vespryn

[vespryn]

Bakugo x Reader ・❥・Bakugo acts like you’re a nuisance for falling asleep on him, but he won't move a muscle for hours just so you can rest.

You didn’t mean to fall asleep on him. Really, you didn’t.

The common room had been quiet that evening, most of the dorm already settled into their own rooms. You’d been sprawled on the couch beside Bakugo, pretending to study while he flipped through his notes. His scowl was ever-present, brows knit in that usual way that made him look like he was seconds from punching the air.

You were mid-sentence �� mumbling something about how you were “just going to close your eyes for a second” – when exhaustion finally caught up with you. Your head tilted sideways, finding the warm, solid line of his shoulder, and your breathing evened out without you realizing it.

Bakugo noticed instantly.

“Tch… seriously?” he muttered, stiffening under the unexpected weight. “What the hell do you think I am, a pillow?”

But you didn’t answer.

Your lashes stayed shut, lips parting slightly as sleep pulled you deeper. The corner of his mouth twitched, his immediate instinct telling him to shove you off. He glanced toward the arm of the couch, debating whether to shift you over, but something in him stalled.

He could feel the faint warmth of your cheek through the fabric of his shirt. The way your head fit against him was… annoying. Too natural. Too comfortable.

Bakugo’s eyes darted away, as if looking at you any longer would make this whole thing worse. “Oi,” he tried again, a little quieter. “You’re drooling on me, dumbass.”

You weren’t. But it was easier for him to tell himself that than admit the real problem – he didn’t hate this.

Minutes passed.

His arm had been mid-rest on the back of the couch, muscles tensed, but now it dropped into his lap, every movement cautious, controlled, like one wrong shift might wake you. He leaned back slightly to make sure your neck wasn’t bent at a weird angle, muttering under his breath about how much of a pain you were.

From his angle, he could see the soft rise and fall of your chest, hear the faint sound of your breathing. The longer he sat there, the less the usual restless energy prickled through him. Instead, something heavier and warmer took its place.

The room’s clock ticked. Someone laughed faintly down the hall. But here, in this little pocket of stillness, Bakugo sat motionless – an unnatural feat for him – because moving would mean losing the weight of you against his side.

His mind wandered in spite of himself. You were trusting him like this.  Completely unconscious, leaning on him like you knew he wouldn’t drop you. The thought tightened something in his chest.

He clenched his jaw and glanced at your face again. Damn it. You looked peaceful. And he… liked that.

By the time an hour had passed, his back had begun to protest, but he still didn’t move. Not when his leg started to go numb. Not when his arm itched to stretch. Not when he swore he could feel a cramp creeping up.

If you woke up, you’d probably apologize. Maybe you’d even tease him for letting you stay like this. And he’d bark at you, tell you not to do it again. But for now, you stayed asleep, and he stayed put.

Someone walked into the common room – a half-asleep Kirishima looking for a drink – and froze mid-step.

Bakugo shot him a look sharp enough to cut glass. “Say a single word and I’ll kill you.”

Kirishima’s mouth opened, closed, and then he nodded slowly before backing out of the room like he’d seen a wild animal he didn’t want to provoke.

Bakugo sighed through his nose, the tension melting again as the footsteps faded away. His head tilted just enough to rest lightly against yours. Not touching, exactly but close enough that if you shifted even a little, they’d bump.

You didn’t move.

Another half hour slipped by. His eyelids felt heavier now, and before he knew it, his breathing had synced with yours, steady and slow. He would never admit it – not to you, not to anyone – but sitting there with you asleep on him was the calmest he’d felt in weeks.

By the time you stirred, groggy and confused, blinking up at him, Bakugo was ready with his defense.

“You done using me as a damn mattress?” he grumbled, voice low and rough from how long he’d gone without talking.

Your cheeks warmed. “Sorry… I didn’t mean to–”

“Yeah, yeah, whatever. Just don’t drool next time,” he interrupted, leaning forward so you’d straighten up.

But you caught the way he rolled his shoulder like it had been frozen in place for too long, the faint creases in his shirt where you’d been resting. He could pretend all he wanted, but you knew he hadn’t moved an inch the whole time.

[vespryn]

omg i love your writing!! it makes my day!! i read the two bakugo fics and i LOVE them!! keep up the great work your so talented omggg and u capture his character perfectly 🤍🤍🤍

Thank you, that's nice of you to say!

Glad to hear you enjoyed them 😁

[vespryn]

Circumstances of Bakugo Katsuki’s Birth

Katsuki didn’t just cry when he was born –  he roared. The nurses joked he must have been born mid-argument, the sharp wail so strong it made one of them flinch. The sound was raw and fierce, and even moments old, he already demanded the room’s attention.

He arrived almost to the hour of his due date, as if on his own terms. Neither late enough to be coaxed out nor early enough to be rushed –  Mitsuki would later say he was “already the boss of the schedule.”

The delivery room had two opposing energies: Mitsuki was blunt and vocal through every contraction, tossing a few sharp remarks at the staff, while Masaru remained steady, talking her through the breathing and quietly ignoring her more colorful words.

He was delivered in a smaller but reputable hospital in the city, the kind of place where the staff knew their patients by name. Mitsuki had chosen it specifically to avoid the chaos of a large facility, though she still claims the chaos followed Katsuki into the world.

His Apgar scores were high, his tiny fists clenched tightly, and his legs kicked with surprising force when he was cleaned. Even the pediatrician noted his “impressive muscle tone” for a newborn. Mitsuki swears he glared at her when she laughed.

 “Katsuki” had been decided long before his birth, meaning victorious and glorious hope. Both Mitsuki and Masaru agreed it carried strength and, secretly, Mitsuki liked that it sounded like someone who wouldn’t lose.

 While quirks rarely show at birth, Mitsuki swears she felt faint warmth when his little fingers closed around hers for the first time. Masaru insists she imagined it –  she insists she didn’t.

Masaru held him first while Mitsuki rested. Katsuki stopped crying in his father’s arms — something Masaru often brings up with a smirk though Mitsuki insists it was just because he was too busy glaring at the bright lights to bother screaming.

[vespryn]

shoto + his partner who loves cats running into one on a walk together 🥹

I love this, hopefully so will you!

MHA Shoto x Reader Gender-neutral

The air was crisp, the kind of late afternoon where the sun dipped low enough to cast everything in gold. Your arm brushed against Shoto’s as you walked beside him, your hands swinging in sync without holding. Not because he didn’t want to. He just liked that quiet, unspoken space between you.

It was peaceful.

Until a flicker of movement near a lamppost caught your eye.

“Oh,” you stopped mid-step, tugging lightly at his sleeve. “Shoto – look.”

He followed your gaze, and there it was: a small tabby cat sitting perfectly still, its tail curled neatly around its paws. It blinked at you both with the kind of slow, deliberate confidence only cats seemed to have.

Shoto tilted his head slightly, studying it like it was an unusual but fascinating puzzle.

“Do you think it belongs to someone?”

“I don’t know,” you murmured, already crouching down. “But look at them. They’re perfect.”

The cat blinked again, like it agreed.

Shoto crouched beside you without hesitation, his knee brushing yours. You could feel him observing more than just the cat – how it breathed, the way its ears flicked toward the rustle of leaves. He didn’t reach out right away. Instead, he glanced at you.

“You love cats.”

“You do too,” you pointed out, a smile tugging at your lips. “I’ve seen your phone background.”

His expression didn’t change, but his ears went faintly pink. “That was one time.”

“One time that lasted six months,” you teased.

The cat, perhaps sensing it was now the center of attention, stretched lazily and padded toward you. Shoto’s gaze softened as it approached, each step measured, tail high but relaxed. It sniffed the air between you both before brushing its head against your knee.

You reached out to scratch behind its ear, feeling the low rumble of its purr almost immediately. “They’re friendly.”

Shoto’s hand joined yours—tentatively at first, fingers brushing fur in a slow, deliberate motion. The cat leaned into it, eyes slipping shut. His lips curved upward just slightly, the smallest of smiles, but you noticed.

“They trust us,” he said quietly, almost to himself.

You glanced at him. “You like that?”

He nodded, still stroking the cat. “It’s… rare. To be trusted that quickly. It feels… different.”

The words lingered between you, heavier than the simple act of petting a cat should have allowed. But that was Shoto – his observations always carried something beneath them.

You shifted so you were sitting fully on the sidewalk now, the late sun warming your back. The cat seemed to approve, curling into a loaf between you both. Shoto adjusted his position, mirroring you, one knee up and his arm resting casually on it.

For a while, you didn’t speak. You just listened to the purring, the occasional chirp of a bird, the steady hum of the city in the distance. It was the kind of silence that didn’t feel empty, it felt… full.

“Do you think we should get a cat?” you asked suddenly.

Shoto blinked at you. “Like… together?”

You shrugged, but your heart skipped just slightly at the thought. “Why not? We both love them. And we could give one a good home.”

He considered this for a long moment, eyes drifting to the tabby. His fingers traced gently along its back, slow and careful. “We’d have to take turns feeding it. Cleaning the litter. Making sure it has enough attention.”

You grinned. “I can’t tell if you’re making a pros-and-cons list in your head or convincing yourself to say yes.”

The faintest curve returned to his lips. “Both.”

The cat shifted then, standing and giving a luxurious stretch before stepping closer to him, so close it nearly climbed into his lap. Without hesitation, Shoto’s other hand came up to steady it, his touch instinctively gentle. The cat settled there, eyes half-closed, purring louder than before.

“You’re good with them,” you murmured, watching the way his hands moved – deliberate, steady, protective.

“They’re easy to understand,” he said simply. “If they like you, they’ll stay. If they don’t, they’ll leave.” He glanced at you then, a flicker of something softer in his gaze. “People aren’t that simple.”

You held his eyes for a moment, feeling more seen than you’d expected to on a casual afternoon walk. The cat shifted, breaking the moment, but the warmth stayed.

Finally, Shoto let out a small breath. “We should get a cat.”

You laughed, and the sound made him glance at you with quiet amusement. “Really?”

“Really,” he said, as if the decision had already been made.

You both sat there for a little longer, letting the tabby soak in the attention until it eventually wandered off toward a side street. Shoto stood, then offered you his hand to pull you up. His fingers lingered in yours for just a second longer than needed.

“Let’s go look at adoption centers this weekend,” he said as you started walking again.

And just like that, the afternoon felt warmer than the sun itself.

[vespryn]

Though I haven't openly stated it, I received my first reader request -- which I'm excited to write!

With that said - I'm officially OPEN TO READER REQUESTS if you're interested.

[vespryn]

JJK Yuji x Reader  ・❥・After a night that leaves him bruised in more ways than one, Yuji slips away without a word and shows up at your door.

Note: This was inspired by “Lovesong” by The Cure. Specifically this section of the lyric: 

“Whenever I’m alone with you You make me feel like I am home again Whenever I’m alone with you You make me feel like I am whole again” 

Yuji doesn’t tell you he’s coming.

By the time you hear the soft knock on your door, he’s already standing there in the hallway – shoulders tense, hoodie damp with night air, hair a little wild like he’s been running. There’s a bruise on his cheek and a stiffness in his posture you’ve seen before, the kind that makes you think of nights you don’t want to imagine.

You don’t ask questions. You just step aside and let him in.

The warmth of your apartment wraps around him, and he lingers by the door for a moment before following you into the living room. A small lamp glows in the corner, its light spilling across the couch and coffee table. The air smells faintly of laundry detergent and tea – familiar, safe.

“You’re freezing,” you murmur, reaching for his sleeve like you might pull him further inside. “Sit down, I’ll get–”

He catches your wrist before you can move away. “Don’t,” he says, voice low and rough.

You stop, surprised by the edge in his tone, but you don’t push. “Okay.”

You both end up on the couch. The silence is thick but not uncomfortable, the kind that comes from knowing each other long enough to let quiet speak for you. You tuck your legs beneath you and study his face, the shadows under his eyes, the way he keeps his hands clenched like he’s holding something back.

“Rough night?” you ask.

He huffs out a humorless breath. “You could say that.”

You don’t press for details. You’ve learned not to. If Yuji came here instead of anywhere else, it’s because this is the one place he doesn’t have to explain himself.

“I couldn’t sleep,” he says after a beat. “And I just… didn’t want to be anywhere else.”

Your chest tightens, though you keep your voice steady. “I’m glad you came.”

He glances at you then, and for a moment, something unreadable flickers in his eyes before he looks away.

The minutes stretch on, filled only by the hum of the fridge and the faint ticking of the wall clock. You keep your gaze on him, quietly cataloging the details – his messy hair, the set of his jaw, the faint tremor in his hands.

You reach for one of them without thinking. His fingers are cold, and when you curl yours around them, his shoulders ease just enough for you to notice.

“You’re safe here,” you tell him.

His lips press together, and for a heartbeat you think he might actually cry. “Thanks,” he murmurs, the word small but heavy.

You hold onto his hand, not letting go, not giving him any reason to think you might.

“You look tired,” you say quietly.

“I am.”

“You can stay here tonight. I’ll get you a blanket.”

He shakes his head. “I’m fine.”

“You’re not,” you say gently. “But you don’t have to be.”

That gets through to him. His posture loosens, his gaze softens, and for the first time since he arrived, you see a little of the boy you knew before all of… this. “You’re too good to me,” he says.

“Someone has to be.”

That earns you a faint smile, small but real.

Eventually, you both find yourselves in the same familiar arrangement. Him stretched out on the couch with his head resting near your thigh. Your fingers move through his hair, slow and steady, while his breathing evens out under your touch.

“This reminds me of before,” he says without opening his eyes.

“Before what?”

“Before everything,” he says, voice low. “When things were… normal.”

You hesitate, then ask the question you already know the answer to. “We’ll never get back there, will we?”

He swallows. “…No.”

You keep your hand in his hair, thumb brushing over his temple. “Then we’ll just make new places to feel safe.”

His eyes open, and for a moment, you wonder if he can see how much you mean it.

“Whenever I’m with you,” he says, so quietly you almost miss it, “it feels like nothing else matters.”

Your throat tightens. “Good,” you murmur. “That’s the point.”

It isn’t a confession. Not exactly. But something shifts between you anyway – a wordless understanding that doesn’t need naming.

The warmth, the quiet, and your steady touch pull him toward sleep. You stay where you are, not moving, letting him drift. His last words of the night are little more than a breath:

“I don’t want to leave in the morning.”

You don’t answer. You just keep your hand in his hair, letting the weight of the world fall away for both of you, if only for tonight.

Because no matter what waits outside your door, you’re the only thing left that still feels like home to him.

[vespryn]

Sequel to THIS Bakugo x Reader  ・❥・Bakugo swears he’s not soft until the squad catches him keeping you glued to his side.

The first mistake was letting Kirishima walk behind the two of you.

The second was letting Bakugo hold your hand.

Not that you had much choice. The second you stepped out of the café and into the evening crowd, boom – his hand found yours without warning. No eye contact. No words. Just one sharp glance around before he laced his fingers through yours like he’d been doing it forever.

Which, at this point, he kind of had.

You’d learned not to comment on it.

But Kirishima hadn’t.

“Aw, look at you two,” he said with a grin, snapping a quick photo. “Didn’t know Bakugo was such a hand-holding type.”

Bakugo froze mid-step.

You felt the twitch in his grip before it tightened. His head turned slowly toward Kirishima, expression blank but eyes glowing with warning.

 “Delete it.”

Kirishima laughed. “Come on, man. It’s cute. You’re like – weirdly protective in public.”

 “I’m not.”

“Bro. You growled at a guy who looked in her direction for more than two seconds. You act like she’s about to get abducted by a crowd of toddlers.”

“Because crowds are full of fuckin’ extras who don’t watch where they’re goin’!”

“Yeah, okay,” Mina chimed in from behind. “And what about the time you put her behind you in line at the train station like she was a VIP with security clearance?”

 “She almost got shoved by some old hag!”

“Sure, sure,” Sero grinned. “And yesterday, when you gave her your jacket before she even said she was cold?”

Bakugo opened his mouth, then shut it. His ears were turning red.

You squeezed his hand gently. “You guys are gonna make him self-destruct.”

“I should self-destruct,” he growled. “All of you are dead.”

“You could just admit you like keeping her close,” Kirishima said with a wink.

 “I don’t need to admit shit.”

He tugged you a little closer, visibly irritated. But his thumb brushed over your knuckles. So faint, it almost didn’t register.

Almost.

You glanced up at him. “So you’re saying you don’t like it?”

He didn’t answer right away. His jaw clenched. Then, under his breath, so only you could hear:

 “I’m sayin’ I don’t like when you’re not close.”

Your chest did something warm and traitorous.

The others didn’t hear it.

But he didn’t let go of your hand once the rest of the night.

[vespryn]

What would he do if he woke up in a strange room?

The instant Bakugo’s eyes snap open, his body is already on high alert. He doesn’t need to think — his instincts take over. His heart kicks into overdrive, muscles coiled and ready to spring. The first thing he does is scan the room. Windows, doors, furniture, exits, potential threats. He listens for footsteps, voices, the faintest sound of movement outside the walls. Every nerve in his body is telling him to move, to fight, to get out.

He pushes himself up, teeth grit, palms sparking with small, sharp explosions. His first thought isn’t fear — it’s anger. “The hell is this?!” he’d snarl under his breath, voice low and dangerous. He doesn’t like feeling vulnerable, and waking up somewhere unfamiliar without answers is enough to have his temper running hot. He’d check himself for injuries or missing gear before anything else. If he finds none, his suspicion only grows.

Bakugo’s next move is escape and information. He’ll stalk the perimeter of the room, check the locks, peek out windows, and test the doorknob. He’s not the type to panic or call for help. He’s the type to take control of the situation. If someone comes in before he gets his answers, they’re immediately met with a spark of explosions and a glare sharp enough to kill.

“You’ve got five seconds to tell me where the hell I am, then I start blowing things up.”

Only once he’s certain he’s not in immediate danger will he start piecing things together. Did he get ambushed? Drugged? Did someone think they could kidnap him and get away with it? His anger simmers under his skin the entire time because nothing infuriates Bakugo more than losing control of a situation. By the time he finds out the truth — or the person responsible — he’s already planning how to make them regret it.

And if the room belongs to someone he knows? Expect him to yell first, demand an explanation second, and maybe — maybe — calm down after he’s satisfied he’s not in danger anymore. But until then? The whole house is walking on eggshells.

[vespryn]

JJK Yuji x Reader ・❥・ A sunny Sunday, a disposable camera, and a boy you’ve known forever.  note: was greatly inspired by this fanart I found on Pinterest. This takes place days before everything changes for him.

The late-summer sun drapes the garden in soft gold, dappling the gravel path at your feet. Cicadas hum somewhere beyond the hedges, and the air is thick with the scent of sweet alyssum. Yuji strolls beside you, a plastic bag of snacks swinging from his wrist, crimson hood pushed back so light sets every pale-pink strand of his hair aglow. He’s been grinning since you stepped off the bus as if a lazy Sunday with you is the peak of human experience.

Halfway down the rose aisle he stops, rummages in his hoodie pocket, and brandishes a disposable camera the color of matcha candy.

“Ta-da!” He waggles it like a trophy.

You lift an eyebrow. “Seriously? You own a film camera in, like, the smartphone era?”

He laughs, a little sheepish. “I like the click. And waiting for the pictures makes them feel… real.”

Of course that’s his answer. Yuji, who sprints instead of waiting for the train, who crams memories into every pocket as if the world might snatch them away.

He brings the viewfinder to his eye and aims at you among the roses.

“Don’t–” You barely finish before the shutter k-shhks, stealing a candid.

“Too late,” he crows, flashing a victory grin. “Memory acquired.”

---

Deeper into the botanical garden you wander: past the koi pond, over the squeaky footbridge, into a meadow bursting with cosmos the color of sunrise. Yuji kneels to photograph a honeybee on a bloom; petals float around his shoulders, and for a moment he’s motionless, camera pressed to his cheek, sunlight haloing him. Something tightens pleasantly in your chest, an ache too gentle for pain, too sharp to ignore.

“Save a shot for yourself,” you say. “You’re always behind the lens.”

He tilts his head, smile softening. “I get to see everything twice. First with you, then when the film comes back.”

Warmth blooms under your ribs, dangerous and bright. You have to study the grass before the feeling slips out as words you’re not brave enough to say.

You sprawl on the lawn for snacks: ramune, honey-soy chips, lukewarm taiyaki. Yuji props an arm behind him, stretched long like a sun-dazed cat, and your shoulders touch. Neither of you moves. A hush settles, fragile as the film inside his camera.

He studies your face. “You okay?”

“I’m happy,” you murmur, which you are, so much it scares you. Happiness is glass; one slip and it shatters. A strange chill whispers through the heat, and you shiver though the breeze is mild. For a heartbeat you picture Yuji here alone, camera forgotten, eyes shadowed by grief you can’t name. The image fades, leaving a metallic taste on your tongue.

Yuji bumps your knee with his. “Race you to the fountain?”

You roll your eyes but rise anyway. Because it’s Yuji, because he’ll laugh whether you win or lose, because right now the world is uncomplicated. Sneakers scuff stone as you sprint; laughter ricochets off hedges. He lets you win by half a step and pretends he didn’t.

The sun sinks lower, gilding the fountain’s water. Yuji lifts the camera again.

“One last shot,” he whispers. This time he aims between you – trying, perhaps, to trap the invisible thread tugging you closer all afternoon. The shutter clicks, echoing in the quiet.

At the station, you almost call him back – almost tell him to guard the camera, to hurry and develop the film, to meet you here next Sunday no matter what. But the train doors close, sealing the words inside you. Through the window you watch him wave until the carriage vanishes into the tunnel, a flash of rose-pink hair swallowed by dark.

You have no way of knowing that in a handful of days he’ll phone you, voice wrecked, to say his grandfather is gone. Or that soon after, something impossible and terrifying will snatch Yuji from the life you share – and from you – without explanation.

Tonight, though, the disposable camera rides home in his pocket, holding twenty-seven frames of sunlight, flowers, and shy smiles: proof that, for one perfect afternoon, you were just two kids too in love with a Sunday to imagine how quickly it could all disappear.

[vespryn]

First Time Hearing Their Voice Bakugo x Reader ・❥・Rough, sharp, and unforgettable. The sound of him stayed with you long after he was gone. note: a continuation from this piece

You’d seen him before.

U.A.’s training grounds made it impossible not to notice Bakugo Katsuki. He was fire and noise personified, all sharp movement and explosive presence. You’d even met his eyes once, that single glance lodging itself somewhere in the back of your mind like a secret.

But you hadn’t heard his voice. Not really. Not directed at you.

Until today.

You were leaving the supply room with a crate of first aid items cradled in your arms when someone rounded the corner too fast. You froze, and the crate wobbled.

A hand shot out, steadying it before it could tip.

“Watch it,” a low, rough voice gritted out – sharp, like gravel catching in his throat.

You blinked up to find crimson eyes glaring down at you.

Bakugo.

The sound of his voice hit harder than you expected. You’d heard him yell at the top of his lungs across the field, sure, but up close like this – low, irritated, yet undeniably warm at the edges – it sent a strange flutter through your chest.

“Uh – sorry,” you managed, stepping back so he could pass.

He clicked his tongue, brushing past you with a scowl. “Tch. Just don’t drop it next time.”

It wasn’t kind. It wasn’t even close. But the way his voice wrapped around the words – raw and unpolished – stuck with you long after he disappeared down the hall.

It was the first time you’d heard him speak to you.

And somehow, that rough, impatient tone was the only thing you could hear for the rest of the day.

[vespryn]

Katsuki Bakugo x Reader 

・❥・Bakugo doesn’t do PDA. Or handholding. Or softness. But the second you drift too far in a crowd? He’s pulling you back in like his life depends on it.

The first time you noticed it, it was subtle. Almost unintentional.

You were at a Pro Hero event. Something flashy and loud, crawling with fans, reporters, and the kind of people who loved to talk just to hear themselves speak.

Bakugo didn’t say much the entire night. Just scowled at his drink, occasionally muttered something sharp to Kirishima, and hovered within arm’s reach of you.

You chalked it up to moodiness until someone bumped into you from behind, too fast and too close.

You barely had time to react before you felt it:

his arm sliding around your waist, firm and low.

No words. No eye contact. No big display. Just there.

Grounding. Steady. Protective.

You looked up at him. He didn’t look back.

 “You okay?” you asked.

“Yeah. Watch where you’re walkin’.”

That was the end of it. No further explanation. But from then on, it kept happening.

………………

Crowded crosswalk?

He’d plant a hand on the small of your back.

Busy grocery store?

He’d nudge you in front of him, hand gripping your elbow so you didn’t get pulled into the flow of people.

Even during patrols, he always positioned himself on the outside between you and the street, body angled just enough to catch whatever might come.

You tried to point it out once.

 “Y’know, you always do that,” you said casually one afternoon as he guided you through a packed station.

“Do what.”

 “Keep me close.”

He grunted. “Tch. It's crowded.”

 “It was crowded yesterday too. And last week.”

“So? You wanna get shoved around by a bunch of shitty commuters?”

You smiled. “No. Just wondering if you’re ever gonna admit it.”

He didn’t reply.

But his fingers slipped down and intertwined with yours. Tight. Quiet. Like the answer was in the grip, not the words.

………………

You tested him once, just to see.

During a nighttime festival in the city – gold lights strung through the trees, the air thick with smoke and sugar – you slipped ahead through the crowd.

Not far. Just enough.

Bakugo’s voice cracked through the noise not ten seconds later.

 “The fuck are you doin’?”

You turned around with a teasing smirk. “I’m walking.”

He was already pushing through the crowd toward you, jaw tight, shoulders tense.

“You wanna get lost or somethin’?”

“It’s a festival, Katsuki. Not a warzone.”

 “Don’t care.”

He reached you and immediately grabbed your wrist – not hard, not aggressive, just secure. He muttered under his breath as he pulled you back toward him, hand drifting from your wrist to your fingers like muscle memory.

 “Don’t wander off like that.”

“You sound worried.”

“I’m not.”

“You’re holding my hand.”

 “You were stupid enough to drift off – what else was I supposed to do?”

You raised a brow. “I dunno. Admit you like having me close?”

He stopped walking.

You bumped into his back, startled.

He glanced back at you, eyes sharp and unreadable, then looked away just as quickly.

 “Stay where I can see you,” he muttered. “That’s it.”

But he didn’t let go of your hand the rest of the night.

Even when the crowd thinned.

Even when you were walking side by side on empty streets.

Even when you laced your fingers tighter, just to see what he’d do.

He didn’t say a word.

But he didn’t let go.

[vespryn]

First Sight Bakugo x Reader

・❥・ One look, and the world felt sharper, warmer and dangerously alive.

note: starting a blossoming romance from the reader’s perspective featuring bite sized moments. Calling this collection… Blossom

The late sun was warm on your back as you crouched near the training field, tying off a gauze bandage. Dust and smoke clung to the air, the remnants of another explosive spar. You offered a small smile to the classmate whose arm you’d just patched up, watching him jog toward the lockers.

You were about to pack up your kit when a shadow drew your attention.

Bakugo Katsuki.

He moved like a storm contained in a human frame — sharp strides, heat rolling off him even from a distance. He wasn’t just confident; he was dangerous in the way a fire was dangerous. Beautiful, if you were careful.

Your gaze lingered without your permission.

And then he stopped. Turned.

Crimson eyes caught yours, and the world seemed to still. It wasn’t dramatic or dreamy, just a sudden awareness that hummed between you, something unspoken but impossible to ignore.

A single heartbeat passed.

Then he clicked his tongue, scowled, and turned away.

You let out a quiet breath, realizing you’d been holding it. He was gone in a few strides, yet the memory of that single look stayed with you like the warmth of sun on your skin.

[vespryn]

What kind of flirt would Yuji Itadori be?

He flirts like he breathes –  without realizing it.

Yuji doesn’t try to be charming. He just is. His whole personality is laced with sincerity, and that sincerity can feel dangerously personal when directed at you. He’ll tilt his head when you talk, smile without thinking, and say things like:

“Your laugh’s kind of contagious.”

“Wait, say that again. I liked how you said it.”

He means no harm. He’s just genuinely invested in the moment –  and that can make his presence addictive.

 Touch comes naturally to him. He’s not handsy in a creepy way – he’s just present. If you’re walking together, he’ll nudge your arm when he’s excited, instinctively put a hand on your back when guiding you through a crowd, or toss a jacket over your shoulders if you’re cold without saying a word. You’ll catch his hand lingering just a little longer than necessary and he won’t even realize it.

He remembers things you forgot you said.

Yuji is a surprisingly good listener. You mention your favorite snack once, and he’s showing up with it two weeks later, grinning like a puppy. You talk about how tired you’ve been lately, and he’s handing you a water bottle and a protein bar before your next mission.

“You said this helps with your headaches, right? I grabbed it just in case.”

He never makes a show of it. He just… cares.

Trying to flirt on purpose? Absolutely catastrophic. Once Yuji realizes he likes you romantically, everything falls apart. He starts rehearsing lines in his head, watching romantic dramas for tips (Megumi catches him watching My Love Mix-Up! one night and immediately regrets asking why), and ends up nervously blurting things like:

“Do you… wanna… go get noodles or��marry me? Wait. No. Not that. I mean—food. Not forever. I mean—unless you want forever—NO—oh my god.”

Nobara cackles from across the room. He dies inside.

 Jealousy? More like silent suffering.

Yuji doesn’t want to feel jealous. He trusts people easily, especially the one he likes but if he sees someone else making you laugh or leaning a little too close, he’ll go quiet. You’ll catch him watching, eyes softer than usual, smile forced.

He won’t say a word unless you ask  and even then:

“Nah, it’s fine. I’m happy if you’re happy… I guess.”

But he’ll train twice as hard the next day. Just in case someone better comes along.

That soft, rare kind of love. Yuji falls with his whole heart. There’s no game, no ego. He’s not slick. He doesn’t try to impress you with power or bravado.

He’s the kind of flirt who falls in love while watching you eat ramen. While walking next to you under a streetlamp. While patching up a scraped knuckle after a mission.

He sees something in you and when he does, that loyalty runs deep.

“I don’t know when it happened. I just realized one day… being around you feels like breathing. Like coming home.”

[vespryn]

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This is my writing blog focusing on MHA & JJK. I’m a fan of reader-inserts and that’s what you’ll find here. The type of content will vary (fluff to angst, no smut) but will be appropriately tagged with their rating if necessary. ˖ . ݁𝜗𝜚. ݁₊

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