Redraw

High quality version of Katsuki from volume 42

TITLE: lights will guide you home

PAIRING: Bakugou Katsuki x Reader

SUMMARY: Soul-lights aren’t as common in this day and age as they were in the past, before quirks, but they’re common enough that people do still find their soulmates.

At thirteen, you meet Bakugou Katsuki, and he lights up for you in orange and gold. You tell him he's your soulmate. He sneers and tells you that you aren't his. He makes your adolescence miserable until you part ways.

You meet again as adults, late at night, in a grocery store, over a pile of bok choy. He apologizes for how he treated you when you were children.

(In which you have a choice—to reject Bakugou's apology, reject him, or to let him show you the man he's become, to learn with him what it means to love and forgive.)

TAGS: soulmate au, trope inversion/subversion, slow burn, getting together, falling in love, fluff, aged up characters, pro-hero characters, eventual smut, mild bullying

STATUS: Ongoing; 9 of 14

NAVIGATION: Series Masterlist

Musutafu’s streets are just waking up around you, stores barely opening and the roads devoid of many cars. It’s early, so it isn’t crowded just yet. You spot a couple teenagers on their way to school across the road. You cross paths with a few harried-looking adults clearly in the middle of their commutes to work. But people are far and few between, and the sky is still the palest blue, barely tinged by the sun’s yellow rays, so you enjoy the peace alongside your morning drink. 

You’re glad that for today, at least, you’re not joining the ranks of those in routine. You have a different agenda today: you’re on your way to Bakugou and Kirishima’s agency. 

As you come to a stop just outside the building, out of the way of foot traffic, you pull out your phone and dial Bakugou’s number, humming a little under your breath as you wait. He picks up after a single ring.

“What?” he snaps, sharp and quick, and you’re taken aback at his tone. 

“Oh, um. It’s me,” you say hesitantly. Maybe you’ve caught him at a bad time? 

Tension colors his voice as he says, “What’s wrong?”

“What? Oh—nothing’s wrong!” It is pretty rare for you to call him so early in the day. Usually, your phone calls are in the evenings. Maybe the deviation from the norm is throwing him off and that’s why it feels like he’s on edge. “I was just wondering, are you at your agency right now?”

“Why?”

But he just sounds so terse, and his words are clipped, like he’s half a mind somewhere else. Your excitement fizzles out, like a sparkler running out of fuel, and you’re left feeling like an annoyance, a bother. 

“Sorry… you sound busy. I’ll just message you later,” you say. 

“The fuck? Just—”

You hear Bakugou exhale deeply, though it’s faint, as if he’s pulled the phone away from his face. 

Voice even, he says, “It’s fine. What is it?” 

You look down at the sidewalk, scuffing the pavement with your shoe. Maybe it was a bad idea, coming here. 

“No, it’s nothing.” You glance at the drinks carrier in your hand. “Don’t worry about it. I’ll talk to you later.”

“Just spit it out,” Bakugou says, and you can practically hear his gritted teeth. “And don’t you hang up.”

Suddenly, you hear your name being called. You raise your head, looking around. Grateful for the distraction, you turn. 

It’s Kirishima, in civilian clothes, and he’s coming out of the agency, jogging up to you with a grin on his face. “Hey, I thought that was you! What’re you doing here?”

He notices the phone at your ear, and his eyes widen. 

“Oh!” He lowers his voice, looking apologetic. “Sorry, I didn’t know you were on the phone.”

“Gotta go,” you say quickly into the receiver. Bakugou’s voice peaks across your phone’s speaker, as if he’d shouted something, but you hit the end call button before you can hear what he has to say. 

As you put your phone in your pocket, you bite your bottom lip. You really hope Bakugou didn’t hear Kirishima. You want to slink away before he figures out you’re here. 

“All good. I was just wrapping it up,” you tell Kirishima. 

He hesitates for a moment, considering you, before nodding and flashing you a grin. “It’s good to see you! How’ve you been?” 

You smile back instinctively, feeling yourself relax. There’s just something about Kirishima that makes you feel at ease. 

“Good!” you tell him. “Work’s been okay, can’t complain, and the kittens have tons of adoption queries! I’ve been excited for them to find their forever homes.”

“That’s great! I’ve seen the pictures you took of them and Bakugou. They look so soft.” He holds his hands up, cupped, as if to call to mind a soft kitten nestled there. 

You laugh. “They are! But how’ve you been? It’s been a while, and I can never get Bakugou to tell me how you are beyond ‘He’s the same,’ which is very unhelpful.”

Kirishima grins. “He’s always been like that. Uncooperative! I think he does it on purpose. But he’s not wrong—I’ve been good! Same old, same old.”

His eyes slide down to the drinks carrier in your hand. One of the cups, clearly yours, is empty. The other is full, still warm.

“Is that for him? Are you here to visit?” Kirishima asks, eyes bright.

“Oh, um!” You falter. You could lie and say it’s for a coworker or something. But you’re not exactly in work attire. Maybe you could say the barista’d made a mistake on your first order so now you had two after they’d remade it? Whatever—you’d make something up, even if you feel bad about lying to Kirishima. You really should get going, anyhow. You’ve lingered too long already. 

“Hey!” 

You stiffen as you hear your name called for the second time in the span of ten minutes. Except this time, the voice is a familiar rasp that’s furious. Heated. A glance behind you confirms who it is: Bakugou, coming out the agency doors, a thunderous expression on his face. 

His eyes lock with yours.

You panic.

You turn to Kirishima, shoving the carrier into his arms, saying, “That’s for you, actually, congratulations! Gotta go, bye!”

“Wait—” Kirishima starts, but you’re gone, you book it, heading in literally any other direction as long as it puts distance between you and Bakugou.

“What the fuck!” you hear Bakugou snarl behind you, and you speed up, gulping. 

You have the presence of mind to be conscientious of attracting unwanted attention, so even though it slows you down, you swerve into an empty alleyway that you know leads out into a quieter street. You chance a quick glance behind you, praying you got away. 

To your relief, Bakugou’s nowhere in sight. You slow your pace a little, sighing. 

You turn back to face forward, but you slam into something—someone. 

“Big fuckin’ mistake, brat,” you hear Bakugou’s voice rasp in your ear just as you feel an arm wrap around your waist and you’re suddenly shooting up, up into the air, the crackle of combustion muffling the strangled scream you let out. 

You clutch onto Bakugou, holding on for dear life as he angles towards the roof of the building to your left. 

Once your feet are on the ground, he releases his grip on you, only to get in your face, crimson eyes blazing.

“Why the fuck were you running?”

“I don’t know!” you exclaim. Your hands are up in front of you, held up defensively. He’s so close they’re almost pressed against his chest. “I panicked, I don’t know. You ran after me!”

“Only because you ran first!” he snarls. 

“What was I supposed to do? Stop?” 

“Yes, fuck! You’re so—” He makes a choked sound of anger and runs a hand down his face, covering his mouth. 

Fuck, he’s right. You don’t know what you were thinking. You just—you really didn’t want to see him so soon after that conversation on the phone. But it was a really dumb move to run away, and just recalling Kirishima’s face as you took off makes you want to pull out a shovel, dig, and lie down in the hole you’d made.

Bakugou’s arms are crossed tightly over his chest, biceps bulging, and he’s scowling ferociously. He isn’t even in his hero suit, just in joggers and a shirt, but that does nothing to diminish the enormity of his presence. You have a little more respect for the villains in this district, for having the courage to still attempt crime when Bakugou’s around. 

You inhale deeply, then reach out and touch his arm. “M’sorry. I was dumb. I shouldn’t have run.”

Bakugou grunts, looking down at your hand and away. You retract your hand quickly, hoping he wasn’t bothered by the gesture. He looks back at you and shakes his head. 

“You can say sorry by telling me what the hell you’re doing here and why you called me.”

You feel your cheeks warm and close your eyes briefly. You really don’t want to tell him why you came here. But there’s no getting out of this; you literally have nowhere to go. 

“I… I got you coffee,” you admit. “You mentioned that one place on the corner last time we talked, so. I wanted to surprise you!” 

He’s just been looking so tired, recently. You recall the slope of his shoulders the last time you saw him, in his apartment—weary. Like a heavy weight rested upon them. 

You rub your arm and continue, “But you sounded so annoyed on the phone, I figured you were busy. Didn’t want to keep bothering you.”

He regards you with an unreadable expression. You try to maintain eye contact, but it’s hard. You wish you could tell what he’s thinking. 

“Dumbass,” he says, finally, dropping his arms to his side. “Sounds like someone made stupid assumptions and then ran away, like a loser.”

You frown, eyes sliding away, but don’t protest. “You’re right, you’re right. I’m sorry.” 

He rolls his eyes and reaches out a hand, flicks your forehead. You put a hand to the spot, making a face at him, and he gives you a mean little grin that makes you want to pinch him. 

In the early morning sun, his lights are soft, blending with the warm hues that gild the world around you. Gold mixes with orange, and the ebb and flow of color lulls you with its familiarity. 

You’re conscious of your body relaxing. You didn’t realize how tense you were. 

After a beat, Bakugou asks, “Don’t you have work?”

“Nope,” you say, and smile a little. “I requested the day off! I needed it.”

Now that you have the chance to look at him, he doesn’t look any more rested than the other day. Worse, maybe. You can see that the shadows under his eyes have deepened, that there’s a furrow in his brow that wasn’t there the last time you saw him. Your hand is reaching up, fingertips lightly brushing against the skin under his eyes before you know what you’re doing. 

“You look like you need a day off too,” you tell him. “Take care of yourself, okay? Let me know if I can do anything for you.” 

He stares at you for a long moment. You gaze back at him. 

You want him to know that you mean it. You want to be there for him. Bakugou doesn’t talk about work often, and when he does, he paints things in broad strokes, no details. But you get the sense that he’s busy with something, and it’s weighing on him. 

Even if there’s nothing you can do about his workload, you want him to know that he can lean on you, if he wants. Whatever that’s worth. 

Bakugou reaches out an arm to you. He telegraphs his movements and gives you plenty of time to step away. 

You don’t, curious to see what he’ll do. 

He wraps a hand around your head and pulls you against him. Surprised, you stumble a bit, a hand coming up to grasp at his shirt for balance. His hand slides down your head to the back of your neck, coming to a rest there. 

He’s gentle with you, despite the initial jostling. You catch a whisper of whatever that scent is, his body wash, his cologne, and inhale. He’s so warm against you. 

“You’re so fucking dumb,” he growls, and you can feel the reverberation of his words against your face, your chest—everywhere you’re touching. “Don’t pull this running shit again, y’hear me? And no more squirreliness.”

“Yes, Great Explosion Murder God Dynamight,” you say, voice muffled against his chest. 

Bakugou huffs a startled laugh, raspy, and you grin against him. Part of you wonders what would happen if you looked up, tilted your face towards him. 

But you don’t. He lets you go. The moment passes. 

“C’mere, I’m taking us down.” He walks to the edge of the roof, and you go to him. “And if Shitty Hair drank my coffee, you’re getting me another one.”

You laugh. “That’s fair.”

He guides your hands to grip him so you’re secure when he brings you both down off the roof, and just as his arm comes around to brace you against him, a thought occurs to you.

“Is it okay if I come by again? Bring you coffee sometimes?”

Bakugou pauses, looking down into your face. He’s so close, pressed against you. It’s necessary for the descent down, but you suddenly wish you’d brought this up later. It’s too hard to think, this close to him. 

“The hell? Don’t needa ask my permission for that shit. Why wouldn’t it be okay.”

You make a face at him. “Won’t people start to notice? If I start coming by to see you? Like your employees, or more people randomly taking pictures.”

His expression grows stormy. 

“I’ve been involved in the hiring processes of all my agency’s employees. No dumbasses are gonna work for me,” he says. 

While you’re reeling from this revelation that Bakugou’s a control freak who manages the impossible, because who has that kind of time on top of being a pro-hero, Bakugou continues. 

“They got better things to do than gossip. And know better, too.” His expression darkens further. 

“If they don’t, they’ll be looking for another job faster than they can press that damn button to take a goddamn picture.”

You shiver at the look on his face. You believe him. 

So coffee becomes a regular thing. Bakugou gets around your concern of paparazzi or random people taking your picture at the agency’s entrance by giving you a pass that lets you enter through the secured and patrolled back entrance. You’re careful to make sure no one follows you, still a little paranoid. 

“Is this allowed?” you ask as he presses the key card into your hand.

Bakugou rolls his eyes.

“I own the damn place,” he tells you.

It’s indicative of how much you like your soulmate that at least twice a week you wake up an extra thirty minutes in the morning to get his coffee and drop it off at the agency before heading into work yourself. You aren’t always able to give it to him personally, sometimes just having to leave it with the front desk receptionist whose name you finally find out is Takahashi. 

“Call me Aiko,” she says with a bright smile. She’s a sweet girl.

But most of the time, Bakugou makes an appearance around the time you arrive. He usually spends a couple minutes with you, asks about the kittens in a roundabout way, demands to know what you’re eating for lunch that day if he hadn’t pre-prepared bentos for you that week. 

The first time you bring a smoothie for Kirishima from the same place, attempting to hand it to Bakugou to pass along, he makes a face.

“The hell is this?”

“It’s a smoothie for Kirishima,” you say. You gesture for him to take it, but he curls his lip at it.

“He doesn’t want this shit. Just take it with you.”

“What?” you say, furrowing your brow. “How would you know?”

“He’s got one of those fancy-fuck blenders at home. Don’t waste your money on ‘im,” Bakugou says, rolling his eyes. 

“Oh,” you say, crestfallen, frowning down at the cup in your hand. You rub your thumb up and down its side, spreading around the condensation that’s built up on it. 

“I just wanted to do something nice for him, because he’s always so nice to me,” you say quietly. Sighing, you move to put the smoothie back into the drinks carrier the cafe had given you. Maybe Kirishima would like coffee? You’ll try to bring him coffee next time. 

You don’t notice the flash of emotions that cross Bakugou’s face. He makes a disgusted sound and snatches the cup from you. 

“Fine! I’ll give him your stupid smoothie. Now go or you’ll be late for work.”

He stomps off before you get a chance to say goodbye, and you’re left standing there, bewildered.

One day, a Saturday, you linger at the receptionist counter, and ask Aiko if Bakugou’s busy, or if he’s available for a quick chat.

“If you don’t know, no worries,” you say as she tilts her head. 

She glances at the protein shake in your hand that’s very much not for you. You’re not sure how Bakugou can drink these things; he’d let you sip from it once and you made the ugliest face at the taste. He’d laughed at you. 

“I’m not familiar with Dynamight’s schedule, but his manager is! Let me call him and double check for you,” she says, picking up the phone and pressing a button on it before you can protest.

“Hi!” she says into the phone. “I have Dynamight’s P1 here in the lobby, and we were wondering if he’s available for a quick meeting?” 

P1? You eye her. What does that stand for? You make a mental note to ask later.

There’s a quiet moment as she listens to the reply, and then a longer pause as she’s seemingly put on hold.

You wince, thinking about the inconvenience you’re being. You really should’ve just waited until after Bakugou’s done with work today to talk to him. You could drink the shake yourself, even though personally you think it tastes like dirt. 

“Okay! Thanks so much!” Aiko says into the phone, and then she hangs up. She raises her gaze to yours.

“Dynamight’s actually mid-workout right now! His manager says that you should come up to the third floor, and Dynamight will be in the second gym. The room numbers are next to the doors.”

“Oh! Okay, thank you for your help.” You pause. “Do you mind swiping the elevator for me again? Sorry to make you walk over.”

She blinks at you. “I was told you have a key card?”

“Yes? But I just use it to get inside from the back entrance.”

“May I have a look?”

You hand it over. She taps a couple keys on the keyboard and taps it against a scanner. Glancing at the screen, she smiles and hands the card back to you.

“That card’s high clearance!” she tells you. “You have access to most things in the building, like the elevator, the break rooms, the gym… And if you have any trouble getting into other areas, I’m sure Dynamight can adjust your access!”

“Oh, that won’t be necessary,” you say hurriedly. “Thank you, Aiko. I can take it from here.”

She waves as you scurry over to the elevator, scan the card, and push the button for the third floor. 

You stare at the key card in your hand like it’ll bite you. What on earth was Bakugou thinking when he gave this to you? What if you lose it? 

This thought prompts you to store the key card in your wallet, instead of chucking it carelessly into your pocket like you have been for the past two weeks. You’d almost washed it with your laundry a couple days ago.

After some poking around, you find the second gym Aiko had mentioned. You dither at the entrance for a moment, unsure whether to knock or not—but that’s weird, right? Who knocks on the door to a gym? You shake your head and walk through the doors.

Bakugou’s back’s to you. He’s at a piece of equipment, hanging onto a bar intended for pull ups. He’s in the middle of pulling himself up, biceps and lat muscles taut against the sweat-soaked shirt he’s wearing. He lowers himself slowly, and repeats the motion, every movement intentional and clean. 

A little frisson of attraction runs through you, and you swallow. Sometimes you forget just how handsome he is. 

Your eyes shift away from admiring him to the mirrors spanning the far wall, and you find that he’s watching you in them. 

Your eyes meet, and your heartbeat picks up. You feel warmth rise to your cheeks. Had he noticed you looking at him? God, you hope not. 

He drops, reaching for a towel laying on a nearby bench to wipe his face. 

You breathe in and exhale. After regaining as much of your composure as you can, you walk towards him. It’s easier to push away the flustered feelings once you remember why you’ve come to see Bakugou today. 

When you reach his side, he raises an eyebrow at you. You hold up the shake in your hand.

He ignores it. His eyes immediately narrow, zeroed in on your face. “What’s wrong?”

Startled, you furrow your brows. 

“Nothing’s wrong,” you say, pushing the shake at him. 

Bakugou takes it, but he raises his free hand, reaches up, and pinches your cheek. 

“Ow,” you say, and he lets go. 

“Don’t lie,” he says, and your eyes widen. You’re not sure how he’s able to tell you’re upset when you’ve tried your best to cover it up. 

You sigh, crossing your arms over your chest. “Can you go back to working out? I didn’t mean to interrupt. I promise I’ll tell you when you’re all done. And don’t rush.”

Bakugou scoffs. “Don’t needa tell me that shit. I don’t rush.”

But he seems to accept your promise. He places the shake down onto the bench, and you sit beside it as he returns to his sets. 

You get lost in his rhythm, eyes watching but mind elsewhere. You miss his entire cooldown and don’t even realize he’s finished until he’s stepping up next to you, tilting your chin up to look at him.

“Alright, enough,” he says. The crimson of his eyes is so bright under these lights. He’s flushed with exertion, sweaty. 

He’s such a comfort to see. You resist the urge to press your face into his hand. 

“What’re you thinking,” Bakugou says as he draws his hand back.

Nothing you want him knowing, at least of your thoughts of him from the past minute. You give him what your promise owes, instead, tell him what’s got you feeling so off kilter. 

“Yuzu was adopted today,” you say softly, looking down at your hands.

After a moment, Bakugou moves the shake aside and drops onto the bench next to you. He’s radiating warmth like a furnace, and he grabs a fresh towel from his bag to wipe the sweat from the back of his neck, his face, his arms. He waits.

“I didn’t think I’d be so sad,” you tell him. You feel a sting in your eyes and will yourself not to cry. Ridiculous. 

Bakugou flexes his hands. Looks at you. 

“Well, what’d you expect? You had the fleabag—”

“Bakugou.”

“—furball for months. You got attached.” He glances at the slope of your shoulders, the downward tilt of your head. The unhappy curve of your lips. “They good people, the extras who got ‘im?”

“Yeah. This guy and his fiance adopted him. They fell in love with him, and as they should! Yuzu’s such a sweet boy. They sent me videos of him, and he was purring up a storm.” 

You get a little teary-eyed once more. You’ll never get to hold Yuzu as he purrs ever again. 

Bakugou sighs and shifts in his seat so his shoulder rests against yours. 

“You did good,” Bakugou tells you when you look at him. “You took care of ‘im until it was time for him to go, and you made it easy for him to find a place to go. You did good.”

“Yeah?” 

“Yeah.”

You close the sliver of space between you until he’s a line of warmth all along your side, from shoulder to hip to knee. Slowly, watching him for any signs of displeasure, you nudge your hand against his. He watches you. You take the leap and thread your fingers through his. His hand is so big around yours. 

His hand squeezes yours softly. 

Sighing, you lean against him and let your eyes drift closed for a moment.

The next few minutes pass, just like this. Your pounding heart slows. It’s hard not to imagine that his hand in yours, a kindness, means something other than friendship. Hard not to want it to mean more. You really, really like your soulmate. 

You push those thoughts away and try to empty your mind; you don’t want to ruin this.

“Um, Dynamight, sir?” 

At the sound of a stranger’s voice cutting the silence, you startle, eyes shooting open. You sit up. You drop Bakugou’s hand. 

At the gym doors, a teenage girl stands, fiddling with her fingers. She’s doing her best not to look at either of you. 

Bakugou narrows his eyes at her, growling, “What?”

She shrinks back a little, then stiffens, ramrod straight. She says, “I’m here for patrol! Red Riot told me to come get you.”

Bakugou squints, giving her a mean look. “Go get suited up, kid. And tell Red Riot to fuck off.”

The kid squeaks out a reply, but it’s so high-pitched you can’t tell what it could possibly be, and she scurries off, the door closing behind her. 

“Who was that?” you ask after a moment, willing the heat in your cheeks to subside.

Bakugou runs his hands through his hair. He picks up the protein shake and sips from it before replying. 

“A dumbass UA intern Ei picked up.”

You squint at him. “Don’t be mean, Bakugou. Picking on teenagers is super lame.” 

He huffs. You tilt your head.

“Do you not like her?” you ask.

“...She’s got guts,” he says. “Potential or whatever. Saw her at the Sports Festival. It’s UA’s yearly event—”

“Oh, I know what that is,” you say. “Who doesn’t? I remember seeing the one from your second year. Looked fun.”

He scowls. “S’not fun. It’s a competition.”

“Competitions can be fun, Bakugou,” you say, rolling your eyes. A thought occurs to you, and you perch on the edge of your seat. 

“Well, maybe not for you, especially that year,” you say, the glimmers of a smile teasing your lips. “Since Pro-Hero Shouto demolished you.”

He lunges for you, but you’re ready for it, and you take off towards the far side of the room that’s free of equipment, laughing.

Bakugou catches you embarrassingly quick, lifting you up off your feet from behind, effortless. He really is so strong. 

“What’d I tell you about running?” he growls, and you shiver. 

“Not to do it,” you say, trying to act unaffected despite being a little breathless. He sets you down, a hand sliding down to circle your wrist, as if he thinks you’ll run again. 

You make a face at him. You add, “Don’t tell me what to do.” 

Bakugou gets this glint in his eyes that you’re sure spells trouble. Prickles of anticipation rise in you and you get the urge to hold your breath. 

But before he can say anything, the door opens. This time, it’s Kirishima standing in the doorframe. His eyes immediately catch on the pair of you, and you step away from Bakugou, feeling like you’d been caught with a hand in the cookie jar for the second time in the span of ten minutes. 

Kirishima grins and says, “Bakugou, stop flirting and get suited up! We gotta get going.”

Bakugou’s lights flare up around him, a true lightshow, and he spins on his heel and points at Kirishima.

“Quiet, Shitty Hair. Go wait with the kid.”

You’re glad Bakugou’s facing away from you, and that you’re mostly hidden behind him, because you’re sure your expression is embarrassingly honest. Flirting? Have you been flirting? More importantly—has Bakugou been flirting back?

“The kid’s right here!” Kirishima pushes the door open a little wider to reveal their intern, standing behind him, looking as if she’s trying to become one with the floor. Turning back to Bakugou, Kirishima puts his hands on his hips.

“We’re waiting on you, bud, so get a move on!” Kirishima chides. 

Bakugou growls, walks over to the bench to grab his things and the protein shake, and stalks towards the door. 

He halts mid-step. He turns halfway to look at you.

“I’m off at six today,” he says. 

“Okay?” you say. It’s good info to know, you suppose, since his schedule is rather erratic. You’re not sure why Bakugou’s shared it with you, though. 

Instead of clarifying, Bakugou resumes his march towards the door and pushes Kirishima out of the way with a hand on his face. Kirishima sputters, tripping backwards.

You cover your mouth to cover up your laugh as the door closes behind them. Their friendship really is so endearing. You’re glad Bakugou has such a wonderful friend. 

You’re home, clicking mindlessly around your computer, when an old urge arises.

You find yourself opening up a new tab, searching, like you’re thirteen again, trying to figure out why you can see Bakugou’s lights but he can’t see yours. 

But the articles tell you the same thing they’d told you those years ago. Soul-lights are an under-researched phenomenon and poorly understood; it’s been difficult to obtain empirical research that explains the exact nature of soul-lights—why soulmates exist and how they work. It’s worse, now, that with every generation they’re becoming rarer and rarer. 

Because only soulmates can see each others’ lights, descriptions of lights are subjective. Furthermore, descriptions of the nature of the relationships are subjective. No two soulmate relationships are the same. And though there have been instances of unrequited soulmate relationships, of those relationships, understandably, no one’s come forward to participate in interview-style studies for researchers to pick apart and analyze. At least not in any studies that you’ve been able to find. 

You close out your tabs, feeling frustrated. What does it matter? You’re running yourself in circles for no reason. Isn’t it enough that Bakugou’s in your life? That you’re happy he’s in it? Bringing up old dreams is pointless. 

Eerily, as if Bakugou somehow knew you’ve been thinking about him, your phone rings, his contact popping up on your phone. You pick up.

“Hey!”

“Hey,” he says. “D’you eat yet?”

You glance at the time on your phone guiltily. It’s a little past six. You have work tomorrow, so you really should get a move on if you want to make dinner and eat at a decent time.

“Not yet,” you say, and Bakugou grunts.

“Keep an ear out for the door,” he says.

“Oh?” You perk up a little. “Are you coming over?”

Bakugou exhales, and it crackles the line. “Can’t. Staying a little longer at the agency.”

“Oh.” You try not to feel disappointed. “Okay. You eat too, yeah? And don’t stay too long. Or I’ll text Kirishima and tell him to kick you out.”

He snorts. “Like he could. And you don’t have his number.”

“How would you know?” you ask. You hear the doorbell ring and a couple knocks at your front door echo through your apartment. 

“If it’s not you, who’s at my door right now?” you ask suspiciously. 

“Go find out,” Bakugou says and hangs up. 

You pull the phone away from your face and squint at it. The doorbell rings again. 

You hurry to the door. Upon opening it, you find a food delivery person standing there with takeout in his hands. Understanding dawns in your head as he says your name and you confirm.

“Thank you,” you say, taking the food from him. He nods and jogs back down the hallway.

You close the door and gaze down at the food in your hands. You can already tell from the smell that it’s from your favorite takeout place. 

The food is good, as it always is. But it would’ve been better if Bakugou had been here, eating it with you. 

I love the way Loid interacts with Anya, especially when the weirdest shit comes outta her mouth

winter au got me in a chokehold / sketch dump timelapse

do not repost, reblog only

twitter | ig | commissions | prints | ko-fi  

Bakugou illustration by Minami Sakura

there's this video you've probably seen already where a woman is shaking in front of a microphone and delicately tries to ask - how can i make my husband listen to me, i've tried everything, i don't want to seem ungrateful and the other man laughs - the problem is that you married a man, we're only listening 25% of the time and we only understand 5% of that! and the audience laughs and the woman laughs and you just sat there, phone in your hand, letting the sound of it echo

and the thing is that people make think-pieces about it (isn't this one of them) and satire versions and "flipping the script" which is good and fun but at the end of the day, there's some truth in that man's response about men-not-listening. and you have tried to language that feeling for years, this sense that you can only take up 33% of a conversation before others view it as being "dominating".

it's not that they aren't listening, it's that the action they're taking is purposefully silencing. it's different. you accidentally-don't-listen a lot; just because the world is loud and you're distracted. you don't mean anything by it. and the truth is that the man who spoke is relying on that to be true of you; the way it's true of everyone. but there is a different undertone to his kind of not-listening. what he means is they don't respect you and you shouldn't expect them to. there is a difference between oh shit i forgot to take the trash out and why didn't you remind me to do it, just like there is a difference between i didn't realize you wanted to go out this weekend and why do you expect me to plan things why can't you just tell me where we're going.

and the thing is that it isn't just him, and it's actually not just because of your gender - your skin, your class status, your weight, their ableism - it happens often. so often it feels like a tightness around your throat and a weight in your stomach. you're not even "really" allowed to be upset about it, because to them it's a joke. and they laugh. and you know exactly the amount of work that goes into every conversation. how you have to work to condense down your thoughts into intelligent, crisp soundbites; worried someone will try to swoop in and cut you off. and there's this sense from everyone else - oh stop being so sensitive, are you really upset just because they weren't listening and you don't know how to say the way that feels when it happens constantly.

there's that video of the science summit where a woman in the audience finally says let her speak please! and the whole crowd bursts into applause and the man leading the summit holds up his hands and bows his head and says oops, sorry! like what he did was awkward and embarrassing, a little social gaffe that happens easily. later in your meetings, you're asked to take notes, and you don't say anything, you just hear let her speak please! ringing in your head and know that you'll never be brave enough for that kind of thing. and besides. think of all the people who agree this was a one-off, he just got excited and all of the people who say one man is not indicative of all of society

at the dinner table you're talking about someone you don't like and how he's not good to his girlfriend and how she always has to remind him to put the effort in and before him, she was glowing with curiosity and passion but now she just seems... tired, unhappy. that he likes the way she burns out; she stays home and takes care of him and their 2 kids. and your father sniffs and says that men take a while to learn those kinds of things. and you just stare at him and think about your childhood and are like - no wonder i turned out like this

and you want to say - there's no fucking secret school or mystic form of communication. i was not sent to Rearing a Child University. i did not graduate from Getting Chores Done College. i ask questions and i listen and i pay attention, because that's basic fucking human decency. it stems from respect, and how i respect others and their agency. i clean the house because someone should clean. not because it comes "naturally".

hell, you had to google "how to boil an egg" the other day, just because you usually make them scrambled. you can never remember which of the 2 bathroom cleaners make chlorine gas, only that two of them definitely do. you've accidentally bleached your clothes. it took you like 3 years of self-teaching before you figured out how to actually cook things correctly - for that whole time, you burnt or undercooked everything. but you did teach yourself; just like you taught yourself how to listen with empathy. just like how you taught yourself to think before you speak. to be kind first, to be better at communicating. it seemed like a good thing, an adult thing.

the joke the man in the video makes is that women say i'm fine! when they are not fine. and you think about the 150 conversations that happened around that; about how she probably has had so many arguments with her husband. how she said i'm upset you don't take me anywhere and he got mad at her because of course i do, you made me go to that stupid restaurant like last week and she probably said that's not what i'm saying and he said now i'm supposed to be psychic or something and she said no of course not and he said how am i supposed to know what to do when you don't even like everything and she said i do like things and he said well how am i supposed to win? and her pastor probably told her to be more grateful because they do things at all, even if she has to plan them and her mom probably told her that's just how men are honey and she probably cried over her journal, trying to figure out why the fuck she "has everything" and is still so bitterly, horribly unhappy

and how, in your life, for so many reasons, you looked down the barrel of another argument; of explaining yourself and being vulnerable and begging for help again. how many times you just said i'm fine because it was better than doing that again; it was better than wringing yourself out when it's literally easier to just pretend. because he wasn't going to listen. your father wasn't going to be better and your boyfriend wasn't going to be better and your boss wasn't going to be more respectful.

and you sit in front of a video of a woman shaking, looking horrible and guilt-wrought that she's even asking this question. and you know; deep in your heart - that's you. in a different life, you are her. you've stood in her spot. and you had to listen while someone else cackled - why would we bother to notice when you talk?

he is sitting and pondering

cw. worker!reader, prohero!katsuki, aged-up (25), pining (we're getting there, dw), a lot of cussing (bkg-typical), it's time to meet the bakusquad!, mentions of alcohol, a tiny ass mention of smth nsfw

words. 4.3k (this is getting out of hand. this was way too fun to write, tho!)

part 1, part 2, part 3, part 4, part 5, part 7, part 8

You check your reflection through your phone’s front camera for the umpteenth time, lurching a bit forward and almost smashing your face with the device when the bus you’re riding drives over a bump.

With a sigh, you glance through the window to your right, spotting the familiar landmark that Kirishima mentioned in passing a few days ago.

A few days ago when he waltzed into the conference room in the middle of your heated conversation with Bakugou.

Right when he dropped that nonsensical one-liner, Bakugou was on him in a flash, shoving your other boss so hard that the man stumbled a few steps back in surprise. You watched as they had what seemed to be a wordless exchange, before all the blood appeared to drain from Kirishima’s face, leaving him so pale that you thought the redhead was about to pass out any second.

“Freaking finally—” you recall Kirishima repeating, voice wobbly, “Y-you finally have a g-girlfriend!”

Bakugou didn’t seem too pleased at the shade, encasing his co-founder in a headlock, eventually releasing him after the latter cried out his pleas and apology.

After the man managed to catch his breath, he came up with the suggestion that you hang out with the rest of their friend group.

“It’ll be fun!” he said. “We’d love to get to know you.”

“Tch.” Bakugou merely replied, seemingly not too keen on the idea.

“I don’t know…”

“I can ask PR about it,” Kirishima ignored you, “I bet you being seen with us is good for your image!”

Which leads you to the present moment.

The mechanical voice announces your arrival at the nearest station to the trendy, new, upscale restaurant that Mina specifically picked out for today’s get-together. Kirishima assured you when you, again, showed reluctance when he ran down the details yesterday, saying Kaminari and Sero vouched for it, that it had a built-in arcade or something.

Deep in your thoughts and on autopilot, you hop off the bus and begin your slow but steady trek toward the venue. By the time you reach it, it’s already 6:37 PM, a bit later than your agreed-upon meeting time.

Pushing the glass doors open, you enter the space and swiftly scan the area. Bakugou’s friends, who you just remember also happened to be top pro-heroes, are already packed in a booth near the back of the restaurant. As you walk towards them, you see that Mina, Kirishima, and Sero are seated beside each other while Kaminari is looking a bit lonely on the extra chair at the tail-end of the table. You’re guessing the empty seats in front of the aforementioned three have been reserved for their close friend and you, the fake girlfriend.

Right, you say to yourself. Time to put on a show.

Kirishima is the first one to spot you, and you can’t help the squeeze your heart makes as he visibly brightens up when he does. “Bro, over here!”

At that, you plaster on the friendliest smile you can muster and trudge towards where they are.

“Sorry I’m late, you guys,” you say as you slide into your seat, “I had to call an emergency meeting at work. I came as fast as I could…”

You look at the three, (not really) new faces (because you see them on TV all the time), suddenly feeling nervous and singled out.

Desperate for something familiar to have near you, you ask: “Uh, where’s Bakugou?”

The moment you stutter the question out, you find yourself immediately wanting to take it back, because the air in the room suddenly changes. Sero smirks, Kaminari guffaws, and a devilish grin exponentially grows on Mina’s face.

“Awww, it hasn’t even been ten seconds since you got here and you’re already looking for your mans!” Mina winks at you, “He’s just in the restroom.”

“Bro, it’s about goddamn time Bakugou finally got a girlfriend,” Sero adds.

The girl nods enthusiastically in agreement, “It’s been a long time coming, indeed. Do you have any idea how long he’s been pining for you?”

Negative thirteen days, you think to yourself. But you settle for a hesitant shake of your head.

“Dudes—” Kirishima tries to interject, although his voice is drowned out in the chatter and the marginally too-loud pop music playing in the background.

Sero snorts, “She probably doesn’t, knowing Bakugou. Though—” a look of pure mischief takes over the tape hero’s face as he turns to face you, “—wouldn’t you want to know?”

“I, uh—”

“Remember the first time Bakugou got a text message from her when we were out getting drinks for Ei’s birthday two years ago?” Mina asks the guys, although the question seems more rhetorical than not. “He choked on his beer so hard I was surprised he didn’t cough his freaking lungs out.”

“Mina—” Kirishima tries again.

Sero barks out a laugh at the memory, “That’s nothing compared to when he got so red in the face when I first insinuated he might have a crush that one time he helped me move into my current place. The big guy didn’t even think twice about hurling a box of clothes at me.”

“Sero—”

“Please!” Kaminari finally pipes in, before gesturing the group to get close with a cheesy, ‘come-wither’ gesture. From the corner of your eye, you see Kirishima mouthing something to the blonde but you don’t quite catch it, eyes drifting back to the latter, more curious than you’d like to admit, even if you’re 99% sure they’re making all of this up to humor you.

The electric hero smirks to himself before prolonging the suspenseful air. “Don’t tell him this, but I sneaked into his bedroom during that sleepover we forced him to host during Thanksgiving last year, supposedly to play a harmless prank on him. And get this—I heard him mumble your name in his sleep.”

“Guys!”

Startled, everyone looks at Kirishima, who’s doing the ‘slicing his neck with his hand’ gesture before sheepishly bringing it to rub at his nape when he feels the group’s attention on him. You scan their faces one by one, not knowing how to react yourself, and you notice what you think is realization dawn on everyone’s faces.

Well, everyone except Kaminari.

You look at the guy who’s apparently been looking at you this entire time, and your reaction to his made-up, albeit intriguing story must be priceless because he puffs up with pride before blurting out: “And it sounded like a moan, too!”

Before you can even choke at your spit in response, you see Sero’s long arm appear behind the blonde a split second before he smacks him on the back of the head.

“Hey!” Kaminari cries out, clutching his head in pain, and you can only stare at the situation in front of you, bug-eyed. “What was that for?!”

“That’s for not knowing when to shut up,” Sero hisses, before shifting to face you, a blinding smile now having replaced the chastising look that was on his face just a brief moment ago. “Now, where were we?”

“Aren’t you shitheads going to order?”

You jump at the gruff voice on your left, and you look up to see Bakugou, decked out in his usual black tee and joggers, frowning at you before his eyes dart to study his friends. Wordlessly, he slides into the booth beside you, and you automatically scoot over to make room for him. Suddenly it makes sense to you why his friends designated this entire side to only the two of you—you sometimes forget that their grumpy friend is abnormally huge—a fact that you get reminded of as he brings his arm around to rest on top of the back of your seat, his wingspan covering almost the entire length of it.

It takes a few seconds for everyone to gather their bearings and faithfully decide that no, he probably didn’t hear all of that—he couldn’t, if they wanted to keep their heads attached to the rest of their bodies—but when they do, they all scramble for the menus and act too innocently like they weren’t just making ridiculous shit up behind Bakugou’s back.

You give the man a hesitant smile yourself when he peers at you, before simply passing you the menu Kirishima handed over your direction.

“Hurry up and choose,” he huffs, voice uncharacteristically quiet. “We ain’t got all day.”

Since your boss arrived at your table, the squad hasn’t said a single thing about Bakugou from the past, particularly stories involving you, which further supports your robust theory that they were just trying to embarrass the guy in front of his alleged girlfriend.

No one brings up what has been said, too, and you take that as your cue to follow suit and keep your mouth shut.

Instead, and to your chagrin, they’ve resorted to buzzing around you, asking all sorts of questions about your life like how long you’ve been working at Bakugou and Kirishima’s agency, what kind of work you do, what you like to do for fun, how many siblings you have, and so on. But they’ve especially enjoyed asking you about Bakugou and your budding relationship, dropping a teasing remark or joke every now and then.

Every now and then as in every other sentence.

You’ve been trying to play it off cooly, lying out of your ass while seeming as natural as you can, but Bakugou isn’t taking it as well as you.

Apparently, and you know now, that the man detests being teased—it’s almost comical how red he gets at the slightest taunt, and you failing to repress a chuckle at the sight nearly grants you a shove from the hotheaded blonde. You look at the sole other girl for help, but Mina only grins at you while wiggling her eyebrows playfully as she sits back to witness the exchange.

But aside from all that, you find yourself quickly bringing down your guard and joining in on the conversation every once in a while, eventually coming to the realization that you’re actually having fun.

It doesn’t take a genius to recognize that Bakugou’s friends are great people, and seeing the man in a different environment than the one you usually find him in is interesting, to say the least.

In the midst of great conversation and in the blink of an eye, dinner is served and devoured, and before you know it, it’s 9 PM and everyone except Bakugou and you are around two to three drinks in.

“Come on, man!” Kaminari thrusts a glass of whiskey in Bakugou’s direction. “Let loose a little!”

The man in question merely lets out a ‘Tch’ before swatting the hero’s hand away.

“Don’t worry about him, bestie,” Mina calls out to you reassuringly, noticing you’ve been watching the two as you sipped on your own iced tea. “He just gets cranky when he’s not in bed by 9 PM sharp.”

“How ‘bout you, bro?” Kirishima asks you, this time a glass of gin and tonic in hand. “Are you sure you don’t want a drink?”

You muster the most polite and grateful smile you can. “No thanks, Kirishima-san. I kind of have plans early tomorrow morning.”

Yeah, right, you think to yourself. You just don’t want to risk making a fool of yourself in front of your two bosses and their closest friends.

“Ooooh, is that why Bakugou isn’t drinking as well?” Mina chirps excitedly, “Are you guys doing something tomorrow?”

“Uh, no,” you say, hesitant and irrationally guilty, which swells when Mina’s face drops in palpable disappointment. You scramble to pull out a palatable lie from your ass, “I’m going out of town to meet a good old friend of mine who just got back from the States.”

A chorus of oohs and aahs erupt from the table at your answer; luckily, they don’t press for more details, which you’re grateful for, because you’re running out of lies for the evening.

You feel Bakugou eyeing you at the side, as if trying to figure out if what you just said is true when Sero suddenly speaks up, pointing to the far end of the restaurant.

“Hey, they have a photo booth! Whaddya say we give it a go?”

Everyone cheers in agreement and you find yourself getting ushered into the said photo booth. Kaminari, Kirishima, and Mina plant themselves on the front while you get smushed between Bakugou and Sero at the back. You try not to let the close proximity with your boss get to you as Mina starts handing out the props, which you readily accept with a thanks. You look down at the ‘I’m awesome’ signage and rainbow-colored wig you’re holding, weighing your options, before ultimately deciding to make the sacrifice and give Bakugou the former. His crimson eyes trail to you when you tap his shoulder lightly, and down to the sign when you make the gesture of offering it towards him. He wordlessly takes it off your hands, and you can’t help but snort at how out of place he looks with it. He tosses you a glare, although it seems harmless enough.

“Ready?” Mina shouts, and the rest of you say your affirmation. You go through the motions, everyone changing up their poses and swapping props shot after shot, and you find yourself laughing along with the group as the ruckus unfolds around you. After the last click of the camera, you finally move to return the paraphernalia to the front with Bakugou shadowing you, and follow the rest as they hurriedly pile out of the small space when the sliding door suddenly slams shut.

“What the—” you reach for the indented groove and pull it open, but the door refuses to budge.

“Hey,” Bakugou’s booming voice ricochets within the small space, making you jump. “Quit fucking around, you guys.”

A chorus of laughter erupts from the outside, and only then does it dawn on you that you didn’t get locked in because of some stupid gust of wind.

Kaminari, who’s probably the one holding the door shut sounds positively evil when he pipes up with: “You’re not getting out of there until you do a round with just the two of you.”

“Yeah!” Mina adds excitedly. “And y’all better do those cute poses, you hear me? We’re not going home unless you do the classic kiss on the cheek!”

“Just the cheek?” Sero asks, “You should just go all out, Bakugou!”

“This is their idea, bros. I’m not involved here,” you hear Kirishima say in the background.

Oh motherfucking god.

Refusing to accept what’s happening, you try to pry the door open again, but Kaminari’s not letting up by the slightest. You stare at the door, unable to look at Bakugou and what feels like five minutes pass before the man finally speaks up.

“…Let’s just fucking do it.”

You turn around to gape at him, “E-excuse me?”

He sighs, looking as defeated as you’ve ever seen him, a tinge of pink tinting his cheeks in what you think is irritation. “They’re not gonna back down unless we fucking do what they say. Trust me,” he says as he plops down on one of the seats in front of the camera, “I know them.”

Hesitantly, you take the seat to his left, the feeling of resignation blooming in your stomach at his words. “O-okay, then. We can just quickly take the pictures like normal and we’ll be on our way.”

“No—” he starts, and he looks like it pains him to argue with you, “—if we don’t do this as they instructed, the shitheads are just going to make us do it again and again until we do.”

You flush at the implications of his words, “But—what—surely they’ll be reprimanded for hogging the photo booth?”

Bakugou shakes his head, seeming like he’s already surrendered his soul to the antics of his friends. “They don’t normally abuse their power as heroes, but they will for stupid shit like this.”

You can only blink at him, at a loss for words. If you think about it, it’s unnerving how calm and level-headed he’s being right now when you’re getting close to having a major freakout yourself.

“Well?” The man has the audacity to ask.

You shift awkwardly in your seat, choosing to look at the monitor in front of you instead of the pro-hero who you now realize is way too dangerously close for your comfort. “Okay, so the least number of shots we can go for is four.”

Bakugou grunts in what you think is approval.

You continue, “We can do one where we just sit and smile, another where we form a small heart with our hands to appease Mina, and—fuck, two more…”

You expected you’d be the one to do the agonizing task of directing your poses, so you’re surprised when Bakugou chimes in.

“That’s not enough for bug-eyes,” he says as a matter-of-factly, and you find yourself gulping in nervousness despite yourself. “We’ll have to get closer…”

Closer than this?

Bakugou seems like he’s debating something in his head before he gives you a firm nod. “The third one we can place your head on my fucking shoulder or something, and for the last—” he shakes his head in defeat, “just go and fucking kiss me on the cheek.”

“What?”

He shoots you an appalled look as if you jolting away from him at the mere suggestion is a criminal offense committed against him. “Don’t sound so fucking disgusted, idiot.”

You’re not about to tell him you’re the farthest from being disgusted and rather veering dangerously close to flustered. Instead, you croak: “Are you sure about this?”

Bakugou scoffs, “Does it look like we have a choice?” He pauses, before shaking his head rather adamantly, “It’s not like I want to do this…”

You frown, itching to argue that you, in fact, have a choice, but the man is so evidently resigned that any rebuttal dies down in your throat. He does know his friends better than you do. Obviously. You can’t accurately gauge how far they’re willing to go for you just to take these photos with the grump.

Heaving a heavy sigh, you mumble an ‘okay’ before standing to press the Start button.

And so you, once again, go through the motions.

Only this time you’re not laughing.

You can feel your smile straining as you pose for the first photo, and you’re guessing Bakugou is looking like he’s being forced to smile at gunpoint beside you.

Click.

At the tell-tale sound, you lift your left hand, forming half a heart, and bring it next to Bakugou’s right. Beside his, your hand is significantly smaller, and you’re staring at the shape you’ve formed together when the camera goes off again, catching you off guard.

Click.

You’re disoriented and barely registering the pace at which everything’s going when you feel a hand gently tug your head to the right, placing it firmly on top of a firm shoulder.

“Smile, you dumbass,” Bakugou says through gritted teeth. You obey.

Click.

You chance a glance at the man, whose eyes are downcast—staring at the floor. You hesitate, wary of the countdown, “…Can I?”

Bakugou merely closes his eyes in what you think is dreadful anticipation before opening them again, choosing to look straight into the camera instead of meeting your gaze. “Just do it.”

You’re not about to waste any more time and risk missing the timing and having to do this all over again, so you do.

It takes everything in you not to cringe the second your lips touch Bakugou’s cheek, suddenly becoming very aware of how chapped they are. But the thought is almost instantly replaced by the realization of how deceivingly soft his skin is, and you have to fight yourself from jerking away at the ridiculous observation.

The seconds go by so agonizingly slow, and as you wait for the shutter to go off, you notice how tense Bakugou is, whose eyes are now closed again. It occurs to you belatedly how weird it would come out in the photos if you had your eyes wide open this close to the guy, so you immediately slam them shut.

You do it just in time before you hear the all-too-familiar click, at the sound of which you promptly pull away and stand up.

“Great,” you chirp, too cheerily.

“Good,” he grunts at the same time as you.

You look at each other in surprise, and you can’t help the chuckle that bubbles out of you. The corners of Bakugou’s mouth twitch ever so minutely, and you could’ve sworn a smile is fighting to take over his lips.

You’re about to say something remotely embarrassing—just anything to fill the air, really—like ‘thanks’ or worse, when the door suddenly opens, startling the both of you.

Mina pokes her head through the small opening, squealing as her eyes dart back and forth between the two of you. “Well, come on, you two! They turned out amazing!”

You didn’t have to be told twice.

It’s about half past 10 when you finally decide as a group that it’s time to wrap things up and go home. Of course, you had to first sit through roughly thirty minutes of Mina gushing on and on about how cute your photos turned out, with Kaminari and Sero at the side teasing Bakugou about how uncharacteristically shy he looks. As you expected, Bakugou turned almost as red as a beet at the teasing, and you couldn’t help but laugh along with the group before getting silenced with a sharp glare from the man.

Despite the plethora of dirty looks he’s tossed your way the entire evening, Bakugou still went out of his way to offer you a ride home as you walked with the group to the exit. You were about to politely decline when you realized everyone else was watching and that it would be weird for you to turn down your boyfriend’s proposal this late into the night.

And so you reluctantly accepted.

Which is how you find yourself waiting by the restaurant’s front door with Mina while Bakugou fetches his car. The other three guys already hit the dirt and carpooled home together, not one of them having bothered to drive here in the first place knowing they’d get drunk, or at the very least, tipsy.

The silence is comfortable as you breathe in the cool, evening breeze, while Mina sways side to side beside you.

“If you ask me, Bakugou didn’t drink tonight because he wanted to drive you home safely.”

You whip around to look at the pink-skinned hero, “Huh?”

Mina only shrugs in response, not bothering to repeat herself. Instead, she reaches for something in her purse, digs through it for a couple of seconds, before pulling out a strip of film that you instantly recognize is that of you and Bakugou from a while ago.

“Sorry, but I’m keeping the one of us as a group,” she sing-songs, not sounding the slightest bit apologetic, before thrusting the string of photos towards you. “But you get to keep the one of you and Bakugou.”

Not knowing what else to do, you gingerly accept it from the girl.

She grins at you, “Keep it safe for him, ‘kay?”

You refrain from telling her that he most definitely doesn’t care about whether or not you keep these photos safe, and instead give her an affirmative nod. Looking down at the object in your hands, you study the images one by one.

Your smile does look a bit strained in the first, and you’re not even smiling in the second, dumbly staring at the heart instead, but you’d say you appear decent enough in the third yet downright foolish in the last. It’s Bakugou that leaves you dumbfounded, though.

He’s not smiling in the first one—at least, not really—but he still managed to look handsome and exude a boyish charm that’s always been characteristic of him. To your surprise, he’s also not looking at the camera in the second; instead, his eyes are directed towards you, a solemn expression on his face. Against your will, you feel yourself warm at the thought of being the object of his attention without your knowledge. In stark contrast, he comes off stiff as hell in the third photo with your head on his shoulder, and in the last one…

His eyes are closed, eyebrows slightly furrowed. And if you didn’t know any better, you’d think his cheeks are tinged the lightest shade of pink.

Huh.

“You really like him, don’t you?” Mina pipes up out of nowhere, snapping you out of your train of thought.

You flush at her words. “Sorry?”

The girl merely smirks, a knowing expression etched across her beautiful features. “It’s written all over your face.”

Your free hand absentmindedly shoots up to feel your face, and it doesn’t elude you that you’re heating up.

To your relief, Mina doesn’t say anything else. She shrugs again, checking something on her phone before turning to face you once more, “Well, my Uber’s here! Tell Bakugou to drive safely and make sure you get home in one piece, okay, bestie?”

You smile at her concern and the adorable term of endearment she’s assigned to you, “I will.”

Mina seems to hesitate for a second before decidedly stepping closer and bringing you into a warm hug, which you return as best as you can.

You eventually pull away from each other after a moment, and she walks down the stairs and towards the dark maroon car that’s just arrived.

Leaving you with nothing but the space to mull over the ramifications of what has just been said.

tagging. @kitthepurplepotato @chelbyisbord @lovra974 @katsukis1wife @brunnetteiwik @bunnysaursushii @beab19 @yawnzzzzzzzz @cholios @kashee-h @k0z3me @meeeepsworld @asura-rose @dragonscribble @moonz33 @citrustsuki @deadhands69 @lemuhr @rosemarygalaxy @iluv-ace @eyesforbkg @carpe000diem @shushbruv @matchat3a @ttalgi @bakunianadecorazon

˖⁺‧₊ as always, reblogs, replies, and tags are appreciated <3 they really do make a difference! have a lovely day ( ˘ ³˘)♥

i live in new england and the winters are pretty cold, so back in middle school my friends would use me as a heatpack while waiting for the bus. 

huddling like a pack of penguins..