kkanabel

[kkanabel]

façade ❃ twoshot ❃ chapter two

prohero! bakugou katsuki x prohero! reader

you and bakugou have been broken up after he "cheated" on you with a coworker at Endeavor’s Agency in your third year. seven years later, you both have to go under disguise as a newlywed couple to gather intel against a crime syndicate in a small town.

directory/m.list

⇦ previous chapter | END

Words: ~1.4k T/W: nsfw, minors dni, yucky under the cut, gushing/squirting, cunnilingus, porn with SO MUCH plot, bakugou being bakugou, cursing, overstimulation

Your eyes searched his, questioning, hopeful. And in that moment, you saw the same love, the same fiery passion that had brought you together so long ago. Without a word, you reached up to take off his hoodie, feeling the tension in the room thicken like a blanket of desire. His hands mirrored yours, eagerly peeling away the layers that separated you.

The fabric of your clothes fell away like petals from a rose, revealing the softness of your skin and the contours of your body that he had missed so much. His eyes roved over you, drinking in every inch, and he couldn’t believe you were here, with him, after all this time. His touch was tender, almost reverent, as if he were afraid to break the spell that had brought you back.

You stepped closer, feeling the warmth of his body, the heat of his skin against yours. His hands found the curve of your waist, and he pulled you closer, his mouth moving to kiss along the line of your collarbone. A soft moan escaped you as his lips grazed over your skin, sending shivers down your spine.

The room was a symphony of sighs and whispers as you both worked to free yourselves from the last barriers of clothing. His fingers traced the lines of your hips, your stomach, and up to your breasts, teasing and playing as your breath grew shallower. The anticipation was agonizing, the need for him to fill the emptiness you had felt for so long growing more intense with each passing second.

And when you were finally bare before each other, the air was charged with a hunger that was palpable. You looked into his eyes, and in them, you saw the same need, the same desire that reflected in your own. He was the same as before but bigger—new muscle and new scars sprinkled all over his skin—showing just how long you two have been apart.

 Without hesitation, you reached for him, guiding him to your bed, the mattress welcoming your tangled limbs as you lay down together.

The world outside faded away as he positioned himself over you, his gaze locking onto yours. The past was forgotten, the misunderstandings erased. 

With a low growl, he kissed you again, his tongue dancing with yours as his hand moved between your legs, his fingers finding you wet and ready. He groaned into your mouth, the sound vibrating through your core as he began to explore your body with the same intensity that had once defined your love.

You arched your back, pushing yourself closer to him, urging him to keep going, to never stop. His touch was a brand, a declaration of his ownership over your heart and body. And as he pushed into you, you knew that no one else could ever make you feel like this—like you were flying, soaring through the sky on wings of pure ecstasy.

He leaned down, whispering into your ear, "Were any of them as good as me?" His voice was a mix of vulnerability and hope and snark, his eyes searching yours for the truth. “Those little shits who dated you during the time you weren’t seeing me?”

A wisp of a smile danced on your lips as you reached up to caress his head buried between your legs. "They didn't have your fire," you murmured, feeling a thrill at the way his pupils dilated, the way his breath hitched at your words. "They didn't know me like you do."

He knew exactly where to touch you to make fireworks go off behind your eyelids. Each little touch or graze of his drove you crazy—just as it did many years ago

The past was forgotten, the hurt buried under layers of passion and need. The only thing that mattered was the here and now, the two of you, reunited at last. And as he moved, his eyes never leaving yours, you felt a sense of completeness that you had never thought possible. Your nails dug into the sheets as he licked at your clit, his tongue flicking and swirling with a precision that left you gasping for more. "I missed this," he murmured against your skin, the vibration sending shockwaves of pleasure through your body. "I missed you."

You could only whimper in response, the sensation of his mouth on you too much to process in words. Your hips bucked, your legs wrapping around his shoulders, urging him closer, deeper. He took the invitation, his tongue delving further, tasting the sweetness that was uniquely yours.

"Bakugou," you moaned, your voice shaky with desire. "I missed you too."

And as he brought you closer to the edge, his mouth never leaving you, you felt the last of the barriers between you crumble away. 

With each stroke of his tongue, the world outside grew fainter, until all you could hear was the sound of your own breathing, the rhythmic beat of his mouth on you. You could feel the climax building, a storm gathering force deep within you, threatening to break free.

And when it did, it was like a supernova—white-hot and all-consuming, a release of years of pent-up passion and longing. You cried out his name, your body trembling beneath him as the waves of pleasure crashed over you.

He watched you, his eyes dark with lust and love, his hand moving to stroke your clit in time with his tongue. "You're mine," he murmured, his voice a gravelly promise that sent shivers down your spine. "Always have been, always will be. Fuck, those sweet little sounds of yours. They haunted me in my sleep."

And as you lay there, boneless and sated, you knew that you had never truly belonged to anyone else. The flame between you had never died; it had just been waiting for the right moment to roar back to life.

And as the aftershocks of your orgasm subsided, you pulled him up to kiss him deeply, tasting yourself on his lips. "I'm yours," you whispered against his mouth, feeling the truth of the words resonate in every fiber of your being.

He kissed you back, his hands roaming over your body, his cock hard against your thigh. "I want you," he rasped, his voice a raw need that sent a thrill through you. "All of you."

With a nod, you sat up and sat him up, sitting onto his lap to face him. You reached down to guide his inside, feeling the stretch and the fullness that only he could give as each inch filled you up perfectly. And as he began to move, slow and deep, you knew that this was where you were meant to be—where you had always been meant to be—right in his lap.

“And you?” You keened, focusing on bouncing up and down on him. “What about all those girls you hooked up with? How were they?” You looked straight into his eyes as you rode him, as if challenging him.

He scoffed, reaching back to grab a handful of your ass and using it to bounce you on his dick harder and faster. “Oh?” A smirk played on his lips. “Jealous, huh? What about that one pretty boy you were all over last year?” He punctuated his last word with a particularly hard thrust that made you squeal.

“Stop-” a moan stopped you. “Stop avoiding the question!” 

He flipped you over into a mating press, reaching deep into your core and hitting right at your sweet spot. “None of them were as sensitive as you.” He rubbed his thumb onto your clit– the pressure of that combined with his thrusts made you come undone all over his fingers and dick. 

“Or as mouthy as you.” A hard thrust into you while you were still cumming. 

“Or as perfect as you.” Another hard thrust.

“Or had such a pretty O-face like you.” Another.

By this point, there were tears welling up in your eyes from the sheer level of pleasure he was giving you. With each thrust, he was hitting you deep inside– brushing against your cervix and hitting your g-spot just right. Your soft walls clenched and clenched around him, struggling to take all of the stimulation. 

With one more movement of his hips, you screamed as you gushed all over his hard length, but your brain was too fucked out to process anything even though you hadn’t done that in seven years.

He flipped you over onto your stomach and pistoning his hips into yours as he came, handfuls of your ass in his hands.

He groaned as he just kept ruining you. “You’re the only one.”

a/n: WHAT DO YALL THINK.

thanks for reading! taglist is open! lmk if you want to be on the taglist for just bakugou/bnha chars or if you want news on allll my fics. i plan on writing haikyuu characters eventually, too!

btw. not beta read, pls lmk if there are any typos or inconsistencies <3 stay safe & hydrated as always!

taglist: @kalulakunundrum

directory/m.list ⇦ previous chapter | END

[kkanabel]

façade ❃ twoshot ❃ chapter one

prohero! bakugou x prohero! reader

you and bakugou have been broken up after he "cheated" on you with a coworker at Endeavor’s Agency in your third year. seven years later, you both have to go under disguise as a newlywed couple to gather intel against a crime syndicate in a small town.

directory/m.list

next chapter ⇨

Words: ~5.8k

t/w: cheating (but it was a misunderstanding), angst with a happy ending, alcohol use, cursing, fluff

Your steak was partially-eaten at the restaurant next to the hardly touched side dishes. Across from you was a person who was familiar and unfamiliar at the same time. Watching him was like listening to a once-favorite song you no longer enjoyed. The words that came out of your mouth were sugared.

“Love, your food is getting on your face!” You giggled, light and sweet, a performance for everybody else in the room, but your appetite shriveled. Just looking at him was enough to ruin it. 

His black hair might’ve been part of the disguise, but it was his eyes that truly twisted your stomach. That fiery intensity in his look hadn’t dimmed, no matter how much he tried to blend in. His physique was no different. Broad shoulders and strong arms were all wrapped up in a get-up that he’d usually never wear— polos and khakis hardly fit his personality, but they fit his arms and shoulders damn well. 

Though you’d never admit it.

You were hungry earlier, truly. After an entire day of scouting the town with Bakugou, both of you memorizing the layout and studying the locals, you were ready to devour anything. But you’d forgotten one critical detail—you’d have to share a meal with him. Now, Bakugou sat directly across from you, his damn eyes watching you, piercing through your every thought with a single glance.

You were so hungry earlier, too. After an entire day of scouting the town with him to discreetly memorize and study the surroundings and the locals, you were ready to eat anything and everything. But you’d forgotten one critical detail—you’d have to share a meal with him. Now, Bakugou sat directly across from you, with those damn eyes piercing through and analyzing your every thought with a single glance.

It made you sick. These eyes were the eyes that ruined you when you were younger. More stupid, more naïve. 

Bakugou—disguised under a different name—grinned in a way that was so unlike him it almost made you laugh. Almost. “Thanks, honey. What would I do without you?”

The sound of his voice, those saccharine words, made your skin crawl. He was acting, just like you. But knowing he didn’t mean it—knowing he never would—made it worse. It twisted the poisoned knife he’d left in your heart all those years ago. 

Your target was at another piece of steak, sawing at it until the knife clattered against the plate. The small bite tasted like cardboard in your mouth. It wasn’t the restaurant’s fault—you were just in bad company. The restaurant reviews were beaming even though the only reason you came here was to memorize the faces of the workers, who were all suspected to be working with the villain organization you were targeting.

“Pfft, I know. Just like when I fixed that old shirt of yours the other day. You’re welcome, by the way,” you replied, snark dripping from every word, as if you really had been together for years.

He paused mid-chew, his jaw tightening for just a moment before he forced another smile. This one was all teeth. “I’m lucky to have such a talented wife.”

It sounded wrong coming from him, hollow. He never said things like that, not genuinely. You forced your lips into a lovesick smile, but it was hard to keep the bitterness from bubbling to the surface.

If you had your way, you would’ve never spoken to him again. But fate, cruel as ever, had other plans. A mission had dragged you back into his orbit, this time forcing you into the role of his newlywed wife of all things. Your agencies had decided you two were the best fit for the job in this small town by the edge of the mountains—because apparently, everyone else was too busy.

However, the reason why you decided this wasn’t exactly for the “better of the world” or for some selfless bullshit reason. It was him. It was all Bakugou. He was the reason why you used work as an excuse to run away from life in the beginning.

You both work in the same field in neighboring towns. How did you not expect to have to work with him in close quarters again? You had to do it a couple times in the past, of course. But in those cases, you never had to utter more than a polite greeting or a quick debriefing to him.

But heroes don’t disobey orders. You couldn’t choose anything else. This was a month-long mission, so you’d both have to concentrate and act like the world’s best couple while you two secretly worked and played right next to the villains. 

After almost a decade of working in the pro hero field, you were able to eat your restaurant food while listening in to conversations between the world’s most disgusting people. It never got rid of your appetite. But sitting here with a simple coworker was like torture.

Even after seven years, he wreaked havoc on your emotional state. Sure, his existence was like listening to an old favorite song. But that song that you once enjoyed became corrupted with bad memories—memories of him kissing a coworker that he told you “not to worry” about while drinking. 

Bakugou looked at you, his fiery gaze softening for a moment, like he could sense the storm raging inside you. But he said nothing, just smiled that infuriating, fake smile.

You pushed your plate aside, hunger long forgotten. Even after all this time, he still had the power to wreak havoc on you. It didn’t matter how much you wanted to move on, how much you tried to bury the memories. The song you once loved had been tainted—ruined beyond repair. And now you were trapped in this duet, pretending for the sake of the mission, pretending for the sake of the people living in this town. But no matter how well you acted, every glance from him chipped away at the facade, like a scab being picked off a wound that refused to heal.

The restaurant's warm lighting reflected off the metal utensils on the table, your plate of half-eaten steak a reminder that some things, no matter how familiar, could never taste the same again. His voice, a mockery of normalcy, grated on your ears, each affectionate word laced with a layer of tension you couldn’t ignore.

As Bakugou stood, you noticed he was two paces ahead of you by the door. He turned slightly, waiting, and extended his hand as any good husband would. You hesitated for a fraction of a second before slipping your fingers into his. The warmth of his hand, once comforting, now felt suffocating.

"You okay, honey?" he asked in that low voice reserved for public ears, his eyes softening just enough to sell the act. But then his tone dropped further, meant only for you. "I know you hate me, but you need to commit."

The subtle squeeze of his hand sent a warning up your spine, anger sparking in response. You glanced away, biting back the retort that hovered on the tip of your tongue. He was right, and that made it sting more. When you looked back at him, his expression had morphed into something bright, affectionate. Disgustingly fake.

With a soft, practiced smile, you leaned in and pressed a kiss to his temple, your lips lingering just long enough to sell the charade. "Sorry," you murmured sweetly, "I'm just exhausted from today."

The two of you walked out of the restaurant hand-in-hand, each step weighed down by the tension between you. Onlookers would see a couple perfectly in sync, fingers intertwined like a newlywed pair lost in their own world. Only you knew the truth—the burning desire to be anywhere but here, holding the hand of the man who shattered your trust years ago.

You heard whispers about him from time to time—rumors swirling like autumn leaves caught in a gust of wind. Bakugou was popular among the female heroes, and his name was often accompanied by a chorus of giggles and teasing remarks. “Dynamight totally hooked up with so-and-so last night!” they'd say, exchanging knowing glances and coy smiles.

You knew. You were at the same party that he was at, and you saw him with a random woman seated on his lap, all proud that she was there. The way he looked at her sent disgust through your stomach. 

You didn’t know that his eyes darted to you as soon as you sent your attention back to your partner.

Your coworkers would drench the office in gossip, speculating about his encounters, claiming he still refused to settle down with anyone, despite his countless admirers. At the moment, you brushed it off, telling yourself it was just idle chatter—nothing more than the usual buzz of workplace gossip. After all, you were in a relationship, and Bakugou was just an ex, a chapter of your life you thought you had closed for good.

But beneath that confident facade, a knot tightened in your stomach each time you heard his name mentioned. You tried to shake it off, burying your feelings under layers of indifference. Yet, deep down, the echoes of those conversations stirred up memories you thought you had forgotten, rekindling the doubts and insecurities that haunted you.

Nobody at this office knew that you and him used to date in your UA days. Even within your class, only a handful of people knew about it out of fear that villains would try and use you against each other.

Even as you forced a smile and participated in the banter, a part of you was always wondering: Did he really move on, or was he just pretending?

And now, with every step you took together, the countdown to your next "date night" loomed, an event you dreaded more than the mission itself.

Walking hand-in-hand, you left the restaurant together, keeping up the facade. Every step felt like it dragged you deeper into the pit you thought you had clawed your way out of. The town’s dim-lit streets were quiet, a peaceful contrast to the storm inside you.

As you approached the small cottage the mission had forced you to share, you tugged your hand away from his. The weight of his touch lingered, a reminder of how easily he could still reach you, even if you despised it.

The two of you had been sleeping in the same bed, despite how much you hated it. The first night you arrived at the cottage, you’d tried to sleep on the couch—anything to avoid the shared space that felt far too intimate for what you were capable of handling. You thought you’d been quiet, moving around pillows and blankets in the dim light of the living room. But of course, Bakugou had noticed.

“We’re married,” he said, the words like a shot to the chest, each one punctuated with a venomous reminder of the act you both had to maintain. He stood at the doorway, arms crossed, his silhouette barely visible in the shadowed room. “Come to bed.”

It wasn’t a request. His voice was low and laced with a touch of irritation. You knew why. There could be eyes on you, even now. Someone could be watching from the shadows, waiting for a crack in your performance—waiting to tear down everything you were working to accomplish. The mission was clear: gather intel, take down the villains, and do it without drawing suspicion. And part of that required playing your part as the loving, newlywed couple. 

The perfect, unblemished duo that could never be doubted.

You stood there, clutching the blanket in your hands, torn between what you wanted and what you had to do. It felt like a cruel joke. You and Bakugou, sharing a bed, pretending like the past years hadn’t carved a canyon between you. But you knew he was right. He was always right. No matter how much it stung to admit, he now had a way of pushing aside personal feelings, of locking away anything that might distract him from the mission.

You, on the other hand, weren’t that strong. 

The memory of his voice—so sharp and cold—lingered as you made your way back to the bedroom that night. It was a silent truce, but you hated the way it felt. Like you were once again trapped in his orbit, dragged back into the center of something you thought you had escaped. You slid under the covers beside him, the bed too small for the space that stretched between your bodies. You could feel the heat of him, so close, and yet miles away. It was suffocating.

It didn’t help that Bakugou played his part so perfectly. He’d initiate the small touches, the easy smiles and kisses in public, all with that infuriating ease of his. It was like he had no problem pretending you were still the couple you once were. As if the memories didn’t hang over him the way they hung over you. Every kiss in public, every affectionate gesture was a jab, a reminder of how effortlessly he could turn his emotions off. He was so damn good at his job, not letting anything—especially not the past—interfere with his focus.

But for you, it was different. Every time he reached for your hand or pressed his lips to your temple, it cracked something inside you. He wasn’t kissing you—he was kissing the role. You knew that. He was just following orders. And yet, there was something about the way he could act like nothing had changed that left a pit in your stomach. 

Did he still care? Or had he buried the past so deep that it was nothing more than another file in his mind like you thought you did?

Even after dating multiple other people, you thought you were fully over him, but this mission just opened up this rusty can of worms.

The thought kept you up more nights than you’d admit. You stared at the ceiling, the weight of it pressing down as you listened to his steady breathing beside you. 

How could he pretend so well when you were struggling just to breathe in the same room?

You hated that he could compartmentalize everything, lock it all away as though nothing between you mattered. It felt like you were the only one still caught in the wreckage of what you once were—while he had moved on so easily. There were times, especially in the quiet, that you almost wanted to confront him. To throw it all out there, demand answers, demand something. But the mission hung over you both like a guillotine, ready to drop the second one of you messed up.

It was worse at night. The bed felt impossibly small, the silence thick between you. Your shoulders would brush sometimes, and every accidental touch sent a jolt through your body that you hated yourself for. The memories of the past—the good ones, before everything fell apart—would trickle in when you were lying next to him, and it was impossible to shut them out.

You’d catch yourself remembering what it felt like to sleep beside him back then. The warmth of his body against yours, the way his arm would drape over your waist in a protective, possessive way. Those nights, you’d feel safe, wanted. 

Now, lying beside him in silence, you felt the exact opposite.

The worst part was knowing that you truly still weren’t over it. Over him. Even after all the hurt, all the unresolved anger, he still had that power over you, and you hated him for it. And maybe, somewhere deep down, you hated yourself more for still caring.

It was a cruel twist of fate that had thrown you into this mission together. Forced to act like you were happy, like you were still in love. Because, no matter how much you resented him, there was a quiet, bitter truth that gnawed at you—a truth you didn’t want to face. Some small part of you still was.

The people you dated after him? They were nothing more than distractions. Fleeting attempts to erase the mark he’d left on you. But nothing could ever compare to the way he made you feel during those two brief years at UA. When you were together, he made you feel like you could conquer anything. He brought out a side of you—someone confident, strong, capable. You’d grown, both as a person and a hero, because of him.

And then he destroyed it all.

What happened at the end of your relationship had shattered you. His betrayal had torn through everything you thought was real. He ruined your trust, your sense of self-worth, everything you’d built with him. In one moment, all of your confidence—your certainty in yourself and your place in the world—was obliterated.

You still remembered how it felt, that crushing weight in your chest when you saw him with her. The girl he told you not to worry about, the one who was nothing but a friend, according to him. The image was burned into your memory, an ugly scar that you couldn’t heal. How could you ever trust anyone again after that? How could you believe that you were enough when the one person who made you feel like everything had turned around and made you feel like nothing?

You spent years trying to rebuild yourself, but the cracks remained. No matter how far you’d come in your career, no matter how many missions you succeeded in, there was always a small, insidious voice in the back of your mind that whispered doubts. The kind of doubts that made you question whether anyone would ever see you as more than just a temporary convenience.

Listening to the steady rhythm of his breath while he slept beside you each night made your stomach twist. The peace he found in sleep was maddening, as if he could slip into unconsciousness so easily while you lay there, trapped in the turmoil of your own thoughts. It was cruel, really, how he could do this so effortlessly.

The next morning blurred into a haze. Sleep had eluded you, leaving your body heavy with exhaustion and your mind thick with unrest. You and Bakugou went through the motions, keeping up appearances, going to your fake jobs—tasks that were merely covers for gathering intel on your target. But the mission wasn’t the only thing that weighed on you.

It was the end of the week. The day you had been dreading.

Date night.

The two of you walked through the park, just like a real couple. His hand fit securely in yours, his grip firm but relaxed. It was all for show, you reminded yourself. This was just a role he was playing, nothing more.

The air was damp and cool, the scent of rain still lingering from yesterday’s showers. Autumn was settling in—the breeze carried whispers of the coming cold as orange and red leaves fluttered through the air. You watched as they drifted down, spiraling slowly before landing at your feet.

You stole a glance at him, studying his sharp profile as he stared straight ahead, expression unreadable. His jaw was tight, betraying nothing, but you knew Bakugou better than anyone. He was never oblivious. He simply chose not to show it.

"I overheard this couple the other day," he said suddenly, his voice light, laced with an artificial sweetness. It was code, meant to sound innocent to any passerby. "They were planning a trip to Kyoto. Like our honeymoon."

It was a message. A meeting would take place 14 kilometers away, in a forest. His words, however, stung for different reasons. The mention of Kyoto dredged up memories you had tried to bury. Of stolen moments, of the days when you believed him. When his words weren’t tainted by lies.

Your gaze lingered on his lips—lips that had once promised forever, now nothing more than a vessel for deceit. "Sounds nice," you said, keeping your tone light. "I miss it already. Maybe we should go back sometime." Your answer was clear—affirmative. You would assist him.

His eyes widened, just for a moment, caught off guard by the weight in your voice and the look in your eyes. Then, he stopped in his tracks, pulling you into his arms as if this were just another romantic stroll in the park. He kissed you, soft and slow, his lips sending a confusing warmth through your veins.

“I love you,” he whispered, his voice gravelly, low enough for only you to hear. It was too rough, too raw—too close to something real. And for just a second, you questioned whether this was still part of the act.

You hesitated, the words sticking in your throat. When you finally forced them out, they sounded hollow. “I love you, too.”

He stiffened ever so slightly, his expression shifting into something hard that was more like him, before his face softened into that easy, charming smile he wore so well. A passerby would have seen a happy couple, sharing a sweet moment in the park. But you weren’t a random passerby. You knew him.

You hated it—the way his touch still sent heat curling through your chest, the way your heart betrayed you every time he got too close. You couldn’t stop the growing blur between the facade and the truth, and that terrified you.

As you strolled through the park, the memories of your time at UA flooded back, weaving through your thoughts like the golden leaves swirling around you. You could still remember those late-night study sessions, the way he would pull you close while you both tried to catch some sleep in your dorm after a long day of training. Bakugou was always warm, a solid presence that made you feel safe, even when the world outside was chaotic.

But there were moments that cut through that warmth like a winter chill. You recalled the time during your third year when everything had gone wrong. The mission had turned sour—dangerous and overwhelming. You had been curled up against him, your head resting against his shoulder, the two of you trying to find solace in each other. His warmth wrapped around you like a blanket, a comfort that made you forget the world for just a moment.

Then the call came. His phone rang, breaking the fragile peace. It was a female coworker of his, voice laced with panic, relaying urgent news about the mission. Without a second thought, he’d shot up, leaving you behind with a “Babe, I’m sorry. I’ve got to go. It’s the agency.”

 The way he’d jumped into action had shaken you, the sudden absence of his warmth leaving a hollow ache in your chest. In that moment, you had brushed it off, convincing yourself he was simply doing his job. You understood, or at least you wanted to believe that you did.

But now, as you walked hand in hand with him, that memory gnawed at you. You felt a pang of regret for not stopping him, for not looking back and saying something. You had let him go, thinking it was the right thing to do, thinking it wouldn’t matter.

This mission was nearing its end. Soon, you’d be pulling down the entire crime syndicate together, all the pieces falling into place. But each step you took beside him tightened the knot in your chest, making it harder to keep the lines between your past and present clear.

You both walked home as the sun set, painting those same oranges and reds everywhere. A color that suited Bakugou too well.

You couldn’t fall for him again. Not after everything. But despite all your efforts, you were slipping.

And you didn’t know how much longer you could keep pretending.

“We’ve got another date tomorrow,” Bakugou said, his tone measured as he unlocked the door.

You nodded stiffly, the thought of another evening like this one making your skin crawl. “Yeah. Can’t wait.”

But just as you turned to head inside, his voice caught you off guard. “(Y/N)—” Your real name slipped from his lips, so casual, as if the past years hadn’t driven a wedge between you. The sound of it froze both you and him mid-step.

You hadn’t heard him say your name in years, and it hit you harder than you’d care to admit. When you turned, his eyes were locked on yours, an expression there you hadn’t seen since before it all went wrong. Something raw, maybe even regretful.

“I mean—” He caught himself, the moment of vulnerability quickly masked with irritation. “Forget it. Just… whatever.”

But the damage was done. That one slip cracked through the walls you thought you built. You both knew it.

Your phone buzzed with a message from a number you had blocked for the past seven years. You had unblocked it for the mission, but part of you had hoped he wouldn’t reach out.

1 New Message from Bakugou Katsuki:I’m outside.

No other explanation, just like him.

The mission was over; the crime syndicate was dismantled, and both of your agencies had everything under control from here on out. You didn’t have to talk to him anymore. Yet here you were, standing at the threshold, opening the door to the man who had shattered your heart.

Bakugou stood there with two meals and a bouquet of flowers, the sight both comforting and surreal. He was no longer in disguise—this was him, the real Katsuki, stripped of the masks he'd worn during your mission. You accepted the flowers, their scent pulling you back to memories you had tried to forget, and sat down to eat, but the air felt heavy, thick with unspoken words.

“You’re quiet,” he muttered, eyeing you with that familiar intensity. “What’s going on? You’ve been actin’ weird since I got here.”

You swallowed hard, knowing he’d pick up on it. He always did, whether you wanted him to or not.

“I’m fine,” you lied, the words catching in your throat. Suddenly, you stood up, desperate for distance, but his hand shot out, gripping your arm gently but firmly, halting you in your tracks.

“Don’t pull that bullshit on me.” His voice was low, thick with concern. “You’ve been off for days now. Spit it out.”

Your heart raced, pulse hammering in your ears. You couldn’t keep this bottled up any longer.

“I can’t do this,” you confessed, your voice barely above a whisper.

“Can’t do what?” he pressed, brows furrowing in confusion.

“This,” you said, gesturing vaguely between you. “Pretending. Acting like everything’s okay. It’s not. You—” Your voice cracked, but you forced yourself to continue. “I can’t let myself fall for you again. Not after what you did.” Regret seeped in, laced with self-loathing for letting him affect you this deeply.

His expression twisted, a mix of bewilderment and concern. “What the hell are you talkin’ about?”

You felt the dam inside you break, the flood of emotions you’d been holding back spilling over. “I saw you, Bakugou. Seven years ago. You kissed her, that girl on your mission. You ruined everything, and now I’m—” You clenched your fists, struggling to keep your voice steady. “Now I’m falling for you all over again, and it’s killing me.”

He stared at you, stunned into silence. Then, slowly, he let go of your arm and stepped back.

“Wait,” he said, his voice barely a whisper, tinged with disbelief. “You… you think I cheated on you?”

“I don’t think,” you snapped, bitterness flooding your words. “I know. I saw it with my own eyes, Bakugou.”

His gaze widened, processing your accusation, then something clicked, and realization washed over him. “Holy shit,” he whispered, shaking his head in disbelief. “You really thought…? That kiss wasn’t what you think.”

You blinked, confusion swirling inside you. “What?”

“I didn’t kiss her,” he said, voice rising slightly, desperate to clarify. “She kissed me. I didn’t want it. I pushed her away and never talked to her since.”

Stunned, you stared at him, grappling with the weight of his words. “But… you never said anything.”

“I wanted to,” he admitted, his gaze locking onto yours with an intensity that sent shivers down your spine. “I thought you knew. I thought… damn it, I thought I didn’t deserve to fix it.”

The air around you felt charged, heavy with emotions that threatened to explode. Could this entire mess really be a misunderstanding?

“Why didn’t you just tell me?” you asked softly, the hurt spilling over into your voice, memories of your pain surfacing anew.

“Because I’m an idiot,” Bakugou admitted, his voice thick with regret. “I thought it was too late. Thought I’d already lost you.”

The truth of his words hung in the air, heavy with the weight of unspoken feelings. As tears began to well in your eyes, you felt the walls between you shatter, leaving behind only a fragile, flickering connection.

Tears blurred your vision, and before you could process it, he stepped forward and wrapped you in his arms. “I’m so fucking sorry,” he murmured, voice cracking. His grip was tight, as if he was afraid you’d slip away. “You’re the only one— fuck, you’ve always been the only one.”

The tension between you dissipated, but the weight of everything you thought you knew hung heavily in the air. His eyes were bloodshot, reflecting the pain and regret etched into his features, tears spilling over. It was a sight you’d never thought you’d witness—the strong, brash Bakugou Katsuki, reduced to this vulnerable state.

Just how deeply had this affected him? The thought lingered, and as the truth hung between you, you couldn’t help but wonder if this was the beginning of a new chapter or just another cruel twist of fate.

Bakugou’s grip on you tightened, as if he feared the moment would slip away, just like the years had. You could feel the heat radiating from his body, grounding you in a way you hadn’t realized you needed. It was a comfort and a reassurance, a silent promise that he was here now, willing to fight for this connection.

“Just let me in,” he murmured, his breath warm against your skin. “Please.”

And with that simple plea, the dam holding back your emotions broke. You stepped closer, heart pounding in your chest, every insecurity and doubt crashing against the newfound hope. You needed this; you needed him.

In that moment, you surged forward, pressing your lips against his. The kiss was tentative at first, a gentle exploration, as if both of you were afraid to break the fragile spell woven around you. But as his lips moved against yours, the urgency of everything unspoken flooded the space between you. 

He kissed you like a man starved, lips tangling into a kiss that held all of yours and his pain for the last seven years. It was a kiss that spoke of longing, regret, and an undeniable desire that had been buried for far too long.

You responded with fervor, deepening the kiss as his hands tangled in your hair, anchoring you to him. Every hesitance melted away, replaced by a passion that ignited every nerve ending in your body. It felt like coming home, a feeling you had both craved yet feared to admit.

As the kiss deepened, you could feel the weight of the past slowly lifting, the pain of misunderstandings giving way to the warmth of reconciliation. You lost yourself in the moment, surrendering to the feelings that had been pent up for seven long years. His lips moved with a fervor that mirrored your own, igniting a fire that blazed brighter than anything you had experienced before.

When you finally pulled away, breathless and dazed, your foreheads rested against each other, hearts racing in unison. He searched your eyes, looking for confirmation that this was real, that he wasn’t just dreaming.

He felt himself overheating from the passion of your kisses, each one igniting a fire within him that he had thought long extinguished. His mind soared in high heavens, finally basking in the warmth of your presence after years spent in the cold shadows of longing. He had followed your social media from behind an alternate account, feeling like a ghost haunting your life, a silent spectator filled with regret every time he clicked on a photo that showcased your happiness without him.

All the weight he had carried—the suffocating pain of feeling unloved and unwanted—began to lift, like a storm finally breaking. He regretted even talking to that female coworker, ever. In hindsight, he would have quit his job at Endeavor’s Agency in a heartbeat if he had known it would cost him the chance to be in your arms. The memory of those years was a constant ache, a reminder that he had let something precious slip away.

He had tried to move on, but the moments replayed in his mind like a cruel movie reel. He remembered the nights when Kirishima had dragged him to parties, urging him to loosen up, but the moment Kirishima disappeared into the crowd, all he could see was you and some guy—glowing with laughter, surrounded by people who didn't understand the depth of his heartache.

Then he saw it—the news flashing a photo of you with that actor. “A fucking actor this time? She’s fucking an actor?” The bitterness clawed at his throat. “They lie for a living. They’re just damn frauds.”

You looked so damn happy, smiling up at that guy as if he hung the stars in the sky—just like you used to smile at him. It felt like a knife twisting in his gut, a searing reminder of what he had lost. He was consumed by jealousy, the bitterness so overwhelming that he downed shot after shot, trying to drown out the memory of your smile, the way it lit up his world. He found a random girl with the same hair color, desperate to fill the void, but it never worked. She didn’t talk like you; her voice didn’t hold the same warmth, the same inviting tone that wrapped around him like a familiar blanket.

He replayed the same mantra every month when you posted another photo on Instagram or when he saw you on the news with someone new. “You’ll never be mine again.” The words echoed in his mind like a painful lullaby, lulling him into a false sense of acceptance while simultaneously ripping his heart apart.

Yet here you were now, in his arms, and for the first time in years, he dared to hope. But the memories lingered, haunting him, the ghost of every moment he had let slip away swirling around them. Bakugou knew he had to confront the past he had run from, and as he kissed you, he resolved to do everything in his power to make sure you never felt that emptiness again.

a/n: smut coming for the next chapter in this two-parter! i realllllllllly enjoyed writing this one! it pulled at my heartstrings WHILE writing it. i had to pause from time to time and just take a breath lmfao

thanks for reading! anywayy, taglist is open! lmk if you want to be on the taglist for just bakugou/bnha chars or if you want news on allll my fics. i plan on writing haikyuu characters eventually, too!

btw. not beta read, pls lmk if there are any typos or inconsistencies <3 stay safe & hydrated as always!

taglist: @kalulakunundrum

directory/m.list

next chapter ⇨

[kkanabel]

apricity ❃ oneshot

fire spirit!bakugou katsuki x archaeologist!afab!reader / siberian au lmao

words: ~6.6k

directory/m.list

T/W: nsfw, minors dni, yucky at the very end, fingering, porn with plot, overstimulation, size difference, multiple orgasms, unprotected sex, alcohol use (not during the yucky but waay before the yucky), bakugou being bakugou, not beta read

Frost clung to the window panes of your cabin as you pulled on the last of your layers—a thick, fur-lined coat with a hood drawn tight around your face and a scarf was wrapped around your nose and mouth. The mornings here were unforgiving, the bite of the wind sharp as knives as soon as you stepped outside. You grabbed the ax by the door, its handle starting to grow familiar in your gloved hands, and pushed the door open into the early morning light. A heavy breath left your mouth in a plume of white as you approached the woodpile, ready to chop enough firewood to keep your small cabin warm for the day.

Frost bites at your cheeks as you swing your ax down on a thick block of firewood as the crisp snap echoed in the cold air. Each heavy breath from you escapes in a foggy plume in the biting winds of Yakutia. The village sits nestled in a wide, snow-covered expanse, tucked into the curve of towering mountains, the sky above streaked in pale blue and white. It’s early morning, but the cold is already unforgiving, gnawing at your layers of fur and wool, testing the warmth of your windproof, insulated pants. 

A brief break in the wind brings a fleeting warmth from the sunlight— the sun’s faint brush over the top half of your face offering relief in the middle of a frozen landscape. You close your eyes for just a moment, savoring it, before returning to your task. The sound of the ax cutting into the wood mixes with the rustle of pine trees in the distance, their branches weighed down by heavy snow.

You swung the ax, splitting a log in two. The dry wood splintered easily, and the sound echoed in the quiet wilderness. The only other noise came from the wind as it howled through the trees, carrying with it the promise of an even colder day. The cold worked its way into your bones despite your many layers. You stayed in cold places before, but the tundra was different. It was a place where even warmth felt fleeting, only offered by a fire or the thick fur you wrapped yourself in.

Satisfied with the pile of wood you’d gathered, you stacked it by the cabin door before retreating inside, the warmth of the hearth greeting you. The fire crackled steadily, casting a golden glow against the dim interior. The gas stove hissed as you lit it, filling the kettle with water for tea. Your stomach growls, reminding you that breakfast is long overdue. 

The crackle of kindling and the warm orange glow spread throughout the small wooden cabin, where you've been staying during your research.

After tossing a few more logs into the fire, you set about making breakfast. It came together simply—creamy and warm fish broth, pancakes, and smoked fish—a meal that filled the small space with a comforting scent. The small palm-sized pancakes were crisp on the edges, their golden brown surface sizzling in the pan. You smile to yourself, remembering a tradition you picked up from other villages. 

As you finish cooking, you toss a pancake into the fire as an offering to whatever spirit might be watching over you. You heard it was a custom in your research. The villagers here don’t seem to do it, but it never hurts to be polite to the unknown.

By the time breakfast was finished, you had your notes spread out across the small wooden table, pencil scratching against the rough paper as you wrote. The village had called on your expertise after reports of strange events: food disappearing from homes, unexplained housefires, and villagers speaking in hushed tones about a spirit causing trouble.

You were already puzzled as to why the villagers would have called on an archaeologist and not an investigator. Your research into the village’s history has led you to strange old scrolls and whispers of a forgotten spirit, but the more time you spend here, the more you realize the villagers are reluctant to speak. The flickering firelight dances along the edge of your notes as you sip on a steaming cup of tea, savoring the warmth that spreads through your chest. 

Ghosts and spirits don’t exist, you reminded yourself. Still, there was something to be said about folklore. It was tied deeply to history, and that was your true interest—the stories behind the stories.

The villagers were tight-lipped, though— your inquiries had been met with vague answers and nervous glances. Today, you planned to spend more time in the village center, talking to whoever would listen. The old man who ran the inn had mentioned something about ancient scrolls kept by a family who had been in the village for generations. Perhaps you could find more information there.

Later, you head out to meet the villagers. Bundling up again, you stepped outside into the snow. The cold was immediate, but you pushed through it, your breath forming thick clouds in front of you as you made your way toward the heart of the village. 

Houses stood small and stoic against the barren landscape, with thick snow blanketing their roofs. Smoke rose lazily from the chimneys, the scent of burning wood hanging in the air. Snow crunches beneath your boots as you walk through the narrow, icy paths, nodding to the occasional passerby. The wind is sharp today, tugging at your fur-lined hood. 

You hunch your shoulders against the cold as you make your way to the center of the village, where a small crowd has gathered. The scent of charred wood hit you before you saw the blackened remains of the structure, now little more than rubble. Your heart skipped. Another fire? The villagers spoke in low murmurs, and as you drew closer, you overheard snippets of conversation about the thief who lived there—a man who had stolen from his neighbors. 

You frowned, remembering a neighbor of yours had told you to stay away from the man who was known to frequent bars and have sticky fingers. The same man used to live in this home that was no more than a pile of charcoal.

You’ve heard the rumors about the “spirit”—they say it punishes those who harm the village, but you’re not convinced. Fires like these happen in dry regions all the time, and it’s not uncommon for Yakutia, even in winter. You jot down a few notes, watching the fire consume the house, the warmth a stark contrast to the frigid air biting at your skin.

Was it possible the spirit the villagers whispered about had been punishing him? Or was it just an unfortunate accident, a result of negligence and the harsh conditions?

You shook your head, noting down the details. The more you learned, the stranger the situation became. It was only when you returned to your cabin that evening, exhausted from talking to the hesitant villagers, that you realized just how strange things had become.

Later that day, you return to your cabin, taking in the familiar creaks of the wooden floor under your boots and the soft flicker of your gas lamp lighting the room. The air inside is only a little warmer than the biting cold outside, but the crackling of the fire in the stove offers some comfort.

You sit at your table, flipping through pages of your notebook. The pencil scratches lightly against the paper as you record observations, every sound amplified in the quiet room. The rhythmic back-and-forth fills the space, a welcome lull amid the chaos of your investigation.

A knock at the door pulls you from your thoughts.

Standing in the doorway is one of the villagers—a man about your age, wrapped in thick furs with snow dusting his shoulders. You’d visited his family home a little while ago to ask about the happenings around the village, but their answers remained vague as all the others.

He’s cradling something in his hands. His breath fogs in the cold air as he shifts his weight, his eyes meeting yours with a mix of curiosity and something warmer. “I found these,” he says, extending his hands toward you. “Thought you might want to take a look.”

In his arms are ancient stone blocks, their surfaces engraved with symbols, faint but intricate. Your eyes widen at the sight. These carvings look similar to what you’ve seen before but older, almost primitive in comparison to the more refined relics you'd encountered earlier.

“Where did you find these?” you ask, stepping closer.

“In my house,” he replies, shrugging as if it’s no big deal. “They were buried under some old planks. Figured they were important.”

You offer him a grateful smile. “Thank you. These could be a huge help.”

He smiles back, a little too long. “I hope so. It’s, uh, the least I could do. The villagers… we don’t really know what’s going on with all this, but I figured you’d be the one to figure it out.”

As a thank-you, you hand him a small bag of food—some dried meats and bread you had stored away. His face lights up, and he nods gratefully before leaving you alone again to examine the stone blocks.

The sun sets quickly in the tundra, and soon, the only light in your cabin comes from the gas lamps and the fire’s low embers. You’re absorbed in studying the runes when a familiar knock sounds at the door again. When you open it, the man stands there once more, his eyes glinting in the soft lamplight. You let him in, not wanting him to stay in the cold for too long.

“I wanted to tell you more,” he says, a little breathless from the cold or perhaps something else. He shifts on his feet, seemingly nervous. “There are stories—whispers, really. The villagers don’t talk about it much, but some say there was once a spirit who protected us. He might’ve even been part of our village, long ago.”

You raise an eyebrow. “And why wouldn’t anyone mention that?”

“They’re ashamed, I think,” he replies, his voice low. “It’s been forgotten over time. No one’s sure what happened, but... there are theories that we abandoned him, and he’s been angry ever since. That’s why the strange things have been happening.”

You nod, processing the information. It feels like a piece of a much larger puzzle, but there’s still so much missing.

As he talks, you notice the way he looks at you—his eyes linger a little too long, his words carrying a soft edge of admiration. He’s clearly interested, but you decide to brush it off for now. You smile politely, pretending not to notice the way his gaze follows you as you walk back to your table. You’ll be leaving the village as soon as you finish the case, so you didn’t want to lead him on.

“Thank you,” you say, your voice firm but kind. “This is really helpful. I’ll look into it.”

The man nods, his shoulders slumping slightly as though he expected more. “Of course,” he says, his voice quieter now. “If you need anything else, just let me know.”

As he leaves, the door shuts with a soft click, and you turn back to the runes, your thoughts swimming with new possibilities. If what he said was true, there’s more to this mystery than the villagers are willing to admit. And now, it seems like the forgotten spirit might hold the key to it all.

A couple days later, as you ice fish by the frozen river, you set your net and lean back, watching the starting to sun dip on the horizon. The quiet stretches around you, broken only by the occasional crack of ice shifting in the distance. You peer down at your catch, noting the modest haul in your net. Then you blink—there, next to your net, are two large whitefish lying in the snow, far too large to have escaped without you noticing.

Confused, you glance around. No one is near. The fish are pristine, untouched by the ice or snow, as if they had been placed there deliberately. You shake your head, chalking it up to luck. Maybe they jumped out when you weren’t paying attention? The reflection in the water catches your eye, and for a fleeting moment, you see the sharp jawline of a handsome man’s face turned towards you as if he were ice fishing with you. You blink again, startled, and the image is gone when a fish swims by and ripples the water—just your own face reflected in the water.

You shake your head. It’s nothing. Maybe I’ve just been single for too long… 

You thought about contacting that man from the other day for just a moment. 

Later that night, after cleaning the fish and preparing a simple dinner of stroganina—raw, thin slices of frozen whitefish—you sit by the fire, letting the warmth soothe your tired muscles. The fish melts on your tongue, rich and buttery, as you sip water to wash it down. You couldn’t shake the feeling that you were being watched. You chalked it up to exhaustion. After all, nothing had happened that you couldn’t explain away with logic and reason. You even joked to yourself as you drank water, “If only I had some vodka to go with this.”

You took another sip, and suddenly the liquid burned down your throat.

You froze.

This time, there was no logical explanation. You looked down at the cup in your hands, heart pounding in your chest. How had the water changed? You hadn’t touched anything else, but the unmistakable burn of alcohol lingered.

Startled, you stare down at your cup, heart pounding. This—this can’t be explained away. Your mind entertained the thought of a Siberian Jesus Christ. 

The fire crackled behind you, its warmth now somehow menacing. The quiet of the tundra felt heavier, the weight of the mystery pressing down on your chest. This place, this village—it wasn’t just the cold that seeped into your bones. There was something else here. Something old. Something powerful.

The next morning, footsteps in the snow led you away from the village, out into the wilderness. 

The morning air was crisp, each breath leaving a wisp of white in the early sunlight. You bundled yourself tightly against the cold, pulling your fur-lined hood closer around your face. As you stepped outside, you noticed something strange—footprints, fresh in the untouched snow, leading away from your cabin. They hadn’t been there the night before, and curiosity tugged at you.

You followed them, your boots crunching softly against the snow. The air was still, save for the occasional rustling of distant trees swaying under the weight of frost. The path led deeper into the woods, the towering trees gradually closing in around you, until the footprints stopped at the mouth of a small, hidden cave.

The entrance was barely visible, half-buried in snow, but something about it drew you in. You knelt down, brushing the snow from the edges, revealing intricate stone blocks covered in carvings similar to the ones the village boy had brought you. Painted masks, adorned with swirling patterns of reds and whites, lined the inner walls, and Yakutian knives were arranged in ceremonial positions.

The air inside the cave was still, almost too still. You fumbled for your matchsticks, striking one and holding it up to cast a soft glow around you. The light flickered over the stone walls, revealing carvings of fire and snow—an odd combination, yet it made sense somehow, here in this frozen land. It felt like a shrine, a forgotten place of worship, long abandoned.

In the corner of your eye, you noticed a small stone just outside the cave. It was partially dusted in snow, but the engravings on it were clear. You leaned down, brushing it off with your gloved hand.

The instant your fingers touched the stone, a deep, gravelly voice echoed from behind you. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

You squealed, whipping around, only to find no one there. Your heart hammered in your chest, and you stumbled backward, falling straight into the snow. There were no footprints, no sign of anyone else. Just the eerie silence of the winter woods.

The spirit’s presence began to grow after you got home. Not just in the subtle warmth of the room or the way the hearth crackled to life at your arrival, but in the unmistakable feeling that he was always near. The warmth you once chalked up to the peculiarities of the stove now seemed deliberate, purposeful. The fire would roar to life just as your fingers began to freeze from the cold, as if it were watching, anticipating your needs.

It was no longer a question of if the spirit was real, but how deeply it was intertwined with the world around you. Every time you struck a match or lit a lantern, the flames danced longer than they should, their movements almost playful, as though teasing you. You tried to brush it off as wind or the natural flicker of fire, but something about the way the flames moved—how they seemed to respond to your presence—was undeniable.

It was trying to communicate.

It started with the crackling of the fire. At first, it was faint, like a low murmur beneath the sound of the wood burning. You would sit in front of the hearth after a long day of research, the warmth enveloping you, the sound becoming a constant companion. There were times you swore you heard words in the fire’s crackle, an indistinct whisper. "It’s just the wind," you told yourself. "Just the wood popping." But the more time passed, the clearer it became. The crackling wasn’t random—it carried meaning.

Then, one evening as you sat alone in the cabin after tossing a pancake into the fire, a cold gust of wind howling outside, you finally heard it: “You’re back.”

The voice was faint, almost lost in the sound of the firewood splitting, but it was there—low, gravelly, and unmistakable. You froze, heart pounding, eyes wide in surprise as you stared at the flames. For a moment, you thought you’d imagined it. But the voice came again, just as you leaned closer. “You’re not afraid.”

You weren’t sure how to respond. Your throat felt tight, your hands clammy despite the warmth. You tried to rationalize it—maybe you were exhausted, hallucinating from the cold. But deep down, you knew it wasn’t your imagination. Slowly, carefully, you muttered, “Am I... supposed to be afraid?”

The flames flickered in response, and you could swear you heard a huff, like a quiet laugh. Then the voice returned, clearer this time. “You’re stubborn.”

You couldn’t help but smile at that, a mix of amusement and confusion swirling inside you. “If you’re a spirit,” you said softly, “then show me a sign. Let me know I’m not losing my mind.”

There was a pause, and for a moment you thought maybe the voice wouldn’t return. But then, the fire roared, flaring up for just a second, casting the entire cabin in a brilliant light. The heat was so intense that you instinctively stepped back, heart hammering in your chest.

So it was real.

The days after that were filled with small, subtle gestures. The fire seemed to burn longer without the need for more wood. When you struggled to chop firewood or gather supplies, you would return to your cabin to find fresh logs stacked neatly by the door or a basket of fish left outside. You didn’t question it anymore, though each act left you both grateful and uneasy. Eventually, he told you his name— Bakugou Katsuki.

"Thank you," you whispered to the fire one evening, unsure if Bakugou could hear you but needing to acknowledge the help he had provided.

The flames flickered, casting dancing shadows on the walls, and you could almost sense his presence, as though he were sitting just beyond the hearth, watching over you.

It wasn’t just the warmth he brought. It was the feeling of protection, a sense that he was always there, keeping the biting cold at bay. The wind howled outside, but inside, the fire crackled with a steady, comforting heat, as though Bakugou himself were standing guard over your cabin.

As the connection between you and Bakugou deepened, so did the manifestations of his presence. There were times when you could feel warmth pass by you in the room, like an invisible hand brushing against your skin. And then, there were the footprints. In the mornings, you would find faint impressions in the snow outside your door—footprints too large to be your own, too distinct to be explained by passing animals. They led away from the cabin, disappearing into the woods where the trees whispered in the wind.

One night, after a long day of gathering research and barely avoiding frostbite, you collapsed onto the bed, too tired to even remove your boots. You stared into the hearth, watching the flames sway and shift. As you drifted off, you swore you saw something in the fire—a figure, tall and broad-shouldered, standing amidst the flames.

"Bakugou," you whispered, sleep pulling you under. The fire flared again, and in the brief moment before darkness claimed you, you felt the warmth of his presence like a blanket around your body, lulling you into a peaceful sleep.

With each passing day, Bakugou’s presence grew stronger. There were moments when you caught glimpses of him in reflections—on the frozen surface of a nearby pond or in the gleam of a window. He would appear for just a moment, the outline of a figure, the flicker of a flame in his eyes, and then he’d be gone, as though the world itself was trying to remember him.

"Why were you forgotten?" you asked the fire one evening, your voice barely a whisper. There was no immediate answer, but the flames shifted, as though Bakugou were trying to find the words.

"It wasn’t supposed to be like this," came the gravelly voice at last, softer than before. "I was supposed to protect this village. But something... something changed."

You waited, hoping for more, but the fire quieted, the conversation left unfinished. You knew he was withholding something, something important, but he wasn’t ready to reveal it just yet.

As the winter deepened, so did your connection. The emotional tension between you and Bakugou simmered just beneath the surface. He was no longer just a spirit haunting your cabin—he was a presence, a force that kept you safe, a companion in the long, cold nights. And as his voice grew more familiar, so did your thoughts about him. You started to look forward to the conversations by the hearth, the way the flames would flicker in response to your words, how his presence made the cabin feel less lonely, less cold.

But with that warmth came an ache, a yearning that neither of you dared to speak of yet. You wondered how far this connection could go, how real Bakugou could become.

One thing was certain: you were no longer alone in the tundra. And Bakugou, once forgotten, was starting to be remembered—by you.

The air was sharp and cold as you made your way back to the shrine, a small group of villagers following behind you. In your hands, you held an offering—a bundle of dried herbs, fish, and pancakes, all delicately wrapped in cloth. The villagers murmured amongst themselves, nervous but willing. They, too, had grown weary of the strange occurrences and were ready to do whatever was necessary to end them.

The old man leading the group had spoken of the fire spirit with reverence, explaining that the villagers once honored Bakugou with offerings to ensure their prosperity. Over time, however, the traditions had been forgotten, and with it, so had Bakugou’s power. Now, you were determined to set things right.

The path through the woods felt familiar. You’d followed it before, and yet today, it carried a different weight. You could feel him, his presence in the air, watching you from the shadows of the trees. It was as if the entire forest was holding its breath.

When you arrived at the shrine—a cave hidden deep within the woods—the villagers began to build a bonfire at its entrance. They stacked wood and kindling, and soon, flames licked the sky, casting the ancient stone carvings in a warm, flickering light. The shrine walls, covered in depictions of fire and snow, seemed to glow under the fire's embrace.

You approached the altar, laying the offerings down gently. The villagers bowed their heads, murmuring prayers to the forgotten spirit, asking for forgiveness. As you knelt beside the offerings, you couldn’t help but glance over your shoulder, feeling an intense heat—not from the bonfire, but from somewhere deeper within the cave.

For a moment, the flames crackled louder, and the ground beneath you seemed to hum with energy. Then, just as suddenly as it had begun, everything went quiet. The strange occurrences in the village—the fires, the whispers in the wind, the unsettling feeling of being watched—ceased. You could feel it, a weight lifting off the air. The offering had been accepted.

The villagers left soon after, grateful for your leadership and certain that Bakugou’s anger had been soothed. But you lingered, something pulling you back toward the cave.

Once the others were out of sight, you found yourself drawn deeper into the shrine. The carvings on the walls seemed even more intricate in the dim light, and you ran your fingers over the smooth stone, marveling at the ancient craftsmanship. Your thoughts wandered to him, to Bakugou. Was he truly satisfied with the offerings? Would you ever see him again?

A soft crackling sound broke the silence. You froze, every hair on your body standing on end. Slowly, you turned around, your breath catching in your throat.

There he stood.

Bakugou, no longer a fleeting presence or a whisper in the flames, but solid and real, towering over you. He was just as you’d imagined—no, more. His bare chest, muscled and powerful, was only partially covered by a thick fur that draped over one shoulder. His skin seemed to shimmer with warmth, his eyes blazing red like embers. He exuded strength, yet his gaze—intense and unwavering—held something deeper. Hunger.

"You came back," his voice rumbled, low and gravelly, sending a shiver down your spine.

Your mouth went dry. "I… I wanted to make sure the offering was enough."

He didn’t answer immediately, his fiery gaze trailing over you, making your skin tingle under the intensity of his stare. Then, with one swift movement, he closed the distance between you, pinning you gently against the cool stone of the cave wall. The heat of his body was overwhelming, a stark contrast to the cold of the cave, and you felt your pulse race.

"You shouldn’t be here alone," Bakugou growled, his breath hot against your skin.

You opened your mouth to respond, but the words were lost as his lips crashed against yours, fierce and demanding. His kiss was consuming, like the fire he embodied—wild, uncontrollable, and impossible to resist. You melted against him, your hands instinctively reaching up to grip his shoulders, feeling the taut muscles beneath your fingers.

His body pressed against yours, his warmth enveloping you as his hands slid to your waist, pulling you closer. The world outside the cave disappeared—there was only Bakugou, his touch, his heat, and the insistent press of his lips against yours. You gasped as his hand moved up your back, sending sparks of electricity through your body.

The intensity of the kiss left you breathless, and when he finally pulled away, just enough to let you catch your breath, his lips brushed against your ear. “You don’t know what you’ve done to me,” he murmured, his voice a husky whisper.

You barely had time to respond before the world shifted. One moment, you were in the cave, pressed against the stone; the next, you were back in your cabin, the familiar warmth of the hearth surrounding you. But Bakugou was still there, standing tall before you, his hands still on your body, his lips only inches from yours.

Your eyes widened in shock. “How…?”

He smirked, his eyes gleaming. “Fire is everywhere,” he said simply, as if that explained everything. “And where there’s fire, I can be.”

Before you could fully comprehend what he’d just said, his lips were on yours again, softer this time but no less urgent. He kissed you like a man who had waited centuries for this moment, his hands exploring your body with a reverence that made your knees weak.

The fire in the hearth flared behind you, bathing the room in a warm, golden glow as Bakugou’s body pressed against yours, his heat making your skin burn with desire. Every touch, every kiss felt like it was stoking the flames inside you, and you couldn’t stop yourself from wanting more.

You moaned softly against his lips, your hands tangling in his hair as the intensity between you grew, the connection undeniable. He growled in response, deepening the kiss, his grip tightening as though he couldn’t bear to let you go.

Whatever boundaries had existed between the mortal world and the spirit realm no longer mattered. In that moment, there was only you and Bakugou—fire and flesh, spirit and soul, bound together in a heat that refused to be extinguished.

Without a word, he approached you, his movements as fluid as molten lava. He bent down and claimed your lips, You gasped at the contact, your body responding with a fiery need that matched his own. 

He quickly peeled off your many layers of clothes. His hands found their way under your pants, taking them off as his touch burned your skin and he spread your legs. The world outside the cabin faded away, leaving only the two of you and the dance of shadows on the walls.

Bakugou knelt before you, his intense crimson eyes never leaving yours as he parted your folds with his fingers. You shrunk under his close gaze as he took the sight of you in. “So perfect,” he groaned, grabbing at your soft thighs with two large hands and spreading you out for him.

 The first lick of his tongue sent you spiraling, the sensation intense on your clit. You moaned, your hands grabbing at his blonde spikes, your body arching towards the heat of his mouth. He took his time, tasting you, savoring you, driving you closer and closer to the edge of release.

But just as you felt yourself about to fall over the edge, you pushed him back, the need to explore his body consuming you. 

You pushed him onto the ground, pulling down at his pants. “It’s my turn,” you proclaimed. 

He looked up at you, a question in his eyes, but you didn't waver. You dropped to your knees pulling down his pants and gasping when his hard shaft bounced out of the fabric. It was the size of your face, and its girth was something else. 

He noticed your awe at him, and his ego was inflated even more than it already is. “Like what you see?”

You roll your eyes, taking his thick length in your hand and bringing it to your lips before giving the tip a peck. He groaned, a sound that seemed to shake the very foundations of the cabin. Your hand grasped at his strong thighs. Teasing him, you spent time kissing all over his outer and inner thighs before moving to his shaft. 

You took your time, exploring every inch of him with your mouth, worshipping him as he deserved. You licked him up and down his hot length, watching as his eyes screwed together in pleasure before you took his whole length into your mouth— up and down his length in a bobbing motion.

His hands tangled in your hair, guiding you, urging you faster as he grew harder. The heat of his body was intoxicating, his scent a heady mix of sweet smoke and masculinity that made your head spin.

The fire in the hearth of the cabin roared to life, casting shadows across the room as you brought him closer and closer to the edge. His groans filled your ears, the only sound in the quiet night, until he could take no more. With a final, desperate thrust, he emptied himself into your mouth, the heat of his cum like liquid fire. 

Bakugou chuckled, his eyes never leaving yours as he lifted you to your feet. He picked you up with ease, carrying you to the soft fur that lay before the fireplace. Gently, he laid you down, your skin feeling like it was on fire from the heat of his touch.

"Your body," he murmured, tracing the curves of your hips with his thumb, "it's a masterpiece.” He leaned down, capturing a nipple with his mouth, his tongue swirling around the sensitive peak. You arched your back, gasping as the heat from his breath melded with the warmth from the fire, making it feel like you were melting from the inside out.

"Bakugou," you moaned, his name a prayer on your lips as he moved to your other breast, giving it the same loving attention. His hands roamed over your stomach, his fingers finding their way between your legs again. 

He narrowed his eyes at you. “Katsuki,” he corrected, as he began to fuck you with them, slow and deep, watching as your eyes fluttered closed and your mouth fell open in ecstasy.

As he worked his fingers into you, a low hum escaped him. “So damn tight,” watching as your face wrinkled up in pleasure. 

"Look at me," he growled, his voice a demand that you couldn't refuse. You met his gaze, the intensity of his stare making your heart race even faster. His thumb brushed against your clit as his lips pulled themselves into a grin as he sent a shockwave through your body. "I want to see you come apart for me."

As soon as he said these words, his fingers curled directly into your sweet spot. Your vision went white with pleasure. In the background, his grin only became more animalistic as he leaned down to catch a nipple into his mouth. His fingers worked you to the edge, driving you crazy.

The orgasm crashed over you like a massive wave, leaving you trembling and gasping for air. Your thighs were wet and sticky with your own release.

He watched you, his own arousal evident in the way he held himself, his eyes never leaving yours. "That was just the beginning," he promised, his voice a rumble that sent another shiver down your spine.

He watched you— all spread out and pretty for him on the fur, watching the warm light of the fire bounce off your delectable skin as you tried to catch your breath and your legs shook. He couldn’t help but mark you up all over as he sent you over the edge once more with his lips and fingers this time. A light chuckle left him as you cried out his name and writhed underneath him— overstimulation already starting to take over.

Your breathless voice called out to him in the small space of the cabin. “Katsuki,” you beckoned, “please… I need it.” You knew that he kept going at this rate, you’d go insane.

“You sure, princess? You think you can take it now?” His head kept burying itself between your legs, kitten licking at your clit before sucking at it and thrusting his fingers in and out of you. “You’re still not loose enough,” he says as he curls his fingers up again, releasing a squeal from you. 

You just kept cumming— each time you came, your walls only got more and more sensitive, pulling you to orgasm again.

Bakugou watched in sadistic joy every time your walls tightened further around his fingers. He came back up to you to catch your moaning lips into a kiss before trailing down and leaving wet, open-mouthed kisses all over your neck and chest. When he started playing with your clit again, you came again, tears welling up in your eyes from sheer pleasure. 

Your mind couldn’t fathom anything but Bakugou. Your mouth cried out broken strings of his name until he finally withdrew his fingers from your core, licking them up lasciviously. He lined himself up with you, tapping his tip against your puffy clit, making you jolt. Your entrance was still convulsing from your long string of climaxes as he finally pushed himself against it, groaning when he felt himself slip past the ring of muscle. 

He took in a sharp breath of air. “Could you quit clenching?” His head rolled back in pleasure, not even fully inside of you yet. “I’m already,” he pushes himself in further, “strugglin’ as it is…”

He was so thick. It filled you up, making you cum when he was only buried into your walls up until the tip and then some. “I’m sorry,” you managed to whine out, breathless, “I can’t help it!”

With these words, he froze and stared at you climaxing before pushing the rest of himself in, causing you to scream. He gave you a moment to relax with his entire shaft inside of you. You felt so full— he stretched you out so good. “So noisy,” he smirked, only spurring your voice to get louder with each thrust.

He started to pick up a steady pace, pistoning in and out of you. Each thrust made you shudder—his length stretched you out perfectly and hit you in all of the right places. Your hands gripped at the fur beneath you for any sort of purchase. He wiped one of your tears away, burying his head into the crook of your neck and groaning with each thrust. 

You believed that spirits didn’t exist, but here you were, getting dicked down by one. And you were sure as hell enjoying it.

As he pounded away at you, your eyes rolled back into your head, your moans turning into cries. He was so rough, so primal in his movements, it was like he was trying to claim you. And with every thrust, it felt like he was getting closer to doing so. 

He kissed down your neck, nipping at the soft skin with his teeth. His hands roamed over your body, gripping your hips tightly as he thrusted in deeper and harder. The noises of your pussy squelching in the cabin were obscene, but they only served to spur Bakugou on.

“Fuck, you’re tight,” he murmured against your skin.

His thrusts were getting faster and more erratic, so you knew he was close. You wrapped your legs around his waist, urging him on, needing him to fill you up with his heat. And then, with one final, powerful thrust, he did. You felt the warmth of his cum fill you up, spilling into your womb like molten lava.

He collapsed onto you, panting heavily. His weight was a comforting presence as he remained inside of you, his cock still pulsing with every beat of his heart. You could feel his warmth seep into your very core, leaving you feeling complete in a way you never had before.

As the moments passed, he slowly pulled out of you, his cum dripping out and down your thighs. You watched as he looked down, his eyes widening in awe at the sight. He leaned down to kiss you, his hand cupping your cheek. “You’re mine now,” he whispered.

a/n: we're back!

lol not beta read again please let me know if you see any typos or anything that's just like. wrong/inconsistent

my taglist is open! lmk if you wanna be tagged in future bakugou fics or j all my fics in general

thank you for reading & stay hydrated, y'all <3

directory/m.list

[kkanabel]

caffeine addiction ❃ from the start ❃ chapter 15 ❃ finale

bakugou katsuki x reader / coffee shop!au + fashion?au

directory/m.list

⇦ previous chapter | END

words: ~5.2k

T/W: nsfw, minors dni, yucky under the cut at the very end, gushing/squirting, fingering, porn with SO MUCH plot, bakugou being bakugou

You and Bakugou stood in the back of Kindeki, both of you watching as the last stitch of the final dress was finished. It was surreal to think that all the months of stress, frustration, and late nights had culminated in this. You both exchanged a glance, a small smile tugging at your lips. There was pride in Bakugou's eyes—pride for you, for himself, for the line you'd created together.

After packing up, the both of you headed to the runway show. The energy of the crowd buzzed around you as models strutted down the catwalk, the clothes flowing and sparkling under the lights, reflecting the effort and artistry you'd both poured into them. The world finally got to see what you had built together.

As the final model left the runway, the lights dimmed, and silence fell over the crowd. The announcer’s voice boomed, calling for the designers to take the stage. You glanced at Bakugou nervously, but he was already moving toward you, extending his hand. Without hesitation, you slipped your hand into his. Together, you walked onto the runway, and as the lights brightened, the applause became deafening. You bowed, fingers still tightly intertwined with his, and for a brief moment, it felt like you two were the only people in the room.

A few hours later, the congratulatory dinner was a flurry of smiles and laughter, drinks clinking together in celebration. Takumi, Mitsuki, and Masaru sat around the table, proud smiles on their faces as they admired the success of the line. You both had made it—photos of the show were plastered across tabloids and magazines, calling you two creative geniuses.

Bakugou’s mom smirked at him. "You really showed us, huh? You barely told us about this, and now you're all over the damn news!"

Bakugou only grumbled, his face flushed slightly from the praise. "Tch, whatever. It’s not that big a deal."

Takumi raised her glass. "To (Y/N) and Bakugou, the dynamic duo! You both have done something incredible here," she grinned widely, “I’m so proud of my baby niece.” 

Laughter filled the table as they continued reminiscing, flipping through photos of the show, the models, and—of course—that moment on stage when you and Bakugou bowed together, hand in hand. The image had gone viral again– more speculation about your relationship. But when the two of you had toiled so much together for this line, it was only right to bow together, hands locked.

As the night wore on, the room thinned out. Your aunt was chatting with Bakugou's parents, and you were scrolling through the congratulations on social media, cheeks warm from the praise and alcohol. Bakugou, however, had barely spoken for the past hour. He nursed his drink quietly, eyes glancing over at you more frequently than usual.

He couldn’t take it anymore.

When the last of the guests finally left, Bakugou stood from the table, clearing his throat awkwardly. “Hey… walk with me.”

You blinked up at him, confused but nodding. The two of you left the restaurant together, the night air cool against your skin as you made your way down the quiet street. Bakugou shoved his hands in his pockets, his face tense, like he was fighting something inside of him. He avoided eye contact.

"So, you wanna grab dinner tomorrow? Just us. You know, to celebrate," he asked, voice rough but casual.

You smiled, feeling relieved. "Sure! We totally deserve it after everything we went through, huh?"

The next day, the air felt crisp and cool, the breeze gentle as it tugged at the edges of your clothes. Autumn was beginning to make itself known—leaves were just starting to fall, swirling lazily in the wind, but the temperature hadn’t dropped too much yet. It was the kind of weather that felt refreshing, comfortable, not quite the bitter cold of winter.

Bakugou waited outside your apartment, leaning casually against the railing, his posture deceptively relaxed while holding two cups. When you stepped out, his gaze immediately met yours. He was dressed in one of the pieces from your line, a sleek black button-up. The sharp lapels echoed the pointed arches, with intricate gold and glass embroidery that twisted up the sleeves before tapering off at the top. The embroidery was your handiwork—done with precision and care—and it gleamed subtly in the dimming light of the evening. He paired it with simple black slacks that clung to his thighs and a nice watch that added to the understated elegance of his outfit.

You, too, were wearing a button-up from the same collection, though yours had silver embroidery that caught the light when you moved. You had draped it off one shoulder, giving it a casual yet fashionable edge, and paired it with a miniskirt from Masaki's last season—the show when this all started. 

The entire ensemble felt cohesive, like you two were meant to match.

“Ready?” he asked, his voice low and steady as always. You nodded, falling into step beside him as you both began the short walk to the restaurant.

Bakugou handed you a to-go cup with a smirk on his face. The steam from the drink curled in the cool autumn air, bringing with it a warm, familiar scent. You raised an eyebrow as you took it from him, glancing up at him in mild surprise.

“A pumpkin spice latte?” you asked, an incredulous lilt in your voice.

“My pumpkin spice latte,” he corrected, his smirk deepening. “None of that basic stuff. Taste it first.”

You brought the cup to your lips, the warmth immediately spreading through your hands as the rich, spiced aroma hit you. The first sip was smooth and velvety, the creaminess of the milk blending perfectly with the pumpkin flavor, but there was something more. A hint of cinnamon, nutmeg, and the faintest touch of cardamom—subtle but distinctive, the kind of flavor that lingered pleasantly on your tongue. The espresso gave it a slight bitterness that balanced the sweetness just right.

“Wow,” you murmured, taking another sip. “This is… really good. You actually like pumpkin spice?”

Bakugou shrugged, walking beside you with his own cup in hand. “It’s not bad when you don’t overload it with syrup.”

You let out a soft laugh. “Figures you’d have a strong opinion on pumpkin spice.”

He glanced over at you, his eyes flickering to your outfit before he spoke again. “You look good tonight, by the way.”

The compliment caught you off guard. He wasn’t one to toss out words like that casually. You glanced down at your clothes, feeling a little self-conscious but also oddly pleased. The button-up from your fashion line hung off your shoulder in just the right way, and the miniskirt from Masaki’s collection felt like a bold choice, but you liked it.

“Thanks,” you said, looking back at him with a smile. “You don’t look so bad yourself, you know. That embroidery on your shirt really suits you.”

Bakugou gave a low chuckle, his gaze sliding back to the road ahead. “Yeah? Maybe it’s just ‘cause you made it.”

“Duh,” pride nipped at your face but you still felt a warm flush rise in your cheeks. You quickly sipped from your cup to hide it. 

As you walked, the two of you fell into an easy rhythm, sipping your drinks between bouts of light banter. The breeze carried the scent of fallen leaves and distant street food stalls, mingling with the comforting spice of your lattes. You couldn’t help but glance at Bakugou again, noticing the way the embroidered details of his shirt caught the fading sunlight, the golden thread glinting just slightly. He wore the sharp lines and subtle elegance of the piece like it was made for him—and it was.

“This embroidery took forever, you know,” you teased, brushing your fingers against his sleeve.

“I know,” he replied, his voice softer, more thoughtful. “I saw you working on it.”

That simple acknowledgment sent a flutter through your chest. You smiled, taking another sip of the latte and savoring the warmth, both from the drink and from Bakugou’s quiet praise.

The rest of the walk was filled with comfortable conversation, the air between you light despite the growing tension neither of you had fully acknowledged yet. You couldn’t deny it—the night already felt different, special in a way you hadn’t quite expected.

The upscale place Bakugou had reserved was one that usually had a waiting list a mile long. But when he’d called a week ago and mentioned his name, they had been more than happy to move things around. The reservation was set, and tonight was the night. The anticipation lingered in the air as you walked down the quiet streets, the soft rustling of leaves underfoot.

As you strolled, you couldn’t help but let your mind drift to all the things Bakugou had done for you over the past months. The big gestures—like staying up with you during those long nights, or how he’d taken over the sewing when you were overwhelmed—and the little ones, too, like how he’d bring you coffee just the way you liked it or let you wear his sweaters and hoodies when you were cold without a second thought. You smiled softly to yourself, feeling a sense of warmth bloom in your chest.

The restaurant was impressive, with sleek interiors and a warm, ambient glow that set the tone for an intimate evening. You and Bakugou were seated quickly, the waitstaff clearly eager to please. As you settled into your seat, you admired how comfortable Bakugou looked in such a fancy setting. His handsome features stood out under the soft lighting, his jawline sharp when he turned to speak with the waiter, his voice carrying that confidence he always seemed to exude. 

The restaurant was everything Bakugou had promised—upscale but (mostly) not pretentious, with an intimate ambiance. You’d been talking about the runway show and the mountain of attention that followed, but the conversation shifted when you started musing aloud about your career.

“I just can’t help but feel like I didn’t do this on my own,” you said, swirling your drink absentmindedly. “I mean, if it weren’t for my aunt, I wouldn’t have even had a platform to launch from. It feels like... I’m just riding on her coattails.”

Bakugou's eyes narrowed, but not in annoyance—more like he was carefully considering what to say. He set his drink down, leaning in a little as his voice took on that low, gruff tone you were used to hearing when he wanted you to really listen.

“So what if Takumi gave you a start?” he said, holding your gaze. “Everyone in this business gets a leg up from someone. Hell, I wouldn’t be where I am without my parents. The fact that you didn’t build the whole thing from scratch doesn’t take away from what you’re doing now.”

You looked at him, feeling the familiar tension in your chest—the weight of the expectations you’d placed on yourself. “But it still feels like I’m not doing enough. Like... I have to prove that I can do it alone.”

He let out a short laugh, shaking his head. “You don’t have to prove anything. You’re already doing it. Yeah, Takumi gave you a road to start on, but you’re the one driving. And look at where you are now—hell, look at the stuff you’ve created. You’re not just following someone else’s path. You’re paving your own.”

You blinked at him, letting his words sink in. It wasn’t something you hadn’t thought about before, but hearing it from Bakugou—someone who’d grown up with fashion icons for parents—made it feel different. More real.

“Think about it,” he continued, voice steady. “There are a ton of people who just ride the wave of whatever their parents or mentors built for them. They don’t push it any further—they just stay comfortable, do what’s expected. But you and me?” He paused, red eyes intense as they met yours. “We’re different. You’ve taken what Takumi gave you and pushed it further. You’re creating things she wouldn’t even think of. That’s you, not her.”

You looked down at the table, fiddling with the edge of your napkin, his words slowly settling in. He wasn’t wrong. You had pushed yourself, and your designs were nothing like what your aunt had done. But it was hard to shake the feeling that you weren’t standing on your own feet yet.

“And as for needing help?” Bakugou added, his tone softening just slightly. “Everyone needs help sometimes. You don’t have to do everything alone to prove something. If anything, learning how to use the resources you’ve got—that’s smart. That’s what makes the difference between people who fizzle out and people who go somewhere.”

You glanced back up at him, a small smile tugging at your lips. “You really think I can pave my own way?”

He snorted. “I don’t think. I know. You’re already doing it.”

The confidence in his voice, the way he looked at you like it was the most obvious thing in the world—it made something in you settle. Maybe you didn’t have to fight so hard to prove you could stand alone. Maybe it was okay to accept the help that came your way, as long as you kept pushing forward.

"Thanks, Katsuki," you murmured, feeling a warmth settle into your chest that had nothing to do with the restaurant's ambient lighting.

He shrugged like it was nothing, but the way his eyes lingered on yours for just a second longer told you it wasn’t. You watched him for a moment, mesmerized by how effortlessly he carried himself, and your thoughts wandered again.

How lucky would I be to have someone like him as my future husband?

Your gaze lingered on his profile, admiring the sharp lines of his face, the intensity in his eyes even when he wasn’t looking at you. The way he treated you, with quiet care and unwavering support, made your heart swell. It was hard not to think about the future when you had someone like Bakugou in your life.

The thought slipped out of your mouth before you could stop it.

“I can only hope that my future boyfriend treats me the way you do,” you said with a soft smile, eyes flickering up to meet his.

For a second, the air seemed to still. Bakugou’s eyes widened, just barely, and his posture stiffened. He didn’t respond right away, and when he did, it was with a tight-lipped nod. “Yeah,” he muttered, his voice more rough than usual.

Bakugou froze. His grip on the glass tightened, his knuckles turning white. You didn’t notice. But Bakugou’s thoughts were running wild.

Future boyfriend?

He thought this was a date. He thought…

He had finally made a move. But here you were, treating it like just another dinner between coworkers. The words hit him hard, and for the rest of the night, he barely spoke. He couldn’t. His heart was pounding, frustration building with every second that passed.

You noticed the shift in his demeanor—how he seemed quieter all of a sudden, his responses shorter, more clipped than before. But you didn’t think too much of it, continuing the conversation, unaware of the storm brewing inside of him. Every time you smiled at him, every casual comment you made, Bakugou felt the weight of your words crushing him.

Future boyfriend.

The thought gnawed at him, each passing minute pulling him deeper into his frustration. The idea of some other dude going out to dinner with you like this—the idea of you smiling up at the mystery man made his chest burn.

You didn’t even see this as a date. To you, it was just another celebratory dinner. You thought it was casual, something friends or coworkers would do after a job well done. But to Bakugou, this was supposed to be something more.

Dinner passed, and soon you were walking home, the cool breeze nipping at your skin as you strolled beside him. The silence between you wasn’t uncomfortable, but it felt heavy with unspoken thoughts. You were rambling about your roommate, who had just returned from a trip, unaware of the tension rising beside you.

When you were a few blocks from your apartment, Bakugou suddenly stopped walking, standing still on the sidewalk. You paused, turning to face him.

“What’s up?” you asked, concerned by the serious look on his face.

He stared at you for a long moment, his jaw clenched tight. His heart pounded in his chest, the words on the tip of his tongue. He couldn’t hold them in anymore—he finally snapped.

“You know I’m in love with you, right?”

The words hung in the air between you, raw and unfiltered. Bakugou didn’t look away this time—his gaze was locked on yours, his face pained, vulnerable in a way you had never seen before.

“I’ve been in love with you from the fucking start.”

Your breath caught in your throat. His voice was strained, the weight of everything he had been bottling up spilling out in those few sentences. Trying to process what he had just said, you stared at him, the weight of his confession hitting you like a ton of bricks. His face was twisted in agony, his usual bravado gone. He turned his face away from you, unable to keep watching the dumbfounded look on your face. You couldn’t speak, couldn’t move—until you did. 

Your hands started moving on their own. His eyes were wide as you reached up, cupping his face in your hands, turned his head to you, and pulled him down into a kiss before you even realized. It was desperate and rough, filled with all the emotions neither of you had realized were simmering beneath the surface. When you pulled away, you were both breathless, your lips tingling from the force of it.

He watched your eyelashes flutter in the dim lighting of the streetlights, hair blowing slightly in the breeze.

Bakugou’s voice was low, gravelly, as he leaned in closer. “We’re going to my place. I’m calling a fucking taxi.”

He could barely keep his hands off you as he fumbled for his phone, the weight of everything that had been unsaid finally crashing down around you both. Your hands wrapped around his neck as you peppered kisses down his throat, hearing him take in a sharp breath before taking the call. You couldn’t even register what you were doing—his scent made you dizzy and your heart flutter. The taxi ride to Bakugou's studio apartment was a blur of anticipation and unspoken tension. 

The moment the car door slammed shut behind you, his hands found yours, interlocking firmly. His grip was a silent declaration of intent, and your body responded with a thrill of excitement that shot straight to your core. In the elevator, his lips and hands traveled up and down your body. 

You didn't bother with the lights. The moon's glow from the large windows cast long shadows across the room, highlighting the stark contrast of his broad, muscular form against the black bed sheets. His crimson eyes never left yours as he approached, a hunger in them that was unmistakable.

With a gentle urgency, you both began to peel away the layers of fabric that separated your skin and his. Your hands trembled as they glided over his shoulders, feeling the warmth of his body beneath the material. His arms, as solid as the steel beams that supported the city's skyscrapers, wrapped around you, lifting you off the floor. He laid you down on the bed, his body hovering above, a wall of heat and want. His scent of burnt sugar and coffee enveloped you as you laid atop his bed, the air thick with desire.

He whispered against your skin, "You have no idea how long I've been waiting to do this," his breath hot and sweet as he placed soft, wet kisses along your neckline. His hands found the clasp of your bra, deftly unhooking it, the fabric giving way to reveal the soft swell of your breasts. His eyes grew darker, his gaze lingering, as if memorizing every inch of you.

You felt his weight shift as he moved down to kiss your neck down to the top of your chest, his tongue swirling around your now-exposed skin. His mouth was a promise of what was to come, leaving a trail of fire down to your cleavage. You couldn't help but whimper as you arched into him, craving more of his touch, his taste. 

With a playful smirk, his eyes zeroed in on your peaked nipples. He took one in his mouth, playing with it with his tongue, flicking and teasing until it was a tight bud. You gasped, your eyes squeezing shut, the sensation of his warm, wet tongue rubbing circles onto you sending a shiver down your spine. His hand traveled down to the hem of your skirt, inching it up your thighs, the fabric brushing against your sensitive skin. 

You felt your breath hitch as his teeth grazed over your tender flesh, the pleasure sharp and shooting right to your core. He suckled hard on the side of your breast, leaving a dark mark behind. You could feel your heart racing, your body begging for more. 

He moved to the other side, giving it the same treatment, leaving you panting and writhing beneath him. His teeth grazed the skin, not breaking the surface, but the promise was there—a promise that made you quiver. His other hand slipped over the wet fabric of your panties as he muttered something about “Makin’ you mine…”

“Wait wha-” Before you could manage out any words, he cut you off– you gripped the bed sheets, your knuckles turning white, as he began to rub circles around your clit, the pressure building with every stroke. He somehow knew exactly how to touch you, how to make you squirm and beg. His mouth moved away from your breasts, leaving them sensitive and wanting to find yours again. His kiss was demanding, his tongue dancing with yours as his hand worked its magic between your legs.

The room was filled with the sound of your moans and the rustling of fabric as he removed your skirt completely, leaving you in just your black lace panties. He kissed down your body, his teeth scraping against the lace, his tongue darting out to taste the skin beneath. His breath was hot and erratic, matching the rhythm of your own. 

His devilish smirk reappeared. “This lace looks familiar,” he ribbed, running a stripe of his tongue over your clothed lips. 

Heat rose up your neck, causing you to overheat more than you already were. “T-There was an extra strip of fabric, and I-”

Bakugou scoffed, entertained. “It looks nice,” he says, taking a moment to admire the lace clinging to your body. “It’d be a shame to take them off.”

And then, finally, he slid your panties to the side and took your clit into his mouth. The sensation was overwhelming, your body bowing off the bed as pleasure shot through you like a lightning bolt. You moaned, your hips bucking up to meet his face, his hands firmly holding your hips in place. Your hands shot straight to the nape of his neck, tugging at his hair for any sort of purchase.

You were lost in a haze of sensation, his touch everywhere, his mouth on you, his hands in your hair, his breath in your ear, whispering dirty, sweet nothings that made you wetter, made you need him more. The world outside had ceased to exist. There was only you, and there was only him.

As he played with your nipples, rolling them between his thumbs and forefingers, you felt the beginnings of an orgasm coil tightly in your belly. You could feel your muscles tense, the pressure building until it was all you could think about. And when he inserted two fingers into you, you instantly came apart in his arms, your body shaking with the force of it.

Bakugou pulled away, smiling up at you, a smug look on his face that made your heart flutter and your face heat up. “Already? I’ve barely even started,” he smirked at you. With his fingers still inside of you, he moved up to kiss you again, the taste of your own arousal mixing with the taste of him. 

His fingers thrusted in and out of your wetness for a moment until he curled his fingers up, sending a jolt of electricity up your spine. To your chagrin, a loud squeal came out of you when he did this. Noticing your reaction, his shit-eating grin only got wider and wider before he started abusing that spot pressing up at it over and over again, making you scream.

He watched your face, the way your cheeks heated up and your mouth hanging open in pleasure, and he smirked. "So wet for me," he murmured, his voice a dark caress in your ear. "You're going to drench my hand." And just as he said it, your body responded, gushing around his fingers, making him chuckle in triumph.

Bakugou pulled back to look at you, his eyes dark and hooded with desire. "You're so fucking hot when you come," he said, his voice thick with lust. He held up his glistening digits, and you couldn't help but whine at the sight of your arousal coating them. He brought them to his mouth and licked them clean, his eyes never leaving yours. "So delicious," he added with a wink, and your cheeks burned with embarrassment and desire.

The smug look on his face only served to make you want him more. You reached out, grabbing fistfuls of his shoulders, and pulled him back down to you. "Please," you breathed, your voice shaky with need. "Just put it in..."

Bakugou's smirk grew wolfish as he obeyed, pumping at his girthy length while his fingers retreated from your warmth only to be replaced by something much larger. You gasped as he pushed into you, inch by inch, filling you up until you thought you couldn't take anymore. His cock was thick and hard, stretching you in the most delicious way possible. He paused, giving you a moment to adjust, before starting to move.

With every thrust, the pressure built again, the movement of his cock against your sensitive walls sending sparks through your body. You could feel your orgasm building, a storm on the horizon, growing stronger with every beat of your racing heart. You wrapped your legs around his waist, urging him deeper, your nails digging into his back.

He groaned, the sound low and animalistic, and picked up the pace. His hips pistoned into you, the slap of skin on skin echoing in the quiet room. His teeth found your neck, biting down just hard enough to make you cry out. The pain mixed with pleasure, creating a heady cocktail that had you spiraling out of control as the tip of his cock rubbed at all of the right places. You could feel the storm inside you approaching, the thunder of your pulse in your ears, the lightning of sensation in your veins.

“Harder,” you begged with a strained voice.

“You’re going to regret asking for that,” Bakugou managed, his thrusts becoming more powerful, more demanding. He pounded into you, his cock hitting that perfect spot with every drive, making you see stars behind your closed eyelids. His fingers dug into the curve of your ass as an anchor as he thrust himself into you. Your nails scraped down his back, leaving red lines in their wake, but he only growled, the slight pain fueling his need for more. Your breasts bounced with every impact, your nipples pebbled and sensitive, begging for his mouth again.

The bed frame creaked in protest under the onslaught of your passion, the headboard thumping against the wall in a steady rhythm that matched the pounding in your chest. You were lost in the feel of him, the taste of him, the scent of him—everything about him consumed you. Your orgasm was close, so close, you could almost touch it.

“I’m gonna come,” you gasped, your voice tight with need.

“Cum for me, Princess,” he said, his voice strained. He leaned down, capturing your mouth in a bruising kiss, swallowing your moans. His thumb found your clit again, and he circled it roughly, driving you closer to the edge.

Finally, when you thought you couldn’t take it anymore, he picked up the pace even more, driving into you with a ferocity that had you clawing at the sheets. Your eyes rolled into the back of your head as you came apart for him one last time.

Bakugou’s movements grew erratic, his breathing ragged, as he felt his own climax approaching. He buried his face in the crook of your neck, biting down hard as he came deep inside of you, his warmth filling you up with his tip pressed against your cervix, making you shiver. He groaned out your name, the sound guttural and raw.

You lay there, panting and trembling, as he pulled out, his cock still twitching with the aftershocks of his orgasm. He collapsed beside you, his arm wrapping around your waist, pulling you into the warmth of his embrace.

For a moment, there was silence. Just the sound of your heavy breathing and the distant murmur of the city outside. Then, with a sigh, Bakugou leaned in, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead. “You’re mine now,” he whispered, his voice still rough from passion.

You looked up at him, your eyes glazed with satisfaction, and nodded. You didn’t need to say it back—you both knew it was true. Your bodies were entwined, your hearts racing in sync. This was it. The moment you had both been waiting for, the moment everything changed.

He rolled over, placing you on top of him, and you straddled him, feeling his cock, now softening, pressing against your thigh. You leaned down to kiss him again, your lips swollen from the passionate affair. His arms wrapped around you, holding you tight as if he never wanted to let you go.

“Fuck, that was amazing,” he murmured against your mouth. His eyes searched yours, looking for confirmation, for reassurance that this was real. You smiled, a soft, genuine smile, and kissed him again, deeper, slower, savoring the taste of him.

As your kisses grew more gentle, your bodies began to relax, the tension of the day, the tension of the months of unspoken love, finally dissipating. You laid your head on his chest, listening to the steady beat of his heart, letting the warmth of his body seep into yours.

“Thank you for waiting for me,” you whispered, feeling a little guilty that it took you this long to realize his feelings.

Bakugou’s hand stroked your hair, his thumb tracing the shell of your ear. “I’d wait forever for you,” he said, his voice earnest. “You’re worth it, every fucking second of it.”

The two of you lay there, basking in the afterglow of your passion, the moon casting its glow over your intertwined forms. This was the start of something new, something completely unexplored, and you were ready to face it together.

a/n: IT'S THE END!!! OHHHH MY LAWD it's been such a wild ride. thank you so much for reading & an extra special thank you to the reposts and comments-- they mean so much more to me than y'all know. i hope you enjoyed the series!

as always, stay safe & hydrated, and stay tuned for more bakugou~

also, let me know if y'all want some sort of epilogue-- and if so, what do you want to be in it? just their daily lives? their WEDDING? let me know in the comments :>

(oh yeah. as usual, not beta-read. lmk if there are any typos/inconsistencies. thanks!)

taglist: @takoyakitakii, @itzjustj-1000

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[kkanabel]

THE BLUSHING-

THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR THIS. happy bday to our sweet baby boi 🥺

a slight refresh of a really old drawing of mammon to celebrate his birthday because i refuse to not post anything

[kkanabel]

DROOLING

BAKUGO KATSUKI YOUR HAIR MADE ME WANT TO GIVE UP ON DIGITAL ART ALL TOGETHER.

[kkanabel]

caffeine addiction ❃ spiraling ❃ chapter 14

bakugou katsuki x reader / coffee shop! au + fashion? au

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words: ~1.9k

The back room of Kindeki was a mess of fabric bolts, sketches, and half-finished pieces. You were pacing, arms crossed, eyes flicking back and forth between the array of designs laid out in front of you. Every piece and every detail felt like it could unravel at any second, all because of that looming deadline—the show that was your first real step into the fashion world.

On top of that, you had three essays due tomorrow, and the weight of everything was pressing in on you. The air buzzed with tension as the deadline loomed over both of you, especially you. 

Designs pinned on the walls were marked with last-minute notes and adjustments. Racks of clothes crowded the space, barely leaving room to walk, and scraps of material littered the floor. Your eyes swept over the sea of unfinished work, heart racing. The runway show was just around the corner, and it felt like there was still so much left to do. You couldn't help the anxious tightness building in your chest, your hand shaking slightly as you traced the embroidered details on the final dress—one you'd spent the past couple months perfecting.

"Maybe we should have made these shoulders sharper," you muttered, chewing on your bottom lip as your fingers brushed over the piece of fabric

Bakugou's sharp voice broke through the whirlwind of your thoughts. "You've changed it three times. It’s fine the way it is."

You glanced at him, your mind still racing. "But what if—"

"It's good. You’re overthinking it," Bakugou said, crossing his arms. His red eyes lingered on you, not in a way that made you feel self-conscious but more in a way that showed he was analyzing you, reading every ounce of stress and tension radiating off of you.

You sighed, rubbing at your temples. The anxiety over the show and those essays you’d pushed off felt like a ticking bomb inside your chest. Bakugou must’ve noticed the way your fingers clenched into fists, the way your eyes darted over the designs like you were looking for problems where there weren’t any.

"Listen," he said, voice steady but softer than before. "Go work on your essays. I’ll handle the rest here."

You blinked up at him. "But—"

"No ‘buts.’ You’re not helping right now by freaking out. I’ve got this." His gaze softened for a moment, though he quickly turned away before you could catch it. "Just… go calm down. Trust me."

Your hesitation hung in the air for a beat before you finally gave in, sighing. You knew he was right—your mind was spiraling, and you weren’t doing either of you any favors by staying here and overanalyzing everything.

"Alright… fine." You gave him a small nod, the tension in your shoulders easing just a bit as you gathered your things and headed toward the front of the store. You trusted him with this; you had to. And if anyone could handle the finishing touches, it was Bakugou.

As you disappeared into the store, Bakugou stood there for a moment, watching you go, letting out a breath. The way you’d been working yourself into a frenzy worried him, but he knew you’d get it done—you always did.

With a low grunt, he turned back to the designs, running a hand through his hair. Just as he reached for another spool of thread, his phone buzzed on the workbench. He glanced at the screen and groaned when he saw the caller ID: Old Hag. 

He hit Answer and pressed the phone to his ear. As he stood up to take a few stretches while answering the call. “Yeah, what?”

“Katsuki!” his mom’s voice rang out, loud and clear as usual. “Don’t start with that ‘yeah, what’ crap. How’s it going with the line? Almost done?”

“Yeah, we’re wrapping up. Almost ready for the show,” he replied, keeping his voice low, glancing toward the front where you were. He didn’t want you overhearing his mom’s inevitable barrage of questions. He heard his mom humph. “Really, it’s going fine.” 

"Fine, huh?" Mitsuki's tone was dripping with skepticism. "And how’s your partner? She still puttin’ up with your crap?"

“Oi,” He clenched his jaw, irritated, eyes narrowing at the sewing machine in front of him as he leaned on the doorframe. "She’s stressed. Got a lot on her plate."

"Mm-hmm. And what are you doing about it?"

"I'm handling it. Like always." His voice gruff as he flipped through the last few designs, making small adjustments as he went, his mind half on the conversation and half on finishing the work.

There was a pause before Mitsuki's voice came through again, this time a little too teasing for his liking. "So… when are you finally going to ask her out?"

Bakugou froze, his pencil slipping in his grip. His whole body went rigid, heat flooding his face. “Wha— What the hell are you talking about?” he snapped, pushing himself off the doorframe and pacing slightly. He risked a glance back at you to make sure you hadn’t overheard somehow, but you were still focused on the task at hand, oblivious to the embarrassment that was crawling up his neck.

“Oh, don’t act like I’m wrong, Katsuki,” his mom continued, completely ignoring his tone. “You think I don’t know you’ve been pining after that girl for months? Hell, it’s been over a year. You’ve got no poker face, and it’s pathetic.”

He pinched the bridge of his nose, a growl rumbling in his throat. His ears were still red. “We’re working. It’s not like that.”

“Uh-huh, sure it isn’t.” She cackled on the other end of the line. “Look, just don’t blow it. You’re not getting any younger, and she’s clearly good for you. I’ve never seen you put this much effort into something other than coffee.”

Bakugou groaned in frustration, his grip on the phone tightening. “I’m hanging up.”

“Yeah, yeah, but you think about what I said!” She snickered. “Don’t be a coward, Katsuki. You’ve got a good thing right in front of you.”

He could feel his face heating up. "Shut up, old hag," he snapped, and before she could say anything else, he hung up, throwing his phone onto the table with a frustrated grunt. He ran his hand over his face, trying to push the embarrassment out of his head. He stood there for a moment, collecting himself, the words ask her out echoing in his head. He glanced back at you, still blissfully unaware of the internal war he was fighting, and the urge to both scream and walk over to you gnawed at him. 

Running a hand down his face, he swallowed hard and walked back toward the workbench, trying to ignore the way his heart pounded in his chest. You’ve both got a damn show to finish. He turned back to the designs, forcing himself to focus. He still had work to do—and the last thing he needed was to let thoughts of you distract him any more than they already did.

But the words wouldn’t leave him. Not this time.

You sat at the front of the Kindeki store, laptop open in front of you as you typed out another sentence for an essay you’d been putting off. Your fingers moved over the keys, but your focus wasn’t really on the words. The soft running of the sewing machine coming from the back reminded you that Bakugou was still working on the final pieces of your joint collection, his steady presence always lingering at the edge of your mind. You glanced at the clock; the afternoon had settled in, and the shop was quiet. Customers were sparse today, and that should’ve made it easier to concentrate. But your mind was miles away from the essay in front of you.

A huff escaped your lips as you leaned back in your chair, absently rubbing at the corner of your eyes. The faint scent of fabric and thread filled the store, mingling with the lingering smell of coffee from earlier. Your gaze drifted to the windows, sunlight spilling in as your thoughts began to wander… to Bakugou.

You couldn't help it. Lately, he had been taking up more and more space in your head. The way he’d been looking at you—those lingering glances you pretended not to notice. The way his hands were so careful and precise with every stitch. And then there were the small things, the ones that left you replaying moments in your mind when you least expected it.

Like that time he made you udon. The memory of the savory broth and the delicate steam rising from the bowl made you smile, but it was more than the food that warmed you. It was the way he watched you as you ate, pretending like he wasn’t looking at you, but you could feel his eyes on you the entire time. That soft, hesitant look of his—so uncharacteristic of Bakugou, the brash and fiery man everyone else saw. 

The times he’d bring your croissants from a coffee competitor even when he brought nothing for any other employees of his. 

The guy who scolded you for getting too stressed over the designs but stayed up with you anyway, hours later than he’d normally sleep, just to make sure you were okay. The way he always had a coffee ready for you, the affogato he’d made without asking, because he somehow knew exactly what you needed before you even realized it.

You shifted in your chair, biting your lip, trying to focus on your work. But that was the problem—how were you supposed to focus when Bakugou was doing things that sent your brain spiraling?

You sighed and closed your laptop, feeling a knot tighten in your chest. Why did he have to be so… so him? It wasn’t just the way his eyes narrowed in concentration or how his muscles flexed when he worked, though that certainly didn’t help. It was everything else—how he seemed to know exactly when you needed comfort, when to give you space, and when to push you to be better.

And yet, here you were, completely doomed. Because there was no way, no possible way, that someone like him could actually be interested in someone like you. He was too handsome, too good, and too… Bakugou. He could have anyone, and it wasn’t like he went out of his way to flirt with you, right? That was just how he was—rough around the edges, teasing, and maybe a little protective.

But that lingering thought gnawed at you, the one you couldn’t shake. What if? What if those looks meant more? What if the way he treated you wasn’t just teasing banter?

You shook your head, trying to push those thoughts away, but they clung to you, just like the way his hands would brush against yours when you worked side by side. The knot in your chest tightened. No. You couldn’t let yourself fall for him, not like this. There was no way it could end well.

A soft chime rang from the door, and you snapped your head up, watching as a customer walked in, pulling you out of your thoughts.

You straightened up, brushing away the haze of your wandering mind. Time to get back to work—though, if you were being honest, it wasn’t the customers or your essays that had been keeping you busy lately. It was the frustrating realization that Bakugou Katsuki had found his way into your heart, and there was no denying it any longer.

a/n: we're nearing the end! taglist is still open for this series buuut i think we're only gonna have like. one or two chapters left. we'll see :> thanks for reading & stay hydrated!

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taglist: @itztaki

[kkanabel]

caffeine addiction ❃ udon ❃ chapter 13

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words: ~3.3k

T/W: nsfw, minors dni, yucky under the cut

t/w: masturbation, only a teeeeeny bit of smut, baku thirsting, pwp (porn with mostly plot lmao)

The morning was barely awake, the city still quiet except for the hum of a few cars outside, and yet Bakugou felt the buzz in his veins. He’d been up early as always– didn’t have a choice, really. Too much on his mind. Too much of her in his mind. His usual routine at the gym didn’t help much. When he finally got back to his shower, his traitorous mind started to wander to you. The way your eyes lit up– he wondered how they’d look when they crinkle up in pleasure. 

Bakugou stood in the shower– quickly turning the shower to the coldest setting. Letting the cold water pummel his back, his eyes squeezed shut against the spray. It was early, too early for his mind to be racing like this, but there it was—thoughts of you, winding through his head like a persistent vine, wrapping around every thought and strangling the rest. He balled his fist, his knuckles turning white with the force of it. He couldn’t get you out of his head. Not today, not ever.

Your laughter echoed in his memory, that low, sweet sound that made his stomach flip. The way you’d look at him when you thought he wasn’t watching. It pissed him off, but in a way that made him want to be better, to be more. He hadn’t felt like this about anyone, ever. And it was driving him insane.

The cold water was a stark contrast to the heat of his thoughts, running down his back in a steady stream. But even as he tried to focus on the chill, all he could see was you. Your hands, the way they’d feel against his skin, tracing patterns that made him shiver. The way you might look at him if he pulled you closer, your eyes wide and surprised, but not unwelcoming.

He balled his fist harder, the tension in his body building. His thoughts grew more heated, his imagination running wild. He could almost feel your softness beneath him, your breaths coming out in gasps and squeals as his hips drove into yours. The sound of the water was a constant reminder of how much he needed to cool down, but it only made him more aware of the ache in his lower body.

In his mind, he could see your eyes on him, see the way you’d look up at him with that mix of desire and challenge. He’d never met anyone who could match him like you did—who could push him to be better, even when you had no idea you were doing it. And it was that thought that had his hand slipping down, gripping himself in the shower. The cold water didn’t even register anymore, not with the fire of you in his mind.

The pressure grew, his thoughts racing. He pictured you moaning his name, your nails digging into his shoulders, your thighs wrapped around him like you never wanted to let go. His strokes grew more desperate, matching the pace of his racing heart. It was a battle to keep his breath even, to keep from losing himself completely. But it was a battle he craved, because even if it was just in his head, it was you he was with.

He bit his lip, the sound of the water cocooned around him as he gave in to the fantasy. Your taste was on his tongue, your scent in his nose. It took everything in him not to shout out your name as he reached his peak, his release shooting onto the shower tile and mixing with the water that dripped down onto the ground.

And when he finally opened his eyes, panting, the reality of his empty shower hit him like a cold slap in the face. He was still alone, the only sound was the patter of water on the tiles. But for that brief moment, it had been you, and it was enough to keep him going. Enough to keep the fire burning.

With a frustrated sigh, he turned the water off and stepped out, grabbing a towel and drying off. He’d deal with the mess in his head later. For now, there was work to be done, and he had to keep his focus. He couldn’t let her in, not like this. But the thought of you and the way you made him feel—it was a siren’s call that grew louder with every passing day. And then he heard a knock.

He pulled on a clean shirt and some sweats, his mind still racing. He knew he’d see you today-- knew you’d be working together. But for now, he had to keep it together. So he took a deep breath, steeled himself, and headed out to open the door. He hoped he could keep it together long enough to get through the day without giving away the storm brewing just beneath the surface.

There's still too much on his mind. Too much work to be done. He liked that, though, the pressure. It was what fueled him, what got him moving. So when he answered the door to your knocking, his hair still damp from his shower and his mind already locked on the day’s agenda, he was more than ready-- at least, that's what he told himself.

“Mornin’,” he grunted, standing there as you took him in. He was still in the process of catching his breath.

He noticed it, of course—the way your eyes flicked down his frame, like you were trying not to, but couldn’t help yourself. Normally, he’d snap back with something witty, but today? He just found it… amusing. Maybe satisfying in a way he wasn’t ready to admit.

You stepped inside. As he watched you settle your sewing machine next to the desk, something in his chest shifted. He couldn’t help it. His eyes trailed over you, the soft white cardigan slipping from your shoulder, revealing the lace of your bralette. It was such a simple thing, really, but it was enough to make his gaze linger longer than it should. 

You looked comfortable here, in his space—too comfortable. The sight of you curled up on the leather couch, your leggings hugging your legs and your curves in a way that made his mind wander for just a split second longer than he should’ve let it… He quickly shook it off. He had work to focus on.

“Tch, you talk like it’s some kind of miracle,” he said when you complimented the place. The corner of his mouth twitched up, and he grabbed the binder filled with their designs, shoving it at you to shift the conversation. “I’m not a slob.”

They slipped into the familiar rhythm after that—work, banter, more work. Bakugou tried to stay focused on the designs in front of him, but every now and then, he found his attention drifting. He watched the way you worked, your brow furrowing when you were deep in thought, the way your hands moved, delicate but precise, as you adjusted the embroidery on the fabric. The flicker of concentration in your eyes made him wonder what you were thinking about, if you got as obsessed with perfecting every detail as he did.

Hell, of course you did. That’s why they worked so well together.

Still, it was hard to ignore the way your leggings clung to your legs or the way your cardigan would slip just enough to reveal that teasing bit of lace. It pissed him off, the way his mind would wander whenever he caught sight of you like that. He shouldn’t be paying attention to that—he should be paying attention to the designs. To the work. Not to the way you looked, damn it.

He leaned back in his chair, setting the tablet down with a quiet huff, watching you fiddle with one of your sketches. You were muttering something under your breath, frustration coloring your features as you stared at the page like it personally insulted you. It made him smirk.

“Of course, it’s perfect,” you grumbled when he offered a critique of your blazer design. He caught the edge of frustration in your voice, and it only made him chuckle under his breath. You hated that he could spot a problem and fix it in an instant. He liked that, too—the way you were always trying to catch up, always pushing yourself harder because of him.

But then there were moments like this, where he couldn’t resist. “Maybe you’ll catch up one day,” he teased, leaning a little closer just to see your reaction. The way you rolled your eyes, the way your lips curved into that annoyed little smirk—it was addicting.

He threw another glance your way, letting his eyes roam, tracing the curve of your body against the soft leather couch. You were all soft fabrics and delicate lace, looking too comfortable in his place, but it felt right. Your brow had furrowed again as you worked on your embroidery, and he was struck by how damn focused you got when your hands moved like that. The way your legs tucked beneath you, the stretch of your leggings as they clung to your thighs and your curves—Bakugou had to look away before his thoughts ran wild.

“Just means you’ve gotta work harder,” he said, his voice dropping a little lower as he leaned in closer, just enough for his words to land. He couldn’t resist teasing you, even if he knew it would get a rise out of you. “But I like watchin’ you try. It’s cute.”

He meant it, too. Even if you wouldn’t take him seriously, wouldn’t catch the way he was actually paying more attention than he’d ever admit, he liked seeing the way you reacted. The way your breath would hitch just a little when he threw those comments your way. It was all part of the game now. One that neither of them would acknowledge outright.

“You’re hilarious,” you shot back, but there was something softer behind your words. You were brushing it off, just like you always did. But it didn’t stop him from watching you from the corner of his eye, especially when you shifted on the couch, and that damn cardigan slipped off your shoulder again, giving him another glimpse of that lace.

He tore his eyes away, focusing back on the sketches in front of him. They worked in relative silence for a while after that, save for the occasional snarky comment, and Bakugou felt himself settling back into the rhythm. But even then, his gaze kept drifting—every time you moved, every time you adjusted your position or tucked your legs beneath yourself. It pissed him off that he couldn’t focus. You were distracting, and he hated that you could do that to him without even trying.

At one point, he looked up to see you stretched out on the couch, eyes half-lidded, body sinking into the cushions like you were ready to pass out. It was too peaceful, too domestic, and it did something weird to his chest.

“You’re gonna fall asleep on me,” he muttered, standing up with a stretch. “Want coffee?”

He didn’t even wait for a response, heading to the kitchen, trying to push away whatever it was that had him so on edge. He pulled out the ingredients for the affogato, watching the ice cream melt as the espresso poured over it. He knew you’d love it—it was one of those small things he’d started doing without thinking about it. He normally never has ice cream at his place. He actually made some yesterday evening in anticipation of you coming to make sure you had something to keep yourself going, even when you were too stubborn to admit you needed a break.

When he brought the affogato over to you, setting it down, he couldn’t help but admire the way your face lit up. Your eyes sparkled, and the sound you made after the first bite—yeah, it was enough to make something in his chest tighten. The fact that he could get that kind of reaction out of you without even trying (is what he tells himself) made him feel… accomplished.

Then you dropped that bomb about the gold and silver embroidery, your excitement practically spilling over, and Bakugou couldn’t help but grin. He leaned in closer as you rambled, showing him all the sketches and ideas, your mind firing on all cylinders like you were just waiting for the right moment to explode with creativity.

“Shit,” he muttered, leaning back with a grin. “That’s actually genius.”

And as they got back to work, sketching out the new designs and incorporating the metallic threads, Bakugou couldn’t help but glance over at you every now and then, that stupid smirk still lingering on his face. You had no idea what you were doing to him, how much your presence affected him. But for now, he’d let it slide, focusing on the work in front of him and pushing everything else aside.

Hours passed and work was still being done. Bakugou’s studio was on the colder side—something you noticed the moment you settled in on his leather couch. He saw you rub your arms absentmindedly as you worked, a small frown crossing your face as you tried to focus on your embroidery. The room was quiet except for the soft crackle of the vinyl player in the corner, playing a slow, mellow jazz tune. The warmth of the Edison bulbs cast a golden glow over the space, but it wasn’t enough to chase away the slight chill that lingered in the air. Bakugou’s blood ran warm, so he always had his AC set down to freezing temperatures.

Without a word, Bakugou disappeared into the hallway and returned with a dark brown sweater. He approached you, watching as your fingers paused over the delicate embroidery you were working on. You didn’t notice him right away—your focus so deep—but he let out a quiet grunt to get your attention like the gremlin he is.

“Here,” he muttered, holding out the sweater.

You blinked up at him, a bit surprised. “What’s this?”

“It’s cold in here,” he said simply, avoiding eye contact as he shoved the sweater toward you, as if handing over a piece of himself. “Just wear it.”

There was something in his tone that made it clear he wouldn’t take no for an answer. You took it, slipping it over your cardigan with a quiet “thanks.” Bakugou’s gaze lingered for a moment longer than he intended, the oversized fabric swallowing you up, the sleeves hanging past your wrists. It was too big on you, making you look even smaller in his space. He tore his eyes away, fighting the heat creeping up his neck, and busied himself with cleaning the espresso machine.

He needed something to do. Something that wasn’t thinking about how his sweater looked on you, or how soft your legs looked in those leggings, the way the fabric clung to the curve of your hips. Damn it, stop thinking about her like that.

Instead, he cleared his throat. "I’m making somethin’ to eat later. You’ll stay for that, right?"

You glanced up at him, surprised by the sudden offer. “You’re cooking?”

“Yeah.” His gaze flickered away, though his expression stayed calm. “I’m making udon.”

The truth was, he wanted you to stay longer. You’d been working together all day, but somehow, the hours never felt enough. He had already prepared most of the ingredients earlier, chopping up scallions and cracking eggs into small bowls, ready to drop into the broth when the time came. 

You were ready– hungry from the long day of work, and you moved your embroidery station with you to the kitchen island to watch him work his magic.

The broth itself was simmering away on the stove—rich and savory, filled with umami from the kombu and bonito flakes. The aroma of the dashi broth was deep and comforting, filling the studio with a sense of home. He planned to top the noodles with tempura flakes and the soft-boiled eggs, something simple yet satisfying.

When he placed the bowl of udon in front of you, he couldn’t help but notice the way your face lit up at the sight of it. You took a bite, your expression immediately melting into delight, and Bakugou felt a small surge of pride. "Good, right?" he muttered, though he already knew the answer.

Truthfully, he liked making things for you. Little things like this, moments where he could show you he was paying attention without having to say it outright. He watched you for another second, noticing the way your hair fell slightly over your face as you bent back down to work. A small part of him wanted to reach out, push it behind your ear, but he resisted the urge.

He didn’t say anything, just watched you from the kitchen as you savored each bite. He liked the way you got lost in simple pleasures, like food or a perfect stitch in your embroidery.

The two of you continued working late into the night, the quiet hum of the studio and the occasional clink of your tools the only sounds, aside from the slow, calming jazz. Normally, Bakugou would be in bed by now. He was strict with himself about that—sleep was important. But tonight, with you sitting across from him, your focus sharp and your hands moving quickly across the fabric, he didn’t care.

He watched you from his seat across the kitchen island, noting the way the soft light hit your face, highlighting the curve of your cheek and the furrow of your brow as you worked on your embroidery design. He couldn’t help it—his gaze drifted lower to your lips that you bit under your teeth during your focus. He swallowed hard and forced himself to look away, gripping his pencil a little tighter as he pretended to focus on his own designs.

But the truth was, he wasn’t working anymore. Not really. He was too busy trying not to think about the way you made his heart race, the way you fit so effortlessly into his space, as if you’d always been there. He let out a quiet breath, pushing the thoughts away again.

It wasn’t until much later, when the clock had long since passed his usual bedtime, that he realized you’d stopped moving. He glanced over, his chest tightening slightly when he saw that you’d fallen asleep right at the kitchen counter. Your head rested on your arms, soft breaths slipping from your lips as the work you’d been so focused on lay abandoned beside you.

For a moment, Bakugou just stood there, watching the rise and fall of your shoulders, the soft glow of the lights casting a golden halo around you. You looked peaceful, content. A sharp pang of something warm tugged at his chest, but he didn’t let himself dwell on it.

With a quiet sigh, he approached you, careful not to make any noise. Gently, he slipped one arm under your knees, the other around your back, and lifted you off the stool as if you weighed nothing at all. You stirred slightly but didn’t wake as he carried you down the hallway to the guest bedroom.

His footsteps were quiet, his movements careful, as he laid you down on the bed, pulling the blanket up to your chin. For a long moment, he stood there, watching you sleep, his heart doing a strange little dance in his chest.

Idiot, he thought to himself, running a hand through his hair. He shouldn’t let you get to him like this. But you did. Every damn time.

Bakugou turned off the light, leaving the door open just a crack, before heading back to the kitchen to clean up. His bed could wait a little longer.

a/n: first time posting smut, so i wanted to go easy and do just a lil taste to get some feedback. thoughts? taglist is open! stay hydrated, cuties <3

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[kkanabel]

caffeine addiction ❃ affogato ❃ chapter 12

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words: ~2.5k

The morning air was crisp and dewy, a subtle reminder that fall was just around the corner. You inhaled deeply, savoring the fleeting coolness before the sun’s sweltering afternoon heat would take over. The city still had a quiet hum to it, the kind that made you appreciate the earlier hours.

Bakugou had insisted that working at the café or shop today wasn’t safe given how the reporters and crowds were lurking. And while you weren’t thrilled about the attention, you weren’t complaining about the alternative. Today was going to be all about the two of you working on your fashion line, tucked away in his studio.

You found yourself at the door to Bakugou’s place after a short elevator ride, your hands slightly shaking from anticipation. The knock you gave was quick and confident, but when the door opened, your confidence wavered for a second. Bakugou stood there, freshly showered, his damp hair spiking in all directions– breath a tad heavier than usual. His black tank clung to him a little too well, the moisture accentuating the muscles underneath, and a pair of Kindeki sweatpants hung low on his hips, looking both casual and sinfully deliberate. Your eyes trailed down before you caught yourself, trying to play it off as casual.

He raised an eyebrow, amusement flickering across his eyes, but he didn’t mention your very obvious once-over. Instead, he greeted you in that signature gruff voice, “Mornin’.”

Stepping into his apartment, you were hit with the warm, inviting scent of caramelized sugar, coffee beans, and vanilla—like a comforting hug in the form of a smell. It was his usual scent, one that had grown increasingly familiar with all the time you spent together, but here, in his space, it felt more intimate.

You set down your sewing machine and bag, filled with your sketches and reference photos, next to the desk. The place was well-kept, unsurprisingly so. His studio was functional but had that lived-in feel—designs scattered across a large wooden desk, fabric swatches pinned to the wall, and sketches strewn about in what could only be described as organized chaos. 

The living room was an eclectic mix of industrial sharpness and cozy charm. Exposed brick walls ran along one side of the space, their rough texture highlighted by the shine of the early morning sun. Metal beams crisscrossed the ceiling, left raw and unpolished, giving the room an open, loft-like feel. However, the coolness of the steel and concrete was tempered by the plush, oversized furniture that invited you to sink into it.

A dark leather couch, worn and soft, sat against the wall, layered with knitted blankets and textured cushions in deep hues of charcoal, navy, and rust. The coffee table was made of reclaimed wood, its surface uneven and rich with character, resting on a patterned rug that added warmth to the tiled floor beneath. Potted plants dotted the room, their greenery adding a touch of life to the stark industrial palette, while soft throws draped over the armchairs brought a homely feel.

Steel-framed windows let in natural light, the large panes contrasting with the warmth of the space. Shelving units made of iron and wood lined the far wall, filled with books, framed photos, and magazine spreads of him and his family. It was the kind of space that felt lived-in yet refined, where you could sip coffee in the morning or work late into the night, all while feeling grounded by the balance between industrial edge and a cozy touch.

“Place looks good,” you remarked, trying to distract yourself from the way his presence filled the room.

“Tch, you talk like it’s some kind of miracle,” he scoffed, crossing the room to grab a binder filled with your joint designs. “I’m not a slob.”

You grinned, taking out your sketchpad and setting up your sewing machine and embroidery station. “Yeah, but you’ve got the reputation of a guy who only cleans when company’s coming over– with the way Mina always talks about you.” 

You both knew that Bakugou was a neat guy– his café is set up with precision for optimized efficiency and he cleans like a madman at any free moment.

He shot you a look, the kind that usually ended in a witty comeback, but instead, he just shrugged, lips quirking up slightly. “Maybe you’re just good company.”

You paused, caught off guard by the subtle warmth behind his words, but before you could respond, he handed you a sketch he’d been working on—a sleek, defined blazer with sharp lines and lapels inspired by Gothic architecture. “You’re overthinking the shoulders,” he commented, gesturing to your design of the same blazer. “See how this one balances out better?”

Your eyes flicked from his sketch to yours. His was undeniably cleaner, the proportions perfect. You tried to ignore the slight pang of frustration at how effortlessly he could refine what you’d been obsessing over for hours.

“Of course, it’s perfect,” you muttered, a hint of exasperation slipping into your tone. You weren't really mad, just envious of his natural skill. “You could probably design in your sleep.”

“Who says I don’t?” he teased, his smirk deepening as he nudged your arm with his elbow. “Maybe you’ll catch up one day.”

You rolled your eyes, ignoring the playful jab. “It’s infuriating how easily you get this stuff, you know?” It’s not like you couldn’t do it– the only issue is that Bakugou would be able to solve something you’d toil over. 

“Just means you’ve gotta work harder.” His voice dropped an octave, almost teasingly low, as he leaned closer. “But I like watching you try. It’s cute.”

There it was again, that casual flirtation that Bakugou slipped in so easily. The comment made your stomach flip, but you brushed it off with a scoff, pretending to focus on the embroidery sample you’d been working on. Your mind was reeling– It’s just his personality. Just his personality. Don’t take it personally. 

“You’re hilarious,” you said dryly, although the way your heart felt at the word cute wasn’t something you could ignore. You swallowed it down. “Now focus. We’ve got a lot to do.” 

“Bossy today, huh?” Bakugou muttered under his breath, but he was already moving to his desk, setting up his tablet to start working. The morning passed in a comfortable rhythm, the both of you occasionally bantering, occasionally lapsing into silence as you got lost in the design process.

You were designing another embroidery pattern inspired by the intricate framing of Gothic windows as you settled into Bakugou’s leather couch, the soft creak of the worn leather beneath you blending into the quiet hum of the room. The plush cushions sank slightly under your weight, molding to the shape of your body as you tucked your legs beneath you. Your brown flared leggings draped loosely around your legs, the fabric soft and easy against your skin. The way the material moved with you felt effortless, almost like a second skin—stretchy and smooth.

The white cardigan you wore was thin and light, slipping off one shoulder as you adjusted your position, revealing a glimpse of the delicate lace halter bralette underneath. The bralette’s intricate pattern contrasted softly against your skin, its gentle pressure keeping you comfortable, yet still adding a feminine touch. The lace peeked out in places as you leaned back, its texture subtle but eye-catching in its simplicity.

The warmth of the leather couch beneath you mingled with the cozy softness of your outfit, creating a sense of comfort and ease. Everything felt just right—your outfit, the couch, the quiet buzz of the day just beginning. It was a rare moment of calm before the work began, and you couldn’t help but sink deeper into the cushions with a relaxed sigh.

While Bakugou worked on refining the cuts of the other designs. You’d toss him a design and he’d give you a snarky critique, sometimes even fixing it right in front of you, much to your annoyance.

After a while of working on your embroidery, you leaned back on the couch with a sigh. Your fingers ached from the delicate, repetitive movements, and the sweet pull of sleep tugged at your heavy eyelids. Each blink felt longer than the last, your body begging for rest as you absentmindedly traced the soft texture of the fabric. Slowly, you began to doze off.

Bakugou stood up from his spot at the table, stretching with a hand on his hip. “Coffee?” he asked gruffly, though the slight quirk of his brow told you he already knew your answer. Without waiting for a reply, he was already making his way toward the kitchen.

You watched through half-lidded eyes as he opened the freezer, retrieving a small container before scooping its contents into a wide-rimmed glass mug. Curious, you sat up a little straighter, the enticing scent of freshly brewed espresso filling the air. Your mouth watered as he placed the mug beneath the coffee machine and the dark, rich liquid began to pour over the creamy white scoop nestled inside.

Bakugou brought the creation over, setting it down in front of you with a spoon. An affogato. Your eyes lit up with excitement at the sight. The velvety scoop of clearly homemade vanilla bean ice cream was already melting slightly around the edges, creating swirling patterns as it merged with the hot espresso. The contrast between the dark, rich coffee and the pale ice cream was mouthwatering.

You dipped your spoon in and took your first bite, the sensation immediately overwhelming your senses. The espresso was bold and slightly bitter, its warmth cutting through the cold sweetness of the ice cream, which had begun to soften into a creamy, marshmallow-like texture. The vanilla bean was fragrant and delicate, adding a floral note that lingered pleasantly on your tongue. The combination was pure bliss—the icy smoothness of the ice cream paired perfectly with the deep, roasted flavor of the coffee. Each bite was a harmony of hot and cold, sweet and bitter, airy and rich.

You let out an involuntary moan as you melted into the couch, savoring every spoonful. “Oh my God,” you breathed, barely managing to speak through your delight. The affogato was divine, like a dessert straight from heaven.

Bakugou leaned against the counter, watching you with a satisfied smirk. “Good?” he asked, though from the way you were nearly collapsing into the cushions, he didn’t need an answer. 

Suddenly, inspiration hit you like a lightning bolt. With the last spoonful of affogato melting on your tongue, a lightbulb practically flickered on in your mind. You slapped your hand over your mouth, eyes wide with disbelief at how obvious it all seemed now. “We’re both idiots!” you exclaimed, your voice muffled behind your hand.

Bakugou looked up from his own work, brow furrowing. “What the hell are you talkin’ about?” He dropped what he was doing and made his way over to you, plopping down next to you on the leather couch as you frantically pulled your laptop out of your bag.

Your fingers flew across the keys as you pulled up images of the Gothic architecture you’d been referencing for weeks—the ornate rib vaults, pointed arches, and intricate stained glass windows. “Gold and silver embroidery,” you said breathlessly, the excitement evident in your voice. You angled the screen toward Bakugou, showing him sketches of gowns and suits adorned with metallic threads. “Think about it—Gothic cathedrals were all about grandeur and detail. The way light hits stained glass, the way everything’s so meticulously crafted. Gold and silver embroidery would reflect that same kind of decadence and precision. It’s so thematic!” 

You zoomed in on an image of a Gothic altar, the golden details catching the light in a way that felt almost divine. “It’s not just about looking elegant—it’s also about mimicking the craftsmanship– goldwork was big back in the day. The way the light catches the metal threads in the same way light pours through the stained glass windows. It’s perfect for our line. Decadent, but refined.” 

Bakugou leaned in closer, red eyes narrowing as he studied the screen. For a second, he didn’t say anything, just absorbed the images and ideas you were presenting. But then, a slow, approving smirk spread across his face. “Shit,” he muttered under his breath, leaning back and crossing his arms. “That’s actually genius.”

His approval only fueled your enthusiasm as you continued, gesturing with your hands as you spoke. “We could integrate the gold and silver threads into specific areas—lapels, cuffs, around the shoulders. Think about those sharp, dramatic silhouettes we’ve been working on, accented with embroidery that looks like it's straight from a cathedral. It’ll give that structured look a rich, almost regal feel, without being too over the top.” You instantly start typing up a few suppliers you know to place sample orders.

Bakugou’s eyes flickered with interest as he imagined it. “Yeah, like addin’ the metallics to the seams of those sharp-shouldered blazers or down the length of a pencil skirt. Keep it sleek, but add that intricate detail to pull everything together.”

You nodded enthusiastically. “Exactly! We can use silver threads for cooler tones—like the deep plums and midnight blues—and gold for warmer ones—like reds and blacks. It’ll bring out the richness of the fabrics while still being subtle enough to keep it business formal.”

Bakugou’s smirk widened as he leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees as he met your eyes. “You really thought this through, huh? Can’t believe we didn’t think of this sooner.”

You grinned, feeling the rush of creativity and caffeine flood your system. “I guess we just needed an affogato-induced epiphany.”

He let out a low chuckle, shaking his head. “Looks like I’m gonna need to make more of those if this is the kinda shit you come up with after.”

With renewed energy, you both dove back into your work, sketching and reworking your designs to incorporate the metallic threads. The idea of stitching precious metals into the seams of your garments felt like the missing piece. It was bold, dramatic—just like the Gothic architecture that had inspired your entire collection—and yet it still fit within the world of cloth. 

“Gold embroidery on the dress shirt collars,” Bakugou suggested, pointing at one of his sketches. “Keep it simple, but let it catch the light when people move.”

You nodded, already envisioning how the threads would shimmer subtly, adding just the right amount of elegance. “And silver along the hems of the trousers. It’ll look like the light’s dancing along the fabric.”

Bakugou leaned back again, the satisfaction clear in his expression. “This is gonna be big. No one else is doin’ shit like this nowadays.”

You smiled, feeling the excitement bubble in your chest. “We’re about to turn this industry on its damn head.”

a/n: taglist is open~ please consider reposting/liking if you enjoyed my writing! stay hydrated, folks!

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[kkanabel]

caffeine addiction - chapter 11

Bakugou Katsuki x Reader / Coffee Shop! + Fashion? AU

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words: ~2.8k

One espresso shot at a time turned into three shots of espresso at a time, but it was all being downed by you. Both you and Bakugou were currently in the back room of the Kindeki store next door for your daily work after your shift at the coffee shop, which Bakugou had to hire more employees for. The coffee shop was currently bustling– next door was loud and filled with chatter of something along the lines of “When will they be back?”

The cork boards on the walls were covered from top to bottom in a spread of photos of Gothic Architecture– rib vaults, flying buttresses, and elaborate tracery all framing stained glass windows. Papers with designs, patterns, and sketches were sprawled all over the mahogany desks. A couple of these papers had coffee stains on them. Bakugou leaned back in his chair with a sigh, flinching when the pencil tucked behind his ear fell behind him onto the polished marble ground with a thunk. You drank the last of your iced espresso shot before picking up the fallen pencil and placing your sketchpad onto Bakugou’s brown corduroy-clad lap. 

Bakugou in his zone was truly something to admire. He wore blue light glasses when researching online to reduce strain in his eyes, but did they suit him well. It was a blessing to see him in these moments– all focused while sketching up a storm– pencil lead all over his fingers from blending the graphite onto the paper. “Dramatic, but not overwhelming…” He’d mutter while taking a picture from the cork board and using it as a reference for a pair of pants. Each stroke of his pencil was so easy and well-practiced, making it look easy. He could transform something from his mind onto paper and then fabric like it was made for him– and it was. Red eyes narrowed in on a small imperfection on the paper, and it would disappear like it never existed. 

The entire day was filled with espresso shot after the other– and after that were your brainstorming sessions with Bakugou. Deep plums and jewel tones paired with blacks and grays offset with metallics filled the room along with intricate lace that you spent days designing yourself. The room was filled with a litany of different cloths and fabrics– some stiff and some flowy. Combining luxurious, draping fabrics with strong silhouettes that emphasize shoulders, cinched waists, and long, flowing elements reminiscent of Gothic cathedrals’ towering height with intricate embroidery mimicking Gothic rose windows and lace patterns that resemble wrought-iron gates.

You work on embroidery that mimics the stained glass windows of 12th century cathedrals, ensuring symmetry in the embroidery and a touch of asymmetry in the silhouette to imitate the cathedral as a whole. You’re planning on putting actual pieces of glass onto the dress’ corset later.

You take a step back and stand over the desk, arms crossed, eyeing the latest design Bakugou just sketched out. The jacket’s sharp, angular lines mimic the Gothic arches you’ve been obsessing over for weeks, but something feels off. “It’s too… aggressive,” you say, tilting your head. “We’re going for structured, but this feels like it’s about to stab someone.” “Tch. It’s Gothic. It’s supposed to look like it could stab someone,” Bakugou retorts, leaning back in his chair with a smirk. “You said ‘sharp,’ and that’s what you’re getting.” Rolling your eyes, you grab the pencil from his hand and start redrawing the shoulder lines, softening the angles just slightly. “I meant sharp in a stylish way. Not like... this is going to start a fight in the conference room.” Bakugou snorts, watching you make adjustments. “Isn’t that the whole point of fashion? Making people talk, starting shit?”

You pause for a moment, considering his words. “Okay, maybe. But I want them to talk about how good it looks, not how dangerous it is to wear.” “Some people like danger,” he quips, raising an eyebrow at you with a dangerous smirk playing on his lips. “Maybe you’re just scared to take risks.” “Risks?” You turn to him with a raised brow. “I’m the one embroidering literal stained glass into a dress. If anything, you’re the one playing it safe.” Bakugou leans in a little, his red eyes glinting with amusement. “Oh, yeah? I’d say I’m taking a pretty big risk working with someone who can’t even keep up with me.” You backup a little and scoff, ignoring the way your heart clenches at his teasing tone. “Please. I’m doing the hard part here. You just scribble a couple lines and call it a day.” His toothy grin widens, and he nudges the sketchpad toward you. “If it’s so easy, why don’t you do the pants, too?”

“Because I’m not trying to show off like you,” you say, pushing the pad back at him. “But if you need my help, just say the word.” Bakugou chuckles lowly. “Help? You wish. You just wanna see me sweat.” His eyes flit down to your lower face for a split second. You blink, not catching the double meaning in his words. “What? No, I just… ugh, whatever. Just finish the damn pants.” You check a nearby mirror to make sure you don’t have anything in your teeth– why was he looking there? He leans back, folding his arms behind his head, watching as you turn back to your embroidery. “You’re cute when you get all flustered.” “Flustered?” you mutter, not really paying attention. “I’m not flustered. I’m just trying to fix your mess.”

Bakugou chuckles again, the sound low and teasing. “Whatever you say, princess.” You pause but brush it off, assuming he’s just being his usual cocky self. “Just focus, Bakugou. I don’t want to be stuck here all night.” He smirks to himself, watching you concentrate on the embroidery, completely oblivious to the small ways he’s been trying to get under your skin. “Yeah, yeah. But don’t worry—you’re not getting rid of me that easily.” Rolling your eyes, you get back to work at your station. Your fingers glide over luxurious fabric, testing the weight, the drape. The wool you chose for the structured blazer clings to your fingertips, sturdy yet pliant under your touch. "It's still missing something," you mumble, tracing a pattern you’ve yet to commit to paper. Beside you, Bakugou furrows his brow, lost in his sketchbook, muttering half-formed ideas. The soft scratch of his pencil across the page fills the air, almost rhythmic, like a second heartbeat in the room. “Do you think we need a stronger contrast here?” you ask, holding up a swatch of deep plum silk next to the black jacquard fabric that’s been frustrating you all day.

He glances up, blue light glasses sliding down his nose. “It’ll look washed out. Try a metallics to bring out the color,” he suggests, eyes flicking back down to his sketch without waiting for a response. It’s so casual, so assured. He doesn’t doubt himself—not for a second—and the way his hands move from sketch to reference, it’s infuriating how easily his mind works through these problems.

Meanwhile, your sketchbook is a mess of crossed-out lines and question marks, drafts discarded before they even make it to the final page. You flip through your notes, eyeing the reference photos pinned to the corkboard. Flying buttresses and towering arches loom in the background, begging to be translated into the clean lines of a suit or a dress.

“I think I’ve got it.” You grab your sketchpad, pulling it back onto your lap. Sharp, structured lines—just like pointed arches—make their way onto the page. Your pencil flies, inspired. “This! Like pointed arches! Sharp, structured, but with curves!” you exclaim, waving the sketch in Bakugou’s direction.

He stops long enough to glance over. “Not bad,” he grunts, but his fingers twitch toward your sketchpad. “Let me fix the angle here. And you need a stronger taper at the waist.” Before you can protest, he’s taken your design and made a few deft adjustments that somehow elevate the whole thing.

You watch in begrudging admiration as he perfects it effortlessly. Each stroke of his pencil adds depth, structure—it's flawless, and somehow, irritatingly so. There’s no denying it: Bakugou was born to do this. 

You bite back the jealousy that nags at you, pushing yourself to sketch with renewed vigor. The stakes are high, and you’re not about to let him outshine you. Not when this collection—the fusion of Gothic splendor and cutting-edge business fashion—is yours just as much as his. 

Your hand flies across the pages, the scratches of the pencil against paper mixed with the trills of music sung in Middle English to truly encapsulate the feeling of the medieval architecture you were emulating on paper. 

Your hand cramps as you set the pencil down, finally satisfied with the latest design. The blazer dress, now meticulously sketched out with pointed arches forming elegant, sharp lapels, lies sprawled on the desk between the two of you. Bakugou leans back in his chair, one arm draped over the backrest, surveying his sketches with a critical eye.

“Looks like we’ve nailed the structure,” he mutters, running a hand through his hair, which has grown messy from hours of working in silence. You nod, rubbing at your temples, the espresso shots from earlier starting to wear off. Just as you’re about to suggest a break, Bakugou’s phone lights up on the desk, buzzing incessantly. At first, he ignores it—he's been too immersed in perfecting the collection to care about any distractions. But the buzzing doesn't stop.

He frowns, picking up the phone. You can tell from the sudden tension in his jaw that something’s up.

“What is it?” you ask, stretching your arms over your head.

“Tch. It’s my mom.” Bakugou’s expression shifts from mild annoyance to a mixture of confusion and disbelief as he scans through the string of notifications. He scrolls for a moment, and then his phone buzzes again, this time with a notification from the Masaki store’s account.

He glances up at you, his red eyes sharp. “Check your phone.”

A sense of unease curls in your stomach as you reach for your own device. The moment you unlock it, you see it—another flood of Instagram notifications, messages, and emails. All your social media apps are practically screaming for your attention. You swipe to your email, eyes widening as you scroll through the dozens—no, thousands—of pre-order confirmations. The Kindeki PR team has emailed you countless times– along with dozens of journalists asking for an interview.

“What the hell…” you whisper under your breath.

The notifications are relentless, and when you switch to Instagram, you finally understand. The Masaki Official account has posted the photo—the one from the café. The picture of you and Bakugou, mid-laugh, caught in a candid moment of camaraderie and partnership and… something else. The caption is simple but effective: “Fashion royalty at work. Coming soon: Masa x Kin x Deki collection.”

Your jaw drops as you read the comments beneath the photo.

“CUTEST COUPLE”

“fashion royalty fr… they a couple tho??”

“take all my money NOW.”

You scroll down further, but the app glitches momentarily, overwhelmed by the sheer volume of activity. Your phone buzzes again, but it’s Bakugou who breaks the silence first, reading from an email: “Sales are up by 65%. Pre-orders are through the roof.” You look up at him, wide-eyed, but he’s already dialing his mom. “Oi, what the hell did you post?” From behind you, another notification dings: Kindeki (aka your precious aunt) has just uploaded a behind-the-scenes video on the store’s Instagram. In the background, you hear a familiar cackle from Bakugou’s mom. You glance over at Bakugou, who catches your expression with an eye roll. “Looks like we’re not done yet.”

The clang of the last chair being stacked on the table echoed through the empty café, a quiet contrast to the buzzing streetlights outside. The Kindeki shop was already locked, but you followed Bakugou to his café to close. You yawned, rubbing your eyes as you pulled down the metal shutter halfway. The day had been long—filled with both customers and creativity. Bakugou was wiping down the counter, his movements deliberate, but you could see the tension in his shoulders. The quiet was almost comforting after the frenzy of the day. “I’ll lock up,” Bakugou grunted, grabbing the keys from the hook. You nodded, moving to flip off the last few lights when suddenly, the distinct murmur of voices outside the window grew louder. You froze, glancing toward the front of the café. You swore you saw a flash of light from outside the shop for a split second.

“Bakugou… what’s that?” you asked cautiously, squinting through the glass door. He moved past you, standing close enough for you to catch the heat radiating off him as he squinted out into the street. A low grunt rumbled in his throat, and you followed his gaze. Outside, you could see them—reporters, camera flashes lighting up the dusk, a couple of people holding phones up, trying to capture any glimpse of movement inside. The soft murmur had turned into a low buzz of voices and questions being thrown into the air. “Great,” you muttered, “exactly what we need.” “Tch, of course they’d show up now.” Bakugou rolled his eyes, glaring at the crowd. “Stupid vultures.” He crossed his arms, muscles tensing as he glanced over at you. “Stay behind me.” He moved toward the door, his hand clenching around the keyring in his palm, eyes narrowed like he was already considering breaking some cameras. “Are we seriously doing this?” you asked, following him but keeping a slight distance. The last thing you wanted was your face on a hundred Instagram stories and all over news articles.

Bakugou glanced over his shoulder, his lips curving into a smirk. “What, scared of a little attention? You’re the one who wanted to be in fashion, remember?” You rolled your eyes, biting back a retort as he unlocked the door just enough to speak through the crack. “Shop’s closed,” he barked at the crowd, voice low but sharp enough to cut through the noise. “Bakugou! Are you and her working on a new line together?” “What’s the inspiration for the upcoming season?” “Any truth to the rumors about your relationship?” You winced at the last question. Bakugou’s scowl deepened. “Back off,” he growled. “Get a damn life.” He slammed the door shut, locking it in one swift motion before turning to you. “We’re getting out of here.” You blinked. “And how, exactly, are we going to do that? They’re right outside.” His smirk widened, mischief dancing in his crimson eyes. “There’s two back exits, genius. You think I don’t plan for this kinda crap?”

Without waiting for a response, he grabbed your wrist and tugged you along. The café lights dimmed behind you as he led you through the narrow hallway toward the back door. The sound of your footsteps echoed softly, mingling with the faint buzz of reporters still stationed outside. Once outside, Bakugou paused, glancing around before pulling you along again. The back alley was empty, the cool night air brushing against your skin as the two of you hurried through the narrow path. The distant hum of the city faded slightly, replaced by the more familiar sounds of your breathing and Bakugou’s muttered complaints about the reporters. You exhaled in relief as you made it a few blocks away, the noise fading. ��Guess we’re a hot topic now, huh?” Bakugou’s voice was teasing, but there was an undercurrent of pride in it. You shot him a look, shaking your head. “I didn’t sign up for this level of attention.” He shrugged, smirking as he crossed his arms. “Too late, princess. Fame comes with a price.” There was a glint of amusement in his eyes as he added, “You better get used to it.”

You were about to retort when you felt the heat of his gaze settle on you, a little too heavy, a little too intense. He took a step closer, just enough for you to notice the way his eyes lingered on yours, something unreadable in them. Before you could say anything, he dropped the teasing smirk and muttered, “I’ll protect you from those vultures. Grew up with it. But don’t expect me to be this nice all the time.” You blinked, caught off guard by the sudden softness in his voice. He turned and started walking ahead before you could respond, leaving you standing there, heart fluttering slightly as you tried to make sense of the tension in the air. “Come on,” he called over his shoulder, “we’ve got work to do tomorrow.” And just like that, the moment was gone, leaving you wondering how Bakugou could make your heart race with just a few words. As the two of you walked side by side, the city lights flickering above, you couldn’t help but glance at him, a small smile tugging at your lips.

a/n: we're back!

lol not beta read again please let me know if you see any typos or anything that's just like. wrong.

i had a looooot of trouble with writing this chapter bc describing clothing aint my best suit, but we're workin on it (thats why im writing this fic in the first place tbh) :> also, my taglist is open! thank you to @itztaki for being the first LOL-- just message me or comment on this if you'd like to be added!

thank you for reading & stay hydrated, y'all <3

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[kkanabel]

Hi! I stumbled upon your social media fic and I'm quite in love with it tbh. Your writing is really great, plus the social media bits is also really well made! I'm wondering if you're still continuing the fic?

hi there!! i apologize for replying late (lmao i never expected anybody to actually contact me-- thank you <3) buuuut i am planning on continuing it! the only issue is that i'm planning on hand drawing some stuff for the next chapter, so it's pretty labor-intensive (even tho even a regular post for this smau is quite laborious as it is)

sooo it'll be a while until i can post for the smau again, sadly </3

on top of that, i don't really know how the tumblr algorithm works, so getting my fic out there has been kinda hard lmao

anybody got any tips?

[kkanabel]

HUMUNA HUMUNA HUMUNA CREATIVITY JUICE, COME TO ME </3

This is the magic lucky word count. Reblog for creativity juice. It might even work, who knows.

[kkanabel]

caffeine addiction - chapter 10 Bakugou Katsuki x Reader / Coffee Shop! AU

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words: ~2.1k

The morning started like any other. The smell of roasted coffee beans mingle with the hum of the espresso machine, and you find yourself in the usual rhythm of the café. Bakugou is already there, moving with precision and intensity, his focus unbreakable. The door chimes as the first few customers trickle in, and you brace yourself for the morning rush.

But today is different. As you step behind the counter, you notice the line snaking out the door, far longer than usual. The cold winter air rushes in. The chatter among the customers seems louder and more excited. 

You catch snippets of conversation, your name, and Bakugou’s name mentioned alongside words like “photo” and “Instagram”, but you don’t think much of it because they were probably just talking about their drinks. Each drink handed out was beautiful. You've been learning latté art recently from Bakugou during slower times, and each drink was topped off with a cute little heart (the only design you could do consistently thus far). Your phone buzzes in your pocket, but there’s no time to check. You and Bakugou exchange a quick glance, a silent acknowledgment of the chaos that’s about to ensue. The orders start pouring in, and you dive into action, your hands moving on autopilot as you steam milk and pull espresso shots as you go back and forth from the register to take orders and back to the espresso machine. 

“Two cappuccinos with an extra shot, an oat latte, and a soy matcha latte,” you call out, trying to keep your voice steady over the chatter of customers. Bakugou is at the machine, muscles flexing as he works with the kind of fierce determination that only he possesses. He works like a machine himself, but with an experienced and almost effortless flow– like a long-time painter with a paint brush. The sight of him focused, brows furrowed in concentration, is almost enough to make you forget the insanity around you.

Almost.

The crowd is buzzing with energy, and you can feel eyes on you, watching your every move. You catch a few people glancing at their phones, then back at you, their whispers making your skin prickle. But there’s no time to dwell on it. A milk frother screeches, bringing you back to the task at hand. The pace is relentless, and you find yourself moving faster than you thought possible, coordinating with Bakugou in a well-practiced dance. Whenever you worked with him, things felt like they moved so much faster and much better. Part of it was the fact that Bakugou was insanely good at what he did, but also because he was amazing as a team leader.

“Order for Hinata!” Bakugou’s voice cuts through the noise, rough but steady. He slides a tray of drinks toward you, and you grab it, balancing it precariously as you make your way to the counter.

You drank too much caffeine. Your hands shake as they hold the tray. Some lemonade spills onto your wrists as you move, but you ignore it in favor of running over to the cash register to take the order of the college students at the front. Your arms have never been so sticky. There is whipped cream on your elbow that is slowly drying and crusting up– it feels disgusting every time you bend your elbow even a little. But it doesn’t matter- there are people waiting on their drinks, and Bakugou is moving at the speed of light. If you don’t keep up with him, there’s no more free coffee for you…

The line seems never-ending, and the café is hotter than usual, the combination of bodies and boiling water creating a stifling atmosphere despite the cold weather. You swipe at a bead of sweat trickling down your temple with your sleeve, barely noticing the way customers’ gazes linger on you and Bakugou. There’s a thrill to it, a rush that has nothing to do with caffeine and everything to do with the shared goal of surviving this madness. Well– given that you’ve been chugging espresso, it might have a little to do with caffeine.

The entire place is already full, and there are even people filling up all the outside seats. Luckily, Ashido was supposed to be coming at any momen-

“I’m here!” A chipper and breathless voice calls out, and you look at the girl who’s frantically tying an apron behind her back before instantly getting to work, stationing herself at the espresso machine. Because she’s making drinks, you can now focus on cleaning up the store and helping all the customers at the register. You weren’t able to clean the place for about four hours, and it was driving you insane. There were a couple crumbs and pieces of trash just on the ground, but you couldn’t move from the espresso machine or the register before– there were just too many people and not enough hands. 

Bakugou sees you picking up the broom and he blocks you from moving by clutching the broom and pan. “Hey. Go take your break.”

You look at him with a bewildered expression. “I’ll just clean up first. There’s this one straw on the ground and it’s driving me-” 

He furrows his eyebrows and grabs the broom and pan from your hands before very swiftly cleaning up the store himself, sweeping up the straw you were talking about and more. You shrug and grab a rag to wipe up a table that a group just left, but he groans- “Take a break. You’ve been working since opening. Go.” As of this point, he is grabbing your palm mid-wipe and pulls the rag from under your hand. He puts both his hands on your shoulders, turns you around, and pushes you towards the back of the café. 

Deciding to give up for now, you pick up your leftover americano on the counter when Bakugou gives you a death stare. “No more caffeine. You’re shaking.” And Ashido takes your drink and chugs it, a mischievous smile on her face, tossing the mug into the nearby simk. 

You frowned. Bakugou should be the one taking a break. He’s been going at it for longer than you have, but he just grounded you. Either way, you still settle down. Finally getting a moment to yourself, you slip behind the counter where the customers can't see you. Your coworkers give you a nod, knowing you need the break. The rush has finally died down a bit, but the café is still buzzing with energy. You sit down on a small stool and pull out your phone, feeling its weight in your hand as it buzzes incessantly.

Taking a deep breath, you unlock it and your screen floods with notifications. Instagram, messages, missed calls from your aunt and from Mitsuki. You haven’t had a chance to check anything since you started your shift. As you start scrolling through the chaos, you catch bits of conversation from the nearby tables.

“Wow, they're honestly even more gorgeous in person,” a young woman’s voice says, excitement clear in her tone.

“Right? And how come people who look like that–” she pauses for dramatic effect “--and are the children of extremely famous fashion designers working at a random café?” her friend responds, sounding just as awestruck.

You feel a knot forming in your stomach as their words sink in. You glance around the corner, seeing the two customers who are clearly talking about you and Bakugou. They’re both glued to their phones, no doubt looking at the photo that’s gone viral and showing each other photos that they secretly took of the two of you.

Your phone buzzes again, and you turn your attention back to it. Opening Instagram, your heart skips a beat. The notifications are endless. Thousands of follow requests and DMs. Your finger hovers over the notification tab, and you brace yourself as you tap it.

The first thing you see is the Masaki Official Instagram post. There it is, the photo of you and Bakugou, looking effortlessly chic in Masaki’s latest designs. The caption reads, "Fashion runs in their blood, and it shows." Even though Mitsuki didn't tag your personal accounts, it didn’t take long for people to find you.

You scroll through the comments, heart pounding.

“They’re perfect together! They’re like fashion royalty!” one comment reads.

“Nepotism?” says another.

The likes and shares are through the roof, and as you swipe through, you see countless news articles already picking up the story. Headlines like “Fashion Heirs Turned Caf�� Workers: The Viral Sensation” with photos of the two of you working at the café and “Bakugou and (Y/N): From Runways to Real Life” fill your screen. Fans have started creating fan art and memes, some depicting you and Bakugou as literal royalty in the fashion world. It’s brought hundreds of people who were never into fashion into making memes and thirsting over you and Bakugou.

“That jawline can cut me any day and I’d thank him,” a post read, making you hold in a choked laugh that earns you a look from the man in question.

“This lady straight up looks like she came from the heavens and she’s serving people coffee? I’ve gotta visit this place..” another post says with an edit of the viral photo. They had cropped out Bakugou and put emoji hearts and effects all over your face.

You let out a slow breath, trying to process it all. Your phone buzzes again, and you glance at it. More follow requests, more messages. It’s overwhelming.

As you sit there, lost in the sea of notifications, you don’t notice the young man who’s been sitting at a table near the counter, stealing glances your way. He’s been there for a while, nursing a cup of coffee and pretending to study. 

When you finish your break with a sandwich that Bakugou packed, you step back up to the register to clock back in and take an order. The young man sitting at the table finally gathers the courage to approach you, standing behind the customer that you just finished speaking to.

“Um, hey,” he says, a little nervously. You look up at a guy slightly taller than you sporting a shy smile.

“Hi,” you reply, managing a small smile despite the whirlwind in your mind.

“I, uh, I couldn’t help but notice you,” he stammers, glancing back at his table as if seeking some moral support from his abandoned textbooks. “You and Bakugou… Are you guys, like, together?”

The question catches you off guard. “No, we’re not,” you say quickly, shaking your head.

“Oh,” he says, his face brightening. “That’s good to know. I mean, not that it’s bad if you were. It’s just… would it be okay if I got your number? I just… I thought you were kind of cute and I-”

Before he can continue, you notice Bakugou behind the counter, his eyes fixed on the young man. There’s a hardness in his gaze, an edge that you can’t place your finger on. The guy follows your glance and freezes under Bakugou’s intense stare.

“Uh, actually, never mind,” he mumbles, backing away quickly. “I should probably get back to studying.”

You watch, confused, as he practically scurries back to his seat. You turn to Bakugou, raising an eyebrow. “What was that about?”

“I’d prefer no workplace flirting,” Bakugou grunts, turning his attention back to the espresso machine, his movements a bit more forceful than necessary.

You chuckle softly. You stand up, smoothing out your apron. The break is over, and it’s time to get back to work. The café is still busy, the energy from the earlier rush still lingering in the air. As you step back into the fray, you can’t help but feel a mix of excitement and apprehension.

This unexpected fame is overwhelming, but there’s a small part of you that’s thrilled by it. The attention means more eyes on your work, more recognition for the line you’ve poured your heart into.

As you move through the café, you catch bits of conversations, more whispers about the photo, the viral fame, and the sudden spotlight. You and Bakugou might not have asked for this, but you’re ready to embrace it, ambitious and determined to make the most of this unexpected turn. Free marketing.

And as for the guy who asked for your number? You can’t help but smile, wondering if he’ll ever muster up the courage again. Either way, you couldn’t lead him on knowing that work was currently more important to you. For now, you’ve got drinks to make and a whirlwind to navigate, one espresso shot at a time.

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[kkanabel]

caffeine addiction - chapter 9 Bakugou Katsuki x Reader / Coffee Shop! AU

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words: ~1.5k

You rose before the sun did; the air was still chilled with dew and the streetlights were reflecting light off of the streets. It sucked– making yourself look like a functioning being as soon as you woke up. It was a small price to pay for your mornings, however. These mornings were fresh, calming, and slow. The air always seemed cleaner in the morning.

 You ensured your hair was out of your face, wore simple anti-slip shoes, and clothes that were easy to move in. You didn’t bother with full makeup today. You put on enough to ensure you didn’t look fully dead. 

But the first breath of air you took as soon as you stepped outside your apartment was always the best. The slight nip of the winter air bit at your nose as you started your walk. You took it slow. There was no need to rush.

But your mind was frazzled. As soon as you’d arrived at your destination, you had drank a cup of coffee and you finished setting up for the day. Yet, you sat at the counter with your mind in a foggy haze. 

“Hm. The lights look pretty. It’s still so dark outside.”

The jazzy lofi playing in the background was a great addition to the aesthetics of the place, but you just blinked, staring into the abyss while your brain felt as if it were hollow. The deep beats of the music melded into your thoughts. It slowly started to drift into daydream, making up incoherent thoughts and ideas. Thoughts about food and thoughts about what your dream was last night. Was it something with unicorns and bologna? Or was it a pony and bologna?

Wait, does that rhyme? Pony? Bologna? What…

Your vision blurred and you were in a completely different world. Time seemed like it didn’t pass while your mind drifted into space onto a cloud of murky thoughts. You sat slouched on the stool as your brain drifted far away. But your posture didn’t matter at the moment. You weren’t even going to open for another ten minutes, but you still took in a deep breath of the aromatic coffee scent in the air that you’d become so accustomed to. 

“Ehhh…” you groaned like a zombie. You didn’t even realize you’d made that noise out loud until from behind you, a guy made a “tsk” noise and dropped a paper bag in front of you. You stirred from the crinkle of the bag and blinked back into focus. “Hm?” 

You looked at the man who’d just snapped you out of your trance, and he stared at you with an annoyed look. “Grabbed some croissants from Starbucks . ‘Said you liked ‘em on the chat, so here.” The blonde grumbled at you before turning around to grab his mug and slowly sip at his espresso.

You were on autopilot mode while helping him open today. It was officially the last day of your training, so you were caught up to speed with everything. You weren’t even functioning enough for you to deny or question the croissant out of politeness, so you just picked up the bag and let the smell of the fresh pastry absorb into your mind while looking at the layers of the croissant and listening to Bakugou’s footsteps behind you. 

You took a moment to breathe in its doughy, slightly sweet scent before taking a bite.

It was buttery, crispy, and soft all at the same time. It was heavenly. You mindlessly ate it until you got to the end, crumbs all over your mouth. The croissant was even better with your espresso con panna. 

Just a bit more time before the café opens. 

When you finished your croissant, you were finally back to reality. “Mm. It was delicious. Thanks, Bakugou-kun.”

The hours were really flexible. You’ve worked at a café in the past but left because the management was horrible. But here? Bakugou gets you breakfast everyday (great employee treatment), paid breaks, pretty good hourly wage, and free unlimited drinks! Goodness, the benefits are almost better than your nepotism-baby job over at the new boutique. 

You come on days when you don’t have class. You’re in for the opening shift, but Bakugou finishes most of the things that are needed to open before you can even start.

With your mind cleared a bit from its haze, you made yourself an americano for more caffeine. Bakugou eyes you for a second, making sure you weren’t making too much. He tries to keep an eye on your caffeine consumption so that you don’t have a heart attack mid-shift. You don’t notice the way Bakugou’s eyes linger on your face for a little too long. You’re too focused on the smell of the freshly brewed espresso for your americano.

After preparing a mug with ice and water, you gently pour the espresso over it and bask in the flavor, letting it seep into your bones. You felt the caffeine coursing through your veins.

But your dazedness was contagious. As soon as you started coming back to reality, Bakugou started slipping out of it. He watches your carefully manicured hands shake as they move to pick up your mug of liquid death. You’ve already drank too much caffeine. He’s immediately anticipating the bout of anxiety that’ll pass over you for the next two hours. He’s going to need to cut you off soon, and it’s only been a couple hours. 

But just a couple more seconds…

The way your lips caress the edge of the mug makes him bite his lips. The sigh you released after a sip makes him mind blank. He’s never wanted to be a cup so badly in his entire life. The simple sight of your smaller hands wrapped around the mug makes him want to drown himself in you. He’s already dreading 11:30 am– the time you leave. 

Bakugou is ashamed to admit that he puts in a little (a lot) extra effort into his appearance on the certain days of the week that you come in for a shift before your shift at Kindeki’s boutique next door. He rolls up the sleeves on his silky black button-up, making sure his watch is strapped on his wrist correctly. He can smell a little bit of his cologne when he does this.

By this point, he’s only known you for two months, but his heart clenches every time he sees your face. It’s starting to physically hurt, even. 

When he realizes it’s starting to hurt, he quickly tears his gaze away from your form. 

—

“Hah? You wanna work here?” Bakugou asked, incredulous. A well-groomed eyebrow shot up his forehead, and his red eyes widened in genuine surprise. The gears in his head were turning so hard that it was almost visible. “Uhh… aren’t you already busy with other shit?” 

He peered down at your cheerful figure, wrapped in a puffer jacket and earmuffs rested around your neck. A cute Michelin man. 

“Well, I’ve got some commitments, but I’m going to work at the Kindeki boutique opening next door!” You beamed at him. He melted. “And I was thinking– wouldn’t it be good to multitask by working here and also working on that new line with you? So, on the days I don’t have class, I’ll be doing a shift here and then move next door.” 

The spiky-headed man (er- boy, with the way you were making him feel) didn’t know what to say. This girl is destroying herself. Isn’t that an insane amount of work? Shouldn’t you relax? It’s also way too attractive– the way you’re so focused on your goals. He doesn’t know whether he wants you to relax or not. After all, if you started working at this café… he’d be able to see the way those eyes of yours light up every time you were happy with the smallest of things. 

When you’d drink a sip of a drink he made for you.

When you’d come up with an idea for a new design.

When you’d find a ladybug on your finger. 

‘“Oh, and here’s my resume!” You handed him a folder with your resume neatly tucked into one of the pockets. He was going to hire you without a resume anyway, but he looked through the words on the paper and choked on his saliva.

Your qualifications were almost terrifying. “You’re hired.”

“W-Wait. No interview? I got ready and everything.” You frowned, gesturing to your pinstriped blazer that was resting on your shoulders.

“I already know what your work ethic is like. No need to explain it to me. What days ‘ya wanna work?”

And from then on, you found yourself working at Bakugou Katsuki’s café as the cute barista behind the counter that everybody gives their number to.

Just kidding.

Bakugou has been glaring off anybody who gives you so much as a second glance.

But either way, he knew he was more screwed when he started working with you more and more. There was too much to like about you.

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[kkanabel]

caffeine addiction - chapter 8 Bakugou Katsuki x Reader / Coffee Shop! AU

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words: ~3.8k

warnings: depictions of alc*hol abuse, mentions of death, mentions of drugs/drug use (?) idk yall, light angst

Your aunt was an interesting character. Kindeki Takumi, at the age of 27, decided to take over her late sister’s boutique shortly after she passed. The boutique was simple. It offered retail: high-quality clothes (from other manufacturers) and some complimentary tailoring services. 

After about a year, when Takumi got bored of repeating the same process of waking up, selling clothes, and occasionally tailoring them, she decided that it was time to expand the business. She rented out the place next door and started selling her own designs. Seeking to learn more about garment creation, she attended classes and fashion shows, inadvertently gaining relationships and knowledge in the luxury fashion industry. 

She’s visited almost every major city in the world to learn about their cultures, taking inspiration for her designs. This woman learned English, French, Italian, and Mandarin simply by visiting these countries to learn more about their individual fashions and therefore has friends around the world. These friends of hers only served to expand her business, as her fashion house grew alongside her popularity with others.

In only 19 years, she created a luxury fashion house worth almost 1 billion yen (~7M USD). Those in the industry call her both a creative and technical genius. The Kindeki brand as a whole is known for its efficient and beautiful designs. And it made sense– Kindeki Takumi centered her brand around who she was as a person. 

However, she wasn’t the only person who turned the brand into what it is today. Along with the inheritance of her sister’s boutique, she also found herself suddenly having to look over a three-year-old girl. 

Her sister’s husband was completely destroyed by his wife’s death. Takumi would go over to their house, only to see him drowning himself in vodka and his own tears, the house a complete mess. His three-year-old would be peacefully napping on the couch, fully unaware of her father breaking down next to her. When she woke up, her dad would cease his sobbing only to take care of the toddler, giving her weak smiles as his daughter kept asking where her mother went. 

After seeing the state that her brother-in-law was in, Takumi decided to help take care of the toddler so that he could take his time to properly mourn the love of his life. She recognized the new need for a mother figure in her niece’s life and tried her hardest to play the role so that her late sister wouldn’t have to worry in the world beyond. She wiped her tears away as she thought about it.

Kindeki Takumi brought the little girl to the boutique, a place the girl was already familiar with. These were the toughest days for Takumi, a woman completely new to parenting. The little girl ran around, playing with the clothes and messing up displays before Takumi was able to teach her to leave it be. She’d start crying and demanding to see her mother after Takumi tearily explained to her that her mom was gone . During these days, the young woman would hold her dear niece close as they both quietly wept in each other’s arms. 

However, things got easier as time passed.

By the time she turned six, the little girl was spending every weekend at the boutique, helping her aunt with the store– counting the till, taking inventory, and even setting up displays and mannequins. Around this point, Takumi started designing her own clothing– the process eased because her niece was able to mostly take care of herself. 

Sales were also easier. Sometimes, customers would be endeared to the smart little girl showing off clothes to them, telling them about the fabric blends and the trending styles for the new season. 

At the cashier, Takumi would be sketching her new designs. It was common for her to hear something along the lines of “I highee recommen this shirt. It is very cute wight now. Jennifuh Annison wore a dress just like dis on the carpet last week!” coming from her niece’s enthusiastic voice while the customer would giggle at her cuteness for a moment before agreeing with the little girl. Sometimes, the girl would want to try doing the sales portion in place of her aunt. She always looked up to her aunt, so she wanted to try it too. Somehow, it was a great sales tactic.

“Also, also! This design wight here will give the iwwusion of your waist looking smaller, if that’s what you like. Personawy, I think it’s da best we hab in our bootique right now! Da quality is unmatched!” The little girl’s voice was so cute, and her huge dedication to getting the sale was so adorable. People in the area talked about that one boutique with the six-year-old girl who’s amazing at sales . 

Takumi would teach the girl how to sew during these weekends, letting her see every single process of designing. After starting elementary school, she would come to the boutique after her classes with a notebook filled with the history of certain countries or different religions in bad handwriting. She’d cut out photos from tourist magazines and paste them all over her notebook, showing them to her aunt enthusiastically. 

She heard her aunt talking about “getting inspiration” from random places occasionally, so the girl wanted to give her aunt as much inspiration as possible. Frankly, though, the girl still didn’t really know what “inspiration” was. She just knew that it made her auntie happy, so she kept trying to give it to her.

Takumi’s first fashion show was dedicated to her niece, who showed her photos of certain regions in Morocco and their traditional clothing. This small presentation from niece to aunt was mostly filled with photos of Moroccan food, but it still encouraged Takumi to do some more research on Moroccan culture. The line ended up being highly influenced by traditional Moroccan culture and their ancient architecture from the Roman Empire. The accents of the pieces were all created in patterns that are typically on Moroccan pottery and plates. The dresses were tiered, showing the influence of the last-standing monarchial government in Northern Africa, and were designed in a way that showcased the highly migrative and colonizer-riddled history of the area. This was the line that caused Takumi’s brand to achieve notoriety, gaining investors and interest in the brand.

While the little girl’s initial interest was only in running the boutique (because she liked showing off her aunt’s designs to the customers), she later started to gain interest in creating designs of her own. While waiting for customers to come in, she’d be sketching in her notebook. Slowly, the girl was becoming more and more involved in the design of Kindeki’s pieces. In about a decade and a half, she’d be creating essentially half of the next fashion show. 

And this little girl is sitting in a café with her aunt, legs crossed as she waits for her drink to come out. 

The Marrochino

The Marrochino (pronounced mah-ro-kee-no) is typically served in a small glass and consists of a shot of espresso, chocolate syrup/sauce, cocoa powder, and milk froth. In Alba, Italy (the home of the Italian chocolate giant Ferrero), Nutella is used in place of the chocolate sauce. The name Marocchino, which is Italian for “Morroccan”, is derived from its color. Moroccan Leather was a type of light brown, high-quality leather commonly used in the 1930s.

While the drink is similar to the commonly-known Caffé Mocha, it does not have whipped cream and contains less milk, allowing you to fully taste the deeper flavors of the espresso along with the decadence of chocolate. Those who are fans of chocolate will love this caffeinated beverage. 

As the chocolate sauce is at the bottom, the Marrochino is served alongside a spoon, as it is essential to mix up the drink before enjoying. If you’d like something chocolaty with a caffeinated boost, the Marrochino is perfect for you!

This woman is the full definition–the essence– of the “rich and crazy aunt”, and you couldn’t wish for anything more. 

Today, you were wearing something a little more dressy than usual for your date with your aunt. Your stocking-covered legs were crossed, and a white linen napkin was placed on your lap. The café you were at was really fancy– it looked to be like some sort of upscale brunch place that doubled as a café. So, you wore a dark grey dress shirt (that was literally a dress) that was from your aunt’s brand. It had long sleeves that were cuffed at your wrists, and there was a cut-out heart detail, showing the bare skin on your sternum. This cut-out detail was framed by its massively exaggerated collar that added lots of drama to the whole look– it was a regular collar at the top, but the bottom of the collar was stretched out to frame your chest. 

You paired it with a black belt with eyelets and a very dramatic pair of black platform heels. The dress shirt alongside the accessories made you look classy, but also a little edgy. It was a great look on you. You felt confident walking through the streets today with your Masaki bag, watching as people gave you the “oh shit, it’s an attractive person but I can’t look too long or else it’s rude” look. 

Across from you was your aunt, who was still looking through the menu. She was always so indecisive, but she’d normally end up on the same dish anyway. When she sighed and put the menu down, you gave her a look. “Eggs benedict again?”

She nodded, defeatedly. 

The waiter came out to give you and your aunt your marocchinos and then asked for your order. “One Croque Madame and one Italian Eggs Benedict, please. Oh, and could you get me another one of these Marocchinos?” You glanced at your aunt to make sure it was the right order, and she nodded. 

When the Marocchino came out, it was much smaller than you expected. It looked like only one shot of espresso. Even though you were trying to take a break from caffeine today, it just feels wrong to have such a small amount of coffee…

Your aunt highly recommended this specific drink to you at this café. She said she had bought a scary amount of them in the past month. You watched as she picked up the small, ornate spoon with her well-manicured hands to stir up the layers of the drink in the small glass. 

Copying her, you took a sip of the drink at the same time she did. Pretty good. Lots of chocolate. 

“The espresso at the café where Bakugou-kun works is way better,” you said, taking another sip of the drink. “Still pretty good, though.”

Your aunt raised an eyebrow at you. She was wearing a white blazer that was draped around her shoulders over a black frilly mesh blouse (which was your design) and a pair of Kindeki sweatpants. She still looked extremely classy. “Hm, does his café serve marocchinos?” 

You thought about it for a moment, downing the rest of the drink. “I don’t think so. Maybe I should ask him to make one for me. To be honest, I haven’t tried many of his other drinks other than the americanos and such.”

The older woman across from you shook her head in disappointment. “Well, we’re going to be around his café a lot more, so you should go ahead and ask him. Maybe get some coffee from his place before opening the boutique.”

You hummed in agreement, sitting back on your chair. Your aunt was opening up a boutique right next to Bakugou’s café, and you were going to work there on some days to make some extra money. The area was one she was eyeing for quite a while. It wasn’t the busiest of places like her store in Shibuya or Ginza, but the sights of Mt. Fuji in Shizuoka were something your aunt wanted to be close by. It seems this time, her main inspiration is going to be Japanese attractions. 

She wasn’t opening this boutique for profit. It was so that she could have an excuse to spend more time in Shizuoka. It was a plus, especially since Masaki mostly operated from Shizuoka, and the collaboration between the two brands would last for quite a while. 

After the food came out, you and your aunt were discussing ideas and plans for the collaboration. You decided that tomorrow morning, you’d head over to his café for a cup. 

Bakugou’s eyes widened just a smidge when he saw you enter his café at the buttcrack of dawn. Bakugou was so angry yesterday, but he felt all of his morning anger melt away as soon as he saw your sleepy face. You were wearing a turtleneck under a massive Kindeki sweatshirt and sweatpants, and you looked like you were massively hungover. Either way, your bookbag was still strung across one of your shoulders. Your hair was looking like a bird’s nest that was just raided by a fox trying to eat bird eggs. How were you supposed to detangle that? But somehow, it made Bakugou’s cheeks burn . 

“Mornin’, Bakugou-kun. Can I get a large iced americano and a large peach lemonade?” You had your card out, ready to pay, but he didn’t even cast you a second glance as he wordlessly started making the drinks. You stood there, confused, with your card still in your hand. Your sleep-deprived mind couldn’t process this action. Three or four hours of sleep can’t give you enough brain functioning for you to calculate your next actions. 

So, you were frozen at the spot until he was finished making the drinks. He went back to the cashier to give you your drinks while you were still standing there, card in-hand. Bakugou stared at you for a moment and then blinked. You blinked back.

“J-Just take it,” he managed, taking a step away from you to make sure you didn’t hand your card to him. It seemed like he forgot about payment, and just started making you your drinks on autopilot. But to you, it seemed like he was giving you the drinks because he knew you.

You tilted your head in confusion. “But wait-” you stepped closer to the counter, raising your card out to him.

“No.” He said, pushing the drinks closer to you and then going to the back. 

You didn’t know what to do. You didn’t have cash on you, and you didn’t know his Venmo or anything. You cursed yourself for being such a 21st-century girl. Why did you have to be so technologically advanced?! And why is he so stubborn?!

You’re going to bring cash next time. 

So you take your drinks and sit down at your favorite table, taking a huge swig of the Americano before getting straight to work, tossing your extremely heavy bookbag onto the seat next to you, and pulling out your laptop, aggressively typing in your password. You had a couple assignments to do today because you put all of them off for a week. They’re due tonight. It’s time to fucking grind.

That was the last thing you remembered before you jolted awake when you heard the “ding!” of the café door opening, notifying a customer coming in for their morning cup of coffee. Your head was on your keyboard. 

You slowly sat up, and you saw that you’d drooled a bit on your keyboard. You took a closer look at your laptop’s monitor and realized that you’d been sleeping on the “,” key the entire time. There were about forty pages of just commas repeated in Times New Roman font. “How long have I been asleep for?!” You thought, panicked. 

You looked around the café and saw Bakugou glancing at you after he handed the new customer their drink. He gave you a nod in acknowledgment, and your entire body froze.

“Fuck, I need to do my work,” you whispered to yourself, tearing your eyes away from his gaze. His gaze somehow tore you out of your daze. You drank the rest of your americano and quickly deleted the forty pages of commas before continuing your assignment. 

After a couple hours, you finally finished all of your assignments that were due for the day, and you sighed in relief. It’s time to get to designing. You pulled up the group chat for the brand collaboration and caught up with every single text left by the members of the chat to make sure you were on the right track for everything. 

Turns out, Masaru and your aunt were getting really obsessed with gothic French architecture and the whole dark academia aesthetic. You thought to yourself for a moment. “Hm, that’s basically me.” You looked down at your clothes and then shook the thought away. “Nah, right now, I’m more of a bum academia aesthetic… or druggie academia.”

You were a fan. You’ve been into that aesthetic recently, having Pinterest boards filled with “dark academia” photos. Actually, right now, the hella attractive guy sitting at the cashier is looking perfectly like the aesthetic. 

Bakugou’s wearing a white button-up underneath a dark brown v-neck sweater that looks suspiciously like your aunt’s brand with the sleeves rolled up, exposing his beautiful forearms. The beige slacks he wears are cuffed at the bottom, and he’s wearing a pair of dress shoes to go with the whole ensemble. Why does he always look so well-dressed? Fuck, you look like a homeless man in comparison. But you didn’t care much. He’s seen you in much worse states.

That reminded you that you should probably start looking presentable for the day. it’s around 10 am, so it’s time for you to start looking normal. Since you knew Bakugou at this point, you quickly asked him a favor to look over your stuff. After hearing him grumble out a “sure,” you rushed to your car to make sure he wouldn’t be watching your stuff for too long. 

You quickly changed into your outfit for the day– reusing the turtleneck from your current outfit but layering atop an oversized flannel and tucking it into a corduroy miniskirt from one of your aunt’s collections. You had on leggings underneath your sweatpants to keep yourself from freezing to death, so you just put the skirt over the leggings. You quickly pulled your hair into some semblance of a braid and aggressively slapped concealer onto your face. Then, the finishing touch– a pair of blue-light glasses for the “I read poetry while sipping on English tea and I’m better than you” look. 

You then ran back to the café. This all happened in less than six minutes. You timed it. You were way too sleepy in the mornings to get ready, and you were content with just being in your pajamas for the first portion of the day. You really wanted to be comfortable for the moments you were torturing yourself.

So, you go back into the café and quickly thank Bakugou for looking over your stuff. He was in the middle of drinking water, but as soon as you came in, he started choking. You opened up your Google Drive filled with mood boards and photos of gothic French buildings, grabbed your sketchbook from your bookbag, and plopped your laptop and sketchbook in front of Bakugou. “What do you think about these?”

He blinked. That all happened in such a short span of time that he was confused.

You looked at him expectantly before quickly apologizing. “Oh, crap. Will your boss be okay with this? Maybe I shouldn’t have thought we could work on it while you were worki-”

Bakugou furrowed his brows. “Boss?”

You looked back at him. “What?”

“I don’t have a fuckin’ boss.”

“Wait, then who owns this café-” and then your jaw dropped. “You own this place!?”

He nodded at you, a crooked smirk starting to form on his lips. You thought he wasn’t the owner?

“That’s so cool! I had no clue– I just thought you were some rich kid who was forced to start working here because of your parents!” You said, incredulously, as your hand raised up to cover your mouth. You were so surprised.

He started cackling. “Pffft, how the hell else would I be able to make you so many free drinks?”

Your face started heating up. “I- I just thought you were paying for it or something…”

He looked to the side, still shaking a little bit from laughter. “Well, I technically still am… but that shit doesn’t matter. Lemme see.” 

You were across from him at the counter perpendicular to the cashier, making sure that you didn’t get in the way of any of his customers. He looked through your sketches and the inspiration for them and nodded in approval. “Wouldn’t it be better if ya made the silhouette like this?” he offered in a gravelly voice, grabbing his sketchbook from under the cashier to quickly draw it out for you.

Your eyes brightened. This man was going to be fun to work with. “That’s perfect!” You made your edits to the sketch and then started showing him the rest of your ideas.

Bakugou was pretty distracted, though. He kept looking at your lips while you were explaining the details to him, so he kept reminding himself to focus on the fucking topic at hand. He didn’t know you looked so attractive while sketching something. Fuck. 

After about an hour of talking to him about designs and you telling him about French architecture and its history and how it came to be, you pulled up a chair to the counter, and you two were lost in conversation before some more people came into the café. He left to get to the cashier for a moment, getting back to his work. In your peripherals, you saw a couple people looking at you strangely. Then, you realized.

It’s probably weird as fuck that you’re some rando sitting by the counter and talking to Bakugou like this. Does it make him look unprofessional? What if less people come to his café because of this? They must think he’s just talking to a friend in the middle of working! After all, you’re just sitting by the counter with a shitton of papers strewn about the place. Also, it feels kinda weird just watching him work while you’re a sitting duck.

Trapped in your thoughts, you didn’t notice Bakugou getting back to you by the counter. The two of you quickly got back to work, but you couldn’t shake the weird looks you got. It’s probably not a good idea to be working with him like this while he’s operating the café… but you decided to finish working with him for the day before you could do something about it.

So, the next day, you entered his café with a determined look. 

“G’ mornin’. An americano and peach lemonade?” He was standing, so he looked down at your dead-set eyes. He was already tapping your order into the register.

You cleared your throat. “Actually…”

He looked back up at you with an eyebrow raised in question.

You looked straight into his red eyes. “Are you hiring?”

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[kkanabel]

caffeine addiction - chapter 7 Bakugou Katsuki x Reader / Coffee Shop! AU

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words: ~2.3k

The photo you took with Bakugou was admired, to say the least. 

After going home from the show and taking a long bath to wash the day off, you noticed that your aunt invited you to a group chat containing the two of you and the Bakugou family. 

You were in your bedroom, sitting in a fetal position on your bed with your hair wet. You were in your twelve-year-old t-shirt that was four sizes too big for you. It had so many holes in it that if you wore it outside, people would believe you were a rat that was scurrying about on the streets. But you loved it. And you were damn adamant about never getting rid of it.

Taking a piece of your hair, you brought it to your nose and breathed in the scent of your shampoo and conditioner before sighing in delight. This was the best part about washing your hair. Even though you may look like some version of a wet mop, you smelled so good. This is great. You loved the time after a show. Your entire body would be tired and aching afterward (especially your feet after wearing heels), but the afterglow of going to one was always the best. 

The slight soreness was somewhat satisfying, and you’d be able to go back through your photos and relive the entire show again through your photos as you listened to the barely-there noises of cars driving past your window and the occasional hoot of an owl.

The group chat was then flooded with the photos of you two. There was a particular photo they focused most on, though– the one with Bakugou glancing down at your lips as you beamed up at him. You couldn’t lie. It was a beautiful photo. The outfits you two wore were well-coordinated, but it was overshadowed by the sheer chemistry emanating from the two of you. 

Your hands were placed delicately on his chest whilst his hands rested on your lower back and underneath your chin, angling your face up to his. There was a ghost of a smile left on Bakugou’s face while he was glancing at your smile. 

You let out an audible “woah” and left a heart message next to that particular photo. You were proud! It truly looked like the two of you were a couple, and the clothes were definitely a highlight of the photo altogether. The photographer did a great job! You didn’t know how the photographer/editor was able to make it look so much like Katsuki was going to kiss you, but you weren’t complaining! It looked great!

The actual moment you were taking that photo didn’t feel anything like what the mood from the photo emanates. That amazed you. The photographer was truly talented.

And then the bribery started.

Before the afterparty ended, Mistuki and Masaru were holding a conversation with you and your aunt about the clothing. You mentioned how you really wanted some of the pieces from the runway, and you were probably going to desperately search the web for anything similar.

Usually, pieces straight from the runway aren’t the same ones sold at stores. When looking at luxury brands’ stores, they normally have a refined version of the things they sell at stores. The point of fashion shows are to market the brand and to make a statement (whether it be about society, politics, or whatever else). Of course, it depends on the brand, but Masaki is a brand that uses its fashion shows as more of an art exhibition than anything. You, however, have a tendency to actually want the pieces directly from the runway. 

After you wore them for the photos, you just wanted them more. So, this was a way for you to ask the original designers if you could purchase their pieces in a… sly way.

You didn’t expect it, but Masaru offered to give an outfit to you for free. You were especially surprised since you were willing to pay thousands for it! They said it was a gift for their old friend’s niece. You were ecstatic!

Mitsuki, however, being the opportunist she is, decided that they’d give an outfit to you for a favor or two. And you, being the clothing addict, agreed to “anything!” 

This is how she was able to coax you into getting your permission for posting this photo to their official Instagram. 

It’s unknown how she was able to convince her son for his permission, but it was likely something ten times more sneaky. To you, it was a small price to pay for these clothes you likely would have sold a kidney for. After all, it was Masaki! Straight from the runway! Masaru even personally tailored it to exactly your size! This was a chance that only a couple people in the world could receive. You were fine with it.

In fact, you were glad that you had to just show your face to a small fraction of the public. It’s fine! It’s a great deal, in fact! What you didn’t expect was for this photo to turn the viewing for a small fraction of the public into one of a big fraction.

Either way, this didn’t become an issue until a bit later.

Bakugou Katsuki was back to his daily routine. His attention was a little more split, however. The joint group chat between the owners of Masaki and Kindeki was blowing up at almost all times of the day. The designers of the brands had jumped straight into drafting up ideas as soon as possible, and it was headache-inducing. 

Bakugou was tired of his phone stuttering out notifications as if it were a bumbling high schooler trying to do a presentation. Thus, during his time at the café, his eyebrows were constantly furrowed into an expression of sheer irritation as he felt his phone vibrate against him in his pocket every couple of seconds. “Why can’t those damn geezers just talk about this in real life!?” he thought, opening his phone for the nth time to check up on what they’d been talking about.

His mom and your aunt were talking about the Ham and Swiss Croissants from Starbucks. This was the last straw. He turned off the notifications for the group chat altogether, finally getting a break from the incessant vibrating of his phone. From across the counter, Ashido looked at him with concern.

“Hey, you good? You’ve been staring at your phone all day like you did in high school whenever Midoriya got a better grade than you on a test.” 

Bakugou gritted his teeth and bared them at the girl for her remark, but answered nonetheless. “My mom and her friend from college keep bitching about croissants in a group chat we’re using to discuss details for a brand collaboration.” He rolled his eyes at the thought of it. He was going crazy. Why couldn’t they just use their own chat? Why the hell are they talking about croissants!?

He was leaning his hands against the back counter that held his expensive espresso machine. His “baby”, as his employees would call it. He leaned a little too far back and burned the back of his arm on one of the metal attachments to the machine which was still dripping with boiled water. As he hissed from the pain, he started whispering a scary amount of curses under his breath.

Then, the door rang. 

Instead of you coming back into the café, this one little dipshit is starting to come in instead. Some people were moving into the empty space next door to his café. They were setting up a boutique or some stupid shit, and this guy was one of their people. He kept ordering the same shit you’d always order. A peach lemonade and some version of an extremely caffeinated drink, and some other shit. This time, the guy came in with a Starbucks bag with something in there that smelled suspiciously like those stupid fucking croissant sandwiches. 

Bakugou forced a smile on his face as he was handing the man his order. He could feel his face twitching with poorly concealed anger, so it just made the man squeak and rush out of the place as soon as he could. Ashido chuckled at him from the cashier, watching as Bakugou quickly reverted his face back into one with a deep grimace. Yeah, he wasn’t going to be working as the cashier at all today. He’d scare them all off, and he’s already intimidating enough as he is.

As of this point, Ashido was getting concerned. She could see a vein popping up on his neck from clenching his teeth and fist so hard. He looked a little constipated, to be honest, but she kept these words to herself for fear that she may end up causing that vein on his neck to pop in sheer rage. 

She genuinely hadn’t seen him this angry in years, and she was wondering how high his blood pressure must have been. After knowing him for so many years, she was sure that the croissant conversation wasn’t the only thing that was getting on his nerves so much. It couldn’t have been. Normally, when the part-time workers at his café would start having personal conversations in the employee group chat, he’d just calmly ask them to bring the conversation to another place.

That was a similar scenario to what he described. Two people he knew quite well using a professional group chat for personal discussions– it was basically the same situation.

There had to be a certain trigger that was making him more irritated than usual. She saw how Bakugou reacted to the man that just left the café, and she couldn’t help but think that he was connected to all of this. Hmm, he was carrying a Starbucks bag, though. Maybe that’s why he was angry? Because he brought a bag with the logo of a massive coffee corporation into his café? But no, the man was clearly buying the drinks from his café, which basically cemented the fact that his drinks were better. Bakugou would normally be proud of that. 

Ashido kept thinking to deduce the reason behind his actions. Playing detective for the source of Bakugou’s emotions is one of her favorite hobbies. Especially when the café isn’t busy.

Maybe it’s because the bag smelled a little bit like croissant sandwiches? There has to be another reason other than the croissants. There’s no way he’d get that angry just because of a reminder of some pastries.

Ashido was hyper aware of his actions during her exchange with the customer, however. Partially because she was worried and mostly because she was curious. 

Before Bakugou could even take a glance at the bag in his hands, she noticed him clench up when he asked for “an americano and a peach lemonade– both large.” She could have sworn that Bakugou also let in a sharp breath when the customer said that.

What’s wrong with buying an americano and a peach lemonade? Tons of people ordered those. Maybe it’s the combination of the two? She thought. “But (Y/N)-san orders these and he’s never angry at-” her jaw dropped and she immediately clasped a hand over her mouth.

She had reached an epiphany. "It’s definitely because she hasn’t been visiting the café as often!"

Is that why he was so pissy?

Was it because he wanted to see you?

Ashido told Bakugou he should go on a break so that she could process this information while he went to calm down. She’ll tease him about it after his blood pressure goes down. He’s also been clenching his teeth so hard that his teeth will start falling out if he doesn't cool off somehow. 

As she washed her hands (because she touched her mouth earlier), she had a terrifying cheshire cat smile on her expression. From afar, a customer saw her and squeaked a little. 

It was his break, but he couldn’t fucking relax. Maybe he should just leave the café to Ashido for the rest of the day to cool off at the gym. But no, he couldn’t. He had to finish the day, or else it would damage his gold, coffee mug-shaped pride.

He has to, even if he’s starting to sweat from how much sheer anger he feels. His head and jaw ache from being clenched for so long, and he thinks his palms might bleed if he digs his fingernails into them any longer. He desperately needed this break. 

He was very a little irked at the fact that he hadn’t seen you stop by his café ever since the show. You were a regular at his café, so why hadn’t he seen you since?

Was it because he scared you off because of the way he looked at you in the photo?

It sent his mind spiraling. "Of course she wouldn’t show up again. It’d be fucking awkward. She probably thinks you’re a disgusting pervert because of the way you looked at her. Fuck, you barely know her. She definitely thinks you’re disgusting because of that.”

As of this point, he was standing in the employee bathroom, staring at himself in the mirror again. He looked at the wall desperately, wanting to punch it with all his might. But if he did that, he’d probably break his wrist again. Not a good idea to punch a concrete wall like that one time. “Calm down,”he thought, using breathing techniques that his old therapist taught him. 

He hasn’t felt this angry in years– ever since Midoriya got a higher grade than him on that government test in his senior year of high school.

So, he went back to the counter of his café, making himself one of those hot chocolates that you helped him develop a little while back.

Before he got back to work, he went to the back and did some push-ups in the pantry while thinking of you. He’s going insane. Again.

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[kkanabel]

caffeine addiction ❃ tatas ❃ chapter 6

bakugou katsuki x reader / coffee shop!au + fashion?au

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words: ~2.6k t/w: mentions of tatas (tiddies)

This show was particularly empowering, almost. While watching it, you felt like power and pride were coursing through your veins (the same way it feels when you drink one of Katsuki’s americanos). The background music was funky and bold, and it perfectly complimented the artistry of the fashion line.

It ended up exceeding your expectations, which were already quite high. Everything about it was hypnotising to you. The minds behind this line were definitely amazing. 

At your front-row seat, you gaped as you took photos of the looks that stood out to you– ones that you’d request to take photos in. They were also the looks that you would immediately try to purchase. Which was a lot.

When the showcase of the line ended, Bakugou Masaru and Bakugou Katsuki went onto the stage and gave a low bow, smiling brightly at the audience and the surrounding cameras. 

Katsuki’s smile was blinding. You could hardly tear your eyes off of him when he looked straight at you and kept waving. The gaze was so intense that you had to turn your eyes away in fear that you might get burnt from how good-looking he is. His teeth were so straight and white. What the hell?

His smile is so boyish and relaxed. In comparison, when his face is relaxed into that regular resting bitch face of his, he looks a little scary. However, he’s still handsome nonetheless. But when he smiles? There’s something about it that could make you faint on the spot. It’s like simping over that one YA novel dude who’s a “bad boy” and never smiles, but he cracks a small smile when he finally falls in love, and then you automatically start chasing him like a crazed fangirl!

Actually, that may be the perfect metaphor to describe Bakugou Katsuki. Either way, you shake yourself out of those thoughts.

When the two left the stage, (you were absolutely not staring at Katsuki’s broad shoulders as he left) your aunt elbowed you. She raised a carefully-manicured hand to sweep back a strand of her hair behind her ear before leaning into you and placing a hand by her mouth to start whispering into your ear. “Is there something going on between you two?”

You scoff and cross your legs together, “No. If we were, I would have told you already! He’s just really attractive.”

Your aunt mirrors you and crosses her legs as well. “Of course he is! He’s the son of people I’ve been involved with!” At this admittance, your jaw drops. 

“I really want to know, but at the same time, I don’t.” You cringe at the thought of your aunt being “involved” with these people. The imagination popped into your head before you even realized it. You cursed your artistic mind for the horrid scene.

You cleared your throat and uncrossed your legs to stand up, reaching a hand out to your aunt. “Anyway, we should head backstage. I’m sure you’re excited to take photos with your uh… college… friends?”

Your aunt took your hand and laughed, not elaborating on the subject. You were thankful. 

After the show, the models were all changing back into their original clothes and removing their makeup.

When you reached the room in the building dedicated to the afterparty, you found a chair so you could swipe through the photos you got of the pieces. They were truly beautiful. You’ll put these photos into your dedicated photo album for fashion inspiration.

Meanwhile, Bakugou Katsuki splashed his face with cold water and stared at himself in the men’s bathrooms. He watched as the water dripped down his sharp features, rolling down slowly before falling into the sink. He grabbed the paper towels and gently pat his skin dry (as per the directions of his mother– “Never rub your face dry!”).

He looked back into his reflection, leaning onto the sink counter. He sighed. He doesn’t remember the last time he’s felt this strongly about someone. Actually, he doesn’t know if he’s ever felt this way. His first girlfriend, Tanaka Ayano, made him feel a couple butterflies, but it was nowhere near this level. Right now, his stomach was swirling and he felt his chest tighten. It was almost nauseating. Did he eat something weird this morning?

The blonde felt strange. Why is his body insistent on acting like a teenage boy? It’s been years since that stage of his life! Is this what it feels like to be a late bloomer? He started cursing the higher powers above for making him feel this way. But maybe it was that one piece of slightly suspicious chicken he ate. 

Slowly leaning back and straightening his back and shoulders, Katsuki self-readjusted, listening to the satisfying popping noise of his back and his knuckles. He looked back at himself in the mirror, posing like he was the alpha male.

“You can do this. You’ve been through much worse shit. You can handle one cute girl,” he repeated in his mind. 

He was wrong.

Either way, he exited the bathroom to get ready for the upcoming photo shoot he had with the girl that drove him insane. When he approached the afterparty, his father called him out. “Katsuki, are you alright?” 

Katsuki rubbed the bridge of his nose and took in a deep breath. “Yeah, I’m just a little… stressed.” He decided not to give his father any further details, saving himself the embarrassment. 

Masaru smiled and rubbed at his son’s back. “Well, whatever it is,” he said, “it’s not good to overthink. Just take it a step at a time.” When Katsuki heard this, he slightly narrowed his eyes at his dad.

He totally knows what’s going on. 

Katsuki decided not to speak any more about the topic, though. The simple idea of his dad knowing about his schoolboy crush was enough to make him grimace. 

After you finished getting dressed into the outfit of your choice, you went back out to the picture-taking area, where you saw Katsuki. You quickly ran over to him. “Bakugou-kun! Your designs were amazing!” 

He froze for a moment when he saw you. You were dressed in a trench coat and a metallic miniskirt with this line’s signature pattern– a pattern that he spent hours poring over. The skirt and the cropped shirt under the coat were primarily his designs. The sight of you in clothes he designed made him strangely embarrassed. And turned on.

He cleared his throat. “Thanks… ‘ya look great.” He said in a gruff voice, looking away to hide his face as much as he could. "Avoid eye contact at all costs," he thought.

You smiled up at him, standing on your tiptoes, regardless of wearing platform heels (also from the collection). “Wow, it feels a little weird being closer to your eye-level in these. I'm so used to having to look up.”

With this, he looked back at you while you were attempting to breach his height on your tip toes. It was dangerously cute. Especially when you went too far on your toes and then started tipping over. He quickly put out his arm and caught you, hands landing on your waist. 

“Careful with that, short stack.” He let go of you and let you regain your balance.

You fixed your hair awkwardly but found the perfect opportunity. “Wow, Bakugou-kun.”

The man in question slightly tilted his head. “Wow, what?”

“It looks like I’m already falling for you,” you say with a straight face, watching for his reaction. The attempt at a poker face fails, however, because a bit of the laugh you were trying to hold back starts exploding out. You start snorting and wiping at a tear in your eye from laughing so hard at your own joke.

He was completely confused for a moment before he realized that you just made the worst joke in human history. “That’s the worst one I’ve heard so far,” he says, poorly containing his laugh, mostly laughing at the fact that you were so entertained by your own words.

“Oh yeah! I almost forgot– here are the clothes that your mom put out for you!” you went to a nearby rack and grabbed the clothes from it, handing Katsuki his clothes.

After a couple minutes passed while you were playing Fashion Story on your phone, making sure your fake boutique was fully stocked. When Bakugou came back out of the dressing room, you gaped. He looked like a supermodel. Better than a supermodel, in fact.

The collection perfectly suited him. It was all sharp angles and bold lines, just like him. It framed his face and his figure beautifully, and his mess of spiky blonde hair worked seamlessly with the line’s signature pattern.

He had a blazer with the pattern and wore a dress shirt underneath with a couple of the top buttons undone. The dress pants he wore fit him perfectly, sculpting his thighs and slightly flaring out at the ends. He had on a Masaki watch and a necklace with their famous logo on the chains. 

“Woah. You look amazing!” you exclaimed, immediately turning off your game and placing it into your purse which was tossed onto some random desk. “Wow. Everything suits you so well!”

He flushed under your compliments. It was one of the first times a girl has ever complimented him so boldly without having any romantic undertones. He didn’t know if he felt great that you complimented him or if he felt disappointed that you didn’t have any flirtatious inflections in your tone. It was definitely a combination of both.

He avoided eye contact with you once again.

After the both of you got dressed, you went straight to the photographer. It seemed that Mitsuki just got finished speaking to them, and her face looked sneaky and extremely suspicious. 

When she saw the two of you, she essentially squealed, calling over her two lackeys. “Masaru! Takumi! Come take a look at these two!” She put a hand over her mouth and had a wide grin on her face. “They look so beautiful!”

Masaru came up behind her and wrapped an arm around her waist, giving a gentle but knowing smile to Katsuki, who gave him a very deep frown.

You chuckled, thanking Mitsuki. “Oh, word of warning– I’m not too great at posing. So, I apologize in advance,” you said, looking at the photographer and Katsuki with an apologetic smile. 

The photographer waved you off with a smile. “No worries! I’ve got you. If you guys need any help, I can help guide you.”

You gave him a thankful smile and walked to the photo background and started posing for the photos.

The first one you did, you placed a hand on Bakugou, crossed your ankles, and looked away from him. You were using your prior knowledge from watching models do their work. You still weren’t a professional by any means, but the photographer still praised you. Katsuki, of course, was in the same boat. He was doing quite well, too. 

Mitsuki set out two other outfits for the two of you to pose in. One was an extremely colorful set– Masaki’s signature colors: bright orange, muted green, and silver. The other was an all-black set.

The two of you did great in the colorful set. The photographer placed us in simple but versatile stances, changing it up with one arm movement or leg movement once in a while. They told us to just have a regular conversation to make the photo look like it was candid.

In some of the photos, you and Katsuki were sitting down on a chair. In one, Katsuki was sitting in the chair, and you were told to “possessively wrap your arms around his neck and look fierce”. In another, Katsuki was told to place a hand on your waist and look deep into your eyes.

In the all-black set of clothing, however, is when things got extra suspicious. You recognized these pieces from the show, of course, but putting it on was an entirely different meatball.

These pieces were a little different from the other pieces in the line. Particularly, they were a bit more revealing. The fabrics would be made from organza and a sheer, mesh fabric. In particular, you were wearing a long and completely black evening gown. So, your legs were covered, but the top portion was quite exposed. The chest area was cut out to perfectly frame your… gnip gnops. 

The bottom portion of the dress was draped in multiple layers of organza fabric. When you walked, it would flow behind you and make you feel like a dark, evil princess. The sleeves were similar, made with organza that showed your skin beneath, but otherwise was sewn into a beautiful puffed sleeve that tapered at your wrist.

But the gnip gnops were another issue. 

Either way, when you saw Katsuki, you were appalled. Again. You swore that this man was carved out of marble by some random Greek artist. 

He was wearing something similar to you, an all-black outfit with a dress shirt that looked prince-like. His sleeves were puffed, like yours, but the shoulders were more pronounced. Through the organza fabric, you could see how sculpted his arms were. And they were sculpted. He’d probably be able to crush an apple with only his biceps with no problem. How is a coffee shop barista so buff?

But the part that blew you the most away was this– the entire torso was completely sheer. You could see everything. Including his extremely well-shaped abdomen. And his pecs, which you were concerned may be even bigger than your own.

You gave him a quick compliment and got back to work. It wasn’t good to be distracted by an acquaintance/to-be co-worker(?) like that. 

The posing was about the same with this set of clothing. This time, however, you noticed Katsuki was really trying to avoid looking at you. It was funny, really. He was trying his hardest not to look at your chest. 

The photographer told the two of you to just start having a conversation again while they worked magic in the background. At this point in time, Katsuki was holding you at your waist and you had your hands pressed up against his chest.

“Sorry ‘bout this. Usually, my mom gets to have some control over the creative process on some of the pieces, and she normally makes them pretty different from my dad and I’s stuff.” Katsuki muttered, still avoiding eye contact with you.

In the background, the photographer told him to place a hand under your chin. He did so, angling your face up to his. From this angle, you could see perfectly into his beautiful crimson eyes. They were mesmerizing. In your head, however, you thought, “Lord have mercy…

we must stay focused, brothers!” and tried not to get yourself lost in them.

You smiled and shook your head, saying, “No, I think these pieces are still really beautiful. I’m sorry that both of us have just officially met and we’re both already exposing our tatas to each other.”

At this, Katsuki started straight-up cackling. He still kept a hand on your chin, though. “T-Tatas!?” he struggled under laughs, trying his hardest to hold himself together.

When he was finally done laughing, he started actually making real eye contact with you for the first time today. Without himself noticing, he felt his eyes start to wander lower down your face, eyeing your lips, which were stretched into a smile.

That was the money shot. That shot ended up being the photo that changed the rest of your life.

Okay, that’s a bit of an exaggeration. It did become a mild annoyance, though.

a/n: taglist is open! stay safe & stay hydrated, cuties <3

btw, if any of y'all want to see the fashion show i based this off of, it's the versace fall/winter show from 2021.

of course, you guys can have your own interpretation of the masaki brand, but this is how i see it :>

not edited, so please let me know if there are any typos or inconsistencies.

i fully intend for this series to be a relatively chill one, (not one where i spend hours upon hours researching-- which i already have) so i don't have an extremely detailed plan for it (i do have a general plan, tho).

i genuinely made this series because i saw a prompt for "barista sees customer drinking unhealthy amounts of caffeine and is concerned" and wrote this all on a whim. either way, thank you for all of the support! it makes me enjoy writing this series so much more. thus, i will try my hardest!

<3 thank you, guys

directory/m.list

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