Could you please make a bakugou x gn!reader where it's readers first time going to bakugous house or the other way around?
bakugou x gn!reader -requested-
(Sorry if it’s not what you expected!)
“You bein’ here… it didn’t piss me off as much as I thought it would. Kinda felt normal. Like you fit, or somethin’. Tch—whatever, forget I said that.”
You don’t even get two steps inside before Bakugou’s already barking orders.
“Shoes off at the door. Don’t touch anything.”
You blink, standing awkwardly in the doorway of his house, school bag still slung over your shoulder.
It’s the start of winter break, a rare chance for the UA students to spend a few days at home. Most of Class 1-A scattered the second they got permission. You’d expected Bakugou to do the same. What you didn’t expect… was him asking if you wanted to come with.
And now you’re standing in his house, unsure if you’ve been invited or kidnapped by the world’s most combative host.
The house is quieter than you expected. Warm. Clean, but not in a showy, perfect way, more like someone actually lives here. There’s a pair of fuzzy slippers shoved under the shoe rack. You catch a glimpse of a younger Katsuki in one, cheeks puffed with frosting and sparkler candles lit behind him. Your grin is immediate.
“Don’t,” he snaps before you can speak. “Not a word.” You lift your hands in surrender. “Didn’t say anything.”
“Tch.” You barely have time to toe off your shoes before a voice calls out from the kitchen,
“Katsuki! Is that your little partner?!” Your soul leaves your body. Bakugou stiffens like he’s been stabbed in the spine.
“IT’S NOT…!” he yells, ears flaming. “They’re just a classmate, dammit!”
You lean around him and call, “Hi, Mrs. Bakugou!”
“Hello to you too, sweetie!” she shouts back, totally unfazed.
Bakugou growls something murderous under his breath and shoves you toward the hallway. “Don’t talk to her. Just.. living room’s this way.” He’s walking so fast you almost trip keeping up with him. The hallway’s narrow and plastered with more family photos, Mitsuki in full glam, a softer man you assume is his dad holding a toddler Katsuki, and one where Bakugou’s wearing a cape made of tinsel. Your grin widens.
“You better not be laughing back there,” he warns, not looking back.
“I would never,” you say sweetly.
The living room is comfy and a little chaotic in a domestic way, worn-in couch, TV remote missing its back, a folded kotatsu blanket pushed to one side. There’s an old beanbag chair in the corner, probably from his middle school days, and a hero-themed calendar on the wall that hasn’t been flipped since October.
You sit, cautiously, on the far end of the couch. He plops down beside you with a grunt, arms crossed like he’s bracing for impact.
“It’s… nice,” you say, looking around.
“I’m not,” you insist. “It’s kind of nice seeing where you grew up.” That earns you a look, suspicious and slightly pink around the ears. “You’re annoying.”
Before you can tease him further, you hear the distinct clatter of pots and pans from the kitchen and Mitsuki yelling, “KATSUKI, TELL YOUR FRIEND TO STAY FOR DINNER. I’M MAKING KARAAGE.”
Bakugou slams his head back against the couch with a groan. “She’s gonna talk your ear off.”
You lean in with a grin. “So she likes me?”
“She likes everyone. Don’t let it go to your head.”
Later, after an extremely loud dinner where Mitsuki absolutely grilled you with a hundred questions (“Are you top of the class?” “You think Bakugou’s attractive?”), and Masaru quietly handed you extra rice behind his wife’s back like an accomplice, Bakugou finally walks you to the front door. It’s quiet now, just the two of you. He’s leaning against the frame, arms crossed tight across his chest.
“…Thanks for coming,” he says, barely above a mutter.
You smile at him. “Thanks for inviting me.” He clicks his tongue, but his cheeks are still warm.
“…Next time, I’ll come to yours.”
And then, true to form, he closes the door before you can respond. You stand there for a second, stunned.
Then, the click of the lock.
And inside, just behind the door, you know he’s still standing there.
Trying so hard not to smile.
