Sesillia8o

🌕 ₊ ⊹

Sesilia’s M.List.

🪐 * ˚ ✦

✦. ── Bakugo ── .✦

╰┈➤ Fluff- 🪐

╰┈➤ Angst- 🌕

╰┈➤ Smut-🌙

╰┈➤ Suggestive- 🔭

⏾⋆.˚

⌞Send me your requests/ coordinates?⌝

⋆✴︎˚｡⋆

—

Bakugo has a crush on you 🪐

Both of you dating 🪐

Bakugo finds out your pregnant 🪐

Bakugo proposal 🪐

Bakugo has a crush on you 🪐🌕

You and Bakugos first baby 🪐

Bakugo has a crush on you..but it’s a rumor 🪐

Bakugo and you passing notes 🪐

Training with Bakugo 🪐

Bakugo seeing he’s baby girl for the first time🪐

Bakugo seeing your stretch marks🪐

Unlearning Anger🪐🌕

“Did you and y/n split up?”🪐

“I don’t wanna hurt you”🪐

A very special surprise 🪐

Bakugos online girlfriend🪐

╰┈➤ Short stories.

Crumb’s of love pt.1 pt.2 [full story on Wattpad! User in bio]

˚　　　　✦　　　.　　. 🪐　 ˚　.　　　　 　　.　　　　　　 ✦　　　.　　˚　🌒　　　　. ✦ 　🌍

　　.  　 　　　˚　　　　　*　　 　　✦　　　.　　.　　　✦　　˚ 　　　 　　˚　.　*　　. 　˚　　.

͙͘͡★ I tell my longer stories on Wattpad and share snippets on TikTok. Come read along ⋆

˚　　　　✦　　　.　　. 🪐　 ˚　.　　　　 　　.　　　　　　 ✦　　　.　　˚　🌙　　　　. ✦ 　☄️

╰┈➤ Bakugo x reader

•fluff

: ̗̀➛ After meeting at a summer camp, Bakugo and you grow close through daily calls and messages. Back at UA, no one believes he could ever have a girlfriend, until one phone call proves them all wrong.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。. .・。.・゜✭・.・

Summer camp had been meant to be loud days and bonfires, physical training disguised as “activities,” and counselors yelling at him to stop scaring the other kids. He’d expected to be irritated the whole time.

Instead, he met you.

You were different from everyone else there. You didn’t flinch when he raised his voice. Didn’t treat him like a ticking bomb. You laughed when he complained, rolled your eyes when he got dramatic, and sat next to him during meals like it was the most natural thing in the world.

Out there, away from UA, away from expectations and cameras and comparisons, Bakugo felt… normal.

Free.

You talked late into the night, sitting on the dock with your feet in the water, swapping stories about where you were from. You told him about your country home, the wide fields, the dogs you loved like siblings. He told you about UA, about wanting to be the best without apologizing for it.

When summer ended, neither of you knew how to say goodbye properly.

So you didn’t.

You just kept talking.

Texts turned into late-night calls. Calls turned into falling asleep with the phone still on. Somewhere along the way, it stopped being “just friends” and started being something else. Something careful and real.

And Bakugo didn’t tell a single soul.

⸻

Back at UA, things were loud again.

The dorm common room buzzed with chatter, Mina sprawled across the couch, Denki upside down over the armrest, Kirishima scrolling on his phone nearby. Bakugo sat stiffly in a chair, arms crossed, irritation already simmering.

“You know,” Mina said, grinning wickedly, “I don’t think I’ve ever seen Bakugo actually talk to a girl.”

Denki snorted. “Right? Man goes feral just making eye contact.”

Bakugo scowled. “Shut up.”

“Oh come on,” Mina teased. “You get all loud and weird. It’s kinda cute.”

“I can talk to girls!” Bakugo snapped, shifting awkwardly in his seat.

The room went quiet.

Too quiet.

Bakugo realized too late that he’d just drawn attention to himself.

“I… I have a girlfriend,” he muttered, voice way softer than intended.

“Huh?!” Mina shot upright. “Bakugo, did you just say you have a girlfriend?”

Denki folded his arms, grinning. “Yeah, not buying it.”

“I’m not lying!” Bakugo barked, heat rushing to his face.

“Then call her,” Mina said instantly.

Bakugo groaned. “No.”

“Ohhh,” Denki sing-songed. “So you’re lying.”

“I’m not lying!” Bakugo shot back. “It’s just—” He hesitated, nerves crawling up his spine. “It’s mostly online—”

Mineta and Denki burst into laughter.

“ONLINE?” Mineta cackled. “Bro went digital!”

“Didn’t think you’d stoop that low, Bakugo,” Denki teased.

“Guys, cut it out,” Kirishima said firmly. “Online relationships are legit. I’ve seen plenty that work.”

Mina held up her hands. “Okay, okay. Then call her.”

Bakugo stared at her. “What.”

“Call. Her.”

He sighed, defeated, and pulled out his phone.

“Back off,” he snapped as everyone crowded in.

He didn’t even need to scroll. Your name was right there. He tapped it, heart pounding harder than it ever did before a fight, and hit call.

It rang.

Once.

Twice.

Bakugo clenched his jaw. Come on, pick up.

“Probably calling his mom,” Mineta joked.

“Dude,” Kirishima hissed.

It kept ringing.

Bakugo swallowed and lowered the phone. “See? I told you. She’s probably busy.”

Denki and Mineta laughed again.

Then—

His phone rang.

Bakugo froze.

He stared at the screen like it might explode, then answered.

“H-Hey Kats!”

Your voice filled the room.

Bakugo smiled. Just a little.

“Hey.”

The entire room went silent.

“Sorry I didn’t pick up fast enough,” you said breathlessly. “I was getting the dogs in! You know my two little babies. They refuse to listen.”

“Yeah,” Bakugo chuckled softly.

Mina’s jaw dropped.

Denki stared.

Mineta looked betrayed.

“Oh!” you said suddenly. “Are you busy? You called kinda late.”

“No,” Bakugo said quickly. “Just… with classmates.”

“Ohhh,” you teased. “The ones you said won’t stop bothering you?”

He huffed. “Yeah.”

“Tell them hi for me!”

Bakugo blinked. “What.”

“Hi everyone!” you called through the phone, cheerful and warm. “This is y/n!”

Mina squealed. “SHE’S REAL.”

Bakugo’s ears burned.

“Anyway,” you continued, softer now, “It’s nice to hear your voice. I miss you.”

Bakugo leaned back in his chair, shoulders relaxing.

“…Miss you too.”

Kirishima smiled like he’d just witnessed a miracle.

“I’ll let you go,” you said. “Call me later, okay?”

“Yeah,” he replied. “I will.”

When the call ended, the room erupted.

“BAKUGO HAS A GIRLFRIEND!”

“She sounds adorable!”

“Dude, you’re whipped!”

Bakugo stood up, flustered but smiling, just a little.

“Shut up,” he muttered.

╰┈➤ A Very Special Surprise

: ̗̀➛ Bakugo x fem!reader

•fluff

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。. .・。.・゜✭・.・

told you not to wait up.

That was the rule every time he left for a long mission. Don’t pace. Don’t stare at the clock. Don’t sleep on the couch just in case he called. Bakugo said it like an order, sharp and serious, but you knew what it really meant.

He didn’t want you worrying yourself sick.

The first day he was gone, the house felt too quiet. His boots weren’t by the door. His jacket wasn’t thrown over the chair like it always was. Even the air felt different without the constant low hum of his presence.

You woke up late, shuffled into the kitchen in your slippers, still half-asleep.

That’s when you saw it.

A single flower lay on the doorstep, wrapped neatly in brown paper. Bright and impossible to miss against the dull concrete.

You blinked.

Then you smiled.

A sunflower. Bold and warm and unapologetically bright. Just like him, even if he’d never admit it.

There was a small card tucked into the paper. You opened it carefully.

“Didn’t know which one to pick. This one looked strong. Thought of you.”

You laughed softly, pressing the card to your chest.

Of course he’d pretend it wasn’t a big deal.

⸻

The next day, there was another.

This time it was a rose, deep red, petals tight and perfect. You didn’t even pretend to be surprised anymore. You opened the door already smiling.

The note was shorter.

“Don’t read into it. It’s just a flower.”

You snorted. “Liar.”

You put it in a vase next to the sunflower. The kitchen started to feel warmer.

On the third day, it was a lily. Clean and elegant. The note read:

“Smells nice. Like you.”

Your face burned.

By the fourth day, you were waiting by the door before noon like clockwork. A daisy arrived, then a tulip, then a small bundle of baby’s breath that made your eyes sting for reasons you didn’t fully want to unpack.

Each flower came with a message. Never long. Never flowery. Just Bakugo, stripped down to the essentials.

“Saw an explosion today. Missed you more.”

“Food sucks out here. Yours is better.”

“Haven’t slept great. Bed’s too quiet.”

You kept every card. You lined them up on the counter, then taped them to the fridge when you ran out of space. The house slowly filled with color, like he was leaving pieces of himself behind so you wouldn’t feel alone.

People noticed.

Your neighbor smiled knowingly. Your mom called and asked questions you pretended not to hear. Even the mail carrier raised an eyebrow.

Bakugo Katsuki, sending flowers every day like it was nothing.

He called once, voice rough through the comm.

“You get today’s?”

“Yes,” you said softly.

“Tch. Good.”

That was all. But you could hear the smile anyway.

⸻

A week in, he sent a message that made your heart stutter.

“Mission extended. I’ll be back later than planned.”

You swallowed your disappointment and typed back something supportive. You always did. You never wanted to be another weight on his shoulders.

The flowers kept coming.

Then, one morning, your phone buzzed with a new message.

“Tomorrow. Sending something special.”

You reread it three times.

Special meant… special. Coming from him, it meant effort. Thought. Probably something he’d pretend was no big deal but had clearly overthought.

You barely slept that night.

The next morning, you were still in your pajamas when you heard the faint thud at the door.

Your heart jumped.

You rushed down the hallway, already imagining a massive bouquet, something ridiculous and over-the-top, probably with another gruff little note attached.

You flung the door open.

And froze.

Bakugo stood there.

Hair a little longer. Eyes tired but bright. Uniform gone, replaced with a simple jacket. In his hands was the biggest bouquet you’d ever seen, a mix of every flower he’d sent you and more, colors spilling over each other like they couldn’t be contained.

For a second, neither of you moved.

“…You said tomorrow,” you breathed.

He shrugged, lips twitching. “Changed my mind.”

Your shock broke all at once. You made a sound somewhere between a laugh and a sob and launched yourself at him.

The flowers were forgotten as his arms came around you instantly, strong and sure. He buried his face in your hair, inhaling deeply like he’d been holding his breath for days.

“Missed you,” he muttered.

You clutched him tighter, still in your pajamas, heart racing. “You scared me.”

“Tch. You’re smiling.”

You were. You couldn’t stop.

He pulled back just enough to look at you, eyes soft in a way only you ever got to see. Then he held the bouquet out properly, almost shy.

“Told you,” he said. “Special delivery.”

You took it with trembling hands, overwhelmed by color and scent and the quiet truth sitting between you.

“I’m not good with words,” he added gruffly. “So… I sent flowers instead.”

You stepped back into his arms, pressing your face into his chest.

“They were perfect,” you whispered. “Every single one.”

He tightened his hold, chin resting on the top of your head.

“Good,” he said. “Because I plan on doing it again.”

╰┈➤“I don’t wanna hurt you”

: ̗̀➛ Bakugo x fem!reader

•Angst

｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆ ｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆ ｡･:*:･ﾟ

He wasn’t cruel.

That was the worst part.

Bakugo Katsuki never raised his voice at you the way people expected. He didn’t insult you, didn’t belittle you, didn’t cheat. He showed up when it mattered. He protected you fiercely. He loved you in the only way he knew how.

And still, being his girlfriend felt lonely.

You noticed it in pieces, not all at once. Missed calls that stayed missed because “work ran long.” Conversations that ended with him distracted, halfway out the door. The way he listened, but not deeply, like he was filing your words away for later and forgetting to come back to them.

You learned not to ask for too much.

Not because he told you not to, but because every time you did, something in his shoulders tightened. Like love was a weight he was already carrying too much of.

“I’ll make it up to you,” he’d say.

And you’d nod, even when he didn’t.

You weren’t innocent either.

You started keeping score.

You told yourself you weren’t doing it, but you were. Counting the nights you ate alone. The times you didn’t tell him you were struggling because you didn’t want to add to his stress. The way you’d go quiet instead of saying what you actually needed.

You weaponized silence.

If he didn’t notice your hurt, you made sure he felt the distance. You pulled away just enough to punish him, but not enough to leave. You wanted him to chase you without having to ask.

Bakugo didn’t chase.

He noticed something was wrong, but he didn’t know how to name it. Every time he tried, you shrugged. Every time he asked, you said you were fine.

So he believed you.

That was his mistake.

One night, he came home late again. You were sitting on the couch, lights off, phone face down beside you. You’d been there for hours, rehearsing everything you wanted to say.

He kicked off his boots quietly, like he was already tired of conflict.

“You eat?” he asked.

“No.”

He frowned. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

You laughed softly. It came out wrong. Bitter.

“You were busy.”

“Tch. I’m always busy.”

That wasn’t the reassurance you needed. You felt something crack.

“That’s the problem,” you said.

He stiffened. “What is?”

“You don’t make space for me,” you said, finally. “Not really. I exist around your life, not in it.”

Bakugo ran a hand through his hair, frustration flaring. “That’s not fair. I do everything I can.”

“I know,” you said. “And that’s why I feel guilty for wanting more.”

Silence stretched between you.

“You could’ve said something sooner,” he muttered.

“And you could’ve noticed,” you shot back.

The words landed hard.

Bakugo’s jaw clenched. “I’m not good at this,” he admitted. “I never said I was.”

“I know,” you whispered. “I just thought you’d try harder.”

That hurt him. You saw it. His eyes darkened, not angry, just… defeated.

“And I thought,” he said quietly, “that if something was wrong, you’d tell me.”

You looked away.

That was the truth you didn’t want to face. You wanted him to read between lines you never actually spoke.

You wanted proof without vulnerability.

He wanted clarity without emotional labor he didn’t understand how to do.

Neither of you was listening the way the other needed.

Later, lying in bed back to back, the space between you felt wider than the room.

Bakugo stared at the wall, thoughts heavy. You stared at nothing, chest tight with unsaid apologies and resentment tangled together.

You loved each other.

That was real.

But love didn’t teach you how to communicate. It didn’t fix avoidance. It didn’t turn fear into honesty.

It just made the damage quieter.

Sometime before sleep, Bakugo spoke into the dark.

“I don’t want to hurt you,” he said.

Your voice came out thin. “I know.”

That was the tragedy.

You both knew.

╰┈➤ Are the rumors true?

: ̗̀➛ Bakugo x fem!Reader

“Did you and y/n split up?”

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。. .・。.・゜✭・.・

You and Bakugo had never meant to be public.

Five years ago, when it first started, it was supposed to be simple. Two pro heroes. Long hours. Shared exhaustion. Something quiet that grew between stolen meals and bruises patched up at 3 a.m.

The media ruined that within a year.

Someone caught the way his hand lingered at your lower back. Someone zoomed in on the matching rings you’d sworn were just accessories. Someone noticed how Bakugo only ever smiled like that when you were around.

You tried to deny it. Both of you did. Badly.

Three years in, you stopped pretending.

The engagement lasted two months before Bakugo blew it.

It was supposed to be a throwaway interview. Thirty seconds. One question. You weren’t even there. You’d already rushed off to another press obligation when the interviewer asked him how he balanced work and personal life.

Bakugo didn’t even think.

“My wife keeps me in line.”

The interviewer froze.

Bakugo froze.

The camera zoomed in just in time to catch his eyes widen a fraction too late.

“My—” he cleared his throat, scowling. “I mean—”

Too late.

The clip went everywhere.

You watched it in a hotel hallway, hand over your mouth, laughing so hard you nearly dropped your phone.

The fans lost their minds.

So did the media.

By the time the wedding happened, it barely mattered. People already assumed. Paparazzi hovered. Headlines screamed. Fans dissected every frame of you together.

And then, slowly, things changed.

Year five came quietly.

You stopped going to events as much. Bakugo canceled interviews. You disappeared from red carpets. The agency gave vague statements. “Scheduling conflicts.” “Private matters.”

Rumors bloomed like rot.

Did they split?

Was it messy?

Did Bakugo drive her away?

Why was he alone at that one awards show?

That night was brutal. The photos of him standing there without you went viral within minutes. Threads exploded. Hate accounts resurfaced. YouTube thumbnails screamed betrayal and divorce in bold red letters.

You watched it all from the couch, feet propped up, exhausted, your phone face-down.

Bakugo paced the living room like a caged animal.

“I should say something,” he growled.

“You’ll make it worse,” you said calmly.

He stopped, looking at you, then at the tiny bundle sleeping against your chest.

“…Yeah,” he muttered. “You’re right.”

So you stayed quiet.

Until the interview.

The show was known for chaos. A popular YouTube channel, flashy set, loud hosts. A game where celebrities answered uncomfortable questions or ate progressively hotter wings.

Bakugo hated it already.

He sat back in the chair, arms crossed, scowl firmly in place. The host grinned like he knew exactly what he was doing.

“Alright,” he said. “Last question. This one’s been asked the most.”

Bakugo reached into the box, pulled out the slip, unfolded it.

He snorted.

“Figures.”

He read it aloud.

“Did you and y/n split up?”

The crew went quiet. Cameras leaned in.

Bakugo sighed, leaning back, irritation sharp but familiar. “You people are real comfortable asking shit that ain’t your business.”

The host laughed nervously. “You can always eat the wing—”

Bakugo opened his mouth to snap back.

Then—

A baby laughed.

Clear as day.

High-pitched. Bright. Unmistakable.

Bakugo stopped mid-word.

The entire set froze.

“…What,” the host said slowly.

Bakugo closed his eyes. Just for a second. Then he rubbed his face and let out a long breath.

“Tch.”

He looked straight into the camera.

“You guys really wanna know?”

The crew was already losing it. Someone off-screen laughed. The camera shifted.

And then it flipped.

There you were.

Standing just off set, holding a baby against your chest. Your skin glowing, hair pulled back casually, eyes tired but warm. The baby was laughing again, tiny hands grabbing at your collar like the world was a joke she hadn’t gotten tired of yet.

The internet imploded in real time.

You walked onto the set like it was nothing.

Bakugo stood immediately, irritation gone, replaced with something soft and unguarded. You placed the baby in his arms without a word.

His entire face changed.

She giggled, reaching for him, tiny fingers curling into his shirt.

“She thinks it’s funny when I get angry,” he muttered, pressing his forehead gently to hers.

You laughed from behind the camera. “Ain’t that true, April?”

The baby squealed like you’d confirmed the greatest secret on earth.

Bakugo lifted her slightly so the camera could see her better. She kicked happily, blonde curls bouncing, tan skin warm against his hands.

He looked back at the lens, smirk sharp and proud.

“No,” he said. “Me and my wife didn’t split up.”

He adjusted his grip, secure and practiced.

“We just had a fucking baby.”

Silence.

Then chaos.

The video hit twelve million views in under an hour.

Headlines flipped overnight. Rumors died choking on themselves. Hate accounts vanished. New ones popped up just to scream about how unfairly cute your family was.

And at home later that night, with the noise finally far away, Bakugo sat on the couch with April asleep on his chest and you curled against his side.

“Told you we didn’t need to say anything,” you murmured.

He huffed softly, kissing the top of your head.

“Yeah,” he said. “But it felt good watching them shut up.”

You smiled, listening to your daughter breathe.

Rumors buried.

Truth revealed.

Family intact.

—

Bakugo x Reader

Unlearning Anger

After a bad mission, he finally admits he’s scared of losing you.

• Fluff

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。. .・。.・゜✭・.・

You felt it the second the door shut.

Not slammed. Not kicked closed. Just a controlled click that sounded like restraint stretched too thin. His boots stayed on. His jacket didn’t hit the floor like usual. Everything about him was too deliberate, like he was holding himself together by force.

You looked up from the couch. “Kats—”

“I’m fine.”

The words were sharp, automatic. Too fast.

He walked past you toward the kitchen, shoulders tight, hands clenched. You watched the way his fingers flexed like he was fighting the urge to blast something apart just to feel normal again.

You stood slowly. Your body knew better than to rush him.

“You don’t sound fine,” you said.

“Tch.” He scoffed, back still turned. “Didn’t ask for a diagnosis.”

You followed him anyway.

The kitchen light cast harsh shadows across his face when he finally turned around. There was dried blood at his collar. Not his. You could tell. Still, your chest tightened.

“Mission go bad?” you asked softly.

He laughed, short and humorless. “Define bad.”

You didn’t push. You grabbed a cloth, ran it under warm water, wrung it out. Held it up silently.

Bakugo stared at it like it was an insult.

“I can do it myself.”

“I know,” you said. “Let me anyway.”

For a second, you thought he’d snap. That familiar flare of anger sparked in his eyes, bright and volatile.

Then it burned out.

He stepped closer.

You lifted the cloth and wiped at his neck, careful, slow. Your fingers brushed his skin, warm and grounding. He exhaled through his nose like he’d been holding his breath all day.

“They cornered us,” he muttered. “Civilians everywhere. Too close.”

Your hand paused. “You got everyone out?”

“Yeah.” His jaw tightened. “Barely.”

You cleaned a smear of blood from his collarbone. He flinched, not from pain, but from memory.

“One of them went down,” he said. “Right in front of me.”

Your heart dropped. “A civilian?”

“No. One of my team.” His voice cracked, just slightly. “He’s alive. But if I’d been half a second slower—”

He stopped talking.

The silence stretched.

You rested your forehead against his chest. “But you weren’t.”

His hands hovered at your sides, unsure, like he didn’t trust himself to touch you yet.

“That’s the problem,” he said quietly. “Next time, I might be.”

You looked up at him then.

Bakugo Katsuki didn’t look scared often. Anger came easier. Rage, confidence, fire. Those were his shields.

But this?

This was raw.

“I keep thinking about you,” he admitted, eyes locked on the wall behind you. “What if it’s you on the ground one day. What if I’m not fast enough. What if—”

His voice cut off.

You reached up and grabbed his face, firm, making him look at you. His eyes were red. Not crying. Fighting it.

“You don’t get to carry that alone,” you said. “You don’t get to turn it into anger and pretend that’s easier.”

His breath hitched.

“I don’t know how not to,” he said. “Anger’s the only thing that ever kept me sharp.”

You softened your grip, thumbs brushing his cheekbones.

“And it’s kept you alive,” you said. “But I don’t need you sharp right now. I need you honest.”

His hands finally settled on your waist, gripping like you were real, like you weren’t going anywhere.

“I’m scared,” he said.

The words landed heavy.

“I’m scared I’ll lose you,” he continued. “That I’ll come home to an empty place. That one day I won’t.”

Your chest ached.

You pulled him into you fully. He folded into the embrace like he’d been waiting for permission, forehead pressing into your shoulder. His breath came uneven now, anger dissolving into something quieter and harder to face.

“I don’t want to be angry anymore,” he murmured. “Not like this.”

You held him tighter. “Then don’t be. Be scared. Be human. I’ll hold you through it.”

He nodded against you, once.

“I love you,” he said, rough and real.

You smiled into his hair. “I know.”

: ̗̀➛ Bakugo x black!reader

╰┈➤ He’s reaction to your stretch marks

• Fluff

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。. .・。.・゜✭・.・

You noticed them first in the bathroom mirror.

The light was too bright, unforgiving as it spilled across your skin. Your belly was round and heavy now, stretching the fabric of your shirt no matter how loose you tried to wear it. You lifted the hem slowly, breath catching when you saw them clearly.

Thin lines, darker against your tan skin. Soft but undeniable. Tracing paths across your stomach, your hips, a quiet map of how much your body had changed.

You swallowed.

You knew what they meant. You knew they were normal. You knew they were proof of life, of growth, of the tiny heartbeat you carried every day.

Still.

Your hand hovered, then rested against your stomach. The skin felt warm beneath your palm. Familiar. Different.

You didn’t hear Bakugo come in at first.

He kicked his boots off near the door, the dull thud echoing down the hallway. You heard the rustle of his jacket, the low grunt he made when he finally relaxed after a long day.

Then he stopped.

“You okay?” he asked, voice closer now.

You flinched slightly, lowering your shirt too fast to be casual.

“Yeah,” you said. Too quick. “Just tired.”

Bakugo didn’t respond right away.

You felt his presence before you saw him. Solid, steady, filling the doorway behind you. His reflection met yours in the mirror, sharp red eyes softened by concern.

“You’ve been in here a while,” he said.

You shrugged, eyes fixed on the sink. “Didn’t realize I needed a time limit.”

“Tch. That’s not what I meant.”

He stepped closer. You felt the warmth of him at your back, careful not to crowd you. He never did, not anymore. Not like this.

“You’ve been quiet,” he said more gently. “What’s going on.”

You hesitated.

Then you sighed, shoulders dropping.

“I don’t recognize myself sometimes,” you admitted quietly. “I know it’s stupid. I know I’m pregnant. I know my body’s doing what it’s supposed to do.”

Bakugo’s jaw tightened.

“But,” you continued, voice softer now, “it’s still mine. And it feels like I’m losing parts of it.”

You lifted your shirt again before you could stop yourself, eyes flicking back to the mirror. The stretch marks stared back at you.

Bakugo went still.

For a moment, you braced yourself. For a joke, a gruff comment, something awkward that missed the point.

Instead, he reached out slowly.

“Can I?” he asked.

You nodded.

His hands were warm as they settled on your waist, thumbs brushing the edge of your belly. He didn’t rush. Didn’t squeeze. Just held you like he was grounding himself.

Then his fingers traced one of the marks.

Not like he was inspecting damage.

Like he was learning something sacred.

“These,” he said quietly, “are from her.”

Your throat tightened.

“They’re from you carrying her,” he continued. “From you being strong enough to do something I never could.”

You glanced at his reflection. His eyes were locked on your stomach, intense but reverent in a way you’d never seen on the battlefield.

“You think I don’t notice?” he added. “How your body’s changed? How you’ve changed?”

You swallowed. “It’s hard not to.”

He huffed softly. “Good. Because I want you to hear this.”

Bakugo leaned down until his forehead rested against your shoulder.

“I’ve never seen anything more powerful than you,” he said. “Not explosions. Not fights. Not any of that.”

His hands spread over your belly, protective and sure.

“You look like life,” he said. “Like home. Like the reason I don’t take stupid risks anymore.”

Your eyes burned.

“I look tired,” you whispered.

“Yeah,” he said. “And glowing. And real.”

He kissed your shoulder, slow and deliberate.

“These marks?” he murmured. “They’re proof you gave everything. And I don’t see a single thing to be ashamed of.”

A tear slipped down your cheek before you could stop it.

Bakugo noticed immediately.

“Hey,” he said, firm but gentle, turning you slightly so you faced him. He wiped the tear with his thumb like it mattered. Like you mattered.

“I don’t want you ever thinking you’re less,” he said. “Not to me. Not to anyone.”

He pressed a kiss to your forehead, then lower, right above your belly.

“Especially not when you made our kid.”

You laughed weakly through the emotion. “You’re terrible at being subtle.”

“Tch. Never claimed to be.”

But his voice softened when he added, “I’m serious. You’re beautiful. Exactly like this.”

You leaned into him, exhaustion finally winning. He wrapped his arms around you fully now, solid and warm and steady.

And for the first time in days, when you looked at your reflection, you didn’t see what you’d lost.

𝜗𝜚⋆₊˚ Bakugo x black fem reader

Pregnant reader 𐙚⋆.˚

· · ─ ·ʚɞ· ─ · ·

Bakugo hated quiet days.

They made his skin itch. No explosions, no sirens, no cracked pavement beneath his boots. Just paperwork, patrol routes, and the constant awareness that he wasn’t where he wanted to be.

He checked his phone for the fifth time in two minutes.

No new messages.

“Relax,” Kirishima muttered from across the agency break room, chewing on a protein bar. “You’re gonna wear a hole in your screen.”

Bakugo scowled. “Shut up.”

Nine months.

That number had lived in his chest for so long it felt carved there. Every week closer made him sharper, more restless. You were strong, stubborn as hell, and you’d insisted you were fine, even now. Especially now. But he knew better. He always did.

His phone rang.

The sound sliced through him.

Bakugo didn’t look at the screen. He just answered.

“What.”

There was shouting on the other end. A familiar voice, breathless, panicked but trying not to be.

“She’s in labor,” the dispatcher said. “Ambulance is en route. They’re taking her to—”

Bakugo was already moving.

The chair slammed back. The room blurred. He didn’t hear Kirishima call his name or the way the door rattled when he yanked it open. He was gone before anyone could stop him.

⸻

Traffic lights were suggestions.

He drove like the world owed him speed, knuckles white around the wheel, jaw clenched so hard it hurt. Every second felt stolen. Every red light felt personal.

You were nine months pregnant. Nine months of cravings and back pain, of him hovering and pretending he wasn’t terrified. Nine months of watching your body change, stretch, grow stronger in ways that humbled him.

He remembered the way you’d laughed when he talked to your belly like it could hear him.

“She better be tough,” he’d grumbled once, hand splayed over your stomach. “If she cries too much, I’m blaming you.”

You’d rolled your eyes. “She’s going to cry. She’s a baby.”

“Tch. Still.”

The hospital came into view like a lifeline.

Bakugo didn’t park. He barely stopped the car before he was out, boots hitting pavement hard enough to echo.

⸻

The halls smelled like antiseptic and nerves.

“She just arrived,” a nurse told him, already leading the way when she saw his face. “You’re the father?”

“Yes.”

The word felt strange and right and terrifying all at once.

You were already in the room when he burst in.

Sweat-dark curls clung to your forehead. Your skin glowed even through exhaustion, rich and warm against stark white sheets. Your jaw was set in concentration, breathing through pain like you were staring down a villain.

Bakugo’s chest tightened.

He crossed the room in three strides and took your hand without asking. His grip was firm, grounding.

“I’m here,” he said, voice low and rough. “I’m not going anywhere.”

Your eyes found his. Tired. Strong. Alive.

“About time,” you murmured.

He huffed, leaning down until his forehead rested against yours. “You okay?”

You squeezed his hand. “Ask me after.”

He snorted despite himself. “Figures.”

⸻

Time stopped meaning anything.

There was pressure, pain, encouragement. Bakugo stayed where he was told, did what he was told, barked at anyone who looked at you wrong. He wiped your forehead with shaking hands, whispered encouragement like commands he fully believed you could follow.

“You’ve got this,” he muttered. “You hear me? Don’t you dare quit now.”

You didn’t.

When the room filled with sound, when the sharp cry cut through the air, Bakugo froze.

The world narrowed to one small, furious noise.

The nurse lifted her gently, tiny and red-faced, already protesting life like she had something to prove.

“It’s a girl.”

Bakugo’s breath left him all at once.

They placed her in his arms before he could argue.

She was warm.

So small.

So real.

Short blonde curls already springing against tan skin that mirrored yours, like the sun itself had kissed her. Her nose, her mouth, unmistakably yours. Perfect. Painfully perfect.

Bakugo stared.

His hands trembled.

“…Holy shit,” he whispered.

His vision blurred before he could stop it. His throat burned. He swallowed hard, then failed completely when she quieted at the sound of his voice, eyes blinking up at him like she already knew him.

“She looks like you,” he said hoarsely, glancing at you. “She’s got your skin. Your face. Damn it…”

You smiled weakly from the bed, glowing even through exhaustion. “She has your hair.”

He huffed a laugh that broke halfway through. A tear slipped free before he could wipe it away.

“Tch. She’s trouble already.”

He brought her closer, forehead touching the soft curls. His shoulders shook, just once, then again.

“I’m gonna protect you,” he whispered to her, voice cracking. “Both of you. I swear it.”

You watched him, heart full and aching and complete.

Bakugo Katsuki, the loudest, angriest man alive, stood there crying over the tiny girl who fit perfectly in his arms.

Full story on Wattpad!

User: CECE_MIN_SUNG

Reader x bakugo

Story description: Fatherhood was never easy for Bakugo.

Like every reckless teenager, he made a mistake once, and that mistake became his whole world: his son, Ren.

Now, years later, Bakugo's doing his best to raise a kid who's too smart for his own good and quietly fighting battles he can't quite explain.

Every afternoon, Ren disappears to a tiny corner bakery, where a kind, quirky girl hands him a bag of crumbs. Crumbs he uses to feed the birds at the park.

When Bakugo finds out, he makes a promise, to go with Ren every day after school.

What starts as a small routine soon becomes something softer, warmer... something that just might change Bakugo's life forever.

It becomes a weekly thing, soon enough Bakugo gets more and more comfortable with you and something begans to blossom, it was slow, like dough rising in warm sunlight, but piece by piece, crumb by crumb, something sweet began to form.

———

Scene: “Keep Up” (Flashback)

Fifteen.

That’s how old he was when he thought he had life figured out — power, pride, purpose.

Katsuki Bakugo was built to win. That’s what everyone said, what he believed, what he needed to believe.

He didn’t have time for relationships. Not when every minute of his life was dedicated to being the best.

Then Airi appeared.

Sharp, beautiful, fearless.

She didn’t chase him; she challenged him. That alone got under his skin.

She had money, skill, drive. Everything polished and perfect.

She didn’t back down — not from him, not from anyone.

She reminded him of himself, and he mistook that mirror for love.

“She can keep up,” he told himself, every time she crossed a line.

When she scrolled through his phone without asking.

When she demanded his location every hour.

When she sneered at his friends and told him they were holding him back.

“She can keep up,” he’d repeat like a mantra.

A justification. A lie.

But it was intoxicating — that chaos that felt like proof of passion.

Until it wasn’t.

⸻

It happened one night — too late, too quiet. His room dim except for the weak glow of the streetlight through the blinds.

Airi was sprawled across his bed, voice smooth and demanding.

“Come on, Katsuki,” she murmured, tugging on his arm.

He sighed. “It’s late. I’ve got trainin’ tomorrow.”

Her tone sharpened. “You always have training. What about me, huh?”

He turned away, voice low. “It’s not about you right now.”

Her lips twisted. “It’s always about you.”

And then her touch turned pushy. Her voice turned sweet in a way that made his skin crawl.

He said no. More than once. But she didn’t hear it — or didn’t want to.

Eventually, he stopped saying it.

He stopped fighting.

Because it was easier.

Because he was tired.

Because even heroes can get cornered.

⸻

When it was over, he sat on the edge of the bed — half dressed, half gone.

Everything around him felt far away, like he was floating outside his body.

Airi was humming.

Humming.

Putting on lipstick in his mirror, texting someone — another guy, judging by the stupid heart emoji flashing on her screen before she flipped it face down.

She leaned in and kissed his forehead.

“Try not to be so moody,” she said softly, as if nothing had happened. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

He didn’t answer. Just stared at the floor until the sound of the door closing echoed through the room.

Silence.

Then one tear.

Then another.

He didn’t even know he was crying until his throat started to burn.

His fists clenched around the bedsheet until his knuckles went white.

“Pathetic,” he spat to himself. “Fucking pathetic.”

He didn’t sleep that night.

⸻

The days after blurred.

He was angry — at her, at himself, at everyone who breathed near him.

He barked at his mom for asking if he’d eaten.

He yelled at teachers for telling him to calm down.

He picked fights with friends just to feel something that wasn’t… this.

Then he went back to drum lessons.

He needed something to hit.

Something that wouldn’t cry, or talk, or remind him how powerless he’d felt.

The drums were perfect.

Loud. Violent. Honest.

He practiced until his hands blistered, until the sound drowned out every other thought in his head.

And he got good. So good his teacher told him he might be prodigy material.

But “good” wasn’t enough. He needed to be the best.

⸻

Then one afternoon, his teacher called him in privately after class.

The man looked down his nose at him. “You’ve got talent, Bakugo. But talent doesn’t mean shit without control.”

Bakugo stiffened. “I’ve got control.”

The teacher smirked. “No. You’ve got ego. There’s a difference.”

He circled the boy like a vulture. “You hit harder, play faster, scream louder — and you think that makes you powerful? You’re just noise, kid. I could play circles around you in my sleep.”

“Then do it,” Bakugo hissed.

The teacher’s eyes hardened. “You need to learn your place. You think banging a few drums will make you special? You’re still beneath me.”

Something inside Bakugo cracked.

He didn’t say a word.

He grabbed his bag, his sticks, and walked out.

Didn’t look back.

Didn’t return.

⸻

When he got home, the house was quiet. Too quiet.

His parents were sitting on the couch — and in his mother’s arms was a baby wrapped in a soft yellow blanket.

Ren.

Bakugo froze.

His chest twisted. His world tilted.

He walked forward like in a dream.

“Can I… hold him?” he asked.

His mother hesitated, then smiled softly. “Of course.”

He took Ren in his arms, and everything in him broke open.

Tiny fingers curled around his thumb. Eyes half-lidded, breathing even. So small. So new.

Bakugo’s vision blurred. His throat burned. Then, for the first time in years, he cried — not out of rage, not out of shame, but from the unbearable weight of love.

“I’m gonna be a good dad,” he whispered, voice trembling. “I’m not gonna fuck this up. I’m not gonna be like them. I’m not gonna fall apart.”

His parents stood, shocked silent, until his mother stepped forward and hugged them both.

He didn’t resist. He didn’t yell. He just let it happen.

And for the first time, Katsuki Bakugo didn’t feel like noise. He felt human.

⸻

That night, when everyone else went to bed, he stayed up, rocking Ren in his arms.

The baby’s tiny hands rested against his chest, heartbeat steady and small.

Bakugo brushed a strand of blond hair off the baby’s forehead and whispered,

“You never gotta keep up, kid. Ever. You just… be you. Take your damn time.”

He smiled weakly, pressing a kiss to Ren’s head.

1. He completely melts the first time she calls him “Daddy.”

He tries to play it off with a grunt, but his eyes go glassy. He’s ruined forever — no one can convince him otherwise.

2. He learns to braid hair.

At first, it’s chaos. But he’s too stubborn to quit, so he perfects it. Now she walks into school every day with the tightest, neatest braids ever.

3. He’s overprotective — to a terrifying level.

A bug flies near her? Dead.

Someone bumps into her at the park? Death stare.

Boy in class gives her a flower? “ABSOLUTELY NOT.”

4. Tea parties are non-negotiable.

He sits cross-legged at her tiny table in a plastic tiara, sipping air from a pink teacup like it’s whiskey.

5. She’s his emotional kryptonite.

She could draw on his hero costume with crayons and he’d just sigh, “Fine. It’s… creative.”

6. He teaches her confidence, not fear.

“Don’t let anyone tell you what you can’t do, got it? You’re my kid. You blow ‘em all away.”

7. She copies everything he does.

Little hands on her hips, yelling “I’M GONNA BE THE STRONGEST!” — and he beams with pride while pretending to be annoyed.

8. He cheers the loudest at every school event.

The other parents stare, but he doesn’t care. “THAT’S MY GIRL! SHOW ‘EM WHO YOU ARE!”

9. He’s secretly terrified of her growing up.

The day she wears lip gloss for the first time, he looks like he’s seen death. “No. Wipe it off. You’re five.”

10. Every night, before bed, he kisses her forehead.

Crumbs of love pt.2

Bakugo x reader

Full story on Wattpad

User CECE_MIN_SUNG

_________ ׂׂૢ་༘࿐

It had been months since the bakery incident, and though the memory of your ex still stung sometimes, Bakugo’s words never left you: “If I ever see that guy again, I’ll kill him.” You’d laughed back then, but truthfully, the promise had curled around you like a blanket—dangerous, maybe, but so comforting coming from him.

Now, you were at his house again, chatting with him on the couch while Ren studied in his room. The conversation flowed easily, until Bakugo shifted in his seat, looking like he was wrestling with something. Finally, he huffed, crossing his arms.

“Ren likes you,” he muttered. “So I have no option but to like you too.”

You blinked at him, taken aback. “Wait—what?”

He scowled, cheeks faintly red. “Tch. Let me take you on a date.”

Your jaw dropped before you burst into laughter. “Did you just use Ren as an excuse to ask me out?”

He rolled his eyes, ears burning. “Shut up! That’s not—ugh—just answer already!”

Still giggling, you leaned closer. “Of course, Katsuki. I’d love to.”

⸻

The Date Night

You hadn’t dressed up in a while, but tonight felt special. You slipped into a form-fitting dress, sleek and flattering, with just enough allure to make you feel confident. When Bakugo showed up at your door to pick you up, his reaction was everything.

He froze. His eyes widened, raking over you once before snapping back to your face. His jaw clenched. “…The hell are you wearing?”

You raised a brow, teasing. “A dress? Don’t tell me you don’t like it.”

His ears turned scarlet. “I love it, alright?!” The words came out louder than intended, startling even him. He growled under his breath, muttering, “Damn it, you’re gonna kill me…”

You smirked, sliding your hand into his. “Good. That’s the point.”

⸻

The restaurant he picked wasn’t overly fancy—it wasn’t his style—but it was warm, quiet, and perfect. Over dinner, you teased him mercilessly, watching the way he struggled between glaring at you and staring at your lips. He denied being flustered, but the way his chopsticks kept fumbling gave him away.

When dessert came, you leaned in with a sly smile. “So, this is your idea of a date?”

He scowled, though his voice softened. “What’s wrong with it?”

“Nothing,” you whispered, your eyes locking with his. “It’s perfect.”

He stared again. That same ten-second stare from the kitchen, the one that made the air heavy and your chest flutter. This time, though, you didn’t break it.

Bakugo leaned forward slightly, his hand brushing against yours on the table. “You’re dangerous, you know that?” he muttered.

You grinned. “Coming from you? I’ll take that as a compliment.”

⸻

Walking Home

After the date, he insisted on walking you back, grumbling about how “taxis can’t be trusted.” The city streets glowed with lamplight, leaves crunching beneath your heels.

At your door, you turned to him, smiling warmly. “Thank you for tonight. I had a great time.”

He shoved his hands into his pockets, face red but steady. “Get used to it. ‘Cause I’m not done takin’ you out yet.”

Before you could reply, he leaned down and pressed a quick, rough kiss to your cheek—so fast it was almost clumsy. When he pulled back, his eyes were blazing, but he quickly spun around.

“Don’t just stand there grinning, dumbass. Go inside before I change my mind.”

You laughed, touching your cheek where his lips had brushed. “Goodnight, Katsuki.”

As you shut the door, you could still feel his warmth lingering. And down the hall, Bakugo clenched his fists, his heart pounding wildly.

That dress, that smile, that laugh…

Yeah. He was done for.

It had been a week since Bakugo’s unexpected, lightning-fast cheek kiss, and you were still smiling about it at work. The man was impossible—loud, blunt, fiery—but when he showed those rare, unguarded moments, he made your heart ache in the sweetest way.

So when Bakugo showed up at the bakery again, Ren in tow, you weren’t surprised. But this time, Ren wore a grin that could only mean trouble.

“Dad said he’s taking you out again,” Ren announced, plopping onto a stool at the counter. “And this time, I’m coming too.”

“Oi, you little—” Bakugo started, but Ren cut him off, smug.

“It’s not a date without me approving it.”

You giggled behind your hand. “Sounds fair to me.”

Bakugo groaned, muttering something about “traitors” and “damn meddling kids.”

⸻

The Second Date

The three of you ended up at a cozy ramen shop, one Ren loved. It wasn’t fancy, but the atmosphere was warm, filled with chatter and the smell of broth. Ren spent half the meal teasing Bakugo about how he stared at you too much, which earned him a sharp “Shut the hell up!” and a flick on the forehead.

After dinner, Ren suggested a walk. The night air was cool, lanterns hanging from shopfronts casting a golden glow over the street. You and Bakugo walked side by side, hands brushing occasionally, while Ren skipped a few steps ahead.

And then, out of nowhere—Ren stopped, spun around, and said:

“You two are boring. Just kiss already.”

You nearly choked. “Ren!”

Bakugo’s entire face went red. “What the hell did you just—?!”

Ren crossed his arms, looking way too smug for a teenager. “You like her. She likes you. So what’s the problem?”

You laughed nervously, ready to scold Ren again, but when you glanced at Bakugo… he wasn’t yelling anymore. He was just staring.

That same intense stare from before—the one that locked you in place, the one that made your chest flutter like wings. His eyes flicked from your lips back to your eyes, and the world went strangely quiet.

Ren snorted. “See? He’s thinking about it.”

“REN!” Bakugo barked, but his voice cracked slightly, betraying him. He grabbed his son by the collar and shoved him forward. “Go. Home. Now.”

Ren laughed the whole way back, mumbling something about “mission accomplished.”

⸻

After the Walk

The two of you ended up outside your bakery, standing under the lamplight. Bakugo was still fuming, ears scarlet.

“Sorry about him,” he muttered. “Damn brat doesn’t know when to shut his mouth.”

You smiled softly, tilting your head. “Don’t be mad at him. He’s just… honest.”

Bakugo’s jaw tightened, and then he sighed. His eyes met yours again, softer this time. “…He’s not wrong.”

Your heart skipped.

The silence stretched, heavy but sweet, until you dared to whisper: “So… are you going to prove him right?”

For once, Bakugo didn’t yell. He just smirked faintly, stepped forward, and leaned down. His lips brushed yours—quick, rough, but real. And when he pulled back, his voice was low and warm.

“There. Happy now?”

You were smiling so hard your cheeks ached. “Very.”

And this time, Bakugo didn’t look away.

Bakugo couldn’t even wait a month after that first kiss. It was obvious to anyone watching that you two wanted each other—desperately. One afternoon, he came up with a plan, dragging Ren along like his co-conspirator. The two of them schemed in hushed whispers, passing notes and giggling when you weren’t looking.

“Alright,” Bakugo said with that determined glint in his eyes, “we’re doing this. She’s gonna be mine.”

Ren nodded solemnly, but the mischievous smile tugging at his lips betrayed him. When Bakugo finally asked you to be his girlfriend, your heart soared. Without hesitation, you threw your arms around him and pulled him into an excited, triumphant kiss.

From that moment, your relationship flourished. Bakugo had his own, fiery way of loving, and you adored every bit of it. He loved the gentle softness you showed him and Ren—how you could ground him when he got too heated, yet still push him to grow. Your families, your friends, everyone adored the two of you together. Your opposites attracted in the most perfect, heartwarming way.

Time passed, and Bakugo stopped overthinking. One day, mid-conversation, he just blurted it out: “Fuck it. Move in with me.”

And you did. Happily.

After a year of saving and dreaming together, you and Bakugo bought a small, cozy house just outside the city. Life was…perfect. You owned a bakery that smelled like warm bread and vanilla, and Bakugo’s hero career was thriving. But more importantly, he thrived too—because of you. You’d changed his life in ways he hadn’t even realized he needed.

Now, Ren was fifteen, just as grumpy as ever. You were packing his lunch for his first day at school while Bakugo hovered, reminding him to tuck in his shirt.

“One last thing,” you called, handing him his bag.

Ren rolled his eyes, huffing out a tired, “Okay, mom—uh, bye!” before shutting the door behind him.

Your hand flew to your chest, a wave of pure joy washing over you. Tears pricked your eyes.

Bakugo leaned against the doorway, eyebrow raised. “You crying?”

“He called me…mom!” you whispered, laughing through the tears.

Bakugo smirked, of course teasing you mercilessly, but the way he wrapped an arm around your shoulder told you he was happy too—happy that Ren felt comfortable enough to call you that.

Two years passed in what felt like a blink. Life was full and warm, full of quiet joys and small victories…until one day, Ren came home looking utterly defeated. He didn’t say hi. He didn’t even glance your way. He trudged straight to his room, shoulders slumped.

You followed him, heart aching, and knocked softly. “Ren? Hey…what’s wrong?”

He let out a small, frustrated groan, burying his face in his hands. “I’m just…not good at art. It’s my favorite subject, and I’m terrible at it.”

You crouched down beside him, your hand resting gently on his shoulder. “Hey, look at me,” you said softly. “Being good at something isn’t what matters. What matters is that you love it enough to keep trying. And you’re amazing, Ren, no matter what anyone else says.”

He sniffled, but your words sank in. You pulled him into a hug, holding him tight. “I love your art,” you whispered. “And I love you. No matter what.”

Slowly, a small smile tugged at the corners of his lips. “Really?”

“Really.”

Bakugo, standing quietly in the doorway, watched the two of you. Something shifted inside him—something fierce and unwavering.

As you ruffled Ren’s hair and watched him laugh a little, Bakugo clenched his fists, a determined fire burning in his chest.

“I need to make this woman my wife,” he thought, eyes never leaving you.

Because after all the love, all the warmth, all the little moments that stitched your lives together, Bakugo knew one thing for certain: you were his forever.

Bakugo had been bursting with nerves all week. After telling you he was “just gonna see his friends,” he had met with the boys from Class 1-A to run through his plan. Their advice had been…well, chaotic but helpful in its own way, and Bakugo had soaked it up like a sponge.

A week before the big moment, he went all out—treating you to a full day of self-care. Nails, hair, everything. He even bought you a cute dress, insisting that you were going on a “special date” soon. You could practically see the anticipation written all over him, but he tried to hide it behind his usual scowl.

The day before, while you were cleaning the house together, Ren safely away at a sleepover, Bakugo was practically vibrating with pent-up excitement and affection.

He suddenly appeared behind you, wrapping his arms around your waist and pressing a soft kiss to your ear. “God, I just…love you,” he mumbled against your neck.

You laughed softly, turning just enough to take his hand in yours and place a gentle kiss on it.

Then, in a heartbeat, he spun you around, his lips finding yours with the kind of intensity that made your heart skip.

“What’s gotten into you, huh?” you giggled, breathless.

“I’m just happy,” he huffed, but his grip on you told a different story.

You leaned in, teasing, your eyes sparkling. “Does this happy man want to take it to the bedroom?” you asked innocently, letting your hands trail lightly, just enough to make him shiver.

Bakugo froze for a second, heat flooding his face, before he laughed low and deep, pulling you impossibly close. “You’re ridiculous,” he muttered, brushing a strand of hair from your face. But the way he kissed you again, slow and demanding, said everything—this happiness, this love, this connection, it was theirs entirely.

Eventually, the urgency softened. You found yourselves sitting on the edge of the bed, tangled together in a warm, content embrace. Foreheads rested against each other as you whispered your love, small murmurs filling the quiet room.

“I love you,” Bakugo breathed, holding you tighter as if he could keep you safe from the world just by keeping you close.

“I love you too,” you replied, resting your head against his chest.

And there, in the soft glow of the late afternoon light, the two of you drifted into sleep, hearts full, hands intertwined, knowing that no matter what came next, you were each other’s safe place—and your love only grew stronger from there.

Bakugo had spent the entire week acting…off. Grumpy, quiet, pacing, muttering to himself—and every time you asked, he’d just scowl and say, “Nothing.” But you could tell something was up. Something big.

Finally, one evening, he told you you were going out. You didn’t know where, but he insisted, “Just…trust me.”

You followed him, heart fluttering, until you reached a quiet, secluded lake just as the sun was beginning to dip behind the trees. The water shimmered with gold and pink, the world around you still and peaceful. There wasn’t a soul in sight—just the two of you.

Bakugo turned to you, and for the first time that day, his usual scowl softened. “You…you look…” He paused, a rare hesitation in his voice. “You look…fucking perfect.”

You felt heat rise to your cheeks at the rare compliment. “Bakugo…”

“I mean it!” he snapped lightly, then muttered under his breath, “God, I love you so much…”

And then another, and another, until you were laughing softly at him, heart swelling, as he rambled, “I love you! I love you! I love you, damn it! You make me—shit—you make me better. You make me…me. And I don’t…fuck, I don’t ever want to be without you.”

Your chest tightened at the raw emotion in his voice. “Bakugo…”

He grabbed your hands in his, eyes locked onto yours, intense and vulnerable all at once. “You’re mine. Not in some stupid possessive way—you’re mine because I chose you. Every damn day, I’d choose you. I—”

He swallowed hard, his jaw tight, then dropped to one knee. The world seemed to hold its breath. “I love you. I love you more than I can ever put into words. You’ve changed me in ways I didn’t even know I needed, and I want to spend the rest of my life showing you, every day, how much. Y/N…will you marry me?”

Tears sprang to your eyes. The wind rustled softly across the water. The lake reflected the sunset like molten gold. For a moment, everything froze—you and him, hearts beating fast, the world holding its breath.

“Yes!” you whispered, voice shaking with joy. “Yes, Bakugo, of course I will!”

His face broke into the most genuine, triumphant grin, and he pulled you into a tight, possessive hug, muttering over and over, “Finally…finally, you’re mine forever. God, you’re mine forever…”

You laughed through your tears, arms wrapped around his neck. The two of you stood there a long while, holding each other, letting the world around the lake fade away. It was just the two of you—and for that moment, everything else didn’t matter.

The room was quiet, save for the soft rustle of fabric and nervous giggles. Both of you had blindfolds on, hearts racing, trying to imagine each other. Mina and Kirishima peeked in one last time, grinning.

“Ok, y’all have five minutes to say whatever you want to each other before the wedding. Have fun!” Mina chirped, dragging Kirishima out the door.

You both sat there, hands brushing nervously.

“You must look gorgeous right now,” Bakugo whispered, his voice low, trembling just a little.

You giggled, warmth blooming in your chest. “And you must look as handsome as ever.”

“Thank you,” you murmured.

“For what?” he asked softly, his fingers tightening around yours.

“For allowing me to love you,” you said, heart full.

Bakugo’s lips curved into a small, rare smile. “Thank you…for tolerating me, for loving me no matter how intense I get, for grounding me, for making me the man I am today. Thank you.”

Your hand instinctively went to his cheek. “I love you, Kats.”

“I love you too, baby,” he whispered back, leaning close enough to brush his forehead against yours.

⸻

The ceremony began. Bakugo stood at the altar, jaw tight, chest pounding. He swore he wouldn’t cry—he’d even bet Denki money on it—but the moment he saw you walking down the aisle in that dress, all bets were off. You were perfect.

He took a deep breath, trying to steady himself, but when a tear slid down his cheek, he just let it. Seeing your radiant smile—and the tiny tears glinting at the corners of your eyes—he embraced the emotion instead of hiding it.

When you reached him, you both stood face to face, hands entwined. Your vows came out in shaky, emotional whispers, and Bakugo’s voice cracked as he spoke, the words raw and unfiltered:

“I…love you. You’re mine, forever, and nothing—no chaos, no fight, no damn thing—is ever gonna change that. I love you, Y/N.”

You hiccupped through your own words, tears streaming freely. “I…love you, Kats. You’ve made me stronger, happier, more me than I ever thought I could be. I’ll love you every day, through everything.”

Ren came forward, ring in hand, and Bakugo’s hand tightened around yours.

The priest’s voice carried over the quiet hum of the crowd. “Do you, Y/N, and Katsuki Bakugo, take each other as husband and wife?”

“I do!” you said brightly, voice full of joy.

“Of course a fucking do!” Bakugo growled with a triumphant grin before pulling you into a fierce, loving kiss. The crowd giggled, some cheering quietly, enchanted by the two of you.

As you pulled slightly back, Bakugo rested his forehead against yours, voice low and determined. “And death’s not gonna tear us apart, ya hear me?”

You giggled, pressing a kiss to his cheek, whispering, “Yes, sir.”

Crumbs of Love Pt. 1

Bakugo x reader

Fluff, just pure fluff

—

Full story on Wattpad

User CECE_MIN_SUNG

[pt.2 https://www.tumblr.com/cecechikwhatt/792249154676146177/crumbs-of-love-pt2]

────୨ৎ────

Your bakery always smelled like home—warm bread, sugar, and cinnamon weaving together into something comforting. It was a small shop on the corner, a place where locals knew your name, and regulars often stopped by just to chat. But lately, one particular regular stood out.

Every afternoon after school—or sometimes right before you closed—Bakugo’s son, Ren, came in.

“Do you have any bread crumbs today?” he’d ask, voice shy but steady.

The first time, he had tried to hand you a few coins. You had shaken your head and smiled. “Keep it. They’re just crumbs anyway.”

His eyes had lit up in a way that made your chest ache. From then on, it became routine—Ren appearing almost every day, taking the bag of crumbs, and hurrying off with a quick “Thanks.”

You never pried, but you noticed. On good days, he’d hum as he left. On bad ones, his shoulders would sag, his face pale with exhaustion. He never said anything, and you never asked—but you always made sure to set a little bag aside for him, just in case.

⸻

One evening, just as you were sweeping the floors and preparing to close, the bell over the door jingled. You looked up, expecting Ren. Instead, a tall, broad-shouldered man walked in, his sharp crimson eyes scanning the shop with an intensity that made your stomach flip.

“Sorry, we’re just about to clo—” you started, but stopped when you saw his expression. He looked… worried.

“Oi,” he said, voice gruff, low. “You seen a kid? Black hair, red eyes. About this tall.” He held his hand a few inches above the counter.

You blinked. “Ren?”

The man’s eyes snapped to yours, and you could see the tension ease just slightly in his shoulders. “Tch. So he has been coming here,” he muttered.

“You must be his dad,” you said softly, setting the broom aside.

He scowled, almost defensively. “Yeah. Bakugo Katsuki. He didn’t cause trouble here, did he?”

“No,” you said quickly. “Never. He just… asks for bread crumbs. I save them for him.”

Bakugo’s brows furrowed. “…Bread crumbs?”

You hesitated, then smiled gently. “He feeds the birds with them. He seems to like it. I think it makes him feel better.”

Bakugo’s eyes softened in a way you hadn’t expected, though he immediately masked it with a scowl. “Dumb kid. Should’ve told me.”

You tilted your head. “Maybe it’s easier for him to just… have a quiet place like that.”

For the first time, Bakugo really looked at you—not just the baker behind the counter, but you. His gaze lingered a second too long, and his lips pressed together like he wanted to say something but didn’t know how.

“…Thanks,” he muttered finally. “For… y’know. Giving him that.”

“It’s nothing,” you said softly. “He’s a good kid.”

Bakugo’s ears turned red. He looked away, grumbling under his breath, but you caught the faintest smile tugging at his lips.

⸻

After that night, Bakugo started stopping by with Ren now and then. At first, he’d stand stiffly in the corner while Ren picked up his usual crumbs, but gradually… he softened. Sometimes he’d buy an actual loaf. Sometimes a pastry. And sometimes, he’d linger at the counter just a little longer than necessary, watching the way you laughed with his son.

It was slow, like dough rising in warm sunlight—but piece by piece, crumb by crumb, something sweet began to form.

Bakugo found himself looking forward to the evenings when he could walk into the bakery and hear your voice. Ren’s eyes seemed brighter, too, especially when you asked him how the birds were doing.

And one day, when Bakugo brushed his hand against yours as you passed him a bag of bread, neither of you pulled away right away.

Maybe love didn’t always arrive in grand explosions. Sometimes, it came in the quiet warmth of a bakery, in a boy’s smile, and in the crumbs that slowly pieced together a family.

Ren wasn’t clueless. He noticed the way his dad’s sharp voice got quieter around you. How his scowl wasn’t quite as fierce when you handed him a bag of bread. How he sometimes lingered just a little too long by the counter, pretending to read the chalkboard menu.

Ren thought it was funny. Actually—Ren thought it was perfect.

So one chilly afternoon, instead of stopping by the bakery himself after school, he went straight home, plopped onto the couch, and announced casually:

“Hey, Dad, I forgot to get the bread crumbs today. You should go pick them up.”

Bakugo, halfway through peeling off his hero gear, froze. “What? The hell do you mean you ‘forgot’? You always go.”

Ren shrugged, feigning innocence. “Yeah, well, I was tired. They probably saved them for me. You should just go grab ’em.”

Bakugo narrowed his eyes. “Why don’t you—”

But Ren just stretched out dramatically. “Sooo tiiiired. Can’t move.”

Bakugo muttered a string of colorful curses under his breath but grabbed his wallet anyway. “Fine. Damn brat.”

⸻

The bell jingled as Bakugo pushed into your bakery. You looked up from wiping down the counter, surprised.

“Oh! Evening. Where’s Ren?”

“Tch. The little punk ‘forgot’ his crumbs. Sent me instead,” Bakugo grumbled, shoving his hands in his pockets.

You smiled knowingly. “Hmm. How convenient.”

Bakugo’s ears burned. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Nothing,” you said innocently, turning to bag the set-aside crumbs. “Here.”

But instead of handing it over right away, you hesitated. “You know… Ren always looks happier after coming here. I think feeding the birds helps him. And maybe… it helps you too, knowing he has something like that.”

Bakugo blinked, caught off guard. For a moment, the ever-explosive hero was quiet, his gaze softening as he stared at the bag of crumbs.

“…Yeah,” he muttered finally. “Guess it does.”

You placed the bag in his hand, your fingers brushing his. He didn’t pull away this time. In fact, he cleared his throat, looking flustered but determined.

“Oi. You ever… uh. I dunno. Close this place early? Maybe grab dinner?”

Your heart fluttered. “Are you asking me out, Bakugo Katsuki?”

He growled under his breath, his face red. “Don’t make it sound stupid! Just—answer the damn question!”

You laughed, the sound warm and light. “I’d love to.”

And outside, around the corner, Ren grinned to himself as he peeked through the window. His plan had worked perfectly.

You didn’t expect your first “date” with Bakugo to be at his house, but that’s where he invited you. He had grumbled something about hating “fancy crap” and that it was “easier this way.”

When you arrived, Ren greeted you at the door with the brightest smile you’d ever seen.

“Hi! Dad’s been freaking out all day about this,” he whispered conspiratorially before Bakugo appeared behind him, scowling.

“REN!” Bakugo barked. “Shut it!”

You giggled, stepping inside. The place smelled faintly of spices and smoke, and on the kitchen table sat a steaming pan of katsudon, two sets of chopsticks, and a plate of still-warm bread rolls.

“You cooked?” you asked, raising a brow.

Bakugo turned red instantly. “Tch. Don’t make a big deal out of it. Just sit down.”

Ren plopped into a chair, grinning ear to ear. “He made the rolls because you’re a baker. Said it’d impress you.”

“REN!” Bakugo slammed a hand on the counter, his face scarlet.

You covered your mouth to hide your laugh, heart warming. “It is impressive. Thank you, Katsuki.”

For a moment, his eyes softened at the way you said his name. He sat down across from you, muttering, “You’re welcome, idiot.”

⸻

Dinner was surprisingly perfect. Ren chatted happily about school, about the birds he fed every day, and about which one had started perching on his shoulder. You noticed how Bakugo kept glancing at him with pride hidden under his usual scowl.

When Ren excused himself to “finish homework” (though the sly grin on his face said otherwise), it left you and Bakugo alone at the table.

The silence stretched for a moment until you smiled. “You’re a good dad, you know.”

Bakugo stiffened, his face flushing again. “Tch. Don’t say crap like that. I’m just… doing what I’m supposed to.”

You shook your head gently. “No. You’re doing more. Ren clearly adores you. And… so do I.”

His eyes widened, the usual fire in them flickering with something softer. Slowly, he reached across the table, his calloused hand brushing yours.

“…Guess I’m starting to… like you too,” he admitted, his voice low, rough, but honest.

You squeezed his hand, smiling. “Starting?”

He groaned, burying his face in his free hand. “You’re gonna be the death of me.”

You laughed, leaning across the table to press a soft kiss to his cheek. He froze, then exhaled shakily, muttering, “…Yeah. But maybe that’s not so bad.”

And down the hallway, Ren peeked from his room with the biggest grin. His birds weren’t the only ones he’d been feeding with crumbs—he’d fed his dad a little happiness, too.

It had been five months since that first dinner at Bakugo’s place. Since then, you had become a fixture in both his and Ren’s lives. Some nights, the two of them would swing by your bakery just to see you. Other times, you’d spend an evening at their home, sharing dinner, laughter, and warmth that felt like family.

Tonight was one of those evenings. Ren was in his room, bent over his homework, leaving you and Bakugo in the living room with steaming mugs of tea between you. The house was quiet, the kind of peaceful silence that made conversations feel easier.

Bakugo leaned back, his eyes softer than usual. “You’re here so often it’s like you live here already,” he muttered, though there was a faint smile on his lips.

You chuckled. “Would that be so bad?”

He didn’t answer right away. Instead, his gaze lingered on the window, his jaw tightening like he was wrestling with something. Finally, he said, “There’s something you should know. About Ren’s mom.”

You straightened, your heart careful. “Okay.”

He exhaled sharply, his hand tightening on his mug. “She left. Right after he was born. What we had… it was nothing. Just a fling. She didn’t want him. Didn’t want me. Just… left.”

There was no anger in his tone, only an ache he’d carried for years.

You reached across the small table, resting your hand gently over his. “Katsuki…”

He shook his head, looking down. “It doesn’t bother me anymore. I just—Ren deserved better. He deserves more than just me trying to figure this crap out as we go.”

Your chest tightened. Slowly, you whispered, “I know how it feels. To… to be left behind.”

His eyes flicked to yours, sharp with curiosity but softened by concern.

You took a shaky breath. “A few years ago, I found out I couldn’t have kids. It broke me, but I thought my partner and I could get through it together. We were together three years, and the moment I told him… he left.”

The words hung heavy between you. For a second, you feared you’d said too much—but Bakugo’s hand shifted under yours, his rough fingers curling around to hold it firmly.

His voice was low, steady. “He was an idiot.”

Your eyes widened a little.

“Anyone who’d leave you over that… is a damn fool,” he said, his tone fierce, protective. “You don’t need to give birth to be a mom. You’re already there for Ren more than she ever was.”

Tears stung your eyes, but they weren’t sad tears. They were warm, full of relief at being seen, understood.

You laughed softly through the lump in your throat. “And anyone who thinks you’re not enough for Ren… is just as foolish. He’s lucky. You’re a good father, Katsuki.”

Bakugo looked away, his cheeks tinged pink, but he didn’t let go of your hand. Instead, he squeezed it, grounding both of you in the quiet, raw honesty of the moment.

Ren’s soft humming drifted from his room as he studied, the sound oddly comforting. The three of you, under one roof, with confessions spilling into the night—it felt like the pieces of something whole were finally falling into place.

Bakugo finally spoke again, his voice almost a whisper. “…Maybe… we can stop carrying this crap alone.”

You leaned against his shoulder, smiling through your tears. “Yeah. Maybe we can.”

The city lights glowed warm and soft, filtered through autumn leaves that crunched gently underfoot. Bakugo had invited you to meet his old classmates tonight—people he never talked about much, but clearly carried close in his heart.

When you arrived at the restaurant, laughter and chatter already filled the air. Familiar faces, though older now, sat around a large table. Kirishima’s grin split wide when he saw you.

“Oi, Bakugo actually brought someone!” he cheered, clapping Bakugo’s back so hard the blond nearly exploded on the spot.

“Shut the hell up, Shitty Hair!” Bakugo barked, but his ears were red.

Mina leaned across the table, eyes sparkling. “Wait—this is the first time he’s introduced anyone! You must be really special.”

You flushed, smiling shyly while Bakugo groaned, muttering curses under his breath.

The night rolled on with warmth. The girls quickly pulled you away to their end of the table, whispering and giggling, asking how you met Bakugo, how long you’d known each other, and if he’d confessed yet. You laughed, answering what you could, heart fluttering when you realized how curious—and supportive—they all were.

Meanwhile, on the other side, the boys leaned in toward Bakugo.

“So,” Kaminari started slyly, “she’s pretty amazing. What’s the deal?”

Bakugo just glared, lips twitching before—for the briefest second—he let out a small, soft smile. He didn’t say anything else. That tiny smile said everything.

The table erupted in knowing laughs, and Bakugo shoved at them, growling, “Mind your own damn business!”

⸻

Hours later, you and Bakugo stepped into the crisp night air. The city was quieter now, the golden glow of streetlamps stretching across the fallen leaves, painting everything in that warm amber hue.

You pulled out your phone, calling for a taxi. One pulled up not long after, but something about the driver’s leer made your stomach twist uneasily. Bakugo noticed immediately. His body stiffened, and that sharp protective aura surrounded him like a shield.

“Tch. Hell no. You’re not gettin’ in that car.” He stepped in front of you, glaring daggers at the taxi until it pulled away under his fiery presence. Then he turned to you, his tone softer but firm. “Stay at my place tonight. Safer that way.”

You hesitated only a second before nodding. “Okay.”

⸻

The walk back to his house was quiet at first, just the sound of leaves crunching under your shoes. The glow of the lamps made everything feel strangely intimate, as if the night itself was wrapping the two of you together.

Finally, you spoke. “You really didn’t have to do all this—for me. Introducing me to your friends, making sure I’m safe…”

Bakugo stuffed his hands in his pockets, scowling at the ground. “I wanted to. Idiot.”

You smiled softly, your heart swelling. “You know… I’ve never felt this kind of safety with anyone before.”

He glanced at you, his expression softening just slightly in the golden light. “…Good. That’s how it should be.”

You walked a little closer, your shoulders brushing. “You’re really different from what people think you are, Katsuki.”

“Tch. Don’t start spouting sappy crap.”

But his voice wasn’t harsh. It was low, warm, almost… grateful.

When you finally reached his house, Ren’s light was still on in his room. You and Bakugo paused at the door, and for a moment, the world was quiet again.

“…Thanks for tonight,” you whispered.

Bakugo looked at you, his lips tugging into that small, rare smile again. “…Anytime.”

And as you stepped inside, the night air faded behind you, but the golden warmth of it lingered—like the start of something that felt more and more like home.

The smell of sizzling eggs filled the kitchen. Morning sunlight streamed through the window, painting the counters in gold. You stood at the stove, flipping pancakes while Bakugo hovered beside you, insisting he’d handle the pan himself.

“Relax, I’ve got it,” you teased, nudging him lightly with your elbow.

“Tch, you’ll burn it if I let you do everything,” he muttered, though he didn’t push you away. His hands worked quickly, precise with the bacon in the pan, as if even breakfast demanded perfection.

It was quiet for a while, just the soft crackle of food and the warmth of being side by side. You smiled faintly, voice low. “You know, Katsuki… mornings like this feel like what home should be.”

The words slipped out without thought, but the effect was immediate.

Bakugo froze. His spatula hovered mid-air as he turned slowly toward you. His sharp red eyes softened, flicking from your eyes… down to your lips… and back up again.

The kitchen air shifted, thick with unspoken feelings. His gaze lingered, unwavering, for what felt like forever—ten whole seconds of quiet staring, of hearts racing, of a closeness that burned hotter than the stove.

Then—

“Morning.” Ren’s voice cut through, footsteps padding into the kitchen.

You both jerked back to reality, turning quickly toward him. You plastered on a warm smile, cheeks hot. “Morning, Ren. Sit down, breakfast’s almost ready.”

Bakugo turned back to the pan, his ears burning bright red.

⸻

Later, after breakfast, Bakugo ordered you a taxi himself. He checked the plates, the driver’s ID, and stood outside until he was absolutely sure this one wasn’t sketchy.

You gave him one last warm smile before leaving, and it lingered in his mind the rest of the day.

Was it the way you looked wearing his shirt that morning?

The way you moved around his kitchen like you belonged there?

That smile—gentle, radiant—meant just for him?

He thought he was going crazy.

⸻

Hours later, your bakery was quiet. The bell chimed softly as Bakugo and Ren walked in. The sight of them made the weight of your day melt off your shoulders. Ren immediately wandered to the pastry case, eyes lighting up, while you and Bakugo slipped into an easy conversation near the counter.

It was peaceful… until the bell rang again.

Your chest tightened instantly. You froze, body tensing as your eyes met the last person you ever wanted to see.

Your ex.

Bakugo noticed immediately, his sharp instincts flaring.

Your ex stormed up to the counter, his face twisted with anger. “So this is what you’ve been doing? Ignoring me? Blocking me?” His voice rose, bitter and venomous. “You worthless—”

“Not now—” you tried to whisper, but Bakugo stepped in front of you before you could finish.

His presence was a wall, broad shoulders blocking your ex’s path, his voice low and dangerously calm. “You got one chance to shut your damn mouth before I make you regret walking in here.”

Your ex sneered, trying to puff his chest, but the weight of Bakugo’s glare was suffocating. It was pure, lethal fire—controlled, but terrifying. The kind that promised he could end this without breaking a sweat.

“You think you can just—”

Bakugo took a single step forward, and your ex’s words died in his throat. The threat in Bakugo’s eyes was enough. After a tense pause, he spat on the ground, muttered something under his breath, and stormed out, slamming the door.

The bakery went quiet again, except for the sound of your shaky breath. Your co-workers rushed over, ushering you aside, their voices gentle. “Go home early. We’ve got this.”

Tears pricked your eyes as you nodded, still shaken.

⸻

When you stepped outside a few minutes later, there they were. Bakugo and Ren, waiting.

Your lips trembled into a soft, grateful smile as you whispered, “Thank you. For standing up for me.”

Bakugo’s jaw tightened, but his voice was steady. “You don’t ever thank me for protecting you. That’s not optional.”

Something in your chest swelled at those words. You walked home together, the silence heavy but comforting, your heart beating in rhythm with his footsteps.

And later, lying in bed, you couldn’t stop thinking of him. The way he shielded you without hesitation, the rare gentleness in his voice, the fire in his eyes when he looked at you.

And across the city, Bakugo lay awake too, replaying the image of you in his shirt, your laughter in his kitchen, that warm smile that made his chest flutter.

Training with Bakugo

Fluff

—

Title: Quirk Practice Chaos

You were trying to master a tricky move with your quirk, and Bakugo had volunteered to help, though he pretended it was “for his own sake.”

“Focus! Don’t screw this up,” he barked, standing close.

You nodded, determined. “Okay… I got this!”

You tried the move, but instead of a smooth execution, sparks went everywhere. A small burst knocked Bakugo off balance, and he stumbled backward, landing in a heap.

“What the-?!” he shouted, glaring at you… but you couldn’t stop laughing.

He scrambled up, cheeks red. “Shut up! It’s your fault!”

“I can’t help it!” you giggled, reaching out to help him. “You’re cute when you’re mad.”

Bakugo froze, blinking at you, then muttered, “…Shut up, idiot.”

But even as he tried to act tough, a small smile tugged at his lips. After a few more attempts, and a lot of accidental sparks, you finally nailed the trick.

Bakugo crossed his arms, pretending to scowl. “Hmph. Not bad. Guess you’re… okay.”

You laughed, bumping his shoulder playfully. “Okay? That’s the nicest thing I’ve ever heard from you!”

He groaned, hiding his blush, but you caught the tiny, victorious smirk anyway.

Quirk Practice Chaos – Part 2

After a few more practice tries, you and Bakugo were both laughing so hard that sparks were flying everywhere, not just from your quirk.

“Focus! Stop laughing!” Bakugo shouted, though his grin betrayed him.

You dodged a small explosion of sparks and pointed at him. “You’re worse than me!”

“Worse?! I’m perfect!” he yelled… then tripped over a stray training mat and stumbled right into you.

Before either of you could react, he accidentally wrapped his arms around you in a clumsy hug. His face went bright red, and he muttered, “…Dumb. Don’t think this means anything.”

You giggled and rested your head against his chest. “Sure, Kacchan. Whatever you say.”

Bakugo froze, then tightened the hug ever so slightly. “I-I mean it! Stupid…”

You laughed again, realizing that behind all his grumbling and explosions, Bakugo just wanted to be close to you.