M.B.Rubenstein's storys and Art.

When you were little, you did not understand how one day could change your whole life.

You only knew that the room was too bright, your shoes felt too tight, and the teddy bear in your hands was brand new.

It had soft brown fur, round black eyes, and a ribbon tied around its neck in an oversized bow, satin and pale blue. You held it so tightly that your tiny fingers disappeared into its fur. The social worker had smiled and told you it was a gift. A welcome present.

You did not feel welcomed.

You felt scared.

You sat on the edge of a chair in a small office in America, knees together, heart pounding so hard that even breathing felt difficult. You were trying to be brave, because brave girls did not cry in front of strangers. Brave girls sat still and listened. Brave girls nodded when adults talked.

Then the door opened.

Two men walked in together.

Even years later, you would remember how beautiful they looked to your little self.

One of them had soft black hair and gentle brown eyes behind blue half-rim glasses. He looked nervous, almost as nervous as you were, with his hands clasped together like he was trying very hard to say the right thing. The other had bright silver hair, sharp light-blue eyes, and the kind of smile that lit up the entire room before he even spoke. He wore confidence like it belonged to him, but when he looked at you, his expression softened into something warm and careful.

Victor and Yuuri.

At the time, they were just names someone had told you five minutes ago.

At the time, you did not know that one of them would stay up all night when you had fevers and press a cool cloth to your forehead.

At the time, you did not know that the other would braid your hair badly for school picture day and then laugh so hard he had to sit down.

At the time, you did not know they would become home.

Victor knelt first, slow and easy, so he wouldn’t seem too tall. Yuuri crouched beside him, hands resting on his knees. Both of them looked at you as if you were something precious.

You stared back at them over the teddy bear’s bow.

Victor smiled gently. “Hi, y/n.”

Your throat felt tight. You looked down at the bear, then back up at them. Your voice came out tiny and uncertain.

“Um… hi.”

Yuuri’s whole face softened at those first words. You did not know then that he would remember them forever.

For a moment, nobody moved. Nobody rushed you. Nobody told you to smile.

Victor tilted his head a little. “That’s a very nice bear you have.”

You looked down at it again, squeezing it harder. “It’s mine.”

“Of course it is,” Victor said, as if that were the most important truth in the world.

Yuuri swallowed. “We… we brought that for you.”

That made you blink.

You looked between them again, two strangers who were smiling like they wanted to know you but did not want to scare you. It made something strange twist in your chest. Hope, maybe. Or maybe the shape of it.

Your legs swung once under the chair. Then, because little you had always been practical even when scared, you asked the question that mattered most.

“What do I call you two?”

Victor’s eyes widened with surprise, then turned impossibly soft. Beside him, Yuuri looked like he might cry right there in the office.

Victor glanced at Yuuri. Yuuri glanced at Victor.

Then Yuuri said quietly, “If you want… you can call me Dad.”

Victor smiled, his hand brushing lightly against Yuuri’s sleeve. “And you can call me Papa.”

You tested the words silently in your head.

Dad. Papa. They felt foreign.

They felt frightening.

They felt a little like standing at the edge of the ice for the first time, toes at the line, not knowing whether you would fall or fly.

You held the teddy bear against your chest and whispered, “Okay.”

That was the beginning.

Years later, your teddy bear still sat on the shelf in your room in Saint Petersburg.

The bow was frayed now. One eye was a little scratched. The fur was worn soft in patches where your hands had loved it thin. But you never got rid of it.

It had been the first gift your fathers ever gave you.

Now you were sixteen, nearly as tall as Yuuri, and a senior-level figure skater with callused feet, aching muscles, and an entire life built around blades and music and timing and breath. The little girl in the office had become someone fierce on the ice, someone who could land jumps under pressure and hold a step sequence like she had music in her bones.

Sometimes the cameras said you looked like Victor when you performed.

Sometimes people said your softness off-ice was all Yuuri.

Your dads always said you were simply yourself.

That morning, sunlight spilled across the apartment kitchen while Victor stood at the stove in a slate-blue robe, making blini with the dramatic concentration of a man performing for an audience. Yuuri was at the table in one of Victor’s old sweaters, glasses slipping down his nose as he read over your training notes while sipping coffee.

Your skates should have been by the front bench.

They were not.

You tore through the hallway with one sleeve half on, bag bouncing against your hip.

“Papa! Dad, where are my skates?” you called.

Victor didn’t even turn around. “Good morning to you too, my love.”

“Morning,” you said automatically, still looking under the bench. “Seriously, where are they?”

“At the table,” Yuuri said.

You spun around. “Why are they at the table?”

“Because,” Yuuri replied in the patient voice that meant he was trying not to laugh, “your blades needed new guards and if I left them by the door, you would have run out with the old ones again.”

Victor set a plate down and looked over his shoulder, smiling. “Also because your father loves you.”

Yuuri’s ears pinked. “Victor.”

You crossed the kitchen, found your skates resting neatly beside your breakfast, and grinned despite yourself. “Thank you, Dad.”

Victor set more blini on your plate. “Eat first.”

“Papa-”

“No negotiating. You have training, and training requires food.”

Yuuri pushed the jam toward you. “And you know Dr. Sokolova wants you staying consistent.”

At that, some of the ease in your shoulders faded.

A few months ago, one of your routine medical checkups had ended with the sports physician sitting across from you, calm but firm, explaining that you were too close to underweight for the demands you were putting on your body. Not technically past the line, but close enough to worry her. She had advised weight gain, rest, reduced training, and careful monitoring.

You had nodded like it was simple.

It had not felt simple.

Taking a break had felt like losing language. Like waking up and finding out the world still moved without you. You had done what the doctor asked. You had eaten more. Rested more. Trained less. Your body had softened in places. Your hips felt different. Your old costumes fit tighter. Some of your practice dresses did not fit at all.

You had gained ten pounds.

Your dads had never once looked anything but relieved.

Victor turned down the stove and came over, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. “I know that face.”

“What face?”

“The face that says you are thinking too much before breakfast.”

Yuuri reached over and squeezed your hand. “Your body needed care, y/n. That’s all. There’s nothing wrong with that.”

You looked down at your plate. You knew they were right. You really did.

But coming back to full training still made nerves gather in your stomach like storm clouds.

“I know,” you muttered.

Victor crouched beside your chair, blue eyes level with yours. His tone, for once, held no teasing. “Listen to me. Strong is not a number. Healthy is not a punishment. You are allowed to take up space.”

Yuuri nodded at once, his own expression quiet and steady. “More than allowed.”

Your throat tightened. Sometimes their love was so immediate that it caught you off guard.

You took a bite of blini. Victor looked ridiculously pleased, like he had personally won a medal.

“Good,” he said. “Now finish breakfast, and then we’ll drive you.”

At the rink, the air smelled like cold metal, sharpened blades, and old ice. It should have felt comforting. Usually it did.

You changed in the locker room, pulling on one of your newer practice outfits, a dark navy top and black leggings that fit your body now instead of the body you had before. You caught your reflection in the mirror and hesitated.

You looked healthy.

You also looked different.

Before you could think too hard about it, you grabbed your guards and hurried out.

Your coach was already waiting at the boards.

He had trained you for years. He knew your habits, your jump timing, the way you bit the inside of your cheek before difficult run-throughs. He had praised your discipline. Praised your lines. Praised how “light” you used to look.

At first practice back, he just frowned.

Today, after you finished your warm-up laps, he called you over.

You glided to the barrier, breathing lightly. “Yes?”

His eyes moved over you in a way that made your skin crawl.

“You need to be careful,” he said.

You blinked. “About what?”

“Your body.”

Your stomach dropped.

He went on, voice low and critical, as if he were discussing a flaw in choreography. “You were always elegant because you looked long and lean on the ice. Now you look… heavier. Slower. The extra weight shows.”

For a second, all you heard was the hum of the rink.

You stared at him.

“I was told to gain weight,” you said carefully. “By my doctor.”

He shrugged. “Doctors are not judges. Or costume fitters. You can’t expect your old costumes to flatter you now. And if you want to stay competitive at senior level, you need to think about appearances.”

The words hit with surgical precision.

Your old costumes.

Flatter you.

Appearances.

You looked down at your hands gripping the top of the boards.

He was still talking.

“Maybe we adjust your meals now that you’re back. Be more disciplined. You don’t want people noticing.”

You did not realize you had gone completely still until another skater brushed past and sent a spray of ice against your boot.

A hot, painful shame spread through your chest.

The worst part was not that he said it.

The worst part was that some frightened, hidden part of you had already been thinking it.

You managed a brittle nod because you did not trust yourself to speak. Then you pushed away from the boards, skated to center ice, and missed your first jump so badly that the landing sent a hard shock up your ankle.

By the time practice ended, your hands were trembling.

You pulled off your skates too fast, stuffed them into your bag, and walked straight past the lobby. You needed air. You needed not to be looked at.

You made it to a side hallway before the tears came.

You hated crying here. Hated it.

You pressed your sleeve to your face and tried to stop, but the humiliation sat heavy and alive under your ribs. Maybe he was right, a cruel little voice whispered. Maybe everyone had noticed. Maybe everyone was being polite. Maybe you had come back wrong.

“Y/n?”

You looked up sharply.

Yuuri stood at the end of the hall, his glasses fogged slightly from the temperature change, concern already all over his face. Victor was right behind him carrying two coffees and your extra blade cloth, because of course he was.

The second they saw you crying, both of them changed.

Victor set the coffees down on the nearest windowsill so quickly one almost tipped over. Yuuri crossed the distance first.

“Oh, sweetheart,” he said, voice breaking on the words.

He cupped your face so gently it made you cry harder.

Victor was there a second later, one hand warm between your shoulder blades. “What happened?”

You shook your head once, embarrassed and angry and hurt all at once.

“Y/n,” Yuuri whispered, “please tell us.”

Something in his expression undid you. Maybe because Yuuri knew what it was to hear your body discussed like it was public property. Maybe because he looked frightened for you in a way that made you feel small and loved at the same time.

You sucked in a shaky breath. “Coach said I look heavier. That I don’t fit my old costumes right. That if I want to stay competitive, I need to watch what I eat again.”

Silence.

Not empty silence.

Dangerous silence.

Victor’s hand stilled on your back.

Yuuri’s eyes widened behind his glasses, and for one rare second, the softness dropped away completely. What remained was steel.

Victor blinked once. Slowly. “He said that to you?”

You nodded.

Yuuri’s jaw tightened.

Victor turned toward him. “Yuuri.”

“I know,” Yuuri said.

You had seen your father upset before. Anxious, certainly. Emotional, often. But this was different. This was the quiet fury of a man whose child had been hurt in exactly the place he knew could wound deepest.

Victor’s expression went cold in a way that made him look every inch the living legend people once feared competing against. “No.”

Yuuri kept one hand on your shoulder. “Did he say anything else?”

You stared at the floor. “That doctors aren’t judges. That people would notice.”

Victor actually laughed once, soft and disbelieving. It had no humor in it at all. “Oh, I would love to see him say that to a panel of sports physicians.”

“Victor,” Yuuri said, but he did not sound like he was disagreeing.

You wiped your eyes. “I’m sorry.”

Both of them answered at once.

“No.”

Victor crouched in front of you, taking your cold hands in his. “Do not apologize for someone else’s cruelty.”

Yuuri nodded firmly. “You did exactly what you were supposed to do. You listened to your doctor. You took care of your body. I am so proud of you.”

The tears started again, quieter this time.

Victor squeezed your fingers. “And for the record, ten pounds is nothing except proof that your body is recovering like it should.”

Yuuri inhaled slowly, visibly composing himself. “You know,” he said, voice still gentle but edged with experience, “there were years when comments like that would have destroyed me for months. People talk about skaters’ bodies like they belong to the sport before they belong to the person. It’s wrong. It was wrong when they did it to me, and it is wrong now.”

You looked up at him.

He smiled sadly. “Your body is not a problem to solve.”

Victor stood. “Stay here with Dad.”

“Victor-”

“No, no. I’m being calm,” he said, which meant he absolutely was not calm.

Yuuri almost smiled despite everything. “Try to remain mostly calm.”

Victor touched your hair once as he passed. “For you, I will be dazzlingly restrained.”

Then he strode back toward the rink lobby with the crisp grace of a man about to ruin someone’s afternoon.

You stared after him. “Papa’s scary when he’s mad.”

Yuuri let out a breath through his nose. “Yes. Very.”

He sat beside you on the bench and pulled you gently against his side. You leaned into him automatically, your head resting on his shoulder the way it had since childhood.

For a while, neither of you spoke.

Then Yuuri said, “When I was competing, I used to wear extra layers sometimes.”

You blinked. “Because you were cold?”

He gave you a small, crooked smile. “Sometimes. Mostly because I was worried about how I looked. People had opinions whenever my weight changed. I knew logically that bodies change. I knew performance is more complicated than numbers. But knowing something and believing it about yourself are different.”

You thought of old photos of him, the ones from before you were adopted, before he fully grew into his confidence. Sweaters layered over shirts, jackets zipped high, softness hidden like it was something shameful.

“You’re not ashamed of it now,” you said quietly.

Yuuri adjusted his glasses. “No. Not anymore. And do you know why?”

You shook your head.

He glanced toward the lobby where Victor had disappeared. “Because your Papa spent years loving me loudly until I started hearing him over everyone else.”

That made a watery laugh slip out of you.

Right on cue, Victor returned.

His smile was bright and beautiful and utterly dangerous.

“Well,” he said, smoothing invisible wrinkles from his coat, “you won’t be training with him alone again.”

You sat up. “What did you do?”

Victor looked offended. “I had a conversation.”

Yuuri gave him a look.

Victor relented, but only slightly. “A very direct conversation. Then a second, more professional conversation with the rink director, who was surprisingly interested to hear that a coach had decided to contradict medical guidance and comment on a minor athlete’s body in those terms.”

Your mouth fell open.

Yuuri blinked. “You already talked to the director?”

“I walk quickly when motivated.”

Despite yourself, you smiled.

Victor’s expression softened instantly when he saw it. He came over and held out his hand to you. “Come on. We’re leaving.”

“What about practice?”

Yuuri stood too. “Today, practice is over.”

Victor nodded. “Today, we are getting lunch, buying you that new practice dress you liked, and reminding you that your worth does not decrease because old clothes fit differently.”

You hesitated. “But—”

“No.” Victor’s voice gentled. “Listen carefully. Missing one practice will not ruin your career. Staying in an environment that teaches you to mistrust your body might.”

Yuuri zipped your bag for you because your hands were still shaky. “We can review your program at home later, if you want. No pressure.”

Your eyes burned again, but this time it was from relief.

“Okay,” you whispered.

Victor took one side of your bag. Yuuri took the other, even though you could easily carry it yourself. They did it anyway, each holding one strap between them like they were physically sharing the weight.

It made something in your chest unclench.

They took you to a quiet café first.

Victor ordered far too much food. Yuuri made sure you drank water. Neither of them commented on how much you ate, only chatted about choreography ideas and whether your step sequence needed stronger musical accents. After that, Victor insisted on taking you shopping, sweeping through a boutique with the dramatic purpose of a man correcting an injustice.

He picked out dresses based on color. Yuuri picked them out based on comfort and line. Between the two of them, you ended up in a fitting room with three options and a tiny, reluctant smile.

One of the dresses was deep wine-red with subtle crystal detailing at the sleeves. It fits your current body perfectly.

When you stepped out, Victor put a hand over his heart. “See? Stunning.”

Yuuri’s eyes went bright and soft. “You look happy in that one.”

You looked in the mirror.

You did. Not smaller. Not lighter. Just… good.

That evening, back at home, the apartment felt warm with lamplight and the smell of dinner. Your new dress was draped over a chair. Your old teddy bear watched from its shelf. Outside the windows, Saint Petersburg glowed blue-gray under the fading sky.

Victor sat on the floor by the couch, polishing your skate blades with theatrical seriousness. Yuuri was beside him, mending a loose crystal on one of your gloves with the focus of a surgeon.

You stood in the doorway for a moment and simply looked at them.

Your dads.

Your Papa with silver hair and impossible brightness, who had crossed countries and careers and still somehow made room in his heart for you as though it had always been waiting.

Your Dad with the glass heart everyone talked about, who understood fragile things because he had once been one, and who had taught you that tenderness was not weakness.

They noticed you at the same time.

Victor glanced up first. “Why are you hovering? Come here.”

You crossed the room and dropped down between them, nearly knocking Victor sideways. He laughed and wrapped an arm around your waist while Yuuri steadied the skate in his lap.

“Careful,” Yuuri said, amused. “Sharp blade.”

“Sorry.”

Victor rested his chin briefly against your shoulder. “Better?”

You thought about the hallway at the rink. The shame. The sting of those words.

Then you thought about today: warm hands, firm voices, lunch, laughter, a new dress, your fathers standing between you and the kind of harm that wore professionalism as a disguise.

“Yes,” you said honestly. “Better.”

Yuuri set the glove aside and touched your cheek. “You know we mean it, right?”

“What?”

“That none of this changes how proud we are of you.”

Victor nodded. “Not your weight. Not your costumes. Not one coach’s opinion. Nothing.”

You looked down at your hands. “I was scared you’d be disappointed.”

Both of them went still.

Then Yuuri’s expression crumpled in the tenderest way. “Oh, y/n.”

Victor gently took your chin and lifted your face. “My darling girl, the only thing that would disappoint us is you believing you have to hurt yourself to deserve this sport.”

Your eyes filled again.

Yuuri pulled you into him first, and Victor folded around both of you a second later, until you were tucked between them like you had been when you were small and sick and needed comfort.

You could hear Yuuri’s heartbeat at your ear.

Victor kissed the top of your head.

You let yourself sink.

When you finally spoke, your voice was muffled by sweaters and warmth and love.

“I love you, Papa. I love you, Dad.”

For a second, the room went quiet.

Then Victor made the softest sound, halfway between a laugh and something emotional, and tightened his arms around you.

“We love you more,” he said immediately.

Yuuri smiled against your hair. “So much more.”

You laughed, because they always said that, every single time, as if love were a competition they intended to win.

Maybe, in your family, it was.

Later that night, after dinner, after reviewing your program on the living room rug with socks instead of skates, after Victor demonstrated a dramatic arm movement and nearly hit a lamp while Yuuri scolded him fondly, you stood in your room getting ready for bed.

Your gaze landed on the teddy bear on the shelf.

You picked it up.

The bow was faded. One side drooped lower than the other. You brushed your thumb over the worn fur and remembered a tiny office, bright lights, trembling hands, and two men kneeling to meet you at eye level.

What do I call you two?

Dad.

Papa.

Back then, you had not known what those words would come to mean.

You knew now.

They meant sharpened blades left by your breakfast so you would not forget them.

They meant doctor’s appointments, new costumes, and lunches after bad practices.

They meant someone standing in the doorway when you cried, and someone else already reaching for you before you had to ask.

They meant being protected without being smothered, loved without conditions, and reminded again and again that your body was your home before it was ever a performance.

They meant family.

You tucked the teddy bear under one arm and padded down the hall.

Your fathers were already in their room. Victor was reading, stretched dramatically across the bed like a painting. Yuuri was beside him, glasses on, half-hidden by blankets and a skating magazine.

Both looked up when you appeared in the doorway holding the bear.

Victor smiled instantly. “Ah. A sleepover guest.”

Yuuri moved the blankets back. “Come here, sweetheart.”

You climbed in between them, because you were sixteen and nearly grown and still their daughter, and some kinds of comfort did not expire with age.

Victor dimmed the lamp.

Yuuri tucked the blanket around all three of you.

In the dark, your hand found theirs, Dad on one side, Papa on the other.

Safe.

Loved.

Home.

B= Best friend (What would they be like as a best friend? How would the friendship start?)

You probably don’t become Baji’s best friend in any normal way. It starts with chaos—maybe you step in when he’s about to get into a stupid fight, maybe you yell at him when everyone else backs off, or maybe you’re the only person reckless enough to laugh when he gives you that sharp, feral grin. At first, he acts like you annoy him on purpose, shoving your shoulder, stealing your food, showing up out of nowhere just to drag you into whatever nonsense he’s gotten himself into. But Baji notices people fast, and the moment he realizes you’re not scared of him, not using him, and not planning to leave when things get messy, he latches on hard. Your friendship would grow in that rough, unspoken way—late walks, hanging around while he pretends he doesn’t care that you came, and a hundred little moments where he starts treating your presence like something constant in his life.

As a best friend, Baji would be intense, loud, and unbelievably loyal. He’d tease you mercilessly, start arguments just to see your reaction, and act like he never needs help, but the second anyone else gives you trouble, he’s in front of you without hesitation. He’s the kind of friend who remembers the things you mention offhand, even if he acts dumb about it later, and he’d trust you with parts of himself most people never see—the thoughtful side, the guilt he carries, the way he quietly watches over the people he loves. With you, Baji would be weirdly clingy in his own way: showing up at your place uninvited, demanding you ride with him, dragging you into danger and then making sure you get home safe. He’d never say something soft in a straightforward way, but you’d know you matter by how fiercely he protects you, how quickly he looks for you in a crowd, and how, no matter how wild he is with everyone else, he always comes back to you.

C= Cuddles (Do they like to cuddle? How would they cuddle?)

Baji definitely acts like he is not the cuddly type at first. He would grumble if you called him clingy, flick your forehead, and tell you not to say dumb stuff like that, but the second you lean against him, he is not moving you away. He likes cuddling in a very Baji way—casual, rough around the edges, and like he is pretending it just happened by accident. You would notice that he always ends up pulling you closer with one strong arm, usually tucking you against his side or dragging you into his chest like it is the most natural thing in the world. He is warm, solid, and quietly possessive, the kind of person who acts annoyed while making sure you are as close to him as possible.

When Baji cuddles, he is not overly delicate, but there is a lot of hidden tenderness in it. He would rest his chin on your head, sling an arm over your waist, or pull you into his lap without warning, especially if he is in a lazy mood and wants you near him. If you are tired, he would let you bury your face into his shirt while his fingers lazily run through your hair or rub slow circles into your back, all while pretending he is not doing anything sweet. He is the type to hold you tighter when he feels protective or when he has had a long day, almost like having you in his arms helps settle the storm in him. And if you fall asleep on him, he is absolutely staying put, even if his arm goes numb, because there is no way he is waking you up once you trust him enough to relax like that.

D= Domestic (Do they want to settle down? How are they at cooking and cleaning?)

Keisuke Baji does not grow up dreaming about a quiet, picture-perfect life, and for a long time, “settling down” sounds too much like being caged. He is restless by nature, all sharp grins, bad impulses, and the kind of energy that feels too big for four walls. But with you, it changes. Not because he becomes soft or suddenly tame, but because home starts meaning something different. It is not routine he wants; it is you waiting for him, your voice cutting through the noise in his head, your place becoming the one spot where he can throw himself onto the floor, steal your food, and exist without pretending to be tougher than he already is. Baji would never say he wants domesticity in a neat, polished way, but he absolutely becomes the type to linger around you, to complain if you are out too late, to act like your shared space is his territory in the most protective, possessive way. He settles down without realizing it, one small habit at a time, until loving you quietly becomes the steadiest thing he has ever done.

As for cooking and cleaning, Baji is a disaster first and useful second. He can cook, technically, but only in the reckless, instinctive way where he does not measure anything, cranks the heat too high, and leaves the kitchen looking like he fought it. He is the kind of guy who proudly hands you something surprisingly good while there is smoke in the background and three dirty pans in the sink. Cleaning is even worse. He is messy, forgetful, and absolutely the type to say he is “in the middle of cleaning” when he has really just moved his stuff into one pile. Still, if you are tired, sick, or overwhelmed, Baji tries—really tries. He will scrub dishes with a scowl, sweep badly, and grumble the entire time, but he does it because it is for you. In private, that is what loving Baji feels like: chaos, effort, and devotion wrapped together so tightly that even his clumsy attempts at being domestic feel unbearably sincere.

E= Ending (If they had to break up with their partner, how would they do it?)

Baji wouldn’t be the type to drag out a breakup or play cruel mind games with you, because even if he’s reckless, his feelings are never fake; if he had to end things, it would probably come after days of acting more distant than usual, jaw tight, avoiding your eyes because he knows once you really look at him, his resolve might crack. He’d ask to see you somewhere quiet, away from the gang and away from anyone who could interrupt, and when you showed up, he’d look irritated more at himself than at you, shoving his hands in his pockets, hair falling in his face as he muttered that you deserve better than someone like him. Baji would try to sound blunt, almost harsh, because softness would make it harder, but the truth underneath would be obvious: he’s doing this to protect you, whether it’s from his dangerous life, the enemies around him, or the parts of himself he thinks will only hurt you in the end. He wouldn’t blame you, and he definitely wouldn’t make you beg for answers; instead, he’d force himself to be honest in the rough, ugly way that suits him, telling you that being with him means getting caught in things you shouldn’t have to carry. Even while breaking your heart, he’d still be watching your expression closely, memorizing it, hating himself for being the reason you look hurt. And when it was over, Baji would probably turn away first so you wouldn’t see how hard he was clenching his teeth, leaving with that same wild pride he always wears, because if Baji had to break up with his partner, he’d do it quickly, directly, and painfully honestly—while secretly hoping you’ll hate him enough to let him go.

F= Fiance(e) (How do they feel about commitment? How quick would they want to get married?)

Baji acts like commitment shouldn’t matter to him, like he’s too wild, too restless, too allergic to anything that sounds neat and permanent—but with you, it hits differently. He doesn’t fear being tied down nearly as much as he fears failing someone he loves. If he calls you his, he means it with his whole chest, in that intense, reckless Baji way where loyalty is basically a vow long before he ever puts a ring on your finger. He isn’t the type to give you polished speeches about forever, but you feel it in the way he always comes back to you, the way he gets protective without thinking, the way his voice turns strangely honest in quiet moments. To Baji, commitment isn’t soft or pretty it’s brutal, unwavering devotion, and once he decides you’re his future, there is no halfway.

As for marriage, Baji would probably want it faster than people expect once you’re both actually old enough and settled enough to make it real. He wouldn’t spend years planning some perfect timeline, because overthinking has never been his style; the moment he’s sure, he’d want to lock it in before life gets the chance to mess with it. His proposal would be impulsive but sincere, probably after a moment where he nearly loses you, scares himself, or just gets hit with that fierce certainty that he wants you beside him for the rest of his life. He’d grumble about formalities, complain through ring shopping, and act like ceremonies are a pain, but deep down he’d love calling you his fiancé because it proves something solid: out of all the chaos in his life, you’re the person he chose permanently.

G= Gentle (How gentle are they, both physically and emotionaly?)

Baji is the kind of gentle that catches you off guard, because it never looks delicate at first—his hands are rough, warm, and a little calloused from fighting, but when he touches you, it is always with surprising care, like he is constantly reminding himself not to be too much; he steadies you with a hand on your back when crowds get tight, fixes your jacket without a word, and cups your face like you are something precious he does not trust the world with. Emotionally, he is not gentle in a polished or poetic way, but in a raw, honest one—he notices when you are overwhelmed before you say anything, stays close without pushing, and defends your feelings as fiercely as he defends your safety. Baji is not the type to shower you in soft speeches, yet every quiet check-in, every instinct to stand between you and anything that might hurt you, every moment he lowers his voice just for you says the same thing: with everyone else, he may be reckless, loud, and wild, but with you, he tries so hard to be careful.

H= Hugs (Do they like hugs? How often do they do it? What are their hugs like?)

Baji does like hugs, but not in a sweet, obvious way that everyone gets to see. With most people, he acts too rough, too restless, too prideful to go around hugging anyone, so it can seem like he does not care for that kind of affection at all. But with you, it is different. Once he trusts you, hugs become one of those quiet habits he slips into without admitting how much he needs them. He is not clingy every second of the day, but he does pull you close pretty often, especially after a fight, after a long day, or anytime he feels keyed up and wants to ground himself with you nearby.

Baji’s hugs are strong, sudden, and a little messy, just like him. He usually grabs you by the shoulders or waist and tugs you into his chest before you can even react, like he already decided that is where you belong. Sometimes he buries his face against your hair or your neck and stays there longer than you expect, breathing hard and pretending he is not being soft when he absolutely is. If he is in a playful mood, his hugs come with teasing, a crooked grin, and enough force to nearly knock you off balance; if he is worried about you, they turn tighter, quieter, almost protective, like he is shielding you from the whole world. More than anything, Baji hugs you like letting go is the hardest part.

|= I love you (How fast do they say the L-word?)

Keisuke Baji does not say “I love you” fast - not because he is unsure, but because those words mean something permanent coming from him. With you, he would show it first in a hundred reckless, unpolished ways: walking you home without asking, putting himself between you and trouble on instinct, remembering the tiny things you mention, and getting weirdly irritated when you do not take care of yourself. Baji is not smooth, and he is definitely not the kind of guy to sit you down for some perfect confession early on; he would need time to trust the softness of what he feels, especially because loving someone makes him vulnerable in a way fighting never does. So when he finally says it, it is probably after you have already realized it yourself blurting out a rough, low “I love you, dumbass” in the middle of a raw, honest moment, like after an argument, after patching him up, or when he is hit with the terrifying realization that losing you would ruin him. Once he says it, though, he means it with his whole chest, and from then on, you never have to doubt it again.

J= Jealousy (How jealous do they get? What do they do when they're jealous?)

Baji gets jealous fast, but not in a quiet, subtle way. With him, it’s immediate, sharp, and impossible to miss. The second he notices someone getting too comfortable with you, his whole mood changes - his jaw tightens, his eyes narrow, and that usual reckless grin turns into something far more dangerous. He is not the type to calmly sit back and “see what happens.” Even if he trusts you, that doesn’t stop the surge of protectiveness and irritation that hits him hard when someone else thinks they can have your attention. Baji’s jealousy is intense because he loves intensely; when he cares about you, he cares with his whole chest, and the idea of somebody trying to flirt with you or make a move puts him in a foul, territorial mood almost instantly.

When Baji’s jealous, he gets closer instead of pulling away. He’ll sling an arm over your shoulders, stand way too close, or cut into the conversation with a rough, “What’re you doing?” like he already knows he doesn’t like the answer. If the other person keeps pushing, Baji’s the kind to glare them down until they back off, and if they still don’t, he absolutely will start something. Later, when it’s just the two of you, he gets a little sulky under all that aggression - grumbling, asking why that person was talking to you so much, pretending he doesn’t care while very obviously caring a lot. He’d never admit he was jealous right away, but you’d know from the way he keeps you tucked close to his side, like he’s silently reminding the world that you’re his.

K= Kisses (What are their kisses like? Where do they like to kiss you? Where do they like to be kissed?)

Baji’s kisses are never neat or carefully planned; they happen the same way he does everything else, all heat and instinct and sudden intensity. One second he is smirking at you with that sharp, reckless grin, and the next he is pulling you in by the waist or the back of your neck like he cannot stand being even a few inches away anymore. His kisses usually start rough, almost challenging, like he wants to overwhelm you a little just to see your reaction, but they always melt into something warmer once he realizes you are kissing him back just as hard. He likes kissing you on the mouth most because it feels direct and honest, but when he is softer than usual, he goes for your forehead, your temple, or the corner of your lips when he thinks you are being cute. If he is in a clingy mood, he presses quick kisses to your cheek and jaw between words, like he has too much feeling in him to keep it contained.

Baji likes to kiss places that make you react, so your neck is one of his favorites, especially when he can hear the way your breathing changes because of him. He also likes kissing your knuckles or the inside of your wrist in rare quiet moments, though he would act like he was not being sweet if you pointed it out. As for where he likes being kissed, Baji secretly loves it when you kiss his face in ways that catch him off guard, like his cheek, the bridge of his nose, or right beside his mouth when he is pretending not to want attention. He especially likes when you kiss his hairline or run your fingers through his hair and kiss his forehead after a fight, because it makes him go quiet in that rare way that means he feels safe with you. And of course, he loves being kissed on his lips, hard and sure, because with you he does not want hesitation; he wants to feel chosen.

L= Little ones (How are they around children?)

Baji is the kind of person who looks like he’d scare every kid in the room, but the second a little one waddles up to him, he goes weirdly soft without even realizing it; you notice how he crouches down to their level, lets them tug on his hair or poke at his sharp canines while he acts all offended, and somehow ends up becoming their personal jungle gym by accident. He’s not polished or naturally “gentle” in the usual way, but he’s fiercely attentive, always keeping one eye on them, catching them before they trip, scaring off anyone who makes them cry, and pretending he’s only helping because “they’re annoying.” Around children, Baji is loud, playful, and a little chaotic, teaching them silly games, letting them climb all over him, and grinning when they laugh, and you can tell he’d be absurdly protective if anyone upset them because underneath all that rough, reckless energy, he has a huge heart for anyone small, vulnerable, and trusting enough to love him.

M= Morning (How are mornings spent with them?)

Mornings with Baji are never neat or quiet; they start with tangled sheets, his long black hair all over the place, and his arm thrown heavily over your waist like even half-asleep he’s making sure you’re still there. He grumbles when you try to get up too early, pulling you back against his chest with a sleepy frown and a rough, “Five more minutes,” even though it usually turns into twenty. If he’s awake first, he acts like he’s not being affectionate, but he’ll wordlessly shove a drink or some convenience-store breakfast into your hands, sit too close beside you, and complain about the morning while making sure you’ve eaten. Sometimes he’s restless, already itching for movement, pacing around while tying his hair back and throwing you lazy grins with those sharp canines showing, but around you his chaos softens; the mornings feel warm, low-energy, and oddly intimate, full of half-mumbled teasing, sleepy touches, and the quiet kind of care Baji would never say out loud but shows in every little thing he does for you.

N= Night (How are nights spent with them?)

Nights with Baji are never quiet in the normal sense, but they always feel strangely safe, because even when he drags you onto his bike for some impulsive late-night ride or pulls you along to sit on a rooftop with convenience store snacks and a stupid grin on his face, there is this steady kind of warmth in the way he keeps you close; he is the type to act wild all day and then, once it is just the two of you, lean against you like he has been carrying too much for too long, grumbling about nonsense, picking playful fights just to hear you argue back, and wordlessly throwing his jacket over your shoulders when the air gets cold, all sharp teeth and rough edges until you reach for his hand and he goes quiet, thumb brushing over your knuckles like he is reminding himself you are really there, and by the end of the night you always realize that with Baji, love is never said gently, but it is shown in every protective glance, every reckless little adventure, and every moment he refuses to let you walk home alone.

O= Open (When would they start revealing things about themselves? Do they say everything all at once or wait a while to reveal things slowly?)

Baji would not tell you everything about himself all at once. At first, getting close to him would feel like trying to catch hold of smoke he is there, loud and reckless and constantly in your space, but the real parts of him stay tucked behind sharp grins and stupid jokes. He would start revealing things only after he decides you are steady enough to stay, usually after you have seen him at his worst and did not flinch away. It would begin with small, almost careless scraps: a random story from when he was a kid, a complaint about school, an offhand mention of Mikey or Chifuyu, the kind of detail he pretends means nothing even though he is secretly watching your reaction. With Baji, trust is not built through soft speeches or neat confessions. It is built when you sit beside him in the quiet after a fight, when you patch up his knuckles without nagging, when you understand that sometimes his silence is not rejection it is him deciding whether it is safe to hand you something real.

Once Baji starts letting you in, it still would not come out in one clean confession. He is too guarded for that, and too used to carrying things alone. Instead, he would reveal himself in pieces over time, usually when he is tired, worked up, or caught off guard by how much he wants you to understand him. One night he might admit he hates people seeing him as stupid. Another time he might talk about Toman with a kind of fierce, aching loyalty that makes it obvious how much of his heart is tied up in protecting the people he loves. The heavier things his guilt, his fears, the way he takes on pain like it is his job - would take the longest, because those are the parts he thinks might make you look at him differently. If Baji ever told you something deeply personal, it would be blunt, low-voiced, and almost frustratingly casual, like he is tossing you a piece of his heart and daring you to make a big deal out of it. He opens slowly, but once he does, every truth he gives you feels important because you know he did not say it lightly.

P= Patience (How easily angered are they?)

You figure out pretty quickly that Baji is dangerously easy to provoke, but only in certain ways he’s not the type to snap over every little inconvenience, but disrespect, fake bravado, underhanded behavior, or anyone messing with the people he cares about will set him off almost instantly. He has this restless, explosive energy where his anger burns hot and fast, like he’s acting before the thought fully settles, so if someone mouths off to you, insults Toman, or tries to pull something sneaky, he’s already halfway to throwing the first punch with that wild grin on his face. But with you, it’s a little different; he’ll grumble, glare, and act annoyed if you tease him or tell him to calm down, yet he has more patience for you than he does for almost anyone else, mostly because deep down he likes that you’re one of the few people who can get away with pushing his buttons and still make him cool off before things go too far.

Q= Quizzes (How much would they remember about you? Do they remember every little detail you mention in passing, or do they kind of forget everything?)

Baji is the kind of person who acts like he forgets half of what you say, but that is honestly just because he looks so chaotic on the outside. You’ll mention something small in passing - your favorite drink, the name of a stray cat you like, the fact that you hate crowded trains and weeks later he’ll remember it at the weirdest, most unexpected moment. He is not the type to sit there nodding politely and asking a million soft questions, but he listens far more closely than people give him credit for. If it matters to you, it sticks with him. He might forget obvious things like dates or what time you said to meet him, but the emotional details, the things tied to your habits, your comfort, your likes and dislikes? Those stay. Baji is deeply observant beneath all that reckless energy, so he remembers you in a way that feels almost startling, like he has been paying attention the whole time even while acting distracted.

What makes it even more intense is that Baji would not bring up those details in a sweet, obvious way he would just use them. You’d be cold and suddenly he is shoving his jacket at you without a word because he remembered you always forget to dress for the weather. You’d stare at some dessert too long and he would grumble before buying it, already knowing it is your favorite because you mentioned it once three months ago. He probably does forget random surface-level stuff sometimes, especially if he is busy, injured, or caught up in Toman problems, but he does not forget you. Not really. Baji remembers the things that build a person, the little pieces that make you you, and because he cares so fiercely, those details become permanent in his mind even if he pretends they are not.

R= Remember (What is their favorite moment in your relationship?)

Baji’s favorite moment in your relationship is always the quiet aftermath of his chaos those late evenings when he shows up at your place bruised, grinning like he didn’t just nearly get himself killed, and you make him sit still while you clean the cuts on his face and hands; he acts annoyed, complains that you fuss too much, and tries to joke his way out of it, but secretly he lives for the way your hands are gentle with him, the way your voice softens when you tell him to stop moving, and the way you look at him like he’s more than the violence everyone else sees. For someone as reckless and wild as Baji, being cared for by you in those small, quiet moments means everything, because that’s when he feels it most clearly that no matter how hard he fights, where he goes, or what role he has to play, he can always come back to you and be wanted, understood, and safe.

S= Security (How protective are they? How would they protect you? How would they like to be protected?)

Keisuke Baji is intensely protective of you, but not in a soft, subtle way; with him, it is immediate, physical, and impossible to miss. The second he senses a threat, he steps in front of you like it is instinct, shoulders squared, grin sharp, already ready for a fight before you can even ask him not to. He is the type to walk on the street side, keep an eye on who is watching you, and remember the faces of anyone who made you uncomfortable. Baji would protect you by taking the danger onto himself first, even if it means getting hurt, because in his mind your safety comes before his pride, his comfort, and sometimes even his own common sense. He would also be surprisingly perceptive about quieter dangers too; if somebody was lying to you, manipulating you, or trying to corner you emotionally, Baji would catch on faster than people expect and shut it down in his own blunt, aggressive way.

At the same time, Baji would not want you to protect him by trying to fight his battles for him or throwing yourself into danger beside him, because that would scare him more than anything. The way he likes to be protected is gentler and more personal: patching him up without making a big deal of it, grabbing his sleeve and making him stop when he is too reckless, reminding him that he does not always have to bleed to prove he cares. He would act annoyed if you fussed over him, maybe grumble and tell you he is fine, but secretly he would love knowing you are someone who stays, someone who notices when he is exhausted, angry, or carrying too much alone. More than brute strength, Baji wants loyalty, honesty, and that stubborn kind of care that keeps choosing him even when he is difficult, because deep down, being protected to him means being understood and not abandoned.

T= Try (How much effort would they put into dates, anniversaries, gifts, everyday tasks?)

Baji would put in a messy, intense, very him kind of effort he’s not the type to plan polished, picture-perfect dates with reservations and matching outfits, but if it’s for you, he’s showing up early, dragging you somewhere fun, loud, or meaningful, and making sure nobody ruins your time together. Anniversaries would matter more to him than he’d ever admit; he might forget the “proper” way to celebrate, but he’d remember the exact day, get weirdly serious about it, and give you something rough around the edges but deeply personal, like a charm, food he knows you love, or some dumb little object that reminded him of you and never left his pocket. His gifts wouldn’t always be expensive or elegant, but they’d be heartfelt and chosen with sharp, surprising attention, because Baji notices more than people think. In everyday tasks, he’d be inconsistent in a chaotic way sometimes lazy, sometimes reckless, sometimes acting like chores are beneath him but the second you need help, he’s there without hesitation, carrying your things, walking you home, fixing problems before you can ask, and doing all the small protective boyfriend things like it’s instinct. Loving you wouldn’t make him softer exactly, but it would make him effortful, and with Baji, that means giving you every piece of loyalty, time, and care he has, even if he wraps it up in teasing, stubbornness, and that wild grin of his.

U= Ugly (What would be some bad habits of theirs?)

Baji’s worst habits would wear on you fast if you were close to him he has a reckless streak that makes him act first and think never, so you’d constantly be dragged into the aftermath of fights, impulsive decisions, and half-baked plans he swears he can handle alone. He’s terrible at communicating when something actually matters, brushing off your concern with a grin or a dumb joke, and when he’s upset, he has a habit of shutting you out completely instead of admitting he’s struggling. He can also be stubborn to the point of selfishness, deciding what’s “best” for you without asking, especially if he thinks keeping secrets or pushing you away will protect you. Add in how messy, disorganized, and careless he can be in everyday life, plus how quick his temper is when someone gets under his skin, and loving Baji would sometimes mean loving someone who makes things harder before he ever makes them better.

V= Vanity (How concerned are they with their looks?)

Baji isn’t the type to stand in front of a mirror for an hour or obsess over every little detail, but he absolutely cares about how he looks just not in a polished, neat way. With you, it’s obvious his appearance matters to him because he likes looking intimidating, wild, and strong; he wants that sharp grin, messy black hair, and rough-around-the-edges image to hit exactly the way it should. He’ll act like he doesn’t care if his uniform is half-buttoned or his hair is in his face, but if you casually fix a strand for him or tell him he looks good, he gets quietly smug about it for the rest of the day. He’s more concerned with having presence than being “pretty,” so while he won’t fuss over fashion or grooming like it’s a serious routine, he still takes care of the things that make him feel like himself and if you’re the one noticing, he cares even more than he lets on.

W= Whole (Would they feel incomplete without you?)

Baji would never say “I need you” out loud because that kind of honesty would make him feel way too exposed, but yes, he’d absolutely feel incomplete without you in a way that would haunt him when you’re gone; not because he’s weak, but because you become one of the only people who see past the violence, the recklessness, and the savage grin to the loyal, self-sacrificing heart underneath. You’d be the person who makes him slow down for a second, the one he looks for in every crowd, the one he instinctively wants to protect even when you’re strong enough to stand on your own, and over time your presence would sink so deeply into his life that everything would feel slightly off without you there—meals would taste blander, fights would feel emptier, victories would matter less. He’d still be Baji, still wild, still charging headfirst into danger, but with you gone there’d be this restless edge to him, like a part of him is missing and he doesn’t know how to name it; so no, he wouldn’t fall apart completely, but he would feel your absence like a missing piece in his chest, because once Baji loves you, he loves you in a way that becomes part of who he is.

X= Xtra (A random headcanon for them.)

Random headcanon: Baji secretly feeds stray cats after school, and even though he swears he doesn’t care about them, they always come running the second they hear his voice.

Y= Yuck (What are some things they wouldn't like, either in general or in a partner?)

Baji wouldn’t be able to stand anything fake about you, from fake kindness to fake loyalty and fake tears - all of it would piss him off fast, because more than anything, he values honesty and knowing where someone truly stands. He wouldn’t like clinginess that turns controlling, either; if you tried to box him in, monitor every move he made, or guilt him for being fiercely devoted to his friends, he’d pull away hard. Cowardice, cruelty toward weaker people, and underhanded behavior would disgust him too, especially if you were the type to smile to someone’s face and talk behind their back later. In general, Baji wouldn’t have patience for people who are shallow, overly polished, or obsessed with appearances, and in a partner, he’d hate someone who treated his loyalty like a game, disrespected the people he loves, or expected him to become calmer, softer, or easier to handle just to make them comfortable you’d need to accept that he’s wild, intense, and rough around the edges, not try to tame him into someone he’s not.

Z= Zzz (What is a sleep habits of theirs?)

You have been Toshinori’s pride and joy since the second you were born, and everyone around him knows it.

The first time you called him “Daddy,” he absolutely cried. Fully cried. Smiled through it, tried to play it off, then had to turn away because his eyes were watering so badly.

He kept every little drawing, every school paper, every messy handmade gift you ever gave him. He has an entire box of them somewhere, and he treats it like treasure.

When you were little and wore that tiny All Might pajama onesie, he nearly broke down on the spot because you looked like a miniature version of him. He definitely took pictures. Too many pictures.

He loves when you call him “Dad” in public and “Daddy” when you’re tired, emotional, or half-asleep. It melts him every single time.

You love both sides of him without hesitation, the bright, larger-than-life Symbol of Peace and the quieter, fragile Toshinori Yagi who coughs up blood and looks exhausted but still smiles for others.

That unconditional love means everything to him because there are days Toshinori struggles to separate himself from All Might. You do it naturally. To you, he is just your father first.

You never flinch at his weak form, never pity him, and never treat him like less. If anything, you’re gentler with him in ways that make his chest ache.

When he’s having a rough day, you sit with him, hand him water before he asks, and keep talking to him like normal so he doesn’t spiral into self-deprecating thoughts.

He is embarrassingly affectionate in private. Forehead kisses, ruffling your hair, calling you “my girl,” and bragging about you to trusted friends.

In public, especially when you were younger, he tried to act composed, but his pride in you leaked out constantlyHe teaches you that true strength is smiling when others need hope, but he also slowly learns from you that strength includes letting yourself be loved when you are hurting.

Toshinori is protective, but not controlling. He knows what it means to want to save people, so he would never crush your dream of becoming a hero.

Still, when you first tell him you want to follow in his footsteps, his smile falters for just a second because he knows exactly how painful that path can be.

He trains you carefully, especially because he does not want you to build the same self-sacrificial habits he did.

He tells you often, “You do not need to become me. You only need to become the best version of yourself.”

You absolutely pick up habits from him, like smiling when you’re nervous so other people won’t worry.

You also do the dramatic pointing sometimes without realizing it, and he gets very emotional the first time he catches you doing it.

You’ve picked up his habit of putting other people first, which worries him because he recognizes that trait immediately.

You also inherited his tendency to overwork quietly and brush off your own pain with, “I’m fine.”

You copy some of his speech patterns too, especially when you get excited or try to encourage people.

He gives your classmates the same “young” treatment in private conversation with you. “How was Young Kirishima today?” “Did Young Midoriya eat enough?”

He is so proud when you come to him for advice, but even prouder when you solve things on your ownYou are one of the only people who can make Toshinori fully relax. Around you, he laughs more easily and doesn’t always feel like he has to be a symbol.

Your Quirk is called: Beacon.

Your Quirk, Beacon, lets you generate and manipulate concentrated light in several forms.

You can create blinding flashes, focused beams, hard-light barriers, reflective shields, and concussive bursts that hit with force strong enough to send opponents flying.

You can also “bounce” attacks back at opponents by angling your light constructs correctly, making you very dangerous against straightforward fighters.

A cool detail is that your light feels warm and steady when you’re calm, but sharper and almost scorching when you’re angry.

At higher output, Beacon can create star-like projectiles or a full-body aura that boosts your impact power for close combat.

Because your Quirk is so versatile, you develop a fighting style that mixes defense, mobility, and sudden heavy strikes rather than raw brute force alone.

Quirk drawbacks:

Your biggest drawback is stamina drain. The brighter and denser the light construct, the more energy it burns through.

Barriers are especially exhausting because you have to maintain shape, durability, and focus at the same time.

Overuse causes migraines, blurred vision, watery eyes, and intense light sensitivity afterward.

If you reflect too much force at once, the backlash can travel through your arms and shoulders, leaving them numb or painfully strained.

Strong darkness-based environments, smoke, debris, or visual obstruction can make your accuracy worse because Beacon depends heavily on line of sight and focus.

Emotional imbalance affects your control. If you panic or get overwhelmed, your light can flare too bright, making your aim sloppy and your barriers unstable.

In the worst-case scenario, you can burn yourself out so badly that you temporarily lose the ability to produce more than weak flickers.

School:

You attend U.A. in Class 1-A, but your classmates do not know you are All Might’s daughter.

The teachers know for safety reasons, and they help keep it quiet because if the media found out, your life would become chaos overnight.

You don’t tell people because you want to be judged on your own merits, not because of your last name.

You know people would either expect too much from you or assume everything you earned was handed to you.

Midoriya is the only classmate who knows, because you trust him deeply and because you know your father entrusted One For All to him.

That secret creates an immediate bond between you and Izuku. The two of you understand different sides of Toshinori that nobody else really does.

Izuku is careful with your secret to the point of being more nervous about it than you are.

You and Izuku probably have quiet conversations about your dad’s health, his bad habits, and how impossible he can be when he decides to carry everything alone.

Even living in your father’s shadow never truly bothers you. You grew up seeing the man behind the legend, so you never worship the shadow the same way everyone else does.

You admire him, yes deeply, but your dream is not to become another All Might. It is to become a hero who shines in your own way.

Dating Katsuki Bakugo:

Bakugo noticing your strength before he notices your softness.

He respects you because Beacon is powerful, adaptable, and not flashy in a useless way. To him, your Quirk actually earns his attention because it works.

He would be drawn to the fact that you do not wilt under his attitude.

You don’t get scared off by his yelling, and you don’t worship him either, which makes him take you seriously fast.

Your relationship starts with rivalry energy, sharp banter, and constant pushing each other to do better.

He acts like he’s annoyed by how calm you can be, but secretly he likes that you steady him instead of trying to control him.

Bakugo would absolutely help you refine your combat instincts. He’d call out every hesitation, every wasted movement, every opening in your guard.

In return, you help him with defense, restraint, and tactical redirection since Beacon naturally makes you better at shielding and counterplay.

You are one of the few people who can tell when his anger is real anger and when it’s just his default volume.

He trusts you more than he says out loud.

His version of affection is standing too close, walking you back without making a big deal about it, checking your injuries while acting irritated, and getting pissed when you hide pain from him.

If someone talks badly about you, he is instantly vicious about it.

He would hate seeing people compare you to All Might if it clearly bothers you, and he’d snap that you’re strong because you’re you, not because of anybody else.

He is not overly sweet in public, but he is very physically aware of you, hand at your back, pulling you out of danger, wordlessly making sure you’ve eaten.

Private Bakugo is softer than anyone expects. Still blunt, still grumpy, but quieter with you.

If you’re exhausted after Quirk overuse, he sits beside you in silence and stays there until you feel better.

He would learn your warning signs for Beacon burnout before most people do the squinting, the temple rubbing, the way your eyes get watery when you’ve pushed too far.

He absolutely hates when you copy Toshinori’s self-sacrificing streak and will call you out harshly because it scares him.

Bakugo Finding Out You’re All Might’s Daughter:

At first, he’s stunned completely silent, which is rare enough to be memorable.

Then he narrows his eyes and starts replaying every weird detail he missed your fighting style, your instinct to protect, the way All Might looks at you, the weird tension around certain conversations.

His first reaction is not “that’s amazing.” It’s more like, “And you didn’t think to tell me?”

He would be angry for about five minutes, not because of who your father is, but because you kept something that important from him.

The second he realizes why you hid it, the anger shifts into understanding.

He knows what it feels like to be crushed under expectations, so once he gets over the shock, he respects your decision.

He definitely says something like, “So what? Doesn’t change a damn thing.”

And the truth is, it doesn’t. If anything, it makes him more protective because now he understands the weight you’ve been carrying.

He also gains a whole new level of respect for you when he realizes you got into U.A., earned your spot, and kept up with everyone while carrying that secret.

Secretly, he is kind of offended that he didn’t figure it out sooner.

Toshinori Finding Out You’re Dating Bakugo:

Toshinori’s first response is a long, stunned silence.

Then: “Young Bakugo?”

He has to sit down.

He absolutely trusts your judgment, but that does not stop him from internally panicking because Bakugo is intense, loud, and terrifyingly blunt.

His dad mode kicks in immediately. He wants to know if Bakugo treats you well, respects your boundaries, and understands how precious you are to him.

He tries very hard not to be overbearing, mostly because he knows if he embarrasses you too much, you’ll never forgive him.

Bakugo meeting Toshinori as your father instead of just his teacher is deeply awkward at first.

Bakugo is stiff, defensive, and prepared for interrogation, while Toshinori is trying to be normal and failing miserably.

Toshinori notices very quickly that Bakugo’s feelings are real because for all his aggression, Katsuki does not play around with things that matter to him.

He also realizes Bakugo pushes you to be stronger, tells you the truth, and would throw himself into danger for you without hesitation.

Once Toshinori accepts the relationship, he becomes weirdly supportive in the most awkward father way possible.

He definitely tries to give Bakugo relationship advice once and immediately regrets it.

Bakugo regrets it more.

Toshinori also has a secret soft spot over the fact that Katsuki was one of the people who helped save him and later became someone fiercely devoted to protecting others, even if he says it in the angriest way possible.

If Bakugo hurts you emotionally, Toshinori is polite on the outside and absolutely terrifying underneath.

If Bakugo makes you happy, though, Toshinori eventually accepts him with genuine warmth, because at the end of the day what he wants most is for you to be safe, loved, and able to stand beside someone who sees you fully.

Relationship Details:

Midoriya figuring it out before anyone else and nearly combusting from the stress of keeping both secrets.

Bakugo getting irrationally annoyed whenever Toshinori calls him “Young Bakugo” in front of you.

You being one of the only people who can get Bakugo to stop and think before charging ahead.

Bakugo being one of the only people who can get you to stop smiling through pain and admit when you’re not okay.

Toshinori lowkey watching Bakugo during training to judge his character, then pretending he wasn’t.

Bakugo eventually understanding why you love Toshinori so fiercely after seeing the quiet version of him the tired, kind, painfully human one.

You loving Bakugo partly because beneath all the fire, he is brutally honest, fiercely loyal, and refuses to let the people he loves become smaller versions of themselves.

B= Best friend (What would they be like as a best friend? How would the friendship start?)

At first, you and Bakugo probably wouldn’t start off as friends more like constant challengers orbiting the same space. You’d earn his attention by standing your ground when his temper flared, refusing to flinch or sugarcoat your thoughts. That small spark of defiance would impress him, even if he’d never admit it at first. Over time, repeated teamwork drills or mission partnerships would forge mutual respect. You’d push him to think before blasting through every obstacle, and he’d push you to never underestimate your own strength. It’s a friendship built on fire and friction not soft talks or easy agreements, but the trust that neither of you will back down when it counts.

Once Bakugo counts you as his best friend, it’s for life, not something he takes lightly. He’d act annoyed if you needed help, but move faster than anyone when you’re in trouble. He’d bark at you for slacking, refuse to let you settle for “good enough,” and occasionally, when no one’s around, share a quiet word of encouragement. You’d be one of the few people who could see past his explosions, knowing that his yelling often hides genuine care. The friendship would be loud, stubborn, and full of unspoken loyalty the kind that doesn’t need thank-yous, just a nod before the next fight.

C= Cuddles (Do they like to cuddle? How would they cuddle?)

Bakugo isn’t the type to admit he likes cuddling. In fact, if you even tried to say the word out loud, he’d probably scoff, turn red, and mutter something about how “extras” waste their time on stuff like that. But the truth is you’ve seen the way his shoulders relax when you’re close. The way his hand always seems to find yours under a blanket, or how he’ll grudgingly let you rest your head on his chest after a long day of training. He grumbles the whole time, face buried in the crook of your neck, but his heartbeat slows down, steady and warm, and he always holds you tighter than he means to. For Bakugo, cuddling isn’t about softness or comfort it’s his silent way of saying he trusts you enough to lower his defenses.

When Bakugo cuddles you, it’s never gentle at first. He’s got that competitive streak even when it comes to affection; if he’s pulling you closer, it’s because he’s decided he wants you there, no arguments. His arms wrap around you with a firm, protective grip, like he’s shielding you from the world. He’ll lie there stiff for a while, eyes shut tight as if determined to pretend he’s asleep, before he eventually exhales and lets his body sink against yours. You can feel when the tension melts the heat that radiates from him is more than just his Quirk. It’s the fire that keeps him going, the one he only lets burn quietly when he’s with you.

D= Domestic (Do they want to settle down? How are they at cooking and cleaning?)

Settling down isn’t something Bakugo talks about hell, he’d probably bark at you if you even brought it up first. But the thought’s been there, lodged somewhere under all that noise and pride. He’s not the kind of man who dreams of white picket fences or picture-perfect quiet mornings. For him, “settling down” means coming home to you alive, in one piece, and knowing someone’s waiting someone he trusts enough to drop the hero act around. You catch him glancing your way when he thinks you’re not looking, eyes softer, like he’s already picturing what life might look like years down the line: a home that smells like dinner instead of gunpowder, laughter instead of explosions.

Domestic life with him is surprisingly efficient almost militarily so. He’s an incredible cook, the kind who can turn leftovers into a five-star meal, though he’ll deny caring that much about it. You’ve caught him humming under his breath while chopping vegetables, but he’ll shut up the moment you notice. Cleaning? He’s thorough, bordering on obsessive; mess irritates him almost as much as laziness. But every burnt dish you screw up or pile of laundry you forget earns only a muttered sigh and an irritated, “Move over, I got it.” Beneath the gruff exterior, you know what it really means: this is his way of taking care of you of claiming his peace, right here, at home.

E= Ending (If they had to break up with their partner, how would they do it?)

If Bakugo had to break up with you, he’d do it in the most brutally honest way possible because sugarcoating isn’t in his vocabulary. He’d ask to meet you somewhere private, not because he’s trying to soften the blow, but because he doesn’t want anyone else witnessing something that personal. His tone would be clipped, his stare unwavering, fists shoved deep into his pockets like he’s holding himself back from exploding literally and emotionally. "This isn’t working," he’d say, jaw tight, voice steady even though his chest burns with everything he’s not saying. He wouldn’t rant, wouldn’t yell; just lay it out plain and raw. He’d tell you you deserve someone who can give you what he can’t not in some weak, self-pitying way, but with the painful finality of someone who’s thought too hard about it. And when he turns to leave, you’d catch the stiff set of his shoulders the only hint that walking away from you is the hardest fight he’s ever had to win.

F= Fiance(e) (How do they feel about commitment? How quick would they want to get married?)

Bakugo doesn’t take commitment lightly — not in battle, not in love, and definitely not in something as serious as becoming someone’s fiancé. When he decides to commit, it’s after he’s fought himself over it a hundred times. You’d see that in the way he softens—barely—around you. He’d call it “just being practical,” but there’s no mistaking the intensity behind his loyalty. Once he’s sure of you, you’re his person, no arguments about it. He’d still act like everything’s on his terms, gruff and stubborn as ever, but deep down he sees commitment as another challenge to rise to. He won’t back down from it because to him, keeping his vows and standing beside you would be proof of strength, not weakness.

As for marriage, Bakugo wouldn’t rush it. He’d want to have his life and hero career stable, to prove to himself that he can protect what’s his before officially making it permanent. If you brought it up early, he’d probably scoff and say something like, “Tch, don’t get ahead of yourself.” But the truth? The thought sticks with him. Once he’s decided you’re the one, the wait wouldn’t be long not because he’s sentimental, but because he hates lingering uncertainty. After all, if he’s found someone worth fighting for, why waste time pretending otherwise?

G= Gentle (How gentle are they, both physically and emotionaly?)

When Bakugo is gentle, it’s the kind of gentleness that sneaks up on you quiet, unspoken, and wrapped in his usual bite of gruffness. Physically, his hands are careful even though they look built for breaking things; his touch might hover before it lands, almost hesitant, like he’s making sure you won’t pull away. He’ll never admit it out loud, but he’s fiercely attentive, noticing every flinch, every sigh, every tiny shift in your mood. Emotionally, his gentleness is rough-edged but real he won’t soothe you with sweet talk, but he’ll stay by your side, offer a hand, a shoulder, or just his presence when words fall short. You can feel how much he’s holding back, tempering all that explosive passion into something controlled, something just for you. To the world, he’s Dynamight; to you, Katsuki is softness disguised as stubbornness gentle in the only way he knows how.

H= Hugs (Do they like hugs? How often do they do it? What are their hugs like?)

Katsuki Bakugo isn’t the kind of guy who goes around handing out hugs — not at first, anyway. For him, physical affection feels too vulnerable, too revealing, like he’s letting someone see a part of himself that he’s fought hard to bury under fire and pride. When you try to hug him in public, he scowls, sputters, and might even bark something like “What the hell are you doing, idiot?!” but he doesn’t push you away — not really. The hesitation before his arms go around you is short but telling, and when they do, there’s this rare, uncertain tightness to the way he holds you, as if he’s trying to memorize what safety feels like while pretending he isn’t. You feel the steady rhythm of his heartbeat beneath all his bluster, and that’s when you realize — for Bakugo, even one hug is worth more than a thousand words.

In private, though, he changes. If you’ve earned his trust, Bakugo’s hugs are something fierce and grounding the kind that pull you close until your spine straightens in surprise. He doesn’t do it often; maybe after a long mission, a bad dream, or one of those days he can’t quite express how much he actually cares. When he hugs you, it’s protective, possessive even, his calloused hands firm on your back and his face pressed into the crook of your neck. The embrace is short, intense, and smells faintly of gunpowder and warmth. He won’t say much, but you’ll hear it in the way he exhales against your shoulder a quiet, unspoken you’re important to me hidden in the silence between heartbeats.

|= I love you (How fast do they say the L-word?)

Bakugo doesn’t say “I love you” fast - hell, he fights it every step of the way. With him, it comes in explosions of denial before any real confession slips out. You’ll see it long before you hear it, how he stops snapping at you so harshly, how his scowl doesn’t reach his eyes anymore, how he starts walking on the traffic side without thinking about it. He’ll cook for you without comment, grumble when you thank him, and pretend it’s “no big deal.” The first time he says it, it’s probably after a fight - heart racing, adrenaline still in his veins, and the words just go off before he can bite them back. “I—dammit—I love you, alright?!” It’s raw, explosive, painfully real. After that, he says it rarely, but when he does, it’s like a promise carved out of everything stubborn and loyal in him.

J= Jealousy (How jealous do they get? What do they do when they're jealous?)

When Bakugo gets jealous, it hits him like an explosion waiting for a spark sudden, scorching, and impossible for him to hide. You can see it in how his jaw tightens, how his hands twitch like they’re itching to detonate something. He won’t admit it, of course. Not out loud. Instead, he’ll glare daggers at whoever’s caught your attention, scoffing or muttering under his breath about “extras who don’t know their damn place.” If you try to tease him about it, he’ll snap, face heated, voice louder than he means it to be all bluster hiding the simple truth that he hates feeling replaced. To him, being jealous is admitting weakness, and he’ll do anything to bury that under noise and attitude.

Still, his jealousy doesn’t come from pettiness it’s protectiveness twisted through pride. He watches the way people look at you, the way they stand too close, and it eats away at the back of his mind. So he gets louder, more competitive, suddenly showing off whenever you’re around. You’ll find your name slipping into his sentences when he’s bragging, like he’s marking territory without realizing it. Later, when it’s just the two of you, he’s softer in ways you don’t expect hovering close, checking that you’re focused on him, eyes flicking away when you catch him staring. It’s his unspoken way of saying what words never could: You matter to me. Don’t forget that.

K= Kisses (What are their kisses like? Where do they like to kiss you? Where do they like to be kissed?)

Bakugo’s kisses hit like his explosions: fierce, hot, and sudden enough to make you forget how to breathe. He’s not the type to ask for them he takes them, like claiming victory after a long fight, pressing his lips to yours with a mix of frustration and need that borders on reverence. The first few times, his touch is rough and demanding, as if he’s trying to prove something even in how he shows affection. But the longer you’re together, the more that raw energy softens. When he kisses you now, it’s still passionate, but there’s restraint a quiet, wordless way of saying all the things his pride won’t let him voice. Sometimes, you notice how his hand trembles against the back of your neck, like even he’s surprised that something this gentle can make his pulse race.

He likes kissing you where no one can see places that are his alone. The hollow under your jaw, the corner of your mouth after he mutters “idiot” just to hide his smile, or your forehead when he’s too exhausted from patrols to pretend he doesn’t care. But if you ask where he likes to be kissed, the answer’s harder to earn. Bakugo’s pride won’t admit it, but he melts when your lips brush the scars on his cheek or the base of his throat. They’re reminders of what he’s lost and fought through, so when you kiss them, it feels like you’re seeing him, not Dynamight and that makes him freeze up, go quiet, and press his forehead to yours, muttering a gruff “...do it again,” under his breath.

L= Little ones (How are they around children?)

Bakugo around children brings out a surprisingly steady, protective side that you wouldn’t expect from someone so loud and sharp-edged. He barks orders more than he coos, but it’s all about keeping them safe, making sure they don’t run into danger, touch something hot, or misuse their quirks. When you watch him interact with kids like Eri, you can tell he’s careful not to scare them, though his voice still rumbles like thunder. He crouches to their level, arms crossed, muttering how they “better not screw around” while quietly handing out candy or fixing a broken toy with impressive patience. You notice how kids seem to trust him anyway they see past the volume to the warmth buried underneath. When one of them hugs his leg, he freezes up for a second, ears red, before awkwardly patting their head and grumbling, “Tch. Do whatever you want.”

M= Morning (How are mornings spent with them?)

Mornings with Bakugo are loud, chaotic, and strangely comforting once you get used to them. He wakes up early way earlier than you’d like, and immediately starts clattering around the kitchen, muttering about “lazy extras” when you don’t move fast enough. The smell of coffee and perfectly cooked eggs fills the air because, for all his temper, he’s annoyingly good at cooking. He doesn’t say “good morning,” just grunts and shoves a plate toward you like it’s an act of war, but you can tell it’s his way of caring. Sometimes he’ll bark at you to hurry up so you’re “not late, dumbass,” even if you’ve got nowhere to be. And when your half-awake self mumbles something back at him, you’ll catch the corner of his mouth twitch like he’s fighting a smile before he growls, “What’re you lookin’ at?” His version of affection before the day really begins.

N= Night (How are nights spent with them?)

At night with Katsuki Bakugo, things are rarely quiet, the guy radiates energy even when the world’s calm. You might start with an argument over something tiny, like who left the light on or whose cooking smells better, but it always ends with that trademark Bakugo smirk and an arm thrown around you like he’s daring the universe to challenge his peace. He’s not affectionate in words, his way of saying goodnight is more like a gruff “don’t stay up too late” while handing you a drink or adjusting the blanket around your shoulders, but the warmth behind it is unmistakable. Sometimes he stays up working out or reviewing battle footage, and you’ll find yourself dozing off to the sound of muffled explosions from his grenade gauntlets testing in the distance. Other nights, he lets it all fade, lying beside you in quiet, rhythmic breathing, fingers loosely brushing yours like he can’t quite admit he needs the contact. It’s messy, soft, and somehow intensely peaceful—just like him.

O= Open (When would they start revealing things about themselves? Do they say everything all at once or wait a while to reveal things slowly?)

Bakugo wouldn’t start revealing things about himself right away. At first, you’d probably hit a wall every time you tried to get too close that sharp, defensive edge he carries wouldn’t let anyone see past it easily. He talks big, acts like he’s got everything under control, but that’s just his armor. You’d notice the little slips first: the way his anger softens when you surprise him with a compliment, or the rare times he doesn’t bark back when you call him by his first name. When he does start sharing, it’s never planned. It’s after a long night of training or walking back from a mission, when the air’s quiet and his body finally relaxes. You’d catch him off guard, and suddenly he’s muttering something like, “I used to think needing people made you weak.” The words would hang there heavy and real, a piece of him laid bare before he quickly covers it up again.

He wouldn’t dump everything on you at once not his regrets, not his fears, not the guilt he carries over All Might or Izuku. Katsuki is deliberate, almost cautious in how he unfolds himself. Every confession would come slow, like he’s testing whether you can handle it without seeing him differently. It’s not trust he lacks; it’s comfort. Once he’s sure you won’t pity him or flinch away, he starts letting you into more. His dreams, the way he measures his worth through victory, his frustration at always having to be strong. Eventually, he’ll stop hiding behind that barked-out bravado. He’ll tell you what matters not because he has to, but because he wants you to know and for Bakugo, that’s about as close to love as words will ever get.

P= Patience (How easily angered are they?)

It doesn’t take much for Bakugo to snap at you—one misplaced word, one wrong look, one second too long staring his way and suddenly his voice is loud enough to rattle the air. You learn quickly that his patience isn’t really patience at all; it’s a thin wire stretched tight over dynamite. When he yells, it’s not always anger aimed at you exactly, more like frustration at himself for letting someone get close enough to test him. Sometimes, you catch that flicker in his crimson eyes right before he grips his fists and looks away, taking slow breaths that sound more like growls. That’s the thing about Bakugo. He’s always fighting something, whether it’s you, the world, or the storm inside his own chest; and when you’re near him, you can feel just how hard he’s trying not to let it win.

Q= Quizzes (How much would they remember about you? Do they remember every little detail you mention in passing, or do they kind of forget everything?)

He’s the kind of person who pretends not to remember the small things you say, yet somehow quotes you word-for-word weeks later. You’ll mention your favorite drink or that you hate the cold, and he’ll roll his eyes, acting like he couldn’t care less. But when he tosses that exact drink at you after training or nudges you toward a heater during winter, you realize he's been listening the whole time. Bakugo doesn’t forget details by accident—he filters them through pride, storing every fact about you behind the roughness he uses to keep people at arm’s length.

Still, he’s not one for sentimentality. If you asked him directly, he’d scoff and say he’s got better things to think about. But when someone else misremembers something about you, he corrects them without hesitation—like it’s instinct. To him, remembering is just another battle he refuses to lose, and you’ve somehow become part of what drives him to never fall behind. It’s not softness; it’s precision. You exist in his mind like a spark, sharp and permanent, even if he’d never admit it out loud.

R= Remember (What is their favorite moment in your relationship?)

His favorite moment the one he’d never admit out loud is the night you didn’t ask him to talk but just sat there beside him after a brutal mission, your hand finding his without words. You didn’t try to fix him or tell him it wasn’t his fault; you just stayed. For someone who’s used to fighting battles alone, the quiet meant more than anything else. He’ll still grumble if you bring it up, calling it “nothing special” or “just a damn moment,” but you catch how his thumb moves over your knuckles when he says it, rough and careful all at once. For Bakugo, that night is burned into his mind not because there were fireworks, but because for once, he didn’t need to explode to feel seen.

S= Security (How protective are they? How would they protect you? How would they like to be protected?)

You’d never call Bakugo gentle when he’s in protective mode it’s more like standing behind a blast shield. When he decides you’re under his care, he doesn’t leave room for negotiation. His eyes are always cutting through a crowd, reading danger before it happens, his shoulders squared like he’s daring the world to try something. If someone so much as looks at you wrong, his hand twitches like he might set off a small explosion just to make a point. But there’s more to it than raw aggression; for all his sharp edges, he’s observant. He notices when your guard drops or when you’re uncomfortable. His protection doesn’t stop at the physical he’ll push you to be stronger, louder, faster, because he refuses to see you helpless. And if something threatens you, it won’t live to regret the attempt.

Bakugo, though, hates the idea of being protected. You’d have to sneak it past his pride. If you stepped in front of him, he'd bark at you first, “Are you dumb or what?!” But part of him would burn with something softer underneath that fury. When you pull him out of harm’s way or stand with him instead of behind him, it hits him in that deep, wordless place that remembers all the times he failed to protect people he cared about. He doesn’t need saving, but he respects someone who refuses to abandon him, who trusts his strength yet stands tall beside him anyway. That’s the kind of protection he could accept: not shielding him, but matching his fire with your own.

T= Try (How much effort would they put into dates, anniversaries, gifts, everyday tasks?)

Bakugo puts effort into things that matter to him, even if he pretends not to. You’d notice it in the way he plans stuff - dates that aren’t fancy but always just right, in places where he knows you’ll laugh or relax without a crowd to stare at you. He’s not the type to buy random gifts, but when he does, they’re insanely thoughtful, almost suspiciously perfect, because he’s been paying attention the whole time. Anniversaries? He’ll grumble about “not making a big deal out of it,” yet somehow the day always ends with your favorite meal, maybe something he cooked himself just to show he could. Everyday tasks with him are chaotic but weirdly sweet. He’ll yell at you for doing something “the wrong way,” then steal the chore from you and do it himself, muttering the whole time. His love language ends up being effort disguised as irritation; everything he does, from remembering small details to showing up when you need him, is his way of saying you’re worth the fight.

U= Ugly (What would be some bad habits of theirs?)

Bakugo has a whole arsenal of bad habits that make being around him feel like walking through a minefield you never know when he’ll explode, literally or figuratively. You’ve seen how he bottles up emotion until it bursts out in pure rage, how his pride makes it almost impossible for him to accept help, and how that same stubborn streak has him doubling down on mistakes rather than admitting he’s wrong. He’s also got the awful habit of talking over people, barking orders like everyone else is too slow to keep up, or calling classmates “extras” even when he means well. There are quiet bad habits, too. The way he pushes himself past exhaustion because resting feels like weakness, the way he refuses to open up about guilt until it eats at him, and how he hides real care behind harsh words. When you point it out, he’ll scoff or snap back, pretending it doesn’t matter, but you can tell from the way his jaw clenches afterward that he’s thinking about it more than he wants to admit.

V= Vanity (How concerned are they with their looks?)

Bakugo doesn’t obsess over his looks in a vain or self-indulgent way, but he definitely cares about how he presents himself just not for the reasons you might expect. You’ve noticed how he hates looking sloppy, not because he wants attention, but because appearances, to him, reflect discipline and strength. He’ll never spend hours in front of a mirror, but if his uniform’s crooked or his hero gear’s scratched, he’ll fix it without hesitation he just doesn’t want to look weak or like some “half-assed extra.” Best Jeanist’s influence made him a little more conscious, though he’d never admit it out loud; you can catch him subconsciously running a hand through his hair to keep it from sticking out too wildly. He’s not insecure you can tell he knows he looks good, but his pride won’t let him appear anything less than sharp, capable, and ready to win.

W= Whole (Would they feel incomplete without you?)

He’d never say it out loud, but without you, Bakugo would feel wrong - off-balance in a way that even winning couldn’t fix. You’ve become part of his rhythm, the quiet space he didn’t know he needed between all the explosions and the noise in his head. He’d still fight, still train, still yell until his throat burned, but there’d be this hollow thing sitting behind his eyes every time he tried to push through the day. You’re his grounding wire—the one person who doesn’t flinch when he burns too bright, who calls him out without fear, who stays. He wouldn’t call it “incomplete,” because that sounds weak, but when the world goes quiet and there’s no one but him and the echo of his own breath, it’s you he catches himself looking for in the silence, and that’s how he knows, yeah, he’d be half of himself without you.

X= Xtra (A random headcanon for them.)

You never expected Katsuki Bakugo to show affection in anything resembling a normal way, but for him, his version of affection is almost explosive. He doesn't say much, just walks beside you with his hands shoved into his pockets, shoulders stiff but close enough that your sleeve brushes his. When you tease him, it always earns a low growl and averted gaze, but the faint flush on his ears gives him away. He’ll mutter something like, “Don’t get cocky,” even as he subtly adjusts his pace so you don’t walk alone. Randomly, he’ll shove a small, handmade lunch box at you perfectly cooked food, spicy but balanced then bark out, “Don’t waste it, got it?” It’s his quiet way of saying you matter, a little spark of care wrapped in heat and denial.

Y= Yuck (What are some things they wouldn't like, either in general or in a partner?)

Bakugo can’t stand weakness—at least, not the kind that festers in laziness, excuses, or self-pity. He hates it when someone refuses to push themselves, when all they do is talk instead of grinding to get better. He also can’t stand dishonesty; if you say something you don’t mean or pretend you’re fine when you’re clearly not, it grates on him more than nails on metal. Overly clingy behavior makes his skin crawl too—he needs space to breathe, to move, to think, and being smothered feels like chains to him. He’d lose all respect for someone who disrespects others just to feel powerful, or someone who gives up easily when things get hard. You’d see it in the way he scowls, jaw tight, muttering how he “doesn’t have time for weak crap like that.” Underneath it all, it’s not about perfection—it’s about fire. If you don’t have that spark to fight for what matters, Bakugo’s not interested, period.

Z= Zzz (What is a sleep habits of theirs?)

B= Best friend (What would they be like as a best friend? How would the friendship start?)

Izuku would be the kind of best friend who’s always in your corner the one texting you study notes at 2 a.m., cheering for you from the sidelines, and panicking if you so much as trip. He’d remember every little thing about you, like your favorite snack or what song motivates you before a big day. When you hit a rough patch, he’d mumble a dozen ways to help, visibly flustering himself before blurting out something heartfelt that makes you laugh. Izuku’s selflessness as a hero carries over into friendship; he’d go above and beyond just to make sure you’re okay, even if it means exhausting himself a bit in the process. He’d be your biggest encourager reminding you that you don’t need to be perfect, just brave enough to keep trying. And whenever you accomplish something, no matter how small, he’d look prouder than you are.

Your friendship with Izuku probably starts in the most Izuku way possible: from a small, kind act that spirals into something meaningful. Maybe you offered him a hand when he dropped his mountain of notebooks, or you stood up for him when someone mocked his mumbling. He’d latch onto that moment, both grateful and inspired by your empathy, and suddenly you’d find yourselves studying together, trading hero trivia, and training side by side. Over time, his nervous admiration for you would grow into an easy, comfortable bond — quiet moments of mutual support punctuated by bursts of shared excitement. You’d be one of the few people who could calm his overthinking, grounding his whirlwind of energy with laughter and trust. For Izuku, that friendship wouldn’t just be a companionship, it’d be one of the cornerstones of his heart.

C= Cuddles (Do they like to cuddle? How would they cuddle?)

Izuku absolutely loves to cuddle, though he’d never admit it outright at first. You’d notice the way he gets a bit fidgety before asking if he can hold you, cheeks flushed pink, voice small but sincere. Once you’re close, his nervous energy melts into warmth. Izuku hugs you like he’s afraid you might slip away, one arm tucked securely around you while the other rubs gentle circles on your back. His heartbeat always runs a little fast, but that only makes the moment sweeter; it’s proof of how much he cares. He tends to mumble hero facts or half-apologies into your hair at the beginning, but once he relaxes, he just quietly smiles, content to have you near.

When Izuku cuddles after a long day, it’s less about comfort and more about grounding his way of reminding himself that there’s still softness in the world after everything he’s endured. If you’re sprawled on the couch, he’ll squeeze in behind you, tuck his chin over your shoulder, and intertwine your hands like he’s anchoring himself. He keeps his touches light, respectful, but always full of emotion. When you rest your head on his chest, he’ll unconsciously adjust his breathing to match yours, finding rhythm in your presence. In those quiet moments, the hero you know the strategist, the fighter, the self-sacrificing Deku fades into someone simple and tender: just Izuku, who wants nothing more than for you to feel safe in his arms.

D= Domestic (Do they want to settle down? How are they at cooking and cleaning?)

Izuku absolutely wants to settle down, but only once he feels he’s earned the right to slow down. You’d notice how he still wrestles with that hero’s guilt, the part of him that believes happiness should come after he’s done enough for others. Even then, he dreams about ordinary things coming home to someone waiting for him, sharing warmth and quiet instead of adrenaline and chaos. You’d catch him spacing out when he sees families at the park or watching his friends move into their own homes, his expression soft and wistful. When he does finally take that step, he’ll throw himself into it with the same wholehearted passion he brings to hero work always kind, endlessly attentive, and forever grateful that he’s being loved not for the power he holds, but for who he is.

Around the house, Izuku’s the kind of person who insists on taking care of chores even when you tell him to rest. He’s surprisingly tidy, something he picked up from growing up with Inko, and he takes pride in keeping everything organized. Still, cooking takes him a little effor he’s decent, not great, but determined to learn because it matters to him that you eat well. Expect a few endearing disasters early on, followed by an apologetic grin and a promise to improve. Over time he gets better, turning recipes into little lab experiments, scribbling notes about flavor balance like they were hero techniques. He beams when you praise his food, already planning the next dish, hands still dusted with flour but heart full.

E= Ending (If they had to break up with their partner, how would they do it?)

Izuku Midoriya would never walk into a breakup without thinking it through for him, the decision alone would be gut-wrenching. You’d notice he’d been quieter for days, his mumbling more absent, his usual focus dulled by something heavy pressing behind his eyes. When he finally gathers the courage, it wouldn’t be in some crowded spot or over a sudden argument it would be somewhere calm and familiar, maybe under the same park tree where you first talked about your dreams. He’d fidget with his hands, trying to keep his voice steady as he explains that he still cares about you deeply, but his responsibilities are pulling him in directions where he can’t give you the attention and time you deserve. There’d be tears—soft, restrained ones and long pauses where he nearly talks himself out of ending it. You’d feel the weight of his guilt as he admits he never wanted to hurt you, only to protect you from the version of him that forgets to take care of himself. And when he finally says goodbye, it would be with trembling sincerity, promising that even if you part ways, he’ll always be thankful you believed in him when he couldn’t believe in himself.

F= Fiance(e) (How do they feel about commitment? How quick would they want to get married?)

Izuku approaches commitment with the same gravity and wholeheartedness that defines the rest of his life. When he loves you, it’s not in passing or half-measure it’s with the intent to stay, to protect, to build something meaningful. You’d see it in the way he listens when you talk about your future, nervously jotting down shared goals in that old hero notebook of his, only this time it’s filled with sketches of a home instead of battle plans. Commitment doesn’t scare him, but it humbles him. He’d worry sometimes that he isn’t "enough," that his scars or past mistakes might make him a less-than-perfect partner, yet that fear only pushes him to love harder, to prove through small daily acts that you can trust him with your heart. For Izuku, being engaged to you isn’t just a promise it’s a vow to grow together and never stop striving to be worthy of the bond you share.

When it comes to marriage, Izuku wouldn’t rush. He’s the type who wants to be absolutely certain he can give you a stable, peaceful life before officially tying the knot. Even if his heart races at just hearing the word “wedding,” he’d wait until his career feels balanced and he’s confident he can divide time between being a hero and being your husband. You’d catch him looking at rings long before he’s ready to propose, his face red and eyes sparkling as if he can already see the moment he asks. Once engaged, though, he wouldn’t want to drag it out he’d be eager yet still careful, planning the wedding together with you over quiet mornings and late-night talks. More than anything, he’d want the day to celebrate you, because to Izuku, the real victory isn’t the ceremony itself it’s the life he’ll spend proving that “forever” is something he means with his whole heart.

G= Gentle (How gentle are they, both physically and emotionaly?)

Izuku is the kind of gentle that seeps into every movement and word he speaks. When he touches you whether it’s handing you something or brushing a tear from your cheek it’s cautious, aware, like he’s terrified of causing harm, even accidentally. His hands are scarred and worn, but his touch stays soft, as if he’s learned gentleness through all the times he’s had to hold back his own strength. Emotionally, he’s the same way: gentle in how he listens, how he worries, and how he speaks to you when you’re hurting. There’s never any judgment in his tone, just quiet reassurance and trembling sincerity. He carries so much pain from trying to save everyone, but when it comes to you, that gentleness becomes an oath he’ll protect you not just from the world, but from the weight of your own doubts and fears.

H= Hugs (Do they like hugs? How often do they do it? What are their hugs like?)

Izuku doesn’t say I love you quickly not because he doesn’t feel it, but because he feels it too much. He’s the kind who realizes it early, maybe far sooner than he’ll admit, but he locks it away, terrified that saying it out loud might somehow make it too real, too precious to risk. You’ll see it in the way he looks at you when he thinks you’re not watching the spark of awe, the soft pull of a smile when you laugh, the slight flush creeping up his neck. When the words finally escape him, it’s not planned. It comes out in a rush, usually in some emotionally charged moment maybe after you’ve been hurt, or when you say something kind he doesn’t feel he deserves. There’s a tiny pause where he looks mortified, then he stammers it out again, quieter this time, as if making sure you heard it. And when you smile instead of pulling away, the relief in his voice cracks into something almost tearful… because to Izuku, loving you has always felt like both a miracle and a promise.

Izuku’s hugs are exactly what you’d imagine from someone who feels everything so deeply warm, slightly awkward, and filled with earnest affection. He’s not the kind of person to initiate hugs all the time; he usually overthinks it, unsure if it’s “too much” or if you’ll find it weird. But the moment you reach for him first, that hesitation melts away. His arms wrap around you tightly, carefully at first, then with a sudden, almost desperate sincerity as if he’s trying to say a thousand things without speaking. You can feel the tension in his muscles and the faint tremble of nerves before he lets out a small, bashful laugh against your shoulder. He always smells faintly of clean sheets and metal polish from his gear maintenance, and his grip lingers a second longer than he probably means it to.

When Izuku does hug you on his own, it usually follows a moment of strong emotion relief after a mission, gratitude when you comfort him, or simply because he’s too overwhelmed to hold it in anymore. He’s the kind of hugger who leans into you like you’re the one thing grounding him, his heart hammering fast but steady. If he’s upset or tired, he buries his face into your shoulder or hair, murmuring soft apologies for holding on so long. The thing about his hugs is that they always carry purpose whether to reassure, thank, or promise something unspoken. And when he finally pulls away, cheeks pink and eyes bright, you can tell he meant every second of it.

|= I love you (How fast do they say the L-word?)

J= Jealousy (How jealous do they get? What do they do when they're jealous?)

Izuku doesn’t get jealous easily it’s just not in his nature to jump to conclusions or act possessive. He trusts you deeply and always tries to remind himself that heroes shouldn’t let emotions like jealousy get in the way of kindness or professionalism. But that doesn’t mean he’s immune to it. When someone gets a little too close to you especially if they’re confident or flirty his usual bright, open smile begins to tighten at the edges. His freckles darken as his cheeks flush, and his fingers fidget with the hem of his shirt or the edge of his notebook. He’ll tell himself over and over that there’s no reason to be jealous, but the slight edge in his voice or the awkward stammer that replaces his usual warmth gives him away.

When Izuku does get jealous, he doesn’t become angry or confrontational; rather, he becomes quiet, too quiet. Instead of jumping into a conversation, he lingers nearby, pretending to analyze hero stats or check his notes, though his eyes keep darting toward you. If you notice and ask what’s wrong, he’ll wave his hands frantically, denying it with a nervous laugh. Later, as his nerves settle, he usually finds the courage to confess honestly, cheeks pink and voice small, admitting that he just “didn’t like seeing you so close to someone else.” But once reassured, Izuku’s jealousy melts as quickly as it came, replaced by bashful smiles and extra care, as if to make up for the moment his faith wavered.

K= Kisses (What are their kisses like? Where do they like to kiss you? Where do they like to be kissed?)

Izuku’s kisses are earnest, trembling things at first soft and lingering, like he’s memorizing the shape of your lips through the flutter of his breath. There’s always this shy energy to them, his hand hesitating at your cheek before finally cupping it with a blush burning across his nose and ears. You can tell he overthinks every moment before giving in, his heart hammering in panic and awe all at once. When he kisses you like that gentle, with the faintest hum of nervous laughter you feel the depth of his affection, the awe that someone as thoughtful and intense as him can hold so much tenderness. It’s never rushed; he treats each kiss like a promise he plans to keep.

Izuku loves pressing kisses to your forehead and hands, the same way he’d handle something precious he can’t believe belongs to him. Your forehead is where his emotions spill most freely a silent reassurance that he’s here and you’re safe. Occasionally, he’ll brave a quick kiss on your nose, immediately flustered afterward. As for where he likes to be kissed, his cheeks are his weak spot each time your lips brush against his freckles, he stutters and loses his usual composure entirely. But if you kiss the scarred skin on his hands or arms, admiration shining in your eyes instead of pity, his chest tightens with quiet emotion. That kind of affection the kind that sees both his strength and his pain always leaves him wordless, whispering your name like gratitude.

L= Little ones (How are they around children?)

Izuku around children is practically sunshine in human form you can’t help but notice how his whole demeanor softens the moment little ones are around. His voice drops into that gentle, encouraging tone, and he crouches so he’s on their level, listening to every word like it’s the most important thing in the world. You’ve seen the way his eyes sparkle when Eri laughs, or when a kid tugs at his uniform to say “thank you.” He’s endlessly patient, quick to comfort, and genuinely fascinated by their curiosity, often launching into mini hero-lectures that end with embarrassed laughs and pink cheeks when he realizes he’s been rambling again. Around him, children feel safe drawn to his kind, protective energy that never feels forced. Watching him with them gives you this warm certainty that Izuku Midoriya was born to protect, nurture, and inspire; being good with kids just comes naturally to him.

M= Morning (How are mornings spent with them?)

Mornings with Izuku are warm, busy, and just a little bit chaotic in the sweetest way. He’s always up early long before you scribbling notes into a hero analysis notebook or quietly stretching by the window to get his body moving. When you wake, he greets you with that shy, soft smile that still makes your heart flutter, cheeks pink from both the morning chill and his constant fluster around you. He fusses about breakfast despite insisting he’s “not that great at cooking,” yet somehow manages to make everything taste amazing because he puts his all into it. The smell of miso and rice fills the air as he rambles about a new strategy or hero training idea, only realizing he’s been mumbling under his breath when you tease him. By the time you’re both ready to head out, he’s already checked three times to make sure you’ve eaten, have your things, and are feeling okay because that’s just Izuku. Mornings with him aren’t particularly quiet or perfect, but they always feel like the start of something hopeful.

N= Night (How are nights spent with them?)

Nights with Izuku are quiet but full of warmth the kind that seeps in subtly, like the soft glow from his notebook lamp as he scribbles last-minute hero notes before bed. You’re often curled up beside him, half-listening to his muttering, half-soothed by it, until he realizes he’s been mumbling for ten minutes straight and flushes bright red. He’ll laugh it off awkwardly, scratch the back of his head, then scoot a little closer, mumbling an apology into your shoulder. When he finally puts down his pen, his exhaustion catches up instantly one second he’s talking about training improvements, and the next, his head’s resting against you, hair tickling your neck, breathing slowing. You fall asleep to the faint sound of pages turning, his hand loosely tucked around yours, as if even in his dreams he’s holding on to the people, and the peace, he’s fought so hard to protect.

O= Open (When would they start revealing things about themselves? Do they say everything all at once or wait a while to reveal things slowly?)

Izuku wouldn’t spill everything about himself right away, you’d have to earn it. At first, he’d be flustered and hesitant, quick to brush off deeper questions with nervous laughter or a mumbled “It’s nothing, really.” He’s the type to listen before talking, more concerned with understanding you than sharing what’s inside his own head. Small details would slip through first: the way he talks about All Might like he’s describing a lifelong friend, the slight hesitation when someone mentions his Quirkless days, or how he always keeps one hand near his old notebook out of habit. You’d notice before he even tells you, his silence says as much as his words ever could.

But once Izuku starts trusting you, openings widen in quiet, meaningful moments. Maybe you’re walking home late, sharing snacks, or patching him up after another reckless scuffle. That’s when the dam cracks. He’d start revealing things slowly about how much his mother’s faith kept him going, the guilt he still carries for not saving everyone, or the burden of living up to someone else’s legend. Each confession would come with watery eyes and an anxious grin, but also a clear relief, because you’re not judging him, you’re listening. And once he realizes that, Izuku never hides much from you again.

P= Patience (How easily angered are they?)

Izuku rarely gets genuinely angry you’d have to push him far past his emotional limits to see him lose his composure. Most of the time, you’d watch him bottle things up, turning frustration inward rather than lashing out. He’s the kind of person who clenches his fists and forces a shaky smile instead of yelling, mumbling under his breath to calm himself down. But when he does finally snap especially if someone he loves is hurt you can almost feel the air around him tighten, the warmth in his eyes replaced by something fierce and trembling with emotion. It’s not anger born of hatred; it’s rage born of heartbreak and helplessness, the kind that makes you realize just how much he cares. Still, even then, you’d see him pull himself back, breathing hard, reminding himself that heroes don’t let fury control them they channel it into resolve.

Q= Quizzes (How much would they remember about you? Do they remember every little detail you mention in passing, or do they kind of forget everything?)

R= Remember (What is their favorite moment in your relationship?)

Izuku’s favorite moment in your relationship isn’t one of the big, dramatic ones it’s quiet, simple, and utterly human. It was the night he came back from patrol exhausted and bruised, the kind of tired that seeps into his bones, and you sat beside him on the couch, no words, just gentle hands carefully tracing the edge of his scarred knuckles. You told him he didn’t have to be “Deku” right then, that it was okay to just be Izuku. He swore he could feel something in his chest unclench at that like the tremor of a burden being set down. All the victories, all the praise, even the moments of fierce, heroic triumph none compared to that small, steady warmth of realizing he was loved not for what he could save, but simply for who he was.

S= Security (How protective are they? How would they protect you? How would they like to be protected?)

Izuku is the kind of partner who would notice the tiniest shift in your expression before you even realize something’s wrong. His protectiveness doesn’t come from possessiveness it’s born from that instinctive, self-sacrificing hero nature that’s always driven him. If danger even thinks about reaching for you, he’s a blur of green lightning between you and it, analyzing every angle, every probability, until you’re safe behind him. He’ll take hits without hesitation, even when it means pushing his body past its limit. But unlike the reckless boy he once was, he’s learned that protecting someone also means being there after the fight checking your injuries, quietly making sure you’ve eaten, and wrapping his scarred fingers around yours just to feel you breathing normally again. In his eyes, keeping you safe is not just about blocking harm, but shielding your peace of mind.

When it comes to being protected himself, Izuku gets flustered. He’s used to giving his all for others, not receiving it in return, and your care can short-circuit him faster than a villain’s Quirk. But deep down, it matters to him more than he lets on. You patch him up after a mission, force him to rest when his hands are trembling, stand beside him when he’s ready to shoulder the burden alone these are the things that ground him. To Izuku, being protected isn’t about strength, but trust. Knowing someone sees the hero and the boy beneath it all, and chooses to stay—to hold him steady when his own heart wavers is the comfort he rarely admits he craves.

T= Try (How much effort would they put into dates, anniversaries, gifts, everyday tasks?)

When it comes to effort, Izuku gives everything he has sometimes to the point it’s overwhelming. Dates and anniversaries are no exception; he plans them weeks in advance, notes and all, trying to make every detail reflect how much he cherishes you. He’ll overthink what restaurant to pick, rehearse what to say, and then end up blushing through half the night anyway, but you can always tell his heart’s in it. Gifts are always personal something handmade, or something small but deeply meaningful, like a charm that symbolizes your shared memories. Everyday tasks get the same devotion; he helps with the dishes, carries your bags, and remembers things you offhandedly mentioned weeks ago. To him, effort isn’t about grand gestures it’s showing up, day by day, proving you matter to him in every quiet, thoughtful detail.

Izuku’s bad habits aren’t loud or obvious they sneak up on you, the way he forgets to take care of himself when he’s deep in his thoughts or training. You’d catch him skipping meals because he’s too busy analyzing a new combat strategy, or staying up until the early morning scribbling in his notebooks, eyelids heavy but mind racing. He fidgets constantly, tapping his fingers or muttering under his breath when he’s thinking, and though it’s endearing at first, it can wear on your patience when he's supposed to be resting. His worst habit, though, is how little value he places on his own well-being you can tell by the way he shrugs off pain, smiling through it like it’s nothing, treating his body like it’s just another tool for the mission. You’d have to remind him gently, persistently that heroes can’t save anyone if they forget to save themselves.

U= Ugly (What would be some bad habits of theirs?)

V= Vanity (How concerned are they with their looks?)

Izuku never really cared much about how he looked at least, not in the conventional sense. For him, appearances were always secondary to effort, the reflection of what he did rather than how he seemed. If you pointed out his messy, perpetually wind-tossed hair or the scars running along his arms, he’d get sheepish, scratching at his neck and laughing nervously, insisting they “show growth.” He’s more comfortable in a slightly tattered hero suit than a well-pressed shirt, and the only time he fusses over his appearance is when it might worry someone else All Might, his mom, or you. You’d probably notice that when he thinks he’s talking to you too long after training, he’ll quickly tug down his sleeves to hide the damage, smiling like he can make you think he’s okay by sheer willpower. Vanity isn’t really his thing, but humility, self-consciousness, and a quiet wish to look “enough” to be a hero definitely are.

Izuku would absolutely feel incomplete without you. You’re the calm in the storm that he doesn’t know he’s always searching for, the voice that gently pulls him back when his mind spirals into guilt or self-blame. Without you, his drive to save and protect would twist into something burdensome a duty rather than a calling. He’d still smile and still give everything for others, but that light in his eyes, the quiet joy of simply existing beside someone who believes in him beyond the hero name, would fade. You’re the reminder that Izuku Midoriya doesn’t have to be a symbol or a savior all the time, that he’s human before he’s a hero. Without you, he’d still try to fill that void with purpose, with action, with self-sacrifice, but deep down, he'd always feel that something vital, something irreplaceable, was missing.

W= Whole (Would they feel incomplete without you?)

X= Xtra (A random headcanon for them.)

Izuku has this quiet nighttime ritual that almost no one knows about after long days, when the city finally goes still, he’ll sit by his window with his notebook open and a cup of tea, writing down every little thing that went right. Not the big hero moments, but the small ones: saving a lost kitten, making a student laugh, or hearing you tell him you’re proud of him. It’s his way of grounding himself, of remembering that even in a life built on battles and scars, joy exists in tiny, ordinary things. Sometimes he’ll doodle beside the notes—small, uneven sketches of his friends, or a messy heart next to your name that he pretends not to overthink. If you ever caught him at it, he’d stammer and blush terribly, but deep down, he’d be glad you saw the side of him that still believes in gentle victories.

Y= Yuck (What are some things they wouldn't like, either in general or in a partner?)

Izuku definitely has a few things that make him cringe or shut down fast, even if he tries not to show it. He hates selfishness people who only think about themselves rub him the wrong way because it goes against everything he stands for as a hero. Cruelty or mocking others (especially weaker people) hits a nerve; you’d see it in how his smile falters or how he quietly glances away, trying not to react too sharply. He’s also uneasy with arrogance, the kind that dismisses compassion as weakness. Around a partner, he’d get uncomfortable if you were careless about others’ feelings or laughed off someone’s struggles, because empathy is sacred to him. He doesn’t like dishonesty either white lies might slide, but manipulation or two-faced behavior make him clam up instantly. And while he’d never judge harshly, reckless disregard for safety (especially his own or yours) drains him emotionally; after everything he’s endured, he values care and sincerity above all else.

Z= Zzz (What is a sleep habits of theirs?)