sy🪷

🪷 sy l she/her | 21 | Aquarius l lit. stud☁️

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Royal Repertoire Old Masterlist

divider by @/cafekitsune💜

Nobody warned you that dating Katsuki Bakugo would completely ruin your ability to function normally around affection.

Which honestly felt unfair considering he was the one responsible for it in the first place.

Because before him, you were perfectly capable of doing things yourself. You carried your own bags without complaint, opened your own drinks, reached for things on high shelves without immediately looking around for help first. You survived perfectly fine without somebody automatically fixing your necklace clasp when it twisted the wrong way or pulling your chair out absentmindedly before you even sat down.

Then Katsuki happened.

And suddenly somewhere along the line, your standards got impossibly, horrifically high.

Not because he spoiled you intentionally either. That was the worst part.

Katsuki loved you in such a natural, consistent way that half the time he didn’t even realize he was doing it. It wasn’t with grand gestures or dramatic romance movie nonsense either. It was smaller than that, like quuieter. The kind of affection that slowly settles into your routine until one day you realize you genuinely don’t remember the last time you struggled with something alone because somehow Katsuki had already handled it before you even got the chance.

“Stop staring at me like that.”

His voice cut through your thoughts from across the kitchen, low and mildly suspicious, and when you looked up properly, Katsuki was already glancing at you over his shoulder from where he stood near the stove.

The apartment smelled faintly like garlic, black pepper, and whatever body wash he used lately that kept sticking to his shirts afterward. One of the windows above the sink was cracked open slightly, letting cool evening air drift inside while the city lights glowed faintly outside.

You were sitting at the kitchen counter in one of his old shirts, chin resting lazily against your palm while watching him cook.

Or more specifically—watching the way his forearms flexed every time he moved the pan.

Which, in your defense, was distracting.

“Like what?” you asked innocently after a second, blinking at him like you genuinely had no idea what he meant.

Katsuki narrowed his eyes immediately at the tone of your voice, already looking unconvinced before you even finished speaking.

“Like I’m about to buy you something,” he muttered, turning back toward the stove again with a quiet click of his tongue. “You get that look every time you want something.”

A pause settled briefly between the two of you before your brows lifted slowly.

“…Are you?”

His head turned just enough for you to catch the flat look he sent over his shoulder.

“There it is.”

A laugh slipped quietly out of you almost immediately, your smile widening against your hand.

Because honestly? This entire situation was his fault.

“You did this to yourself, you know,” you informed him casually, adjusting your legs against the stool while he stirred something in the pan with unnecessary aggression. “I wasn’t like this before you.”

“Tch. You were absolutely high maintenance before me.”

“No,” you disagreed immediately, unable to stop smiling now. “I was independent before you.”

“That sounds fake.”

“I’m serious,” you insisted, your voice softer this time, more amused than defensive as you watched him move around the kitchen so comfortably like he belonged there. “I used to know how to function normally.”

Katsuki scoffed quietly under his breath at that, though there wasn’t much heat behind it anymore.

“What does that even mean.”

“It means,” you started dramatically, sitting up straighter now as you pointed at him accusingly from across the counter, “that before dating you, I was fully capable of opening my own drinks.”

“You still are.”

“No,” you argued immediately. “Because now you automatically do it for me before I even touch them.”

“That’s because your nails are always too damn long.”

“Exactly,” you said quickly, pointing at him harder. “That’s exactly what I mean.”

His eyes narrowed slightly while you looked entirely too pleased with yourself.

“You made my life too comfortable,” you continued after a moment quieter now, your fingers absentmindedly tracing the edge of the counter while you watched him. “And now I genuinely don’t think I can go back.”

Something in his expression shifted briefly at that. Subtle enough most people probably wouldn’t notice, but you did.

Because after years of loving Katsuki, you’d gotten embarrassingly good at noticing the tiny reactions nobody else ever caught. The way his shoulders loosened whenever he relaxed around you. The slight twitch near the corner of his mouth whenever he was trying not to smile. The quieter tone his voice slipped into without realizing it.

“You’re dramatic,” he muttered eventually, though it sounded weaker now, less like an insult and more like something he said out of habit.

“Yeah,” you agreed easily, smiling to yourself. “But am I wrong?”

He didn’t answer immediately. Instead, he grabbed your drink from beside the stove before finally walking over toward you.

You watched him quietly the entire time, your expression softening almost unconsciously as he stopped beside you. One of his hands settled briefly against the counter near your shoulder while the other held the bottle out toward you.

Already opened.

Your lips twitched immediately the second you noticed.

“Katsuki.”

“The hell.”

“You opened it again.”

“Tch. Don’t start.”

But he looked away slightly right after saying it, like he already knew exactly where this conversation was about to go.

A soft laugh escaped you while you took the drink from his hand anyway, your fingers brushing briefly against his.

“This is exactly what I’m talking about,” you murmured, looking up at him over the rim of the bottle. “You can’t keep doing things like this and then act surprised when I get attached to it.”

“You’re impossible.”

“No,” you corrected lightly before taking a sip. “I’m spoiled.”

“And whose fault is that?”

You smiled slowly then, unable to help it. Because he really walked directly into that one himself.

“Yours,” you answered simply, your voice quieter now, more affectionate than teasing. “Obviously.”

His expression flattened immediately like he regretted asking the second the words left his mouth.

Katsuki clicked his tongue quietly under his breath before turning away again, but not before reaching over to fix the sleeve of your borrowed shirt where it had slipped slightly off your shoulder first.

His fingers brushed against your skin briefly. Absentmindedly like he didn’t even realize he was doing it.

And honestly? That was the dangerous part.

Katsuki never realized how affectionate he actually was because to him, taking care of you wasn’t some huge romantic gesture worth acknowledging.

It was instinct, natural like breathing.

He remembered things without trying to. The exact snacks you liked from convenience stores. Which drinks you preferred depending on your mood. The fact you hated crowded trains when you were tired. The specific side of the bed you slept better on.

He bought things casually if they reminded him of you. Replaced stuff before you even realized you ran out of them. Kept your favorite snacks stocked in his apartment like it was second nature now. He even carried hair ties around his wrist sometimes because you kept forgetting yours and stealing his whenever your hair annoyed you.

Then somehow still acted surprised when you became attached to being cared for.

“You are spoiled,” he muttered again a few minutes later while sliding your plate toward you across the counter.

You looked down automatically before pausing. The strawberries were already cut neatly into smaller pieces. Your eyes lifted slowly back toward him.

“…You cut the strawberries.”

Katsuki barely glanced up from the stove.

“Tch. You don’t like the leaves.”

Your expression softened immediately at how casually he said it. Like remembering tiny details about you was the easiest thing in the world.

“You literally proved my point again,” you said quietly, your voice gentler now as you looked back down at the plate. “This is why I can’t function anymore.”

“And? It's not like it's a problem.”

“It is, it’s a serious one actually,” you insisted, though your smile gave you away instantly. “If we ever break up, I’ll actually suffer.”

That made his eyes snap toward you immediately.

“The hell are you talking about.”

“I mean realistically?” you continued, trying and failing to sound thoughtful while resting your chin against your palm again. “Who else is gonna remember I hate strawberry leaves? Or warm my side of the bed first? Or carry my bags before I even ask?”

“You can hold your own damn bags.”

“But you don’t let me.”

“That’s because you start complaining after five damn minutes.”

“Exactly,” you said immediately, pointing at him once more. “You created this.”

He stared at you for a second like you genuinely exhausted him before exhaling sharply through his nose.

“You’re unbelievable.”

“And deeply loved,” you corrected softly, unable to stop smiling at him now.

“Tch.”

But there it was again.

That tiny twitch near the corner of his mouth he kept trying to suppress whenever you said things like that too casually. Your eyes narrowed immediately when you noticed.

“Oh my God,” you gasped softly, leaning forward against the counter a little. “You’re smiling.”

“I’m literally not.”

“You literally are,” you laughed, already grinning too hard now. “Katsuki, you think I’m cute.”

“I think you talk too damn much.”

“But affectionately.”

Katsuki sighed heavily then, setting the spatula down before finally walking fully around the counter toward you.

“You’re annoying,” he muttered, though his hands were already settling automatically against your waist by the time he stopped between your knees.

Your arms slid lazily up his forearms without thinking.

“Yet here you are,” you murmured softly, tilting your head back just enough to look up at him properly.

“Tch.”

But he didn’t move away, didn’t let go either. And that, that right therewas exactly the problem.

⋆. 𐙚 ˚ || katsuki bakugo x reader, pure fluff

You’ve known Katsuki long enough to understand that silence with him never really means nothing. It just means he’s deciding on whether to respond, whether to ignore you, or whether whatever just came out of your mouth deserves a reaction at all.

Right now, sitting on the floor of his room with your back resting against the side of his bed, legs stretched out lazily in front of you, controller hanging loose in your hands while the paused game casts flickering light across the walls, he’s looking at you like he’s landed somewhere between confused and mildly concerned.

“…What.”

His voice came and it’s not loud and not sharp either. Just flat like he’s giving you one chance to explain yourself before he decides this is stupid.

You don’t answer right away. You’re still staring at the screen, chin tilted slightly upward, like the question you just asked is still sitting there, like you’re replaying it in your head instead of rushing to justify it.

“If we both turned into fish,” you repeat, slower this time like maybe he’s the one who needs a second to catch up, “would you rather live in a tiny aquarium with me… or in the ocean with thousands of other fish that look exactly like me?”

The words settle. So does the silence after.

You can feel his heavy stare before you even look at him, like he’s trying to figure out if you’re messing with him or if this is actually happening.

“…Are you serious.”

You shrug lightly, one shoulder lifting as you finally glance at him, expression calm, too calm, like you don’t see anything wrong with it.

“Yeah.”

He exhales through his nose, slow, controlled, the way he does when he’s already decided he doesn’t like where this is going.

“…The hell kind of question is that,” he mutters, brows pulling together as he leans forward slightly, elbows resting on his knees, controller hanging from one hand.

“It’s a normal question,” you say, turning your head just enough to look at him properly now, eyes steady, like you mean it.

“It’s not,” he shoots back immediately, sharper this time, “That’s stupid.”

You hum under your breath, unconvinced, letting your head rest back against the mattress behind you, gaze drifting back to the screen.

“You’re avoiding it.”

“I’m not avoiding anything,” he says, quick, defensive in a way he won’t admit to, his fingers tightening slightly around the controller. “There’s nothing to avoid.”

“Then answer it,” you reply easily, like you’re not letting him slip past it that fast.

“No.”

You tilt your head, eyes shifting back to him, studying the way his jaw sets like he’s already done with this conversation and the way his grip tightens around the controller even though the game isn’t even moving.

“You don’t know the answer.”

“Tch. I know the answer,” he scoffs, clicking his tongue as he shifts on the edge of the bed, one foot nudging lightly against your thigh without thinking about it.

“Then say it,” you push

There’s a pause.

“…Aquarium,” he mutters finally, like he’s saying it just to get you to drop it.

You blink, sitting up a little, something in your expression changing, hmm interest, maybe, or curiosity.

“Aquarium?”

“Yeah.”

“That’s tiny,” you say, brows pulling together slightly, like you’re actually picturing it now.

“So?” he shrugs, like that part doesn’t matter.

“You’d be stuck,” you add,

“So?” he repeats, glancing at you like you’re missing something obvious.

“There’s a whole ocean,” you say, your voice quieter now, slower, like you’re thinking it through as you say it.

“And a whole lotta things that’ll eat you in it,” he fires back instantly, leaning back slightly, gaze sharper now. “Use your brain.”

You pause.

“…Okay, fair,” you admit after a second, your voice softer, because that part does make sense.

But still—

“There’s also thousands of me there,” you continue, glancing at him again, more carefully this time.

“And?” he says, immediate, like that changes nothing.

You hold his gaze.

“And?”

He stares right back, unimpressed, like he’s not budging.

“Yeah. And?”

You blink once, slower now, something quieter settling into your expression.

“…You wouldn’t get bored?”

“With what,” he asks, brows knitting tighter, like he genuinely doesn’t get where you’re going.

“With me,” you say, softer this time, not joking anymore.

That’s what makes him pause.

Just for a second, but it’s there. In the way his shoulders still slightly, in the way his grip loosens just a bit around the controller.

“The hell are you talking about,” he mutters, but there’s less bite behind it now.

“If there’s only one of me,” you explain, your voice quieter, more careful, “wouldn’t that get boring eventually?”

The room settles again.

Not the same silence as before, nope, this one lingers differently, like something shifted just enough to be noticed.

“…Are you actually hearing yourself right now,” he says, but it comes out lower, less dismissive than it should.

You don’t push. You just watch him.

“So you’d really pick the aquarium.”

He exhales slowly, leaning back on his hands, gaze flicking away for a second before returning to you.

“Yeah.”

“Even if it’s small.”

“Yeah.”

“Even if it’s just me.”

There’s a pause.

“…Yeah.”

You don’t speak right away.

You just look at him, something quiet settling in your chest, something you don’t name but don’t ignore either. Because that didn’t sound careless. It didn’t sound like something he said just to shut you up. Because it sounded simple, so simple and real.

“…Okay,” you say finally, like you’re accepting it without pulling it apart.

He narrows his eyes at you almost immediately, like he doesn’t trust how easily you let that go.

“Don’t start.”

“I’m not starting anything,” you reply, the corner of your mouth twitching, but your expression softer than before.

“You look like you are.”

“I’m not.”

“…You’re smiling.”

You hadn’t noticed.

Your lips press together slightly, like you’re trying to hide it, turning your gaze back to the screen.

“I’m not.”

“Tch. Liar.”

You huff quietly, adjusting your grip on the controller.

“Resume the game.”

He doesn’t move.

“…You’re weird,” he mutters after a second, but it’s quieter now, like he’s just saying it because he doesn’t know what else to say.

“Yeah.”

Another pause.

Then—

“You’d pick the aquarium too,” he adds, like it’s obvious, like he already knows.

You glance at him from the side, your expression unreadable for a second.

“…Maybe.”

His head turns immediately.

“‘Maybe’ what,” he says, sharper now, like he doesn’t like that answer.

You shrug slightly, shoulders lifting just a little.

“I don’t know.”

“Bullshit.”

You smile, small and quiet, not teasing this time. “Maybe I’d pick the ocean.”

That gets his full attention.

“The hell for,” he says, leaning forward slightly, brows drawn together again.

“There’s thousands of you there,” you answer, like it’s simple.

“That’s not funny.”

“I’m not joking.”

“Yes you are.”

You shake your head, your gaze dropping briefly to your hands before lifting back to him, softer now.

“I’d want to see if I’d still recognize you.”

There’s a pause.

A quieter one.

“…That doesn’t even make sense,” he mutters, but there’s no real argument behind it.

“It does.”

“How.”

You look at him properly this time,no teasing or joking, just honest.

“Because you’re still you.”

He doesn’t respond and doesn't argue either. And that’s how you know it stayed somewhere.

“…You’re still weird,” he says after a second like he’s just filling the space.

“Yeah.”

You press a button, the game coming back to life, sound and movement filling the room again, but it feels distant now, like neither of you is really paying attention anymore.

You’ve always liked hugs.

You were that kid who would run up to people with your arms already open, who didn’t think twice about wrapping yourself around someone just because you felt like it, because hugging felt good, simple and warm and grounding in a way nothing else really was. You never really grew out of it, never learned to hold back or second-guess whether it was “too much,” because to you it never felt like too much,it felt right, it felt warm, it felt like the easiest way to exist around people you liked without having to overthink anything.

You used to joke that you got it from Olaf, the whole “warm hugs” thing, but the truth was you meant it more than you let on, because hugs were simple and real and didn’t ask anything from you except to be there.

Hugs were easy.

Hugs made sense.

But hugging Katsuki Bakugo?

That was something else entirely.

Because it shouldn’t make sense.

He’s all sharp edges and louder-than-necessary words, all scowls and attitude and that constant underlying tension like he’s always one second away from snapping at someone. He’s not soft, not gentle, not the kind of person anyone would look at and think yeah, he probably gives nice hugs.

And yet,

He does.

And out of everyone—hugging Katsuki Bakugo was your favorite.

You noticed it the first time you hugged him, really hugged him, not one of those quick, joking ones you give people in passing, but the kind where you actually press into him, arms wrapped properly around his middle like you’re settling there for a second instead of just brushing by.

It was warm.

Not just body heat, though yeah, he runs warm, always has, but something deeper than that, something steady, solid, like being wrapped around something that doesn’t move unless it chooses to. His shirts always feel a little softer than you expect too, worn in just enough, and he smells—God, he smells good.

Like caramel and something faintly smoky underneath, something that lingers when you pull away and makes you want to lean back in again just to check if it’s still there.

It doesn’t match him.

It really doesn’t.

And maybe that’s why you like it so much.

"You’re doing it again.”

His voice pulls you back to the present, low and mildly irritated, but not nearly enough to make you move, not when your arms are already wrapped around him from behind, your cheek pressed comfortably between his shoulder blades like you’ve done this a hundred times before.

“I’m hugging you,” you mumble, not even attempting to let go, your grip tightening just a little out of habit.

“You’ve been hugging me for five minutes.”

“And?”

“And that’s too long.”

“It’s not.”

He exhales sharply through his nose, like he’s about to argue, but he doesn’t actually make you move, doesn’t peel your arms off or step away, just stands there, stiff for a second before settling again, like his body has already accepted this is happening whether he likes it or not.

“…You’re clingy,” he mutters.

“I’m affectionate,” you correct, shifting slightly so you can rest more comfortably against him, completely unbothered.

“That’s the same thing.”

“It’s not.”

He clicks his tongue, but there’s no real bite behind it, no actual push to get you off, and that alone is enough to make you smile a little against his back.

“…You’re warm,” you say after a second, softer this time, more like you’re thinking out loud than actually trying to start something.

“Obviously,” he replies immediately, like that’s a stupid observation.

“No, like really warm,” you insist, your voice quieter, more thoughtful, your fingers curling slightly against his shirt without realizing it. “It’s nice.”

He doesn’t respond right away.

And that’s how you know he heard you.

“…You’re weird,” he says finally, but it comes out less sharp than usual, less like an insult and more like something he’s just stating because he doesn’t know what else to say.

“Yeah,” you agree easily, because that’s not new.

You stay like that for another second, maybe two, before you tilt your head slightly, pressing your nose a little closer to his shoulder without really thinking about it.

“…You smell good too.”

He freezes.

“…What.”

You blink, pulling back just enough to look at the side of his face, completely serious.

“Like caramel,” you explain, like it’s obvious. “And something else. I don’t know. It’s nice.”

There’s a pause.

A long one.

“…Why are you sniffing me,” he says slowly, like he’s trying to process that sentence.

“I’m not sniffing you,” you protest immediately, even though you kind of are. “I just noticed.”

“That’s literally sniffing.”

“It’s not intentional.”

“That doesn’t make it better.”

You huff quietly, but you don’t let go, don’t even loosen your arms, because if he really wanted you off, he would’ve made you move by now.

He hasn’t.

“…You give the best hugs,” you say after a moment, softer now, more honest than teasing, your voice settling into something quieter, something that doesn’t feel like a joke anymore.

That’s when he goes still.

Like he didn’t expect that.

“…You hug everyone like this?” he asks after a second, his voice lower than before, something unreadable slipping into it.

You shake your head slightly against him.

“No.”

“…Good.”

You blink.

Pull back a little more this time, enough to actually see his face, your brows lifting slightly.

“…What do you mean ‘good’?”

He clicks his tongue immediately, looking away like he didn’t mean to say that out loud.

“Nothing.”

You stare at him for a second.

Then your lips curl into a small, knowing smile.

“…You like it.”

“I didn’t say that.”

“You didn’t have to.”

His eyes snap back to you, sharper now.

“Don’t start.”

But you’re already leaning back into him again, arms wrapping around him just as easily as before, like the conversation didn’t just happen, like this is just how things are between you.

He exhales quietly, something between annoyed and resigned—but his hand comes up anyway. Settles against your back.

⋆. 𐙚 ˚ || katsuki bakugo x reader, pure fluff

You used to chase butterflies as a kid.

Not metaphorically, not in some poetic exaggerated way, but literally, like running barefoot across uneven grass, arms outstretched, laughing breathlessly as you tried to catch something soft and fleeting, something that always seemed just out of reach no matter how fast you ran or how carefully you crept up behind it. You never caught one, not really, just brushed the edges of wings once or twice before they slipped away again, light and untouchable, leaving you with nothing but the feeling of almost.

You hadn’t thought about that in years.

Not until him.

And then somehow—somehow—that was exactly what it felt like now.

Not the running part.

The almost part.

Because the first time you realized your chest felt tight, strange and fluttering and annoyingly persistent, was the first time Katsuki Bakugo snapped at someone across the training field, voice sharp and cutting, temper flaring like it always did, loud enough to turn heads and draw attention in that way only he could manage.

Everyone else had flinched.

You didn’t.

You just stood there, watching him, something unfamiliar settling in your chest, something that didn’t feel like fear or irritation or even annoyance, but something lighter, restless, like wings brushing against your ribs from the inside. Butterflies.

It was ridiculous.

You knew it was.

You were, by all reasonable standards, completely aware that Bakugo was difficult, and loud, and aggressive, stubborn to a fault, the kind of person most people learned to avoid rather than approach, but somehow that didn’t stop you.

If anything, it made it worse.

Because you liked it.

You liked the way he spoke like everything mattered. You liked the way he never held back, never softened himself for anyone, never pretended to be anything less than exactly what he was. You liked the sharp edges, the intensity, the way he carried himself like the world had something to prove to him.

You liked him.

Which was, admittedly, a problem.

Because crushing on Katsuki Bakugo wasn’t just inconvenient—it was borderline humiliating.

You kept thinking it.

Especially now.

Because of course, out of everyone in the dorm, it had to be him you ran into when you stepped outside for air, the night quiet and cool, the faint hum of the city in the distance while the rest of the building settled into that late-hour calm where most people had already gone to bed.

Bakugo was leaning against the railing, arms crossed, gaze fixed somewhere far off like he was thinking about something or maybe nothing at all.

You hesitated for half a second.

Then walked over anyway.

“You’re gonna catch a cold out here,” you said lightly, stopping beside him.

He didn’t even look at you.

“I’m fine.”

“Okay, tough guy.”

“Tch.”

You leaned your elbows against the railing too, staring out into the dark, letting the silence sit for a moment longer than necessary, it wasn’t awkward, it was just… quiet.

Comfortable, in its own strange way.

You glanced at him from the corner of your eye.

And there it was again.

That feeling.

God, you were so annoying.

“I used to chase butterflies as a kid,” you said suddenly.

Bakugo didn’t react immediately.

Just blinked once, slow, like he was processing whether he actually heard that right.

“…What.”

You didn’t look at him.

“Never thought you’d give them to me for free.”

Silence.

Then—

“What the hell does that even mean.”

You smiled slightly to yourself, resting your chin against your hand.

“Nothing.”

“That’s not ‘nothing,’” he said, finally turning his head toward you, brows drawn together in that familiar annoyed expression. “You just said it like it means something.”

“It does.”

“Then explain it.”

“No.”

He stared at you.

You could feel it. The weight of it.

“…You’re messing with me.”

“Maybe.”

“Tch. You’re weird.”

You shrugged.

“Yeah.”

He turned back to the railing, but you caught the way his shoulders shifted slightly, like he wasn’t entirely dismissing it, like it stuck just enough to bother him.

Good.

You let the silence settle again, the night air brushing softly against your skin, and for a moment you thought maybe that was it, that you’d said your weird little line, he’d brushed it off like always, and things would go back to normal.

Crushing on someone like Bakugo wasn’t something you built expectations around, it was something you kept to yourself, something you let exist without needing it to turn into anything more.

But then—

“…Say it again.”

You blinked.

“What?”

“That thing,” he muttered, not looking at you this time. “About butterflies or whatever.”

You turned your head, studying him for a second, the faintest hint of a smile tugging at your lips.

“You want me to say it again?”

“I didn’t say I want you to,” he snapped quickly. “I said say it again.”

You hummed softly, pretending to think about it.

“I used to chase butterflies as a kid,” you repeated, a little slower this time, a little more deliberate. “Never thought you’d give them to me for free.”

Bakugo clicked his tongue under his breath, like the words annoyed him—but he didn’t interrupt this time.

Didn’t dismiss it right away either.

“…So what,” he said after a second, glancing at you again. “You’re saying I make you nervous or something?”

You tilted your head.

“Do I look nervous?”

“No,” he admitted.

“Then not that.”

“Then what.”

You hesitated.

Just for a second.

Because suddenly it didn’t feel like a joke anymore.

“They’re… good butterflies,” you said quietly. “Not the bad kind.”

He went still.

Not in a way anyone else would notice.

But you did.

Because you were looking at him.

And for a second, just a second, he didn’t have a comeback ready.

Didn’t brush it off.

Didn’t snap.

He just looked at you.

Then—

“Tch.”

He looked away, jaw tightening slightly like he didn’t know what to do with that.

“…That’s stupid.”

You smiled.

“Yeah.”

Another pause.

Then, quieter—

“…You’re still weird.”

“Yeah.”

He shifted slightly against the railing, one hand coming up to rub the back of his neck in a small, almost unconscious movement.

“…You say that every time you see me or what?”

You laughed softly.

“Only when it feels like that.”

“…And it feels like that a lot?”

You didn’t answer right away.

Just looked at him, the corner of your mouth lifting a little.

“…Maybe.”

Bakugo huffed under his breath, shaking his head slightly like you were hopeless.

“Idiot.”

But he didn’t walk away.

Didn’t even look as annoyed as he usually did.

If anything, he stayed right there beside you a little longer than he needed to.

And when you glanced at him again, just to check—He was already looking at you.

A pause.

Then, quieter—

“…But I get it.”

⋆. 𐙚 ˚ || katsuki bakugo x reader, pure fluff

Hello helloooo, not fully back yet but I just wanted to drop by and share this fic I crammed 😭 (i miss tumblr so much & flooding ur feeds) it’s a bit rushed and so is the other one m posting maybe in the next few days but I had fun writing it, hope you guys like it!!💜

You knew something was wrong before you even opened your eyes.

Like a creeping awareness that something didn’t line up, like the weight of the sheets felt different, heavier and smoother against your skin, the air smelled unfamiliar, clean in a way that didn’t carry any trace of your usual perfume or the faint sweetness of your room, and even the silence felt wrong, too still, like the space around you didn’t belong to you at all.

Your head throbbed, reminding you of poor decisions made just hours ago, drinks you shouldn’t have finished, laughter that blurred too loud and too close, the way everything had started spinning just enough that you stopped caring.

You frowned slightly, eyes still closed, trying to piece together anything that made sense.

There had been music. Your friends. A crowded place. And then—Nothing.

Your eyes opened.

The ceiling above you was plain, stark white, completely bare, no decorations, no shelves, no familiar clutter to ground you, and that alone was enough to make your stomach drop just a little as your gaze slowly drifted around the room.

Dark walls. Minimal furniture. Everything neat to the point of looking untouched.

It wasn’t messy. But it was hella expensive, the kind of place that didn’t need to prove anything because everything already spoke for itself.

“…This is not my room,” you murmured, voice hoarse from sleep—or maybe from the drinks or maybe from hmm...

A wave of unease crept in. Where were your friends? How dd you get here? Why didn’t you remember anything?

You pushed yourself upright a little too quickly, and the room tilted just enough to make you wince, your hand flying to your temple as your breath hitched, the dull ache in your head flaring for a second before settling again.

“Easy.”

You froze.

The voice came from somewhere behind you.

Low.Rough. Calm in a way that didn’t match the situation at all.

Your head turned slowly, heart picking up just enough to make you aware of it, and your eyes landed on him.

In the corner of the room, leaning against the wall like he had been there the entire time without making a sound, stood Katsuki Bakugo.

Blond hair, messy in a way that looked natural rather than careless, sharp red eyes fixed on you with a quiet kind of focus, his posture relaxed but not lazy, one shoulder resting against the wall while he held a glass of water in his hand like he’d been waiting for you to wake up.

“You look like you’re about to pass out again,” he said, stepping forward just enough to place the glass on the bedside table within your reach. “Drink.”

You stared at him.

Then at the glass.

Then back at him again.

Your thoughts felt slow, delayed, like your brain was trying to catch up with the situation. But one thing you can be sure of is that he was so damn hot.

“…Where am I?” you asked, your voice quieter now, more cautious.

“My place.

That didn’t help.

“…Why am I here?”

He didn’t answer immediately.

Instead, he straightened slightly, arms folding across his chest as he looked at you, really looked at you, like he was assessing something, and for a moment you wondered how long he had been standing there watching you sleep.

“You don’t remember?” he asked.

Something about the way he said it made your stomach tighten.

He look almost… amused.

“…Remember what?” you pressed.

He tilted his head just a little, eyes narrowing as if studying your face for any sign that you were pretending, and then slowly, almost lazily, a smirk pulled at the corner of his mouth.

“…Huh.”

Your heart dropped.

“What.”

He didn’t answer.

Just let the silence sit there, stretching it out long enough that your imagination started filling in the gaps, long enough that your pulse started picking up in a way that had nothing to do with the hangover.

“That’s rough,” he said finally.

“What’s rough?” you asked quickly, your voice sharper now. “What happened?”

He pushed off the wall and moved a little closer, not too close, but enough that his presence felt heavier in the room, more real.

“You were wasted,” he said.

“I figured.”

“Could barely walk,” he continued, tone casual, like he was recounting something mildly inconvenient rather than your entire missing night. “Kept stumbling.”

You closed your eyes for a second, groaning quietly under your breath.

“…That sounds about right.”

“And loud.”

Your eyes snapped open.

“I’m not loud.”

“You were,” he said without hesitation.

“I was not.”

“You were.”

You stared at him, trying to decide if he was serious, but his expression didn’t give you much—just that faint edge of amusement that made you more suspicious than anything else.

“What was I even saying?” you asked, already dreading the answer.

He paused.

Then that smirk came back, sharper this time.

“…Mostly about me.”

You blinked.

“…What?”

“You kept going on about how I’m ‘handsome,’” he said, voice just slightly mocking now, like he was quoting you. “And—what was it—‘yummy,’ I think."

There was a moment where everything just… stopped.

Then your entire face burned. He was yummy alright but I didn't know I would literally say it to him.

“No,” you said immediately. “No, I did not say that.”

“You did.”

“You’re lying.”

“I’m not.”

You dragged both hands over your face, groaning into them as embarrassment hit full force, your brain finally catching up to the situation in the worst possible way.

“Oh my god.”

“Yeah.”

“Oh my god, that’s so embarrassing—”

He huffed quietly, almost like a laugh, though he didn’t fully commit to it.

“You also didn’t know where you were,” he added. “Didn’t know your friends, didn’t know your name.”

You lowered your hands slowly, staring at him.

“…You’re joking.”

“Nope.”

“So you just… brought me here?”

“You were about to fall flat on your face,” he said simply. “Figured I’d stop that from happening.”

“…That’s not very comforting.”

“Didn’t say it was.”

You exhaled slowly, trying to process everything, your thoughts still sluggish but at least starting to connect now.

“…Nothing else happened, right?” you asked carefully.

The moment the question left your mouth, you regretted it.

Because the way he went quiet—

“You don’t remember?” he asked again.

Your stomach dropped.

“What happened?”

He didn’t answer right away.

Just looked at you, holding your gaze a little too long, like he was deciding how far he wanted to push this.

“…Damn,” he muttered.

Your heart started pounding.

“What happened?” you repeated, more urgently now.

He leaned back slightly, one hand braced behind him on the bed, gaze still locked on yours.

No, no, no, nothing happened right? Your hands immediately went to your body and a sense of relief came when you see that you're still wearing your dress from last night. Then, just as your thoughts started spiraling—

“Relax,” he said.

You blinked.

“…What?”

“Nothing happened,” he added.

The relief was immediate.

Sharp.

Followed immediately by embarrassment all over again.

“…Okay.”

“You were the one trying to start something, though,” he added.

You froze. COULD THIS BE EVEN MORE EMBARRASSING??!!!

“I was not.”

“You were.”

“I was not.”

“You kept asking me to kiss you.”

Your brain shut down.

“…You’re lying.”

“I’m not.”

You covered your face again, voice muffled.

“This is horrible.”

“You literally said ‘just one kiss,’ like eight times.”

“I did not say it like that—”

“You did.”

You peeked at him through your fingers.

“…And you didn’t?”

“No.”

“…Why not?”

He gave you a look.

“You were drunk out of your mind.”

You paused.

Right.

“…Okay, fair.”

“And I’m not that kind of guy,” he added, tone a little sharper now, like that part actually mattered to him.

Something about that made you glance at him properly this time.

Really look.

And yeah.

Annoyingly enough—

He was handsome.

Very.

And yummy indeed.

Which made everything worse.

“…Well,” you muttered, lowering your hands, “at least I have good taste.”

He huffed again, quieter this time.

“Yeah, you do.”

You grabbed the glass of water and took a sip, letting the coolness settle your throat while the embarrassment slowly dulled into something more manageable.

“…I didn’t even get your name,” you said after a moment.

“Bakugo Katsuki, just Katsuki.”

You nodded, then gave yours.

He repeated it once, like he was making sure he got it right.

Silence settled again, but it wasn’t as tense now, just… calm.

Then—

“…So,” he said.

You looked up.

“What.”

That smirk was back.

Dangerous.

“Now that you’re sober,” he said, voice low, “you can ask me again.”

Your stomach flipped.

“…Ask you what.” for him to kiss you duh

He tilted his head slightly.

“You were pretty persistent last night.”

You stared at him.

Then huffed, looking away, trying to hide the way your lips curved just a little.

“…You’re annoying.

“Tch.”

He didn’t deny it.

And the way he was looking at you now,

Like he was waiting

Made your pulse pick up all over again.

Except this time…

You didn’t look away.

help 😭 uni’s been eating me alive, i genuinely forgot i even have tumblr

“You left the damn door unlocked again,” he grumbles, tossing his hero gloves on the couch.

You glance up from your phone. “I was literally gone for five minutes, Katsuki.”

“Five minutes is all it takes for some dumbass villain to sneak in and wreck the place!”

You raise a brow. “What, you think some villain’s gonna waltz in here and steal your protein powder?”

He glares. “It’s imported, you brat.”

You snort. “Right, my bad. We must protect the sacred whey at all costs.”

“Don’t start with me—”

“I’m not starting anything!”

“Yeah, well, you sure as hell never finish anything, either!”

That does it. You cross your arms, glaring right back. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

He gestures wildly, like the words are burning a hole in his hands. “You leave stuff everywhere! Your sketchbook’s on the table, your hair tie’s on the counter, your—”

“My presence is apparently ruining your perfectly tidy life, huh?” you shoot back.

He scoffs. “You said it, not me.”

“Wow. Romantic.”

“It’s not supposed to be romantic, dumbass, you always—” he starts, jaw tight,

But you don’t let him finish

And that’s when you kiss him.

Mid-sentence. Mid-grumble. Mid-lecture something about basic security awareness.

You grab his collar and pull him down, lips colliding with his mid-complaint scowl. He makes a startled noise, somewhere between a grunt and a gasp, and goes absolutely still.

When you pull back, he’s just staring at you like you’ve committed a crime. His face is red to the ears.

“The hell was that?!” he barks, voice cracking at the end.

You tilt your head. “A tactical interruption.”

He blinks. “A what—?”

“You were talking too much,” you say sweetly, brushing imaginary dust off his shirt.

His jaw drops. “I wasn’t talkin’ too much, you—!”

You kiss him again.

And this time, he actually makes a sound, a muffled grunt against your lips, something halfway between surprise and surrender. His hands hover uncertainly before finally landing on your waist, like his body made the decision before his brain did. When you pull away, you’re both a little breathless.

He glares. Or tries to. “You—you can’t just kiss me when you’re losin’ an argument!”

“So you admit you were winning?” you tease.

“I—THAT’S NOT THE POINT!”

“Sounds like it is,” you hum.

He groans, dragging a hand down his face. “You’re unbelievable.”

“You love me,” you sing-song.

“Yeah, yeah.” His voice softens despite himself. He mutters something under his breath, something that sounds suspiciously like too much, but you don’t call him out on it.

You just grin, leaning forward until your forehead bumps his. “You gonna keep yelling, or should I shut you up again?”

His smirk returns, slow and dangerous. “You wouldn’t dare.”

You rise on your toes. “Try me.”

And before he can reply, you kiss him again —longer this time, his laughter breaking through between your lips. The argument dissolves, like it always does, into something softer, warmer, something that sounds a lot like home.

He’s not supposed to have a weakness, that’s the rule he’s lived by since he was a kid. No soft spots, no cracks, no hesitations. Heroes don’t get to flinch. Heroes don’t get to feel. But then there’s you —and suddenly everything he’s built starts to come undone in ways he doesn’t even notice until it’s too late.

This all started with your smile. That stupid, quiet thing that shouldn’t mean anything, but it does. Because when you smile at him, he forgets how to speak. His mind goes blank, his body stills. It’s ridiculous, infuriating even, how the loudest person in the room becomes the quietest when you look at him like that. Like he’s not the ticking bomb everyone thinks he is. Like he’s something human.

He pretends not to notice. Pretends your laughter doesn’t echo in his head when he’s training. Pretends his eyes don’t search for you in every crowd. Pretends that he doesn’t go softer every time you’re near, because softness, to him, is dangerous. It’s a liability. It’s love. And love is the kind of battlefield he’s never learned how to win.

But then there are moments you know the sharp, unbearable ones, especially when you’re hurting. And he can’t handle it. Not the tremble in your voice, not the way your hands shake when you think no one’s looking, not the small, tired smile you give to make everyone else feel better. It makes him reckless. Desperate. He’d fight the whole damn world if it meant taking that pain away from you.

You told him once, softly, “You can’t protect me from everything, Bakugo.”

He didn’t answer. Just clenched his fists, jaw tight. Because maybe you’re right — maybe he can’t. But that doesn’t mean he won’t try.

He’s the first to step forward when someone talks down to you. The first to show up when you say you’re fine but your eyes say otherwise. The first to throw himself between you and danger, not because he doesn’t trust you to handle it, no, but because the thought of losing you does something ugly to his chest. Something that scares him more than any villain ever could.

And the truth is, he doesn’t know what to do with it, this thing inside him that softens and burns at the same time. You smile at him and the noise in his head quiets. You cry and the world around him erupts. He’s not supposed to have a weakness. But you, you became the exception he never saw coming.

You once laughed, teasing, “What, am I your weakness or something?”

And he looked at you, likw really looked before muttering, too low for you to catch,

“Yeah. Guess you are.”