He grabs one of the drinks from the cardboard holder still on the table—your drink, you realize, he’s bought you the one you get every day—from the table and shoves it, too, into your chest. “Here, this too.”

You take it with your free hand, treating yourself to another bite. “This is… really sweet. You remembered my order?”

“Hah?” he sneers. “What, you think I can’t remember your order? Like I haven’t heard it every day for a month?”

“It’s a complicated order. I’m allergic to milk, you know, so if you—”

“I got oat milk, dumbass. You keep trying all those weird alternatives and I figured that’d taste best.”

You frown. “I didn’t even know they had oat milk.”

“It’s new. Not on the menu yet; they’re gonna add it tomorrow.”

“How’d you learn about it, then?”

“The old lady did, while she gave me the muffin recipe. It’s more expensive. She just wants me to spend more money on her.”

You note, though you don’t comment on it, that he’s done exactly that despite his clear disdain.

He’s right, you realize as you take a sip of your coffee; the oat milk is best, better than your previous attempts with almond and coconut and soy, but you resolve not to tell him. As you go to take another bite of your muffin, you realize there’s a phone number written on your cup.

“Uh… I think you got a message.”

“What?”

You turn the cup so that he can see it. “Think it’s the cashier?”

Just like that, he’s flustered again, the bridge of his nose getting a dusting of pink as he snaps his head away and looks back at you through the side of his eye.

“It’s me,” he mumbles, just barely loud enough for you to parse out, though the words don’t make sense.

“What?”

“I did it,” he repeats, glancing down. “It’s my number. For you.”

You open your mouth, gaping slightly for a moment before closing it again. Oh.

He doesn’t wait for you to speak as he reaches into the box and picks out that folded piece of paper to hold out to you. “This, too.”

Raising an eyebrow to look at it, you drop the half-eaten muffin into the box and take the paper from him with your free hand. It’s a request, phrased as a demand. Let me take you out to dinner. Signed with a name: Bakugo Katsuki.

When you glance up, your face is probably as hot as his looks. You’re gaping again, jaw slack, and he’s brought up his free hand to cover his face, crimson gaze peeking through his fingers.

“And the mighty hero Ground Zero has decided to… write his number on a coffee cup and ask me out with a piece of paper instead of. Talking to me. All right. Okay.”

“Kirishima said it’d be romantic,” he says, voice muffled by his large palm.

You’re pretty sure he’s lying.

“Well, I agree with him.” You drop the card back in the box, pulling out your phone to save the number as Muffin Thief ♥️ and send a quick text.

The sound of his phone (an explosion. Of course his text tone is an explosion. It’s probably one of his own) Ground Zero—no, you correct yourself, Bakugo—removes his hand from his face to check it. His eyes widen and he looks up, breaking into that endeared smile he’d been refraining from giving you when he first caught you.

“Yeah, Friday works for me.”

Katsuki was tired. He just spent three hours discussing with the police about a raid gone wrong, how there could possibly be a mole, and how they should take the next steps. Obviously, he believed they should go around and make the person who could be the rat cough up the information but no one wanted to listen to him. So he just sat in a room arguing with everyone about what to do next when it got to a point that Kiri could see that everyone was tired and on edge and said that they should all go home early and go to sleep. Katsuki was tired to fight back and decided to go see you and crash at your place for the night. 

He hadn’t seen you in a couple of weeks since he decided to take this mission that was a very delicate situation, and being a top hero costume designer who worked with only the best, and that your father was a pro-hero in America, you know what being a pro hero entails and how it can take away from personal life. He knew you wouldn’t hold him not contacting you against him, when he wasn’t working on this case, he was catching up on sleep. 

He pulled up to your house and parked in the driveway. As he climbed out of his car and walked up to your front door, he could hear the bass of the song you were blasting from outside and shook his head and rolled his eyes. He walked up to your door and used his spare key to open the door. The muffled music became much clearer to him as he walked in. He closed the door and triple checked if the door locked before going to look for you. 

As he looked for you, he tuned into the song you were playing and stopped in his tracks as he heard his name… His name? The song was in English, which was honestly his weak suit while he was a student at UA. As he stood there, he remembered how you told him how he was getting more and more popular in America. 

“It’s because of how fine you are, America is a sucker for handsome heroes with anger issues or blond American dream heroes as well. That’s how All might be well-liked over there too.” You shrugged, handing him your phone to show him the article and to try and help him translate. 

Katsuki gave off a stank-like face as he scrolled through the article, with you in his ear telling him what they are saying. He stopped at the articles tweet references on how the general public thought of him and asked “what the hell does this say?” 

You took the phone and looked at what he was asking about before covering your mouth to muffle the loud ass laugh you let out. Bakugo looked confused as you hunched over, wheezing. 

“What? What the hell does it say?!?” He bellowed grabbing the phone out of your hands. 

You took a deep breath and wiped away your tears as you tried to speak, “I should be angry that they are saying this about my boyfriend but honestly it’s just so funny!” 

Katsuki glared at you before tackling you and pinning you to the ground. You let a scream as he pinned your door and stared you down. He blinked a couple of times before smirking and lowering his head till his lips were near your ear. You shivered at this action, feeling his hot breath on your earlobe. 

He whispered in your ear, “so are you gonna fucking tell me what the hell it said or not?”

You looked back at him with low eyes before moving your neck till your own head was near his ear and whispered what the tweet said but not without adding some extra things because you already know where this was gonna go. 

Katsuki shook his head out of the flashback and concentrated on the song. He picked up on the words he did know, his name, the word that starts with an n that you cussed him out on saying that one time, blow up, nitroglycerin (considering that’s what he sweats), and that was it. He was confused and set out to find you to figure out what you were listening to. 

He followed the music to see where it was coming from. He walked all around the house before going upstairs and passing by your room where you weren’t and found in your office, toying around with some gadgets. You didn’t know he was here and he didn’t make his presence noticed as he noticed you were rapping along with the song. He crossed his arms and smirked and continued to look at you working and rapping along. 

“Like I'm Bakugo, turn they soul to fuckin' smoke, bitch I'm boutta' pop, bitch you know I'm boutta' blow up,” 

He had no idea what you were saying but was sure to get it out of you when the song finished. Lucky for him, the song ended with one final line and then it faded out and ended. You paused your music before the next song could play. You got up from what you were working on for Tsu to go get a bottle of water and you looked up and saw your boyfriend standing there, arms crossed and face pulled into a cocky smile. 

“Fuck! You scared me!” You let out, jumping a little and pressing a hand into your pounding heart. 

Katsuki said nothing but walked over to your desk where your phone was sitting on. You said nothing but saw him pick up the phone and unlock it before you remembered what song was playing before you looked up. You dropped your bottle of water and walked over to try and grab your phone out of his hands but it was too late, he replayed the song. 

“Mind telling me why my name is in this song?” He asked, placing your phone back on your desk. 

You stammered on your words, your face burning with slight embarrassment. 

“It’s not about you!” You said, turning away from him.

You knew that if he knew that someone made a whole song after him, he wouldn’t let go of it, his inflated ego wouldn’t allow him to let it go, so you only played it when he wasn’t home and when you lowkey kind of missed him. The song was Bakugo personified and if you told him that, you may hear this song multiple times a day. 

“It has my name, nitroglycerin and I’m pretty sure it mentions one of my attacks, I’m not 100 percent sure.”

Your eyes widened as you realize that you were caught redhanded, you should have known, even though it wasn’t his first language, Katsuki was very perceptive about things. You sighed and bent down to pick up the water bottle that you dropped. You went back to your desk and sat down and Katsuki followed suit and pulled up the spare chair you had. You grabbed your phone and went through your notes till you found the lyrics you translated for this situation, in case it did happen. 

You restarted the song and handed the phone to let him read along with the song. For two minutes and 30 seconds, both of you sat in silence as you let him listen to the song in full. You could see the cocky smile slowly appear on his face as he continued to listen and you sighed, starting to feel that your prediction was going to be correct. Soon enough the song ended and Katsuki paused the music and gave you back the phone. For about another minute, you two sat in empty silence as he thought over what he just listened to. The silence was killing you and you had to know what he thought of the song.

“Well?” You asked,

Katsuki still didn’t say anything and you just stared at him. Finally, he looked up and placed his hands at the back of his head. 

“It’s alright,” is all he said. 

You glared at him, not trusting what he was saying. He could feel your glare and turned to look at you, “seriously it’s alright, not my taste.”

You still didn’t trust what he said and held your glare making the ashy blond groan and get up from his seat. 

“Fine don’t believe me,” he started, walking towards you, all of sudden he grabbed at you and scooped you up into his arms, making you yelp and immediately grab at his biceps, “but I’m tired as fuck and all I want to do is take a shower and go to sleep.”

You squealed as he carried you to your bedroom. 

***

You were asleep, curled up in the sheets. You couldn’t feel Katsuki next to you but he was always leaving early so you expected that and just curled into your own body heat to replace his. All of a sudden… 

“LIKE I’M BAKUGO!”

Your eyes opened and you flew up from your bed with swiftness, the song interrupting your sleep. 

“KATSUKI!!”

you hummed softly as you worked, your fingers scraping gently against his scalp as you lathered, the smell of coconut reaching his nose as you eased it through his blonde locks.

he felt so safe, so warm, so secure in your arms, as he eased into relaxation, the first time all day that he didn’t have to be the protector, the hero. 

he could just allow himself to relax as you leaned closer, your hands sliding around his waist to settle at his belly. 

your chest pressed flush to his back, the only thing keeping him from nuzzling at your soft breasts the soapy water that covered them. 

“smells nice.” he muttered and you smiled to yourself, knowing it was the closest to a compliment that he’d give you. 

you took a moment to let the warm water run over your bodies as the shampoo took hold, your fingers tracing soft circles against the hard muscle of his belly, and bakugou found himself flexing, trying to impress you, as though you hadn’t seen and licked and touched his abs hundreds of times before. 

your fingers were smooth against his wet skin, warm and so much softer than his rough ones. but you never complained, even when he left you smelling of caramel each time he laid atop you and buried himself as deep into your cunt as he could. 

bakugou turned to kiss you, surprising you with his speed and his boldness, your eyes going wide as he licked into your mouth, tasting the sweet mint of your toothpaste.

his rough palm reached for your breast, his thumb running over your pebbled nipple, smirking as he felt you shiver at the touch. 

you moaned so prettily as he pinned you up against the cold tile of the wall, easing between your parted thighs so he could feel just how wet you were all over. 

it was these small moments of peace that he loved with you the most. although he did like teasing you, loving the way your cheeks turned that pretty shade of pink when he riled you up, or when your eyes were nearly crossed from overstimulation as he ate you out as though you were his last meal. 

You had only begun setting down your belongings in the small room near the massive kitchen when the lady of the house yoo-hooed out for you.

“Y/N!! Y/N!!”

You appeared in front of her.

“Oh great! Glad you’re here. I have so much for you to do today, everything has to be perfecttttt,” she sang while slapping a to-do list on the counter, “Hurry up and change dear then get to work. Ok?”

“ok.”

Her smile faded and she stared at you sternly.

“Yes Mrs.Hara,” you corrected.

Her matte pink smile returned as she gave the to-do list two light taps on the marble counter, “Well chop-chop.” 

Your blood boiled.

She turned on her pointed heels and she pranced away leaving you burning holes in the back of her dark, silky hair. 

Ma'am, you're grey roots are showing 🙄

Your job definitely didn’t start off like this. Hell, you weren’t even obligated to lift a finger but...shit happens...

......

You had met the witch's husband, Mr.Hara, at the daycare you used to work at. He wouldn't always be the one to drop his son, Prince, off but he made sure to pick him up in the evenings.

You worked at the tiny front desk, so you were always able to catch a glimpse of the visibly wealthy man when he came in.

Mr.Hara was a tall, slim Japanese. Fit and paired with shiny, black hair, always trimmed to perfection and silver streak in the front just for show. 

He worked somewhere behind the scenes in the Hero Commission...or Association...or something like that…. Let’s just say the man had impressive connections and money to spare!

He was clearly older than you, probably by a decade, but that didn't stop your eyes from roaming and your mind from wandering.

Saying that he hadn’t been eyeing you as well, would be a blatant lie on his part. 

One afternoon when he was signing the book after collecting Prince, he suddenly spoke up, "How much longer do you plan on working here?"

"S'cuse me?" You said, taken aback by the sudden and almost intrusive question.

He slipped his sleek, black and gold pen back into his suit pocket before closing the check-out book and handing it back to you, "Well I know that working here can't pay you that well and I'm sure you don't plan on doing this the rest of your life," he explained.

"My career plans are none of your concern Mr.Hara."

He chuckled at this and you cracked a small smile but you both knew that he was right.

You would think that working at a daycare for the rich and privileged would pay you just as elegantly, but boy were you wrong! It was minimum wage with a few toasted breadcrumbs and as much as you tried to deny it, you would soon need to find a new job.

"I'll tell you what," Mr. Hara began, " You come work for me at my place and I'll pay you ten times as much as you get here."

Your ears perked up. 

"Work for you?"

"Yeah. Trust me. It's not bad at all,” he stated while leaning over the counter and lowering his silky smooth voice, “Just come to my place a few days a week, cook, clean...entertain me."

Instant butterflies!

Your eyes went wide, “Entertain you?! I’m sorry Mr. Hara but I cannot sleep with you!!”      

   ...at least take me out for dinner first😏

He quickly straightened back up and waved his hands dismissively, “No No not like that. It just gets a little lonely in the house. That’s all...”

You stared at him suspiciously.

“I’ll tell you what,” he declared, “Here’s my personal number, we can discuss it more over the phone. You don’t even have to do the housework but just give me a call ok?”

“Oh..ok..thank you Mr. Hara,” you mumbled softly as you accepted the little note..

After fixing his dark sunglasses back in place and calling for Prince, who had been completely enchanted by whatever game he was playing on his tablet, he made his way to the exit, leading Prince through first.

 Then he suddenly stopped midway and turned back to you with a smirk...

“Oh and please, call me Kenji.”

Before you could even reply, he had disappeared through the heavy glass doors and into his BMW.

D-Did you just cop yourself a sugar baby position???

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Two days later, you gave him a call. 

He answered all of your questions effortlessly as if he had done this a thousand times and flattered you with the absurd amount he was willing to pay you for just keeping him company.

“...and what about sex?” you whispered timidly into the phone, ensuring that even the ghosts in your empty apartment couldn’t hear you.

“You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to,” he laughed. “So Y/N? What do you say?”

Exactly one week after that, you’re striding through the mansion gates.

Seeing that your new “job” had extremely flexible working hours, you decided against quitting at the daycare. The extra income was now seemingly unnecessary but the more the merrier right?

 It also grants you an easy answer to the inevitable question of “So what do you do for a living?” rather than having to explain your relationship with Mr.Hara or trying to avoid the question totally. 

You straightened out your burgundy blouse and picked at the little fluffs on your jeans, before entering the house.

He had told you to just let yourself in when you got there and that’s exactly what you did. 

When you finally strolled into the house, your jaw immediately dropped. 

Girls! Girls! Girls!

Girls of all different shapes, sizes and colours were littered around the living room, relaxing in the pool and snacking in the kitchen.

“Lonely my ass,” you thought. 

Your presence had quickly caught the attention of a particular blonde who sprinted towards you at lightning speed. Her piercing green eyes and strikingly long legs had even you mesmerized. 

You were definitely in the presence of a Victoria Secret model.

“OHHH you must be Y/N, Daddy told us to look out for you!!”

Daddy? 

“He’s in his office. Come! Come!” 

After giving the door a few light taps, you heard the low timbre of Mr.Hara’s voice beckoning you to come in.

“Ah y/n. I see you’ve met Lada.” he chirps. 

The girl in question whose accent you have picked up to be Russian smiles down at you brightly. 

As Mr.Hara dismisses Lada, he calls out to another girl who suddenly appears from under the desk.

You nearly had heart failure.

She strides out with Lada, patting down her purple lingerie.

You physically had to bend over to pick up your jaw from the floor.

Mr.Hara smoothly turns to you in his chair, totally unfazed. 

“Glad you made it Y/N, welcome to your new job.”

* * * *

This chapter gives a lot of background but sit tight, the drama is comingggg 🤪

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