syrecjh

[syrecjh]

─★ ˙🍓 ̟ !!Bandages & Unspoken Things

˚🎀༘⋆ || katsuki bakugo x reader, pure fluff

𖧷₊˚˖𓍢ִ🍓✧˚.🎀༘⋆ﾟ＊𖧷₊˚˖𓍢ִ🍓✧˚.🎀༘⋆ﾟ＊

“You know the nurse is literally two doors down, right?” you say, holding up the first aid kit as Bakugo slumps into the seat in front of you, shirt already tugged halfway up to reveal the scrape blooming across his ribs.

“Tch. She talks too much.” He grunts, looking anywhere but at you. “You do it better.”

You roll your eyes but kneel anyway, fingers brushing warm skin as you dab at the wound with practiced care. His jaw tightens, not from pain—you’re always gentle—but from something else. Something quieter.

There’s silence. Comfortable. Familiar.

You patch him up like always, and he lets you—like always.

“You get hurt on purpose just to see me, don’t you?” you tease, eyes flicking up to his. You’re only half-joking.

He scoffs, but his ears are a little pink. “Shut up.”

But he stays.

And when your hands linger a second too long, when he meets your gaze for a beat too long—

You feel it.

That slow, quiet something building in the space between bandages and breath.

He leaves with a grunt. “Don’t tell anyone I was here.”

But you both know he’ll be back.

Because pain, he can handle.

But your hands? Your presence?

That’s what heals him.

𖧷₊˚˖𓍢ִ🍓✧˚.🎀༘⋆ﾟ＊𖧷₊˚˖𓍢ִ🍓✧˚.🎀༘⋆ﾟ＊

[syrecjh]

─★°🦋⋆ For You, He'd Say It

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

Lunch tasted different without you.

Not because the food changed—same bento, same spice, same everything—but because you weren’t there, waving your chopsticks at him like drumsticks and teasing, "You ever eat anything that doesn’t burn your mouth?”

He’d grunt. You’d laugh. He’d shove his leftover karaage your way and act like he didn’t care when you took it.

But today, your seat stayed empty.

You sat with Midoriya’s group across the room, laughing too loudly at a joke he didn’t hear—and didn’t care to. You didn’t even glance his way.

And Bakugo felt it.

He felt the absence like a weight pressing into his side.

Usually, you were the one who got there first. Usually, you were the one talking. Usually, he was the one pretending not to listen.

But not today.

Bakugo didn’t need to retrace what happened that morning. He already knew. During training, he’d been sharp—not in the good way. You’d offered him advice, something small, something he should’ve brushed off. Instead, he snapped. Not loud, not cruel—just clipped and cold.

You’d blinked. Nodded. Walked off.

And now, here he was, surrounded with his friends, the bakusquad yet he feel alone with food that didn’t taste like anything.

Everyone around him must’ve assumed he was sulking over a failed move or a missed target.

But this?

This wasn’t about training.

When the bell rang, he didn’t move, he stayed behind. He didn’t go with the group. He waited. Just sat there, elbows on the table, staring at a lunch that hadn’t been touched. Eventually, he stood up and stuffed his hands in his pockets, shoulders squared like he was heading into battle.

You stayed back to clean up. Slow, silent. The wrappers crinkled in your hands as you tossed them into the trash.

He walked over, stopped just a step away. Not too close. But not far enough to be mistaken.

“…You mad at me?” His voice was low, cautious.

You didn’t jump. Just glanced at him, unreadable. “What?”

“You didn’t sit with me.”

You blinked once, then shrugged. “Didn’t feel like it.”

His jaw twitched. “Tch.” He looked to the side, fingers curling in his pocket. “I know I was an ass earlier.”

You didn’t reply.

“I shouldn’t’ve snapped,” he added, quieter. “You were just tryin’ to help. I was already pissed and I took it out on you.”

Still nothing.

So he shifted, glanced at you again, and then—finally—spoke the words like they had weight.

“…I’m sorry.”

You froze. For a second, the world did too.

“…What?”

“I said I’m sorry, dammit.” His voice cracked on the edges, but not with volume—just honesty.

The breeze picked up. He tugged at his sleeve again. Something to do with his hands.

“I suck at this kinda thing,” he muttered. “You know that. But I don’t want you thinkin’ I don’t care. ‘Cause I do. I care a hell of a lot.”

That’s when your shoulders dropped. Just slightly. Like you’d been holding up a wall, and it finally gave out.

“I’m not mad,” you said quietly. “Just hurt.”

He nodded. Once. “Yeah. I get it.”

You leaned your head against his shoulder—not dramatic, not romantic. Just… real.

And it knocked the air right out of him.

He didn’t move. Didn’t breathe for a second.

Then he relaxed.

Just a little.

You didn’t need some big apology. Didn’t need a scene.

You just needed him to see you.

And he did.

“So…” you murmured, voice lighter, “You gonna share your side dish tomorrow, or what?”

He huffed. Almost a laugh. “Not the spicy one. That’s mine.”

And that was that.

Bakugo doesn’t apologize often.

But when he does, it’s because he means every damn word.

[syrecjh]

─★ ˙ 𓍢ִ໋🌷͙֒ No One Sleeps Mad

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

𓂃˖˳·˖ ִֶָ ⋆🌷͙⋆ ִֶָ˖·˳˖𓂃 ִֶָ

Three years of marriage to Katsuki Bakugo, and you learned something vital: silence is his weapon of choice. People always warned you that living with him would be Chaotic. Explosive. Loud. But in the quiet moments, when something’s wrong, it’s the stillness that cuts the deepest. Because Bakugo doesn’t yell at you. He doesn’t slam doors or shout insults. He just... stays quiet. Too quiet.

Tonight’s fight wasn’t big—just a few words that cut too deep, too fast. It started small, but in the silence that followed, you could feel it growing. You could feel him pulling away, not out of anger, but out of control. That’s when you know something’s wrong. When he’s not arguing, not raising his voice, but retreating inward. And for Bakugo, that retreat is the most terrifying thing. The calmness in his eyes is what makes your stomach churn.

You try to go to bed. You lie there, facing the wall, pretending to be asleep. But you can’t escape the space between you. The weight of unsaid things.

You hear the soft creak of the door. He doesn’t speak at first, just stands in the doorway, his silhouette outlined in the faint light. His arms are crossed, like he’s holding himself together. Waiting.

“You’re not sleeping like this,”he finally says, his voice low and measured. No shouting. No anger. Just a simple statement. But it hits you like a brick. "We're not sleeping like this,"

You don’t turn around. You don’t know what to say. So you let the silence stretch. And with it, the tension.

“Oi. I’m serious.” His voice is softer this time, but there’s a firmness there, like a command without a forceful edge. It’s the kind of calm that makes you feel exposed, like he’s reading you better than you can read yourself.

You swallow hard, refusing to show that you’re trembling. “I just want some space, Katsuki.”

His footsteps sound as he crosses the room. He doesn’t hesitate. He sits down on the edge of the bed, but just enough distance between you. It’s not an invasion, but an offer. An invitation.

“I’m not going to let you lie to me,” he mutters, his voice raw. “Space doesn’t fix shit. This does.”

He’s never been the type to hide behind words. He says what he feels, whether it’s love, frustration, or raw honesty. And right now, his honesty stings. It hits you right where you’re vulnerable—where you want to be left alone but know you can’t be. Because he knows you better than anyone. And he knows that pushing you too hard won’t help. But neither will letting you sleep with this weight in your chest.

You sit up slowly, heart racing. His eyes don’t leave you, but they soften slightly. You feel the walls start to crack. You hate that it’s coming to this, but you can’t help the sigh that escapes you.

“I’m sorry,” you whisper, barely audible, like the words hurt to speak.

He doesn’t respond right away. But he doesn’t have to. His fingers move toward you, just enough to touch your shoulder—lightly, but it’s everything. He doesn’t say it, but you can feel his love in the simple touch. His apology, his offer to make it right.

“Stop making this harder than it has to be,” he mutters, his voice thick with emotion you almost never hear from him. “We fix this tonight. Even if we’re both exhausted, we fix it.”

You can’t fight it anymore. You lean forward into him, the weight of the fight slipping away as he holds you, the promise of resolution lingering in the air between you two. “We don’t sleep angry, not in this house. Not in this marriage.” he whispers into your hair, almost like a vow.

And in that moment, you realize that, for Bakugo, love isn’t about perfection. It’s about finding the way back to each other, no matter how small the fight is or how much pride you both have. It’s about never letting the night end without fixing what’s broken. It’s about never letting the fight win.

𓂃˖˳·˖ ִֶָ ⋆🌷͙⋆ ִֶָ˖·˳˖𓂃 ִֶָ

[syrecjh]

─ ✧˖°.🪐 Protector Since Day One

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

𓂃 ࣪˖ ִֶָ🎀་༘࿐

From the moment you two met, he was your shield. Even before the word “friends” could form in your minds, little Katsuki Bakugo had already decided you were his.

It’s funny how, from the very beginning, Katsuki Bakugo was always the one to stand up for you. The first time you remember him stepping in was during preschool, on a day that seemed like any other. You were just sitting there, minding your business, in the sandbox, building your little sandcastles. Maybe you were too shy to speak up for yourself, or maybe you just didn't want to make a scene, but there was that one kid—bigger than the rest, with a grin that said he knew no better than to pick on someone who seemed too soft.

He threw sand at you. You froze for a moment, unsure of how to react. But then you heard it.

“Don’t mess with her, or I’ll mess with you!”

It was a voice full of pure, undiluted rage—and it came from a small, fiery boy in the distance. You turned and saw little Bakugo storming toward the bigger kid, his fists clenched, his face already twisted into a scowl that seemed to warn the world to stay the hell out of his way.

And just like that, your world changed.

The bigger kid immediately backed off, the challenge too fierce to face. Bakugo was practically a walking storm. And in that moment, it wasn’t just about protecting you; it was about claiming you as someone his to look out for. From that day forward, everyone knew one thing: don’t mess with her, because he won’t let you.

You could see it in the way he looked at anyone who dared to get too close to you, or even look at you the wrong way. There was a quiet fury that bubbled under his surface, and somehow, without needing to say a word, he could make them understand: You mess with her, you mess with me.

You’d tease him for his rough edges, the way he hated people touching his stuff, his need to always keep everything just so. And while he’d roll his eyes at you, shove you away with a muttered, "Tch, annoying," you never once felt any less than special in his eyes. You were allowed to annoy him. You were allowed to invade his space. You were the one person who could poke fun at him, touch his things, and get away with it.

But the second someone else even thought about crossing a line, Bakugo was right there. Whether it was some kid at school teasing you, or someone in high school making cruel remarks, he didn’t wait for you to ask. He didn’t need to. Bakugo would march straight up to them, eyes blazing, and make it clear that they were the ones who had messed up.

You remember the countless times you’d watch him, mouth set in a grim line, as he walked toward someone who’d dared to make you feel small. You’d think to yourself, “Oh no, here we go again,” but deep down, you also knew it would be over just as quickly as it had started. You didn’t have to worry. Because Bakugo never left anything unfinished.

“Say it again. I dare you.”

His voice was rough but calm, and the person, whoever it was, always seemed to crumble under the weight of it. They didn’t have the courage to face him, and they certainly didn’t have the guts to make you feel bad again. Every time Bakugo would turn back to you after, his expression wouldn’t soften, not exactly—but you could see it in his eyes. There was a flicker of pride. He had protected you.

But it wasn’t just the big moments. It was the small ones too. The quiet ones. The ones no one saw. He would always be by your side in the lunchroom, sitting next to you with his usual scowl, but his presence was like a fortress. His arm would rest casually on the back of your chair, and though he wasn’t one for showing emotions in front of others, you could tell by the way he stared down anyone who even thought about looking at you for too long.

And even if he was acting like he didn’t care about the details, Bakugo always noticed. If you were too quiet, too lost in thought, he'd slide a snack over to you. If you didn’t finish your lunch, he'd make sure you did, even if it meant grumbling about it. His way of taking care of you, without saying a word. It was always in the little gestures that you’d realize how much he truly cared. You never had to ask for it, because he was already doing it. Always keeping an eye on you. Always keeping you safe.

The moments when someone would try to make you feel less than, try to take away your confidence—it was like Bakugo had an invisible radar for it. No matter how much you told him you didn’t need his protection, no matter how much you tried to handle things on your own, Bakugo never stopped. He’d swoop in, already knowing you needed him.

You remember the prom, a night that started off lighthearted, but one where someone decided to get touchy to you. You didn’t even get the chance to react and called the guy off when you heard him utter this words:

“Touch her again, and I swear to God…”

He was already there, his usual scowl now a dark storm that seemed to move the crowd aside. The offender’s apology was instant, almost panicked, and you couldn’t help but feel a strange mix of gratitude and discomfort. He wasn’t just protecting you from others—he was protecting you from feeling hurt in the first place. The words didn’t even matter anymore. What mattered was that Bakugo had your back, no matter the situation.

And even after all those years, the bond remained the same. You still felt it. Even in the way he held your hand as you walked home, as if he were letting everyone else know that you were his and he was going to make sure no one ever messed with you. And though he never said the words out loud, you knew. The promise was always there. He would always protect you.

“Don’t mess with her,” he’d say to anyone. His voice would be calm, but there was that unmistakable fierceness in it. It was the same promise he’d made years ago, and it still held, unshaken by time.

From the sandbox to high school, to whatever came next—Bakugo’s protection never faltered. And every time you’d catch him watching out for you, you’d smile to yourself, knowing that this fiery, stubborn boy had been your protector since day one—and he always would be.

ִֶָ𓂃 ࣪˖ ִֶָ🎀་༘࿐

[syrecjh]

˚.🎀༘⋆ Yeah, I Waited. So What?

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

˚˖𓍢🌷✧˚.🎀⋆˚˖𓍢🌷✧˚.🎀⋆˚˖𓍢🌷✧˚.🎀⋆˚˖𓍢🌷✧˚.

You’re late. You know it. You sprint the last block to UA’s gates, hair a mess, breath hitching, already forming an apology to Aizawa sensei in your head—

But he’s there.

Not Aizawa sensei, but Bakugo.

Arms crossed, foot tapping, scowl carved deep into his face like it was set in stone.

“Tch. Took you long enough,” he bites, eyes narrowing the second he sees you.

You brace for the usual snark, maybe even a lecture, but it never comes.

Instead, he shifts, hands disappearing into his pockets as he moves—not ahead, not away—but beside you.

You blink. “You… waited?”

He doesn’t look at you. Doesn’t even pause. Just shrugs, like it’s nothing. Like standing outside for twenty extra minutes and his pride gritted between his teeth isn’t out of character for the Dynamight.

“Didn’t wanna hear you whining all day about walking alone,” he mutters.

You grin, almost skipping to keep up with him. “Aww, you’re sweet.”

He glares. “Don’t push it.”

But his stride matches yours. His shoulder brushes yours. And when you trip on that uneven crack in the sidewalk (again), his hand shoots out—fast, instinctive—fingers curling lightly around your elbow.

“Watch it, dumbass.”

Yeah, he waited.

And no, he’ll never admit it out loud.

But with Katsuki Bakugo, it’s never in the words—it’s in the quiet little choices.

And choosing to stay behind just to walk beside you?

That says more than any confession ever could.

˚˖𓍢🌷✧˚.🎀⋆˚˖𓍢🌷✧˚.🎀⋆˚˖𓍢🌷✧˚.🎀⋆˚˖𓍢🌷✧˚.

[syrecjh]

─✧˖°.🪐⋆ Accidental Compliment

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

⋆.ೃ࿔* :･🌱⋆.ೃ࿔* :･⋆.ೃ࿔* :･🌱⋆.ೃ࿔* :･

Training with Bakugo was basically signing up for pain and emotional damage. Every movement had to be precise, every mistake earned a growl or a “Tch. Pathetic.”

So after a brutal spar, where every muscle in your body felt like it had declared mutiny, you collapsed onto the mat in a heap of sweat and aching limbs.

Your chest heaved. Arms like jelly.

And then—footsteps. Heavy ones.

You didn’t even look up. You already knew that gait: sharp, impatient, stormy.

You braced yourself. Here it comes.

“You fight like a snail on sleeping pills.”

“Can’t believe I got paired with you, dumbass.”

Instead, a gruff voice cut through the post-training silence. “You know, for someone who never shuts up, you’re… not completely useless in a fight.”

Your brain screeched to a halt.

Wait what?

You slowly turned your head, blinking at him from your spot on the mat.

“…Was that a compliment?” you asked, half in awe, half teasing.

His eyes went wide for a second, like he’d only just processed what came out of his own mouth.

Then—classic Katsuki.

“No! It was a damn observation,” he barked, face already tinged with the faintest hue of red. “Don’t get cocky, dollface!”

You grinned, lazy and proud. “But I’m useful, huh? Sounds like a praise to me. ”

He groans like you’ve physically injured him. “Don’t make me take it back.”

You take a step closer, still grinning. “Too late. You think I’m impressive.”

“I didn’t say that—”

“I’m useful. Impressive. Kind of amazing, really.”

He’s glaring at the floor now, ears a shade of red that rivals his explosions. “I swear to god—”

“Bakugo thinks I’m amazing!” you sing, loud enough for half the training hall to hear.

He’s mortified.

You’re glowing.

He scoffed, turning away sharply like he couldn’t stand to look at you anymore—but he lingered just a second too long.

And if you looked closely… there was the faintest twitch at the corner of his lips. Not a smile. No, Katsuki Bakugo doesn’t smile.

But maybe—just maybe—it was something close.

⋆.ೃ࿔* :･🌱⋆.ೃ࿔* :･⋆.ೃ࿔* :･🌱⋆.ೃ࿔* :･

[syrecjh]

Katsuki Bakugo doesn’t do PDA.

At least, that’s what he says—gruffly, stubbornly, like the idea of holding hands in public would physically pain him. “It’s annoying,” he claims, every time you tease him about being too uptight. “A damn distraction.”

But actions speak louder than grunted words.

You notice it when you're walking down the street together. He never lets you walk on the side closest to the road. Not once. If you happen to drift toward the curb, he silently switches places with you—no eye contact, no explanation. Just a subtle shift, his broad shoulders acting like a barrier between you and every passing car.

You catch him doing it every time. He pretends not to notice.

And then there’s the way his hand always finds the small of your back when you're in a crowd. Firm. Protective. Like a quiet tether that keeps you close in chaos. It’s never overt—he’s not trying to be romantic—but it makes you feel safe, like there’s no safer place in the world than right here, with him behind you.

You don’t even realize how much he’s watching until the wind picks up and you shiver—only slightly, barely enough to notice.

But he does.

He’s already shrugging off his hoodie before you can say a word. “Tch. Why didn’t you bring a damn jacket?” he mutters, draping it over your shoulders without looking at you.

You peek at him from beneath the hood, your lips tugging into a soft smile. “Thanks, ‘Suki.”

He rolls his eyes, ears dusted with pink. “Whatever.”

But even with the hoodie he gave you, he walks a little closer, arm brushing yours like he’s still trying to shield you from the cold.

Because Katsuki Bakugo doesn’t do PDA.

Except when he does. Quietly. Fiercely. Lovingly.

In every way that matters.

[syrecjh]

──★ ˙ ̟✧˖°🌷First Steps

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

♡₊˚ 🦢・₊✧⋆⭒˚｡⋆♡₊˚ 🦢・₊✧⋆⭒˚｡⋆

The house is quiet except for the soft sound of your daughter’s giggles as she stands unsteadily on her little feet. Her tiny hands grip the edge of the couch, and her eyes, wide with wonder and a touch of determination, are fixed on her father. Katsuki kneels in front of her, his intense gaze softened by affection, encouraging her with a quiet “You got this, princess.”

You watch from the other side of the room, your heart swelling as your daughter takes the first shaky steps. She stumbles, her little legs wobbly, and for a moment, you hold your breath, afraid she might fall. But then, just as she does, Katsuki is there, quick as lightning, arms open wide.

“C’mon, baby,” he murmurs, his voice low and filled with that familiar, tender strength that only comes out when he’s with his family.

Your daughter reaches for him, her chubby hands outstretched as if she knows exactly who she wants to go to. She totters forward, barely catching her balance as she shuffles those first precious steps toward him. And then, with a proud grin breaking across his face, your husband catches her mid-stumble, scooping her up into his arms and spinning her around effortlessly.

“She did it,” he whispers under his breath, eyes glinting with pure pride, his chest puffing up like a lion showing off his cub. You see the moment his tough exterior cracks, just for a second, as he presses his lips to her soft cheek.

“That’s my girl,” he says, voice a little rough, but filled with warmth you know he rarely shows anyone else. “Told you she’d be tough.”

Your daughter, caught up in the moment, laughs, her baby giggles echoing through the room, and Bakugo holds her a little tighter. She’s so small in his arms, and yet, to him, she’s everything. His hand rests on her back as he sways gently, swiping away a stray lock of hair from her forehead as she gazes up at him with adoration.

You can’t help but smile, feeling a little teary-eyed as you watch your family in this beautiful, perfect moment. Katsuki, your husband notices you watching and glances at you over her head, his lips curling into a rare, soft smile. The intensity of his usual persona is nowhere to be found here. It’s just him, your daughter, and the quiet love he carries for the two of you.

“You saw that, right?” he asks, voice lowering but still full of excitement. “She’s gonna be a hell of a hero one day.”

You chuckle softly, walking over and sitting beside him. “You’re right. She’s got your fire, Katsuki.”

He doesn’t reply, just holds his daughter a little tighter, as if he wants to keep her in his arms forever. But you can see it in his eyes—he’s already imagining all the things she’ll do, all the ways she’ll grow and become even stronger. And as he presses a kiss to her head, you feel the weight of that future, one where the three of you face it together, every step of the way.

He looks at you once more, this time with a tenderness that’s hard to put into words, his gaze softening in the way it only does when he’s truly at peace.

“She’s perfect,” he says simply, but it’s enough. Because you know exactly what he means.

And just like that, with your daughter safely in his arms, he’s ready to face the world as a father—a protector, a guide, and above all, someone who will never let her fall without catching her first.

♡₊˚ 🦢・₊✧⋆⭒˚｡⋆♡₊˚ 🦢・₊✧⋆⭒˚｡⋆

[syrecjh]

Bakugo is the type of guy who refuses to hold your bag in public—yet ends up with it over his shoulder every single time without complaint.

[syrecjh]

─★ ˙ ̟🎀 !!✧ Scowls and Sunshine

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

𖧷₊˚˖𓍢ִ🍓✧˚.🎀༘⋆ﾟ＊𖧷₊˚˖𓍢ִ🍓✧˚.🎀༘⋆ﾟ＊

Bakugo Katsuki is a walking contradiction.

The world knows him as the loud, abrasive, no-nonsense hero-in-training with a scowl so permanent it could carve stone. He walks through life like he’s carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders, his rough edges sharp enough to leave anyone who dares come too close a little bit bruised. Every sentence he spits feels like a challenge, every glance a dare. He has no patience for the weak, no tolerance for those who don't meet his standards, and his sharp words often sting in a way that leaves others retreating before they get too close.

But then there's you.

You’re his opposite in every conceivable way. Soft-spoken, endlessly warm, and relentlessly optimistic, you shine in a way that almost seems impossible in a place filled with chaos. Where Bakugo burns with fiery intensity, you glow with the quiet light of someone who sees beauty in everything. You don’t back down when he snarls at you, and for some reason, your relentless cheerfulness doesn’t seem to faze him. In fact, it does something strange to him—like pulling a magnet towards the very thing he’s been trying to avoid. Your presence softens the rough edges of his world, though he’ll never admit it.

Every day, without fail, you approach him. It’s never forced. You’ll be sitting in class, and without so much as a second thought, you’ll chirp, “Hey, Bakugo! How’s your day going so far?” He grunts in response, a sharp retort already on his tongue, but before he can fire it, you keep talking—always casually, always full of that bright, infectious energy.

“Did you see that fight with Todoroki in training? You were really good, Bakugo! I’m always so amazed by you.”

His usual response? A grunt. A sneer. A “shut up, dumbass.” But somehow, despite himself, he lets you ramble. Sometimes, he’d even find himself half-listening, his eyes flicking to you when you weren’t looking, not with annoyance, but… something else. Something that caught him off guard.

He grumbles, keeping his head down when you try to strike up a conversation during lunch. Everyone else at the table knows better than to engage with him when he’s in one of his moods, but you? You chat away like he’s the most approachable person in the world. And maybe—just maybe—he's starting to get used to it.

“Bakugo! Oh, you like that flavor, right?” You pass him a snack, a casual offering like it’s the most natural thing in the world. He glares at the snack, but before he can complain, he hears the quiet, hopeful lilt in your voice, and the words catch in his throat.

“…It’s fine.”

It’s never just fine. He doesn’t know how you do it, but somehow you’ve managed to make him lower his walls in ways no one else ever has. He doesn’t give you the time of day, but you’re always there—always persistent in the best way, like sunlight breaking through dark clouds. He’s started to hate how your presence becomes a source of comfort, how he finds himself expecting your daily chats like a routine he didn’t want but now finds he needs.

And the worst part? You have no clue what you're doing to him. You’re still clueless, skipping around like a little ray of sunshine in his otherwise stormy world. He’ll never admit it, but it’s the smallest things that get to him—the way you always manage to smile when you see him, the way you always find a way to cheer him on in your innocent, unassuming way. It's like you never see him for the harsh exterior he puts up. You only see the small parts of him that are starting to slip through the cracks, the parts he’s always tried to hide.

And so, he’s left to wonder—when did it stop being a problem that you wouldn’t shut up? When did he start finding peace in those endless, unfiltered ramblings of yours? When did your annoying little habits start making him feel strangely content? He doesn’t know, and he doesn’t want to know. But one thing he does know for certain is that he’s never felt more at ease with anyone else.

You’re dense. Oblivious to the way his eyes soften when you look at him, or the way his scowl falters when you laugh. You don’t see the way he secretly enjoys those moments of your lighthearted chatter, how his heart skips a beat when you look at him in that trusting, innocent way of yours. He’s too much of a jerk to ever admit it to you—or to anyone. But you’ve begun to feel like a constant in his life, and he isn’t quite sure how that happened.

He’s a jerk to everyone. But when it comes to you? Somehow, he finds himself being a little gentler. Not always, but enough to make him wonder if he’s more than just a jerk. With you, he’s starting to feel more human—more… real.

You’re the exception, and though it scares him, it’s a truth he can’t escape.

And, to his increasing annoyance, it seems like it’s always been this way.

You just don’t know it yet.

𖧷₊˚˖𓍢ִ🍓✧˚.🎀༘⋆ﾟ＊𖧷₊˚˖𓍢ִ🍓✧˚.🎀༘⋆ﾟ＊

[syrecjh]

Katsuki is the type of guy who will never admit he’s jealous, but the way his jaw clenches when someone else makes you laugh says everything.

[syrecjh]

Katsuki is the type of guy who acts annoyed when you fall asleep on him but won’t move a single muscle for hours just so you can rest.

[syrecjh]

─★ ˙ ̟🎀!! Kitchen Cuddles

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

˚₊˚✧🦩✧˖°🌷˚₊˚✧🦩✧˖°🌷˚₊˚✧🦩✧˖°🌷

The gentle sizzle of garlic in oil fills the kitchen, wrapping the room in warmth. You’re humming softly, swaying in rhythm with the bubbling pot, lost in your little world of simmering sauces and seasoned joy—until a familiar weight presses against your back.

Two strong arms snake around your waist, pulling you flush against a firm chest that still smells faintly of smoke and spice. You smile without turning. No need to. You’d know his touch in a blackout.

“Smells like heaven,” katsuki's voice rumbles low in your ear, roughened from the cold outside and the stubbornness he carries like a second skin. His nose nuzzles into the slope of your shoulder, and his breath tickles your skin—warm, grounding.

You chuckle, keeping your hands steady as you stir. “The food or me?”

He answers without hesitation, lips brushing your neck. “Both. Obviously.” A pause. “Though if I had to choose, I’d starve for you.”

You blink. The sauce is suddenly forgotten.

“Who are you and what’ve you done with my husband?” you tease, turning slightly in his embrace, just enough to see the smirk forming on his lips—the one he only ever wears for you, soft-edged and slightly smug.

He shrugs, resting his chin on your shoulder now. “I’m hungry, alright? For your cooking, your smell, your voice—shit, I don’t know. Just... everything.”

You feel the way he relaxes into you, as if the whole world and its expectations melt away when he’s got you in his arms in a quiet kitchen, with the golden light casting halos around your shadows. His thumbs trace slow, absent-minded circles along your hips. Not for anything. Not to start something. Just because he can.

And then, softer—so soft you almost miss it:

“...You make the place feel like home.”

Your heart stutters. The wooden spoon drops into the pot with a gentle plop.

And when you finally turn to face him, cheeks flushed from more than just the stove’s heat, he leans in, and kisses you like he always does—like you’re a taste he’ll never get tired of.

˚₊˚✧🦩✧˖°🌷˚₊˚✧🦩✧˖°🌷˚₊˚✧🦩✧˖°🌷

[syrecjh]

Katsuki Bakugo is the “I Listen Even If I Pretend Not To” type

──★ ˙ ̟🎀 !!

You mentioned it once—just in passing—how your favorite bakery only made those strawberry cream pastries during spring. You didn’t even think he was listening. He’d been grumbling about something that day, eyes on his notebook, brows furrowed like usual.

But then a rough week hits. You’re drained, dragging your feet to class—and there it is. A white box on your desk, still warm. No note, just the scent of strawberries and the familiar scrape of a chair as Bakugo slumps into his seat like he had nothing to do with it. You can smell the strawberries before you even open it. Without a word, you lift the lid. And there they are—the exact pastries you mentioned, looking almost too perfect to be real.

Bakugo's voice cuts through the silence, even though he's still facing the front like he hasn’t even noticed. “They were this close to running out. Don’t get any stupid ideas about me being a nice guy or something.”

You chuckle quietly, shaking your head, and take the first bite. His eyes flicker toward you for just a second, catching the soft smile that creeps onto your face. Oh you are so gonna tease him abou—

"Shut up," he says, his usual scowl back in place, but this time, it doesn’t quite hide the warmth in his gaze.

Because, despite the tough guy act, Bakugo always knows what you need—without needing to say a word.

──★ ˙ ̟🎀 !!

[syrecjh]

Katsuki Bakugo is the type to get flustered by compliments—when they come from you.

𓂃˖˳·˖ ִֶָ ⋆🌷͙⋆ ִֶָ˖·˳˖𓂃 ִֶָ

You’re sitting together before class when you glance over and grin. “You know, you look very hot in your uniform when you actually wear it properly,” you tease, eyeing his neatly buttoned shirt and perfect tie. Bakugo scoffs, ears already pink. “Tch—quit saying weird shit.”

Then you lean in, chin propped on your palm. “But honestly? I kinda prefer it when you leave the first two buttons undone. No tie. Just—messy, effortless, you.”

That’s when he really loses it. “The hell is wrong with you today?” he adjusts his tie like it suddenly feels too tight, refusing to look at you while his usual scowl can’t quite hide how flustered he really is. He won’t look at you, but you catch the smallest twitch at the corner of his mouth—a smirk he’s desperately trying to kill.

[syrecjh]

Katsuki Bakugo is the type who keep you close in public, but would never admit it.

Bakugo’s a lot of things—loud, stubborn, hot-headed—but in public? He’s possessive in his own way. It’s not obvious, not in a flashy, jealous way, but when you’re walking together, he’ll casually wrap his hand around your waist, just enough to keep you close to him. It’s the kind of gesture that says, I’m with her—without ever needing to say it aloud. He’d never admit it, but he’s not about to let anyone get too close to what’s his.

[syrecjh]

︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹‧₊ ᵎᵎ 🍒 ⋅ ˚✮︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶︶⊹

Katsuki Bakugo had always been fire in human form—brash, explosive, impossible to ignore. But you, somehow, were the one who never flinched. While other kids cried or scurried off after one of his outbursts, you stood your ground. Sometimes, you even laughed.

“You done yelling, Kats?” you’d tease, a lollipop tucked between your teeth.

“Shut it,” he’d grumble, ears just a little pink.

It baffled others, how he let you call him that—Kats. He’d blow a fuse if anyone else dared. You and Izuku were the only ones he kept close (but it's just you honestly), like two calm orbits around a sun too hot to touch. Childhood was a triangle of scraped knees, comic books, and chasing dreams in alleys too narrow for the futures you dreamed of.

He was sharp-edged, proud, and always charging forward like he had something to prove. But with you? He slowed down. He listened. Not always with words, but in the way he'd wait for you after class, or how he'd carry your bag without asking when your arms were full. In the way he'd scowl when you called him Kacchan just to get under his skin—but he never really minded.

“You sound like that nerd, dumbass.”

“But I say it better. Kaaacchaaaan,” you’d sing, dodging his half-hearted swat.

You were inseparable (in your own point of view) —Bakugo, Midoriya, and You. A mismatched trio with your own rhythm. When Bakugo would get too rough, you'd pull him back. When Izuku would hesitate, you'd nudge him forward. And when you were unsure, Katsuki would glare at the world like it had offended you personally.

As you grew, things changed. Powers awakened. Dreams became goals. But something between the three of you stayed the same. That unspoken bond. That sacred space where Katsuki wasn’t a grenade ready to go off—he was just your Katsuki.

One rainy afternoon, as you sat on the rooftop of the dorms—legs dangling off the edge, silence sitting comfortably between you—he spoke.

“…You’re the only one who calls me that and gets away with it.”

“Kats?”

“Yeah.”

You smiled. “That’s because you chose me. Remember?”

He grunted. “Didn’t have much of a choice. You were always just there. Like a stubborn weed.”

“Aw, romantic.”

“Shut up.”

But his voice was softer than usual. Almost fond. And when the rain started falling, he didn’t get up. He just sat there with you—loud in every way, but quiet where it mattered.

︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹‧₊ ᵎᵎ 🍒 ⋅ ˚✮︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶︶⊹