#Bakugo Katsuki

[dollyfetti]

"we should have brought bread," your boyfriend signs to you with a frown, his eyes on the ducks waddling just a few feet away. you and katsuki had left the house just before sunset to relax by the lake on a wooden bench and enjoy the view as the ducks ran around.

you hum, latching onto his arm. "next time." you mouth to him, pecking his chin.

katsuki exhales, nodding lightly. he wraps his beefy arm around you, pulling you into his warm figure. he feels the breeze whisper against you both, some of your hair blowing into his face. he scrunches up his nose at the ticklish sensation, pushing your hair back down as you grin up at him.

you readjust yourself a bit so you can raise both hands. "the ducks are loud." you tell him, mouthing the words as you sign.

he rolls his eyes, actually thankful he's unable to hear. he knows he can speak to you verbally, he doesn't have to stay quiet. it's an odd thing though... he prefers to not say anything. he's comfortable the way everything is. especially in moments like these, where words aren't even enough to describe what he's feeling.

katsuki turns his head to look back at you, not even a bit surprised that you're already staring at him intently. he can't even fight the little grin that makes its way onto his face. he brings up his fingers, doing the "cmere" movement as you lean forward and he grabs your chin, pulling you into a gentle kiss.

۪ ݁ 𓈒♡ㅤthinking about him rn what if i sob

[sakuraszn]

﹒♡ MY GIRL ft. jock!katsuki bakugo + cheerleader!reader

cw: making out, mentions of hickeys and jealousy.

jock!bakugo and you are the couple everyone either wants to be or is lowkey jealous of. He’s the star athlete—football, basketball, track, doesn’t matter, he dominates. And you? The head cheerleader, flipping and kicking in a skirt that he thinks is way too short but loves at the same time.

He acts like he doesn’t care about school spirit, but let someone talk crazy about your cheer squad, and he’s ready to square up.

jock!bakugo isn’t the type to outright tell you not to wear something, but his hands are always on your waist, tugging down your skirt or pulling your top up when he thinks it’s too revealing.

If a guy even breathes in your direction, he’s throwing an arm over your shoulder, yanking you close. “She’s taken, dumbass.”

You once got asked to be the flyer for a stunt with some of the male cheerleaders, and Katsuki was NOT having it. “You got plenty of girls to throw you in the air, why the fuck does it gotta be some dude?”

jock!bakugo who loves marking you up. The hickeys? Oh, they’re not just for fun. They’re warnings. Little bruises on your collarbone, right above your uniform’s neckline, just enough for people to notice. He’s not subtle, and he doesn’t care.

jock!bakugo has something about game nights that makes him extra needy. Maybe it’s the adrenaline, the way you scream his name from the stands, or the way your skirt swishes when you cheer. Either way, he’s dragging you into a storage closet under the bleachers every chance he gets.

“Five minutes, babe,” he growls, pushing you up against the shelves, lips already on your neck.

Five minutes turns into ten, into fifteen. His hands are everywhere—gripping your waist, sliding up your thighs, fingers ghosting under your uniform. Your lip gloss is smeared all over his mouth, and his jersey is bunched up from where you’ve been gripping it.

“You’re lucky I got a game to play, or I’d be doin’ a lot more than just kissin’ ya.” His voice is low, rough, and he gives your thigh a squeeze before pulling back, looking way too smug about how breathless he’s left you.

jock!bakugo who’s not huge on PDA, but he has his moments. An arm slung over your shoulder in the halls, a hand gripping your hip when you’re talking to someone he doesn’t trust, a quick kiss before he jogs onto the field.

jock!bakugo after a big win? Oh, he’s dramatic as hell. Scoops you up right off the ground, plants a deep kiss on you in front of the entire school. “That was for good luck,” he smirks, wiping your lipstick off his mouth.

If he catches some dude getting a little too friendly? He’s stepping in, pulling you into his lap, leaning in just enough to kiss your jaw as he stares the guy down. “The fuck you need, extra?”

jock!bakugo might be an athlete, but he’s got that protective mentality when it comes to you.

“I don’t fight over girls, but I will fight for mine,” he says, cracking his knuckles after some guy tried getting a little too close to you at a party.

He’s got connections—he’s not afraid to remind people of that. Some upperclassman tried to make a move on you once, and let’s just say… dude transferred schools real quick.

He doesn’t do threats; he does promises. “Keep talkin’ and see what happens.”

jock!bakugo after a game, he’s exhausted but still makes time for you. Showers, throws on some sweats, and pulls you into bed like you’re his damn teddy bear.

“Y’cold? C’mere, dumbass,” he mumbles, pulling you tighter against him, his face buried in your neck.

If he’s feeling cocky, he’ll start pressing kisses down your shoulder, hands slipping under your shirt. “You gonna give me a lil’ reward for winnin’, babe?” His voice is rough, teasing, and he’s already leaving marks where only he can see them.

You’re his biggest supporter, his loudest cheerleader, and he makes sure you know he appreciates it.

“Wouldn’t be half as good without you screamin’ my name from the stands,” he mutters one night, hand on your thigh, thumb tracing circles.

And when you compete in cheer competitions? He’s in the front row, arms crossed, acting all nonchalant. But when you hit your routine perfectly? That little smirk of pride on his face says it all.

“You did good, babe. Knew you would.” And then he’s tilting your chin up, pressing a kiss to your lips like he couldn’t help himself.

At the end of the day, jock!bakugo is all yours, and he makes damn sure everyone knows it.

SAKURASZN © 2025 !

[catsoupki]

Bakugou doesn’t beg. It’s not in his blood— the word “please” lays foreign on his tongue, absent from his vocabulary.

He didn’t beg for UA to accept him when he was 15, he hadn’t begged when death came knocking on his doors in the Great War at 17. Because begging feels like a thousand stabbing knives— the walls he built: of pride, of faux confidence, of insecurity, they all shatter and crumble at your feet when the word “please” escapes his pharynx like tumbleweed.

Nitroglycerin reduces the things around him to ruins, explosions casted from the epicentres of his palm with agglomerated sweat that fuels his destruction. He becomes a ground of ruins.

“Please” don’t leave me. “Please” I’m sorry.

Bakugou never had a habit of begging, but when he’s at your doorstep at midnight, shirt crinkling between his fingers, sweat drapes over his entire being.

(He becomes a ground of ruins.)

Please.

[prettylilyanime]

Blooming Hearts ♡ Chapter 07

˚✿˖ Pairing: Bakugou Katsuki x fem reader

˚✿˖ Synopsis: All your life, you’ve had it all—wealth, beauty, and a quirk good enough to secure your spot at UA. But after three years, you still feel more like an outsider than a future hero. Social life? Barely existent. Friends? Who needs them? You’re ready to coast through your final year solo… until fate lands you squarely in the lap of a certain hot-headed blonde—literally.

˚✿˖ tags/warnings: 18+, smut in the later chapters, reader is spoiled, shy reader, they're all third years at UA, Fluff, strangers? to lovers trope, not really strangers, miscommunication, drama, y/n just wants to make friends, reader is canonically pretty, reader is a hero in training, whipped bakugou, she falls first but he falls harder

˚✿˖ Authors note: Things start getting...heated

˚✿˖ Masterlist ♡ Previous ♡ Next

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This was a mistake!

Your body betrays you, as it usually does—shoulders tense, stomach coiled tight, fingers twitching at your sides like they might still find a way to escape.

You know Ochako means well, has only ever been kind to you in these last 24 hours, but that doesn’t stop your pulse from hammering against your ribs like a frantic warning bell.

Run. Hide. Fake a headache. There’s still time!!

But Ochako’s grip is ironclad.

“C’mon! We need to get down there before everyone starts wondering where we are!” She laces her fingers through yours, warm and insistent, dragging you out the door of your shared room before you can so much as think of an excuse.

The scent of her coconut sunscreen lingers in the air as you stumble after her. Your heart is a mess, part nerves, part anticipation. You can’t remember the last time you felt so nervous!

Scratch that, landing on top of Bakugou over the weekend was pretty traumatizing...

Still, this feels like a close second, judging by the nauseating urge to turn back and pretend you never agreed to this.

The hallway is alive with movement, a blur of swimsuits, cover-ups, and damp footprints smudged against the floorboards.

You're really trying to focus on not throwing up right now.

Ochako pulls you along though, her chatter light and cheerful, and you do your best to focus on her words instead of the way the floor feels like it’s tilting beneath your feet.

You’re not used to this, like at all. God, you don't think you've ever made this much contact with another human being in your life!

When you finally reach the outdoors, the sight sort of lifts a heavy weight from your chest. You look around, wide eyes taking in the scene.

The blue water sparkles under the afternoon sun, ringed by lush greenery, its surface kissed by golden light. Your classmates are already splashing around, tossing a beach ball back and forth, setting up the bonfire pit for later.

You've been all over the world, traveled to every unbelievable destination money could buy, and yet—you find yourself in awe at the sight of this little lake. There’s something inviting about it.

Well, you're actually quite terrified...But you imagine the scene is inviting to somebody like Ochako!

As if to prove your point, a few of the girls immediately spot Ochako and wave her over from the water. She perks up, bouncing on the tips of her toes to wave back, her excitement so genuine it makes your chest ache.

Instinctively, you shift a step behind her rather than beside her, eyes darting to the sides to ignore any stray gazes on yourself.

But then she nudges you forward, and your stomach lurches as you stumble into view.

Mina spots you first. She’s radiant in a lilac bikini that pops against her skin, her pink curls damp but still bouncing as she bounds over. “Y/N! No way—you came!” Her golden eyes widen in surprise, and just like that, others take notice, heads turning in your direction.

A chorus of greetings follows—some cheerful, others more reserved, but none of them unkind.

It’s… new.

It’s the stuff of nightmares, honestly. You suck at this. Socializing. Group settings.

You can feel the awkward tension in your own smile, stiff and unsure, as you mutter half-hearted hellos in return. Do you look as uncomfortable as you feel? God, probably.

Why did you come? It’s a toxic cycle—wanting to be invited, then immediately regretting it the second you are.

Mina doesn’t seem to notice your spiraling. She wraps Ochako in a quick hug before turning her full attention on you, manicured fingers resting lightly on your shoulder. “You guys look so good! Y/N, you look insane.”

You freeze. Panic surges.

“Insane… in a good way?” Your voice comes out so worried that you immediately want to fling yourself into the lake.

If you looked crazy, Ochako would’ve told you, right? Right?!

Mina snorts, giving your shoulder a playful shake. “Girl, insane great. Your body is killer.”

You blink, thrown off by the unexpected compliment. This is your chance to return the favor! Compliment her back! Say something, anything—

A sudden, thunderous splash pulls your attention to the lake.

Your brows shoot up just in time to see Sero shoving Denki straight into the water.

The blond resurfaces a second later, sputtering, his drenched hair plastered to his forehead as he glares. Sero doubles over, laughing, his drink still held aloft like it’s the most important thing in the world.

You blink, processing. You know they’re close, but… is it normal to shove your friends into the water like that?

You’ve seen it in movies, but you can’t decide if you’d find it fun or if you’d immediately die of secondhand embarrassment.

Mina, clearly unfazed, rolls her eyes and calls out to them. “Hey! Watch it over here, the water’s cold!” She gestures at the splash that nearly reaches your feet.

Ochako giggles, nudging you again. “Let’s go in!”

Your stomach flips, but you nod, trailing behind her as she slips off her cover-up dress. She drapes it over a wooden bench already lined with bags and sandals, a chaotic splash of colors against the sun-bleached wood.

You focus on the little knot at your sheer skirt, fingers fumbling as you untie it. The sun is warm against your skin, the breeze light and teasing. The chatter around you hums like background noise, but what you don’t notice is the ripple of attention you’ve unintentionally drawn.

By the water’s edge, Denki and Sero are frozen, their expressions comically slack-jawed.

“Dude,” Denki whispers, as if he’s just spotted a mythical creature. “Y/N is actually here.”

Sero nods slowly, drink momentarily forgotten in his hand. “She… is so hot.”

Before their awe can spiral into more whispered nonsense, a swift, synchronized bonk lands on both their heads.

Jirou and Tsuyu stand behind them, arms crossed, expressions sharp with unimpressed judgment.

“Don’t be creeps,” Jirou mutters, pushing her sunglasses up with a sigh. Strands of damp hair cling to the sunscreen glistening on her cheeks. Her deep plum swimsuit is effortlessly cool, a stark contrast to Tsuyu’s soft green one-piece, patterned with delicate lily pads.

“The girl barely ever hangs out with us as it is,” Jirou continues. “The last thing we need is her feeling weirded out because of you two.”

Denki scoffs, looking personally offended. “Excuse me!? The only creep here is Mineta, and you guys know he’s banned from coming to these things.”

Sero nods solemnly, raising his drink in mock salute. “The little perv is under strict surveillance by Aizawa and Present Mic tonight. Thank god.”

Mina, now wading into the water, joins the group. She takes a slow sip of her beverage before sending Denki and Sero a pointed look.

“Anybody else a little confused by Y/N showing up?” she muses, tilting her head. “Not complaining, just... surprised. You two better not make it weird.”

Denki’s jaw drops in offense. “Hey!”

Their bickering dissolves into splashes and laughter, but you remain blissfully unaware of it all.

You're too busy steadying your breath, caught between the cool breeze and the lingering warmth of the sun. It feels surreal—being here, surrounded by your classmates, the lazy hum of summer wrapping around you like a soft, sun-warmed blanket.

“Should we grab drinks first?” Ochako’s voice is casual, but there’s something airy, almost calculated, about her tone.

You follow her gaze toward the makeshift drink station, a folding table cluttered with pitchers of neon-colored juice and a cooler packed with ice.

Midoriya, Shouto, and Tenya stand nearby, their silhouettes framed by the lake’s shimmering expanse.

Your brows knit together as you glance at Ochako’s oddly focused stare. Surely, she’s not that thirsty… right?

Then, the puzzle pieces snap into place.

Oh. She’s staring at Midoriya!

It’s almost cute how obvious it is. Since your first year, it’s been clear to everyone, probably even the birds in the trees—that Ochako and Midoriya had a thing for each other.

Even you, someone who couldn't be worse at picking up on social cues, had noticed!

Before you can say a word, Ochako's fingers curl around your wrist, tugging you forward with surprising strength.

You barely have time to process before you’re standing at the drink table, flashing a tight, polite smile at the boys while Ochako dives headfirst into conversation with Midoriya.

The green-haired boy looks like he’s barely holding onto his composure.

His freckles stand out starkly against his flushed skin, his cheeks nearly as red as the watermelon slices bobbing lazily in one of the juice pitchers. His gaze flickers everywhere, desperate to focus on anything that isn’t Ochako’s swimwear-clad form.

You suppress a smile. This feels like watching a rom-com unfold in real-time!

“Y/N, I’m surprised to see you here.”

Your attention shifts to a familiar face, Shouto Todoroki. He sits on a wooden bench, one arm draped lazily over the backrest, his posture relaxed.

Next to him, Tenya sips from a cup, his rigid posture a sharp contrast to Shouto’s.

You push your sunglasses up, using them to sweep your hair away from your face. “Y-yeah. Ochako asked if I wanted to come. I thought it’d be refreshing after Aizawa pushing us this morning,” you say, your voice light—too light—the lie slipping out before you can stop it.

Because to be honest, the last thing on your mind was how refreshing a swim would be.

You came for the sole purpose of not feeling like a total loser for once....

But you’d never admit that. Especially not to him, the boy you’d known since childhood.

Your families had woven your lives together from the start. Same private schools, same gated communities, same stiff playdates arranged more out of obligation than friendship.

You remember the afternoons spent under perfectly manicured trees, the two of you side by side, sharing crayons and silence.

Shouto studies you for a moment, his heterochromatic gaze unreadable—not piercing, not heavy, just... observant.

“Yeah, your quirk has been flaring up lately. I’m sure Aizawa pushed you harder today.”

Your breath catches.

He—he noticed!?

Aizawa hadn’t actually paid you any extra attention today. Training had been perfectly normal.

But the fact that Shouto had even thought otherwise—the fact that he’d noticed the way your quirk had been acting up lately—sends a jolt of something sharp and embarrassed through you.

Because he doesn’t know why.

He doesn’t know that every time your mind even drifts to Bakugou Katsuki, a million delicate petals betray you, spiraling into existence without your permission.

That your quirk has become your worst enemy, weaving your feelings into reality whether you want it to or not!

Your fingers tighten slightly around your cup. He doesn’t know, and he can’t know.

You force a small shrug. “Yeah”

Thankfully, Tenya, bless his overly formal soul—cuts through the moment. “Would you like something to drink, Y/N? We have quite the selection of fruit juices—grape, pineapple, mango, and I believe that one has a mix of berries.”

He gestures toward the pitchers like a waiter at some high-end restaurant, each glass container beading with condensation, jewel-toned liquids shimmering in the sun.

You could almost hug him for the distraction!

You offer a small, grateful smile. “Oh, sure. I think I’ll go for the mango.”

“Excellent choice.” He moves with crisp efficiency, pouring the drink with such ceremonial care it’s almost comical.

You take a sip, the cool sweetness bursting across your tongue, grounding you just a little. “Thanks"

He nods, the gesture polite, precise—like everything else about him. “You’re very welcome. It’s great to see you here, Y/N. We don’t often get to socialize outside of training or class, and it’s important for team morale to build connections in less formal settings.

Your fingers swirl the straw through your drink, watching the ice clink against the sides. “Yeah, it's nice” you say softly, your gaze drifting back out to the lake.

The sun-soaked scene feels almost surreal, like a postcard from a life you never thought you’d step into. And beneath all the noise, something settles in your chest—warm, quiet, nice.

Ochako suddenly appears at your side.

She nudges you, her smile wide, her cheeks flushed a charming pink—whether from the heat or whatever Midoriya had just told her, you aren’t sure.

“Ready to get in the water?” she asks, leaning over to pour herself a berry-hued drink. She taps her cup against yours with a soft clink, liquid sloshing playfully.

You blink at the red plastic cups—wow, it really is like the movies!—and glance toward the lake.

Sunlight dances on the surface, rippling with the chaos of your classmates. Mina and Tsuyu are deep in a water war now, their laughter carrying across the breeze.

But your gaze drifts past them, searching for something, someone else.

And then, you find him.

Bakugou sits at the water’s edge, his feet submerged, gentle waves lapping against his sculpted calves.

His elbows rest on his knees, hands loosely clasped as he talks with Kirishima. Even from here, you catch the sharpness of his profile—the strong set of his jaw, the slight furrow of his brow.

You’re not sure beautiful is a word people often use to describe Bakugou, but right now, you swear he’s every bit of it.

Oh. He’s also shirtless.

And dear god, you really hope no flowers are blooming around you right now. That would be mortifying.

And way too obvious...Shoto would definitely pick up on it.

Your pulse picks up, your heart doing a ridiculous little flip in your chest. It’s humiliating, really, how just looking at him can make you react like this.

And then, as if feeling your gaze on him, he looks up. Crimson eyes find yours, steady and unblinking.

You freeze, manicured fingers tightening around your cup, the plastic giving slightly under the pressure.

The world slows, the noise around you dissolving into a distant hum, like you’ve suddenly been dropped underwater. It’s funny, you think bitterly, how now when he looks at you, there’s recognition there. Like he actually sees you.

Before this weekend, Bakugou’s gaze would’ve skimmed past you without a second thought—just another classmate who barely spoke, never worth lingering on.

But now? His eyes catch on you. Like something’s shifted. Like you’ve somehow forced your way into his line of sight.

Was it when you tripped and fell against him, practically tackling him to the ground?

Or when he helped you move all your boxes into the dorms, grumbling the entire time but never once walking away?

Maybe it was when he spent over an hour teaching you how to navigate the public transportation system without getting hopelessly lost....

All of it, jumbled together into one little weekend, had somehow tackled your heart and refused to let go.

You know it probably meant nothing to him. Just Bakugou being a surprisingly good person. But to you? God. It was everything.

And now you can’t stop thinking about the nickname he gave you earlier—sad eyes. A clear demotion from princess.

It’s devastating....

Do your eyes really look sad right now? God, you hope not! You don’t want to be known as the girl who looks miserable all the time....

You stand up straighter, forcing a small smile, as if that’ll help. Maybe it’ll make you look normal!

But then Bakugou shifts, turning back toward Kirishima without another glance in your direction, and the moment shatters like glass. Something tight in your chest loosens—but disappointment seeps in almost instantly, and you hate yourself for it.

He didn't even look at my swimsuit...does he not like the pink?

Wait- why are you even thinking about him liking your swimsuit? Get it together!

Ochako leans in, her shoulder brushing against yours. “What was that all about?”

Her question jolts you back to reality, and you nearly spill your drink. “Huh? N-no, it’s nothing.”

“it was so something!” she gasps, watching you from the corners of her eyes with sudden intrigue.

You clutch your cup tighter, heat pricking your cheeks. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Ochako just grins, entirely unconvinced. “I’ve never seen Bakugou look someone up and down like that—unless he was about to fight them. But something tells me that wasn’t the look he was giving you.”

Your throat dries instantly. "What?! No, He definitely wasn’t—”

“Uh-huh,” she hums, her grin only widening as you flounder for a believable response. “Right.”

Mortified, you take a hasty sip of your drink, the coolness doing little to ease the sudden, frantic buzz in your chest. But despite yourself, a small, reckless thought unfurls in your mind, curling up all hopeful and dangerous.

What is she thinking!?

You’re still overthinking when Ochako grabs your wrist and drags you toward the lake. The water is cold, a welcome shock against your skin as it rises to your waist. It helps—sort of.

The group has already settled into easy conversation, splashing each other and laughing as though this wasn’t absolutely the most socially overstimulating day of your life. You hover at the edge, fingers curled around your cup, letting Ochako do most of the talking.

Your mind keeps drifting. It shouldn’t, but it does. And when you can’t help yourself, you sneak a glance back toward the shore—

His spot is empty.

Your stomach dips. Where did he go?

“Bakugou, man! Finally decided to join us,” Sero calls, his voice bright as he pushes his wet hair back from his face.

You frown. Wait—

But Sero isn’t looking at the shore. He’s looking at you.

The cold prickle is instant, creeping down your spine like a warning. Slowly, you turn— And you almost scream when you find Bakugou standing right there. 

Towering. Close.

You stumble back a step, your throat locking up. “What—?! How do you keep doing that?!”

He doesn’t answer, just flicks his gaze down at you. Quick, sharp—before scoffing. “Sad Eyes, should’ve called you ‘Jumpy’ instead. That’s three for three, huh?”

Your skin burns. “What?!”

“This is the Third time you freaked out ‘cause I showed up. I’m keepin’ track now.”

Your jaw drops. He’s been keeping track?!

Mortification settles deep in your bones. This is getting ridiculous. How does he keep sneaking up on you like this?!

And now he’s calling you jumpy? That’s somehow worse than Sad Eyes!!

You sputter, grasping at the shredded remains of your dignity. “It’s not my fault! Who just sneaks up on people like that? You’re way too quiet for someone who’s, like, six feet tall!”

The group falls silent. A ripple of surprise spreads, heads turning, eyes widening.

You, who barely even makes eye contact with most of them—talking to Bakugou like this?

And more than that… you two had hung out before? Three times now?!

Kirishima is the first to recover, throwing his head back with a laugh before slapping a heavy hand on Bakugou’s shoulder. “He actually grew, you know! Six-two now! Our manly Katsuki’s all grown up!”

Bakugou immediately shoves him off with a sharp snarl. “Shut it, dumbass.”

You’re still trying to steady your breath, heart hammering from both the shock of his sudden appearance and worse—the new nickname.

Why couldn’t he just go back to Princess?

Mina scoffs, nudging Kirishima with a pointed look. “Quit it, don't give Y/N the wrong first impression of us,” she mutters—like she meant to keep it quiet, but you definitely hear her.

Your eyebrows lift, heat creeping up your neck. First impressions? Three years in?!

If only she knew your actual first impression of Kirishima—him holding the door open for you on the first day of freshman year, flashing an easy grin like it was second nature.

Not that he’d remember. But you do. A small, insignificant moment that somehow stuck, tucked away in the back of your mind, untouched and warm.

The conversation shifts, the group slipping back into their usual rhythm—Mina teasing, Kirishima laughing, Denki making some ridiculous joke. Their voices rise and fall like background noise, familiar and distant.

You stand quietly, retreating into yourself, drink in hand, eyes fixed on the surface of your cup like it holds the secrets of the universe.

You don’t notice the way Ochako watches.

She’s spent enough time around you to pick up on the obvious—you’re shy. Painfully so. It’s not what people assume at first, not with the way you dress, the quiet confidence in your posture, and the sharpness of your gaze. But once they get to know you, it’s impossible to miss.

What surprises her more is how, despite that hesitance, you instinctively shift closer to Bakugou.

And he isn’t so innocent either. His gaze flicks toward you, sharp but unreadable, lingering just long enough to be noticeable before he looks away. He doesn’t speak, doesn’t react.

But he doesn’t move either.

Something clicks for her.

She nudges you, soft but deliberate.

You blink up at her, confused. What?

She only raises her brows, like she knows something you don’t.

Your frown deepens. What?

But she doesn’t explain, just grins to herself before turning back to the conversation.

The weight of it lingers, settling in your chest like you’re missing something important, but you try to ignore it. It's Just another thing you don't quite get yet.

It’s easier to focus on your drink. The cool glass against your fingertips, the slow trickle of condensation, the soft lap of water around your legs. The conversation hums around you, voices rising and falling like waves.

You don’t need to force yourself into it.

For now, this is enough.

For now, you’re comfortable.

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You sit at the lake’s edge, toes skimming the surface as gentle waves lap at your ankles.

Your white gold diamond tennis anklet catches the fading sunlight, glinting with every ripple. The sun has dipped lower now, streaking the sky in hues of gold and orange, its reflection shimmering across the water in shimmering fragments.

Ochako left a few minutes ago to grab marshmallows for the bonfire, and honestly, you don’t mind the solitude!

Your social battery is drained, and the distant sounds of your classmates—laughing, splashing, calling out to each other—feel muffled, like you’re hearing them from behind glass.

It’s nice, though. Being here. Being part of this.

You let yourself sink into the quiet, watching the way your feet sway in the water, the way the coolness soothes the lingering buzz beneath your skin.

Then—

A shadow falls over you.

You blink up, and nearly choke on air at the visual.

Bakugou stands over you, hands shoved into the pockets of his black swim trunks, droplets of water trailing down his chest. Against the warm hues of the setting sun, his silhouette is sharp, cutting through the golden light like a blade.

“Sad eyes,” he drawls, tilting his head. “You’re really livin’ up to the name right now.”

You blink, caught off guard. Huh?

“But I’m not sad!” you insist, frowning.

His brow lifts, skeptical. His gaze lingers, tracing the natural pout of your glossy lips, the way your eyes seem distant even when you’re not trying. Something pricks at the back of his neck, heat creeping up his spine before he looks away.

You shift slightly, fingers tightening around your cup, the plastic slick with condensation.

“You’ve been payin’ more attention to that damn drink than the actual lake.” Bakugou snorts, nodding toward the vast stretch of water behind him.

You try not to stare, but it’s difficult. His ashy blonde hair, the sharp contrast of his red eyes against the cyan blue of the lake—if you let yourself, you could sit here and admire the view all day.

Unfortunately, you realize too late that you have been staring. For way too long!

Panic sparks in your brain, and before you can stop yourself, your mouth moves faster than your common sense.

“Well, the water looks great, but I’m focusing on my drink! It’s really tasty. Do you wanna try?” The second the words leave your lips, regret slams into you like a wave.

You briefly consider slipping into the lake and letting the water swallow you whole. Would they let you drown if you tried?

…No, probably not. Too many future pro heroes around.

But to your utter disbelief, Bakugou doesn’t call you an idiot. Instead, He just flicks his gaze down to your cup, then—before you can process what’s happening—crouches down to your sitting height.

The water shifts beneath him, sending ripples through the lake. He’s closer now than you expected, all sharp angles and damp skin, the scent of caramel and lake water clinging to him.

Is the caramel like a cologne? Seriously! He smells like a roasted sweet treat at all times!

Your breath catches as his fingers brush against yours, the warmth of his skin a stark contrast to the cool plastic. Then, without hesitation, he lifts the cup to his lips.

And drinks.

For you, the world tilts. The sun, the water, the distant chatter of your classmates—it all fades into static.

It’s just him now. The slow sip, the soft slosh of liquid in the cup, the way his lips curve around the straw—the same one you’ve been using all day. Time stretches impossibly thin, and you swear the air between you hums with something heavy.

A single drop clings to his bottom lip as he pulls back. He swipes it away with the lazy flick of his tongue before his gaze catches yours—steady, unreadable, something warm simmering just beneath the surface.

“Not bad,” Bakugou mutters, his voice low, careless. “But I think the glittery shit you got on messed with the taste.”

Your brain stutters. Glittery…?

Oh.

Your lip gloss. The pink, strawberry-flavored one you had just recently reapplied.

Heat floods your face so fast it makes you dizzy, your heart hammering like you just ran laps with Iida.

Bakugou stays where he is, the water sloshing gently around his waist, completely unfazed. Meanwhile, you’re left staring at your cup, at the place his lips just were—desperately trying to remember how to function.

You gulp down your nerves, eyes flickering toward the water, focusing on the gentle ripples. Anything but him! Slowly, you lift the cup to your lips again.

Only to freeze.

Oh my god.

Right where his lips just were.

Your mind spins, and you can practically feel the steam rising from your skin. You could actually combust right here, more a ball of flames than human! The cool lake water around your ankles does nothing to soothe the heat crawling up your neck, pooling in your cheeks.

Bakugou doesn’t seem to notice your internal turmoil. His arms are crossed over his chest, muscles flexing, and his expression is somewhere between bored and contemplative. The silence stretches, thick and pressing, equal parts thrilling and terrifying.

You force yourself to take a sip, pretending like your heart isn’t trying to break out of your ribs. The drink is still sweet, still refreshing, but now all you can think about is the fact that his mouth was just here.

It’s like an indirect kiss!

He can’t be thinking about it that way, right?! If he did, he probably wouldn’t be so quiet about it!

Bakugou shifts, the water rippling around him. His red eyes flick to your face, and you brace yourself for some snarky remark—but it doesn’t come. Instead, he just watches you, like he’s trying to figure something out. It’s unnerving.

Then—

“Why does your quirk do that?” he asks, tilting his head slightly.

Your breath catches.

You blink at him, thrown completely off guard. “I don’t know what you mean.”

You glance around your sides first, eyes darting to the water, the shore, anywhere he could possibly be referring to. But nothing looks different. There’s no telltale glow, no signs of your quirk activating. Confused, you glance back at him.

“I don’t see anything,” you say hesitantly.

His smirk widens just a fraction. “Yeah? Look behind you.”

A nervous lump forms in your throat. You slowly twist your torso around—

and your heart plummets.

The tree behind you, once lush with soft green leaves, is now covered in delicate, glowing pink blossoms. Every inch of it, every branch, every tiny leaf that was once green has been replaced with flowers, radiating a gentle light in the darkness.

Your breath catches in your throat.

A whole tree.

Oh, no. No, no, no.

A beat of silence passes, stretching unbearably long as you stare at it, horror dawning.

This is mortifying!

You snap back around, scrambling for a way to downplay this, to brush it off, but your mind is blank. Completely empty.Your fingers tighten around the cup in your hands, your pulse a frantic drumbeat in your ears.

Bakugou watches you, unimpressed.

The bonfire crackles in the distance, flames licking at the air, casting long, flickering shadows against the trees. Laughter drifts over from the shore, light and carefree, but it barely registers. The world has narrowed to this moment, to the weight of his gaze, to the pounding of your heart in your ears.

You open your mouth, scrambling for something—anything—to say in your defense. But no words come out.

Bakugou clicks his tongue. “Tch. So?”

You blink at him, stomach sinking. “So what?”

He jerks his chin toward the tree. “That happen every time you get nervous?”

Your breath hitches.

Your voice jumps an octave, frazzled beyond belief. “I am not nervous!”

Bakugou lifts a brow, eyes gleaming with something wicked. “Yeah?” He exhales sharply, almost amused. “Might have to start calling you Squeaky.”

Horrified, you let out an embarrassed groan, heat rushing to your face. You don’t even think—your hand moves on instinct, reaching out to shove him.

Your perfectly manicured nails, white French tips, delicate and polished, press against solid muscle, barely making him budge.

“Don’t tease me so much,” you whine, already waving the white flag. “I might pass out.”

His eyebrows lift slightly, head tilting. “Who said I’m teasing you?”

Your glare sharpens, suspicious. “You are.”

Bakugou huffs, but he doesn’t argue. He should be more focused on the ridiculous fact that your quirk just bloomed an entire cherry blossom tree in his presence.

But right now, he’s distracted. Very distracted by the look on your face.

Your cheeks are puffed out slightly, your glittery pink lips pursed in a pout that’s way too damn distracting. And those eyes—big, wide, pleading, blink up at him like you’re silently begging for mercy.

Damn it.

He almost wants to keep pushing you just to see how much further he can take it. The way you react—it’s too easy, too entertaining. But there’s something about this whole situation, about you, that makes him feel… off. Like his balance is shifting beneath his feet, and he hates it.

You two have barely talked before this—what, a handful of conversations? A week of knowing each other at most? And yet somehow, you’ve already got him feeling weird.

This has gotta end.

Without warning, Bakugou steps forward, cutting through the water until he’s right in front of you, just within reach. His presence looms, heat radiating off his skin despite the cool night air.

Your breath stutters.

His hand lifts slightly, and for one wild second, your brain short-circuits. Is he going to—?

But instead, his knuckles brush the bottom of your cup, nudging it lightly.

“You gonna sit here all night or what?” His voice is rough, casual, but there’s something else beneath it—something unreadable. “Bonfire’s startin’ soon.”

Your lips part, but no sound comes out at first. You swallow, clearing your throat, scrambling to get a grip. “Oh. Right. Yeah.”

His gaze lingers on you for a second longer, like he’s making sure you actually heard him, before he turns away.

The water ripples in his wake as he wades back toward the shore, hands stuffed in his pockets like nothing even happened.

You finally exhale, shoulders sagging, the tension unraveling from your body.

The night air feels warmer now. Softer.

With one last glance at the lake, you set your drink aside and push yourself up.

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After that borderline confusing and mortifying interaction, you’re left with a choice the moment you step out of the water.

Option one: Stay. Sit on a rough block of wood, eat a damn roasted marshmallow, and painfully maneuver your way through awkward small talk with your classmates.

Option two: Leave. Retreat back to your bedroom, put on some mind-numbing reality TV, and rot in bed after a long, refreshing shower.

The second option sounds incredibly tempting. You can already imagine the warm spray of water against your skin, the fresh scent of your favorite body wash, the way your comforter would swallow you whole as you melted into your mattress.

Plus, you've packed your favorite Dior pj's!

And you’re going to do it! You swear you are—but then you catch Bakugou’s sharp gaze flicking back at you over his shoulder. He doesn’t say anything, but the subtle glance alone is enough to pin you in place, a silent, unspoken question hanging in the air.

Still here?

Damn it.

With an internal sigh, you resign yourself to option one. The night is almost over anyway.

That’s how you end up here, seated on a weathered log, chin resting against your manicured hand, staring blankly into the fire while Denki animatedly recounts some story about a trip to the mall a few months ago.

The others laugh, voices rising and falling around you, but you only catch pieces of it—bits of inside jokes, exaggerated retellings, the occasional snort from Sero that sets off another round of chuckles.

Your focus drifts.

Above, the sky is a vast stretch of inky darkness, dotted with a scatter of stars. You tilt your chin up slightly, eyes tracing their soft glimmer, losing yourself in the quiet vastness of it. The fire crackles, the warm glow licking up into the night, sending embers drifting into the air like fireflies.

It’s warm right here, close to the flames—but the heat only reaches so far, and beyond it, the night is settling in deep.

You shift on the log, arms wrapping around yourself as an involuntary shiver runs down your spine.

The flimsy cover-up you’d thrown on after the lake does little against the creeping chill, and you curse yourself for not grabbing a sweater like the other girls had. You remember seeing them duck back inside, giggling and chattering as they pulled on oversized hoodies and sweatshirts over their damp swimsuits, but you had been… distracted.

Or more accurately—Bakugou had been a distraction.

Your gaze flickers toward him briefly, though he’s focused on something else, watching the fire maybe, or just lost in thought.

Either way, he’s not paying attention to you. Good! You're not sure you could handle much else of him today.

Because truthfully, you feel a little ridiculous. The day had started off simple enough, but now you’re stuck in this strange in-between space—part of the group, yet somehow still lingering on the edges.

Ochako is talking with the others, easily swept into the rhythm of their conversation, and you wonder if you should try to do the same.

The idea of forcing yourself to be social makes your stomach twist, but sitting here, curled in on yourself, cold and silent, doesn’t feel much better.

You exhale softly, watching the way your breath barely fogs in the cool air. The warmth of the day has long since faded, leaving behind nothing but goosebumps on your skin and the distant hum of voices around you.

And for what feels like the millionth time today, you’re not entirely sure what to do with yourself.

Then, out of nowhere, a weight drops into your lap.

You blink down at it—a hoodie, deep burgundy, clean, thick and slightly worn, the sleeves spilling over your thighs. The fabric is still warm, carrying the lingering heat of the person who had been wearing it just moments ago.

You glance up, and lo and behold—Bakugou.

He’s standing in front of you, hands shoved into the pockets of his shorts, shoulders set in that familiar rigid way, like he’s already bracing for whatever dumb thing you might say in response.

But he doesn’t speak, doesn’t demand a thank you, doesn’t even really look at you—just waits, expectantly, for you to do something.

For the first time in what feels like forever, you actually understand what he means without him having to say a word. And yet, you hesitate.

“Bakugou…” You frown, holding the hoodie up against your torso. It’s massive. “But won’t you be cold?”

He scoffs, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. “Sad eyes, you’re givin’ me that look again. Just put on the damn jacket—I’m fine.”

Your brows lift, but your fingers are already slipping into the sleeves. The warmth of the fabric engulfs you immediately, the scent of caramel and something distinctly him wrapping around you in a way that makes your stomach flip.

“Well… thanks then,” you murmur shyly, hugging the hoodie closer. The oversized fit swallows you whole, the hem brushing against the middle of your thighs, covering the last remnants of your damp bikini. A sigh of relief escapes your lips.

“There you go saving me again,” you admit sheepishly, eyes glued to the ground. If you look at him now—if you meet those sharp, unreadable crimson eyes—you might just combust on the spot.

Bakugou side-eyes you, his lips twitching like he’s holding something back. The firelight flickers across his face, casting golden shadows along the sharp cut of his jaw, the slight furrow of his brow, the way his gaze lingers on you for just a second too long.

Behind you, your classmates' laughter rises over the crackling flames—marshmallows catching fire, old stories being passed around, Sero's obnoxious cackling piercing through the night.

They’re absorbed in their own little world, too wrapped up in the warmth of the moment to notice the quiet exchange happening just outside the fire’s glow.

Thank god.

Bakugou clicks his tongue, looking away, like he’s already over this. “Well, somebody’s gotta do it,” he mutters, stuffing his hands deeper into his pockets. Then, with a snort, “What’s U.A. gonna do when they lose their precious Y/N to the Tokyo subway system?”

You groan, ducking your head as heat rushes to your cheeks. Of course he had to bring that up.

“It was my first time! Give me a break” you grumble under your breath, arms curling around yourself, pulling his hoodie tighter.

Bakugou huffs out something that sounds suspiciously like a chuckle. And even though he doesn’t say anything else, even though he just stands there beside you with his hands in his pockets, shoulders slightly slouched, weight shifted like he might stay for a little while longer—

For the first time tonight, the cold doesn’t feel quite as bad.

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[socialobligation]

Hihi!!! I hope you’re having a good day ! I was wondering if you could please do friends to lovers texts with Bakugou and a weird, energetic reader? i really hope im doing this the right way lol and if im not im really sorry!! TvT

bite first | k. bakugo

you're the weirdest part of his routine, and lately, his favorite.

[nanasrkives]

navigation : midnight records! the starlight EP! the mha EP!

"DO YOU FEEL IT TOO ?" — Bakugo Katsuki

a/n : never knew i had it in me to write something this long bakugo being into shojos gives me life content : fluff fluff fluff. a LOT of pining. 3rd year bakugo. f2l i guess. +12k words. blue spring ride references.

Bakugo Katsuki doesn’t read romance for the fluff.

At least, that’s what he tells himself. It’s about structure. Pacing. The way a story builds tension out of glances instead of battles, silence instead of shouts. That’s what he tells himself. But he knows the truth.

What it really is—what it’s always been—is longing.

That ache in the chest when two people stand an inch apart and say nothing. The sharp inhale before a hand is taken, or not. It’s in the words people don’t say. In the space between panels where everything unsaid lives. He reads it and feels seen in a way that pisses him off more than he can explain.

It started with a volume of Blue Spring Ride left in the common room. Someone had abandoned it between cushions. He picked it up without thinking, without planning to. He read the first chapter standing. The second while pacing. By the third, he was sitting on the floor, the book open in his lap, heart tightening with every page.

Now he has the full set. And more. Stupid shit with pastels and sparkles and characters that cry too much. A box of feelings he can’t name shoved under his desk.

No one knows. No one’s supposed to.

Which is why tonight is a mistake.

Inviting you over to study always is. You’re too comfortable in his space. You sit on the floor like you live there, flipping through the textbook you’re not even reading and every time your knee bumps his, he has to pretend he doesn’t feel it like a static shock to the ribs.

He leaves the room too fast. “I’m getting snacks. Don’t touch my stuff.”

You hum. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”

But when he gets back, he stops in the doorway like he’s forgotten how to move.

You’re kneeling on the floor, half-turned toward his desk, and in your hands—one of the volumes from the box he swore he’d hidden better. His brain stalls. There’s the blanket, shoved to the side. The cardboard lid askew. The spines of half a dozen shojo mangas catching the light just enough to betray him completely.

You’re holding Blue Spring Ride. Of course you are. He knows the cover by heart. He knows exactly which scene is bookmarked, too. The one he reread three times before closing the book like it might say something out loud if he stared hard enough.

You don’t laugh. Don’t look smug or surprised or ready to tease him. Your fingers hold the book gently, like it’s something fragile. Like it matters.

“I didn’t know you read this kind of stuff,” you say, your voice quiet—not mocking, not even curious, just... soft. Careful.

His feet finally move, but only because he forces them to. He crosses the room with a grunt that lands somewhere between a warning and a deflection, and drops the water bottle onto his desk with more force than necessary.

“I told you to not touch my crap,” he mutters, heat already crawling up the back of his neck.

You lift a pen in your other hand—the one you dropped, apparently—and glance back at the box with a small shrug. “Well, sorry if it was in the way.”

That should make it better. It doesn’t. His chest is tight, heart thudding in the kind of silence that feels louder than yelling. You flip the book open. The page is still folded. Fucking chapter twenty-three. Of course you find it. Of course.

“This part,” you say, eyes scanning the page like you’re revisiting something old and intimate, “this one always hit me.”

His mouth is dry. He can’t decide if he wants to grab the book back or walk out of the room entirely.

“She’s trying so hard to get through to him, though she knows even if he doesn’t say it.” you go on. “But he doesn’t know how to let her in yet. Not because he doesn’t care. Because he doesn’t think he can.”

You don’t say it like you’re talking about the characters. You say it like you’re reading him.

He sinks slowly to the floor beside you—cross-legged, arms folded tight, like he’s trying to hold something in place. He doesn’t look at you, just keeps his gaze fixed on the page as if it might rescue him from the way your voice softens when you speak.

“He’s bein' a fuckin' coward,” he mutters, the words falling out like they’ve been waiting there, unsaid, for too long.

You tilt your head slightly, not pushing, not correcting him, just letting your voice land somewhere softer. “He’s scared. That’s different.”

The pause that follows feels like breathing underwater—slow and thick, full of things neither of you will touch directly. You turn another page, and this time your thumb lingers at the edge of the panel like you’re touching something fragile.

“This moment right here,” you say, quieter now, but still with that strange, steady certainty you always seem to have, “it’s my favorite.”

You don’t point to it, but he knows exactly which one you mean. The close-up of Futaba’s face, words floating just above her expression.

"Beacause I like you" I just want to hear you tell me that

You don’t elaborate. You don’t press. But the weight of it hangs there between you, not heavy, not demanding—just quietly waiting to be understood. And when your shoulder brushes his as you shift slightly to lean back, it stays there. No recoil. No excuse. Just warmth, still and deliberate.

He doesn’t say a word, but he doesn’t move away either.

It doesn’t come up again that night. You go back to studying like nothing happened, like you didn’t just brush fingertips against the deepest thing he’s been hiding since he was fifteen. But something’s changed. You can feel it in the air, in the way he doesn’t complain when you lean your arm against his or when your laugh gets too loud in his room. He doesn’t roll his eyes anymore. He just watches, and he’s quieter than usual, but it’s not the kind of silence that means distance. It’s the kind that listens.

A few days later, you leave a new book on his desk. You don’t say anything. You don’t ask if he read the one before. You don’t press. Just the soft sound of a cover meeting wood and your back turned as you leave his room. When he picks it up later, there’s no note. Just a folded corner two-thirds of the way through, and that’s somehow worse. Or better. He’s not sure yet.

He reads it in one night.

Doesn’t mark it this time. Doesn’t fold anything in return. But when he hands it back, he does it slowly. He doesn’t meet your eyes, but his fingers hold the book like it’s something delicate. Like he’s afraid you’ll notice the way the spine is softer now, or how he paused on that chapter more than once before letting the ending reach him.

You lend him another. He reads that one slower. It becomes a rhythm you never name. The exchange of folded pages and lived-in dialogue. Notes in the margins. Underlined phrases. Sometimes they’re funny. Sometimes they’re devastating. Sometimes they feel like code. And he starts wondering, around the fourth or fifth book, whether you’ve been saying something in them the whole time, and if maybe, just maybe, you’ve been waiting for him to answer.

He tries to. In his way. A small pencil mark beneath a line that says You don’t have to say it out loud for it to mean something. A sticky note, blank except for a question mark next to a panel where a character walks someone home without saying why.

He doesn’t ask you to meet him outside the gym, but you’re always there. He doesn’t offer to walk you to the dorms, but he always ends up at your side. You don’t say thank you, and he doesn’t tell you he wants to stay longer, but neither of you rushes those steps.

One night, he gives you a book you didn’t lend him. One from his own collection, older, more worn. There’s a quote faintly marked near the end: You were the only thing that made staying feel worth it. He doesn’t say anything as you read it, but when you look up, he’s already watching you like he’s bracing for something to fall.

You don’t ask.

But you don’t forget the page.

And when you hand it back the next week, there’s no new book in your hand.

Just a quiet, expectant pause as you sit beside him.

It should feel normal by now—the silence, the weight of books between you—but something in it hums differently. He knows you’re about to say something, but you don’t. Instead, you shift forward slightly and slide a thin paperback across the carpet between you. He picks it up. Turns it over. It’s familiar, but new. Not one he’s read before. You don’t explain.

He flips it open. Finds a folded page before chapter one.

Sometimes I think if I say it out loud, it’ll become real—and I don’t know if I’m ready for that.

He reads it three times. Closes the book without a word.

That night, when he walks you home, he doesn’t say anything at your door. You turn like you always do, waiting for a smart comment or a sarcastic farewell. You blink. The hallway light buzzes behind you. He’s standing with one hand in his pocket and the book tucked under his arm like a shield. His face is unreadable.

He doesn’t say anything else. But you swear you heard your name echo all the way down the hall as you close your door.

He reads the line again that night. The one you folded. He flips to it so many times he doesn’t need the crease anymore. The words burn into his skull until they feel like his own. If I say it out loud, it’ll become real—and I don’t know if I’m ready for that.

The truth is, it already is.

He’s already ruined himself a little for anyone else. You’re in everything now. In the way he thinks. In the way he breathes. In the way he starts to reach for your hand without realizing it and has to curl his fingers into his palm before it gives him away. He stares at the folded page, pencil in hand, and mutters under his breath, “Why the hell would you give me this one?”

He tries to write something in the margins. His pencil hovers over the paper, tip faintly pressed to the edge of the dialogue bubble. But nothing comes. Every word feels like too much or not enough. Eventually, he gives up and just draws a small dash beside it. Not even a full mark—just a pause. A breath. His version of a maybe.

The next time he sees you, you’re already on the floor when he walks in. You glance up, then down at the book in your lap—the one you gave him—and ask, “Did you get to the part I folded?”

He shrugs. “Yeah.”

You wait, but he doesn’t offer more. Your eyes linger on him like you’re trying to decide whether to push, or just let it sit. “I thought it was... kind of relevant.”

Bakugo snorts, but it’s not sharp. “To what?”

You raise a brow. “You tell me.”

His jaw flexes, and for a second he looks like he might actually say something. But then he mutters, “Dumb line anyway,” and sits down beside you like the conversation didn’t happen.

You don’t call him on it. But your hand stays closer than it used to. Close enough to touch if either of you moves just slightly.

He notices. He doesn’t move.

You're not sure how long you’ve been sitting in silence. Ten minutes. Maybe more. The book is still open on your lap, but neither of you has turned the page in a while. Bakugo’s beside you, legs stretched out, his fingers twitching near his knee like he wants to say something and can’t. The quiet isn’t tense, exactly. It’s just heavy. Like both of you are holding something in your mouths and waiting for the other to make it easier.

You should say it. You know you should. You’ve been sitting with it for weeks now, maybe longer—this soft, aching thing in your chest every time he underlines a sentence or walks you home or says your name like it means something.

So you breathe in, slow. Then you blurt out, “I really like you.”

He doesn’t react at first. Just blinks once, like the words didn’t land right. Or like he didn’t expect them to sound like that—so simple. So final.

You keep your voice steady. “I’ve been trying not to say anything because I didn’t want to make things weird. Or make you feel like you had to say something back. But I just—I couldn’t not say it anymore.”

He exhales like he’s been punched. Not loudly. Just enough that his shoulders drop a little and his fingers go still against the floor.

“I thought I was gonna be the one to say it first,” he mutters, barely above a whisper.

Your head turns before you can stop it. “What?”

He doesn’t look at you. “I was gonna. I’ve been meaning to. Every time you gave me a new book or looked at me like—like that.” He shakes his head, jaw tight. “I’d open my mouth and then I’d just... freeze. Like a fucking idiot.”

“You’re not an idiot.”

“No, I am,” he says, sharper now. Not angry—just embarrassed. “You don’t get it. I’ve never felt like this. Not for anyone. Not like this.” His fingers rake through his hair, rough. “You give me these lines and scenes and looks and I know they mean something and I still—I still choke, damn it.”

You’re quiet for a second, watching him fall apart quietly beside you, the way he always does when he’s feeling too much at once. You shift slightly closer, enough that your knee brushes his, and he doesn’t move away.

“I didn’t give you those books to say something,” you say gently. “I just hoped maybe you’d feel it, too.”

He lets out a laugh that’s more breath than sound. “Yeah,” he mutters. “I felt it.”

You swallow. “So what now?”

He finally looks at you. His eyes are darker than usual—focused. Honest in a way that makes your stomach twist.

“I don’t know,” he says. “But I want this shit. I want to try. With you.”

Your chest loosens. Just a little

“I’m not gonna be good at it,” he adds quickly. “I’m gonna overthink everything and probably mess up and say the wrong shit—” You reach for his hand.

He stops. And then, very slowly, he lets you hold it.

“You don’t have to get it perfect,” you say. “You just have to mean it.”

“I do.” His voice is rough now. Lower. “I really fuckin’ like you. It’s annoying.”

You laugh into the quiet, and he squeezes your hand once like a question. You squeeze back like an answer.

Neither of you moves for a while. The book is still open, the page folded neatly in the corner, and there’s a line sitting there that neither of you points out.

Then, slowly, his thumb shifts against the side of your hand. You feel it before he speaks, the way his breath changes—like he’s on the edge of saying something else, or doing something reckless. You turn to look at him and find him already watching you, gaze heavy but uncertain.

“Can I—” he starts, then cuts himself off. He doesn’t need to finish it.

You nod.

He leans in carefully, like he doesn’t trust the floor to hold the weight of it. His free hand hovers awkwardly at first before settling lightly against your jaw, fingers warm, unsure. And when he kisses you, it’s soft in a way you weren’t ready for. Gentle. Hesitant.

Nothing practiced. Nothing smooth.

Just quiet. And real.

He pulls back just enough to breathe, his forehead brushing yours. You’re still holding hands. Neither of you has let go.

“I’ve been wanting to do that for a long time,” he mumbles, the words almost lost in the space between you.

“I know,” you say, voice just as low. “Me too.”

You stay there, close and steady, the kiss lingering somewhere between your mouths and your heartbeat. It’s not perfect. But it’s yours.

You don’t talk much after that.

Not because there’s nothing to say—just because for the first time in weeks, maybe months, there’s nothing left to prove. The air between you is still full, still warm, but it’s not buzzing anymore. It’s just steady. Like the moment has stopped needing to be chased.

The book lies forgotten on the carpet between you, half-folded against the blanket. He’s stretched out now, one arm tucked behind his head, the other still within reach. You’re lying beside him, not quite touching, but close enough that you can feel the soft shift of his breathing.

Every so often, he glances at you. Not intensely. Just long enough to check if you’re still there and you are. “Is it weird,” you say eventually, voice quiet, “that it doesn’t feel different?”

Bakugo’s brow furrows faintly, and for a second, you think maybe he took it the wrong way. But then he exhales and turns his head toward you. “Nah,” he says. “It just means we didn’t fuck it up.”

You smile at the ceiling.

“Not yet,” he adds, because he can’t help himself. “Still time.”

You elbow him lightly, and he huffs out a sound that’s too close to a laugh for him to argue it.

It’s peaceful like that for a while. Not exactly sleepy, but the kind of soft that feels like it could lead there. A shared quiet. Familiar and unhurried.

He rolls onto his side at some point, propping his head up on his arm, eyes half-lidded. He looks like he’s about to say something. Then doesn’t. Then tries again.

“You were right, y’know,” he murmurs. “Back then.”

You blink over at him. “About what”

“When you said she can feel it, even if he doesn’t say it” His voice is rough, not from emotion—just from exhaustion. Like something in him finally gave up resisting. “I didn’t say it. But you still knew.”

“I didn’t need you to,” you say. “I just wanted you to feel it, too.”

He reaches over and brushes his fingers against yours. It’s barely a touch, but it says more than anything he could put into words. “I did,” he says quietly. “I do.” And then he lets the silence come back. This time, it settles between you like a blanket.

Not heavy. Just warm.

BONUS :

Your daughter has no chill.

Not when it comes to bedtime stories. Not when it comes to anything, really. She’s all knees and curls and a voice too big for her body, bouncing on the mattress like she hasn’t already stalled for twenty minutes.

“Not the one with the dragon hero,” she says with a groan. “That one’s boring. I want the kiss one!”

Bakugo raises an eyebrow from where he’s sitting at the edge of her bed. “The what now?”

She throws herself dramatically onto the pillows, limbs flailing like it’s the end of the world. “The kiss one! With the guy and the girl and the charm and the love stuff!”

From the hallway, you call out, “My Love Story!!, sweetheart. Volume five.”

“Tch.” Bakugo mutters something under his breath—probably about corruption or sentimental brain rot—but he reaches for the shelf without protest. The cover is faded from too much handling, spine softened like it’s been loved for years. It has. It’s the same one you used to pass back and forth, long before either of you thought about bedtime routines or toothbrush arguments or which sippy cup color would cause a meltdown.

He flips it open and frowns. “Where even is the part with the charm?”

“She says it’s near the middle,” you say, appearing in the doorway with a knowing smile. “She has it memorized.”

“Of course she does.” He doesn’t hide the pride in his voice as he sits back down and adjusts the blanket around her. “Spoiled brat.”

“She’s your brat you know,” you remind him, folding your arms as you lean against the frame.

“Unlucky kid.”

She kicks at his side half-heartedly, already settled against his shoulder, thumb in her mouth, other hand gripping the edge of the book.

He reads, voice lower than usual. Calmer. Every line slow and steady, like the words are still sinking into him after all these years. When he gets to the charm scene—the one she always waits for—she gasps, loud and delighted, and points.

“That’s the part! That’s when he says he likes her!”

Bakugo pauses. Just for a second.

And then he nods. “Yeah,” he murmurs. “It is.”

You don’t say anything. Just watch the two of them: your daughter, curled against his side, and Bakugo Katsuki—gruff, impatient, still pretending he doesn’t like romance—reading a love story with the same kind of care he used to hold his feelings for you.

Later, when the house is quiet and her room is dark, he finds you at the shelf.

You’ve pulled out Blue Spring Ride. You don’t open it. Just hold it, fingers resting over the soft crease of a long-folded page. “I used to think this was where everything started,” you say.

He stands beside you, close enough to feel. “Wasn’t it?” You glance at him. “Maybe it was where we figured it out.”

He doesn’t say anything for a while. Then, without ceremony, he slips the book from your hands and slides it back into place. You don’t miss the way his fingers brush yours.

“I love you,” he says, almost absently, like it’s a habit now. Like it’s something you’re meant to hear at the end of a long day, right between goodnight and I’m home.

You smile. “Yeah. I love you too.” He kisses your temple.

And in the quiet that follows, you both know it was never just about the stories you folded into pages. It was always this. The soft part. The part that stayed.

2025 © NANASRKIVES. / do not copy, repost, edit, plagiarize, or translate any of my works on any platforms, including ai.

TAGLIST (OPEN). / @cherrysurf @arwawawa2 @itsmeaudrieee @g-h-o-s-t-b-a-b-i

[luvseraphh]

Hiiii! Can I have a latte with caramel drizzle and a brownie for Bakugou? (THANKSIES AND CONGRATZ🎉)

best friends? k. bakugo

in which your childhood best friend starts acting... different

order a treat here

you and bakugo's relationship had always been confusing. being his friend just meant he was less mean towards you. but these past few weeks he had been even more confusing.

he had been avoiding you, finding any excuse to get away from you, turning down all of your attempts to hang out, it was like he didn't want to be your friend anymore.

finally you'd had enough. it was bakugo's bed time and he had just left the common room to go back to his dorm, wanting to get in the many hours of sleep he usually got. you followed behind him, making sure to remain unnoticed.

a few minutes after he shut his door behind him, you knocked on the wood separating the two of you, wanting to clear the air.

"what?" he angrily asks, opening the door before his eyes land on you. "oh, y/n, i'm kinda tired, can we talk about this tomorrow?" he asks, eyes avoiding yours.

"no, bakugo, you've been avoiding me. do you not want to be my friend or something?" you ask.

"it's not like that," he responds, tugging you into his room.

"then what is it like?" you ask as he shuts the door, both of you now inside.

"i can't fucking get you out of my head," he finally shouts, as if he was angry at his feelings. or you for making him feel this way. "all i think about is you and your stupid fucking face. it's distracting. and i need to get over it."

"you... have a crush on me?" you ask, an amused grin on your face.

"eat glass," he scoffs, sitting down on his bed.

"hey, i have a crush on you too," you affirm.

"seriously, can we talk about this tomorrow? it's past my bedtime," he compromises.

"fine, you old fuck," you tease before leaving him alone with his thoughts.

taglist - @justmylvr @lwcedribbons @im0nsaturn @n3r0-5352 @dvartefox @failurewater @f0reverfaded @t0asty1 @iv-vee @mp3nai @straows

ⓒ luvseraph

[mindless-existence1]

Bakugo Headcannon

Kinda suggestive...maybe idk it's about flirting

☆ So like in my mind he's cocky right? And that means flirty.

☆ when he's in a relationship he flirts and that's all well and good because mainly it's tweasing.

☆ it's only well and good when you get flustered and elbow him in the side or smth

☆ but the second you even slightly flirt back his ears are turning red and his face is getting hot

☆ the first time you said an innuendo about him when he was in him hero costume he couldn't look you in the eyes the rest of class.

☆ you'd think he get used to it but you don't do it often enough for him to get used to it

☆ randomly you'll flirt back and he turns into a flustered mess.

☆ of course you know this but he will deny the fact be gets flustered till the day he dies

☆ no matter how much he deny he can't stop his face from turning a deep shade of red and his voice getting a bit shaky or the way he avoids eye contact the rest of the day

[breakdawn-avenue]

@kweenkatsuki-fics

first kiss of the new year

[shewki]

oh 🥹🎀

[sakuraszn]

WHERE THE OCEAN MEETS THE SKY !

featuring…katsuki bakugo. ⋆｡ﾟ｡

summary: every summer, you escape to a quiet beach town, away from responsibilities, away from reality. That’s where you meet him—Katsuki Bakugo, golden-haired, sharp-tongued, and intoxicating in ways you don’t want to admit. You both swear it’s just a fling. But the waves keep pulling you back to him, and summer nights stretch too long for just empty promises. When the season ends, will you walk away like you always do? Or is this the kind of love that stays, even when the sun fades?

cw : forbidden love, summer romance, modern!au, kissing, angst, bittersweet endings(?), slightly suggestive(?). total word count [__]

nia’s notes : I cannot fathom how excited I am to write this story, this’ll be my first time making a long story with chapters so please bear with me. I hope you guys will enjoy this when each chapter comes out! other than that stay tuned ;)). If you would like to be added to the tag list of this please lmk!

i. 𝐅𝐈𝐑𝐒𝐓 𝐓𝐎𝐔𝐂𝐇, 𝐅𝐈𝐑𝐒𝐓 𝐓𝐈𝐃𝐄. ✗

ii. 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐒𝐔𝐍 𝐎𝐍 𝐘𝐎𝐔𝐑 𝐒𝐊𝐈𝐍, 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐅𝐈𝐑𝐄 𝐈𝐍 𝐘𝐎𝐔𝐑 𝐄𝐘𝐄𝐒. ✗

iii. 𝐒𝐀𝐋𝐓-𝐊𝐈𝐒𝐒𝐄𝐃 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐑-𝐂𝐑𝐎𝐒𝐒𝐄𝐃. ✗

iv. 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐎𝐂𝐄𝐀𝐍 𝐀𝐋𝐖𝐀𝐘𝐒 𝐓𝐀𝐊𝐄𝐒 𝐁𝐀𝐂𝐊 𝐖𝐇𝐀𝐓 𝐈𝐓 𝐆𝐈𝐕𝐄𝐒.✗

v. 𝐖𝐀𝐕𝐄𝐒 𝐖𝐈𝐋𝐋 𝐂𝐀𝐑𝐑𝐘 𝐌𝐄 𝐁𝐀𝐂𝐊 𝐓𝐎 𝐘𝐎𝐔. ✗

[nemisuki]

𐔌 ✧.* ᴛʀᴇᴀꜱᴜʀᴇꜱ .ᐟ ֹ ₊ ꒱

ꜱʏɴᴏᴘꜱɪꜱ || A knight spending his whole life looking out for the princess, leaves him developing feelings that may be mutual?  

᧔o᧓ || katsuki bakugo x f!reader, she/her pronouns, pure fluff, no smut or angst, oneshot, aged up, royal au, childhood friends to lovers, knight bkg, princess reader, words of affirmation, protective & jealous bkg, majority his pov, yearning, he just a lil guy, 1.1k word count

The sounds of chatter and violins drown out in the background, his gaze solely focused on the woman standing beside him – extravagant gown and tiara glistening from hanging chandeliers – her appearance almost too perfect.

Almost.

His brows furrow at the sight of the princess stuffing her face with pastries – eyes sparkling with joy as she tries multiple desserts that were brought from outside of the kingdom – humming with delight at each bite.

After years of staying by her side like a shadow – courtesy of knowing her since childhood – he would much rather take a wound to the chest then ever admit his growing care for her, something stronger than friendly bonds.

He would much rather not admit that the talk of suitors strongly irked him to the bone – made his fingers twitch on his sword – glaring at any noble who looked at her with anything other than respect.

The purity in her eyes was something unique in such an era of war and unnecessary foes.

And he'll be damned if anyone were to take advantage of such kindness.

"Katsuki, have you ever had such a delicacy?!"

His eyes roam over her features out of instinct – the puffy cheeks, bright eyes and cheesy smile – making his heart race, a feeling he wished to ignore.

But it urges him to reach out – which he did – gently wiping some bread crumbs from the corner of her mouth, relishing in the silky texture of her skin under his fingertips.

"Tsk, must you be so clumsy with your food?"

He rolls his eyes, giving her a stern look – hiding the way she can make him lose his composure in a matter of seconds – despite the training he endured to get to such a position.

She simply giggles at his words, seeming to not be affected by his rough exterior, he could tell by the way she looks at him – with amusement and open fondness – but most of all... hardened trust.

"I must ask my father to order some for the next banquet!"

"Yeah I'm sure your father will build ya' your own personal bakery, if you so much as compliment these goods."

Another pretty laugh.

"Maybe so! Father is quite bold."

He simply keeps watch as she nibbles away at her plate – that's basically overflowing – his glare hardening at some royals who looked her way.

The blonde instinctively takes a step closer as he sees a male approaching.

"Another damn extra..."

Practically hearing the bubbling anger coursing through his veins – she gently places a hand on his shoulder – immediately making him straighten up.

Though his glare doesn't lessen as the man bows before her, beginning to exchange words as they go over insignificant matters, the prince's gaze staying on her face a little too long for his liking.

It's always like this, lingering looks of desire and greed – from one's he'd cut down in a heartbeat if she'd just ask – none of these potential suitors are worthy to even be near her.

They didn't know her like he did.

Didn't know the way to make her laugh, didn't know how often she tended to the gardens, didn't know just how beautiful she is – with or without all the jewels and makeup – his favorite sight being early in the morning.

Her half lidded eyes and lazy smile as she opened the door for him to enter her chambers – no sense of boundaries at all with him – as she wore her nightgown and crazy bed head.

Maybe that's when he became such a morning person.

"Katsuki? Katsukiiiii? Kacchan!"

He jolts out of his thoughts, surprisingly being met with her confused face, leaning a little too close to his.

The blonde quickly takes a step back – heart nearly leaping out of his chest – his cheeks dusting in pink.

"Agh- what are you doing?! And don't call me that dumb nickname in public!"

"Well you we're just standing there when I was calling your name! You were glaring so hard that you scared the poor man away!"

"Hmph so what?! If he was that much of a wimp then he's just another weakling!"

"Gosh, always so mean tsk tsk tsk."

She tippy toes to soothingly pat his head, giggling at the sight of his embarrassed expression – hidden underneath his annoyance – she always seemed to laugh whenever he was around.

He grumbles and is about to swat her hand away but hesitates, instead grabbing her hand and tugging her along, out of the ballroom.

The jealousy within him fuelled his drive.

Her eyes widen as she picks up her pace to match his long strides.

"Katsuki?"

"I hate this royal crap."

Though he can't see it, her gaze softens as she listens to him – the hidden requests underneath each word registering in her mind – y/n already understands, humming along.

Her fingers eventually intertwine with his, a habit she's had since she was little, a habit that kills him every time she acts on it.

"Some sprouts finally started growing in my garden, would you like to see?"

He noticeably lessens his quick pace – recalling the dramatic heels the maids chose for her to wear on this event – he says nothing but changes the course to her chambers.

"Change into better clothes then, don't wanna ruin that gown remember? Probably worth more than anything I have on me."

Given her cheery demeanor, he expected a laugh or even a smile but he didn't expect silence as they reached her door.

He looks back at her with curiosity and uncertainty.

"Oi what's wrong-"

The blonde stands completely frozen as she suddenly tippy toes to peck his cheek, his grip on her hand tightening with shock, his eyes widening with disbelief.

Did she just...

Her eyes lock with his – and despite the flustered look on her face – she looks at him with a mix of sincerity and determination.

"You're value is worth more then any gown or gold coin-"

His mouth is completely dry and he's positive he sees stars. Shyness creeps up as her eye contact wavers but she stays strong to finish her declaration.

Declaration of something unknown to either of them.

"-at least to me it is."

It takes him a minute to register what the hell she just said, his body unable to react as she gives his hand one last squeeze – before realizing how cheesy that sounded – y/n running into her room all embarrassed as she goes to change.

Closing the door behind her to give them both time to realize the shift of the atmosphere – shift of their relationship – the duo both trying to regulate their racing hearts.

Hearts that yearns for one another.

It's safe to say they aren't just childhood friends anymore – or even princess and bodyguard – after that intimate exchange of underlying affection.

So when the servants around the castle saw the two, oddly silent and flustered, they could only smile at the sight.

Especially when they eventually went back to holding hands.

Guess no more banquets are needed if her suitor was beside her all along.

✦ ⎯⎯⋆ ˚｡⋆ ୨ masterlist || taglist || intro || socials ୧⋆ ˚｡⋆⎯⎯ ✦

ᴀ/ɴ ||| currently doing a side quest of organizing my spotify playlists, maybe i'll make one and post it here so u guys can see what i listen to when writing for our favorite blonde! ɴᴇxᴛ ꜰɪᴄ ||| heian era sukuna x f!reader (fluff) ᴛᴀɢꜱ ||| @leleyro @zaiban2989 @qyuin ໒꒰ྀི ´๑  ̫๑`  ꒱ྀིა

[breakdawn-avenue]

@kweenkatsuki-fics

🌻

tip jar

[luvv1anime]

Guys i js rewatched mha and PLS why dont we talk abt the character development we got frm bakugou and todoroki PLS WE NEED TO TALK ABT IT MORE. Like seriously the scene where bakugou willingly went to todoroki’s room bcs they seen he looked a little distressed and he CALMLY tlked to him to try and help comfort him ?!?!? Todoroki breaking out his shell ? (Still blunt as ever) but seriously like idk but s7 shoto had a glow to him and NOBODY can tell me otherwise 💔💔💔

Swear this scene did something to me .

[kalcia]

Patr30n cheesecake gift for @fawn-eyed-girl , art for Chpt 3 of “The Boy of Summer”

Thank you, dear! 💕