Work Text:
The Confession
Bakugou Katsuki is pacing.
That alone tells you something is deeply, seriously wrong.
He doesn’t pace like a normal person. He stalks—short, sharp steps back and forth along the edge of the training field, like the ground personally insulted him. His palms spark faintly every few seconds, little pops of irritation he isn’t even bothering to hide.
You’re leaning against the chain-link fence, arms crossed, pretending—poorly—not to notice any of it. The metal is cool against your back, the evening air warm enough to be comfortable. Training ended almost twenty minutes ago. Everyone else cleared out fast.
Everyone except you.
And him.
Bakugou mutters under his breath as he walks. Nothing coherent. Just aggressive noise. You catch fragments—“damn it,” “stupid,” “why the hell”—and have to bite the inside of your cheek to keep from smiling.
You glance at him.
Then deliberately look away.
You don’t need to look to know he’s staring now. You can feel it—burning, heavy, impossible to ignore.
“Tch. Why’re you starin’ at me like that?” he snaps.
You blink innocently and turn your head. “Like what?”
“Like you’re waitin’ for somethin’.”
You shrug, uncrossing and re-crossing your arms. “Maybe I am.”
That does it.
Bakugou stops pacing so abruptly you almost expect to hear brakes screech. He stands there, fists clenched at his sides, shoulders tight. Then he clicks his tongue and pointedly turns away from you, like the fence suddenly became fascinating.
Silence falls.
Not peaceful silence. Not comfortable.
The kind that presses in on your ears and makes you painfully aware of everything—the hum of the lights, distant voices drifting from the dorms, the way your heart is beating just a little too fast.
You wait.
Bakugou hates waiting.
Somewhere in the distance, Kaminari would absolutely be laughing if he were here. You can practically hear it. You thank every god he’s not.
Finally, Bakugou growls, “I’m not good at this crap, okay?”
Your heart skips. Just a little.
“At… what crap?” you ask, even though you already have a pretty good idea.
He spins on you, red eyes blazing like he’s about to pick a fight with the air itself. “THIS.” He jabs a thumb between you, the empty space like it personally offended him. “Feelings. Talkin’. Whatever the hell this is.”
You tilt your head, lips twitching. “You’re doing great so far.”
“Shut up.”
You don’t.
He exhales hard through his nose, chest rising and falling like he just finished another round of combat training. His shoulders tense, like he’s bracing for impact.
“I—” He stops. Scowls. Looks away again. Then forces the words out. “You piss me off.”
You snort before you can stop yourself. “…Wow. Romantic.”
“LET ME FINISH!” he barks, face already warming, a faint flush creeping up his cheeks. “You piss me off ‘cause I care. ‘Cause when you’re not around, things feel—wrong. And I hate that. I hate that you make me think about you all the damn time.”
The words hit harder than you expect.
You straighten slowly, the teasing smile fading into something softer. Bakugou keeps going, like if he stops, he’ll lose his nerve completely.
“I hate that I notice when you’re tired. Or hurt. Or when you smile at idiots like Kaminari.” His scowl deepens. “I hate that I wanna punch anyone who gets too close to you.”
Your heart is racing now—loud, impossible to ignore.
Bakugou finally forces himself to look at you, jaw tight. “So yeah. I like you. A lot. And if you laugh, I swear—”
You don’t laugh.
Instead, you push off the fence and step toward him.
He freezes.
“Bakugou,” you say softly. His name sounds different in your mouth now—gentler, steadier.
He looks at you like you’re something dangerous. Vulnerable. Terrifyingly honest.
“I like you too.”
For a moment, he just stares.
Then relief crashes over his face so fast it almost knocks him back. His shoulders drop. His breathing evens out.
And then, immediately, he scowls. “Tch. Took you long enough.”
You laugh, warmth blooming in your chest. “You literally just confessed.”
“Doesn’t matter.” He steps closer, invading your space like he always does. “I knew.”
“Oh, you knew?”
“Yeah.” His mouth quirks into a smug grin. “I’m not an idiot.”
“Debatable.”
He snorts despite himself.
Before you can say anything else, his hand grabs the front of your hero costume and pulls you in.
The kiss is soft. Warm. It suprises you because you didnt know Katsuki could be so soft.
It’s slow, gentle. It's amazing!
You kiss him back anyway.
When he finally pulls away, his forehead rests against yours. His breath is shaky, eyes half-lidded.
“Don’t make me say that crap again,” he mutters.
You smile. “No promises.”
He huffs, then presses one more quick kiss to your lips—shorter this time—and grins like he just won a fight.
The end