Katsuki Bakugo

Bakugo Katsuki did not consider himself a romantic man. He didn’t do roses. He didn’t do candlelit dinners. And he sure as hell didn’t do late-night grocery runs because someone (you) couldn’t be bothered to restock the damn fridge. Yet there he was.

At 11:47 PM. Standing in the middle of a cold-ass convenience store with a shopping basket full of the most non-essentials he’d ever seen in his life: strawberry Pocky, two cans of fizzy peach soda, a bag of what looked like sugar coated death, and - he stared at it again in pure betrayal - mochi ice cream in three different flavors.

Why three. Why. Who needed mango, green tea, and red bean at once? Pick a side. Commit.

He adjusted the hood of his oversized black sweatshirt (which you had forced him into because “no one shops in a tank top at midnight, Katsuki, people will stare”) and tried to pretend this wasn’t happening. God, He could be asleep right now. Or bench pressing your entire apartment. But no.

He was standing next to the refrigerated section, watching you thoughtfully compare two kinds of yogurt with the focus of a tactical team defusing a bomb.

His eye twitched. “Tch…”

He hadn’t even meant to come. He’d just been at your place, minding his own business - sitting on the couch with your legs across his lap, watching a shitty romcom you picked - and then you had the audacity to sigh and say you were craving “something sweet.”

And not in the wink-wink, nudge-nudge kind of way that made it worthwhile. NO. You meant, like, actual food.

So now here he was. Grocery store. Past bedtime. Carrying snacks like some whipped, domesticated animal. Which, for the record, he was not.

…Even though he did grab your favorite soda without being asked. And maybe he threatened the vending machine into working when it ate your coins. Whatever. It didn’t count.

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He followed you down another aisle, watching as you inspected a bag of weirdly colored chips like it might come alive and bite you. He caught himself walking slower so you could stay a few steps ahead - mostly because he liked watching your hair sway when you moved, not that he’d ever admit it out loud. You did this stupid little bounce when you were excited about something, and he hated how cute it was. Like. Deeply resented it.

You held up something to show him - something pink and covered in sparkles, (probably packaged diabetes) - and looked at him expectantly.

He stared back flatly. “If this receipt hits 5,000 yen, I’m billing you in push-ups.” You giggled. God help him.

Bakugo groaned loudly and tossed a pack of protein bars into the basket just to "balance out the shame".

By the time you made it to checkout, the basket was so full he had to carry some stuff in his arms. Including - he realized, with horror - a plushie of a smiling cartoon onigiri you picked up as a joke. He hissed under his breath as the cashier blinked at him.

The guy was barely awake. Probably a college student doing the night shift. But he still raised a brow at the sight of a clearly-not-having-it blonde boyfriend in dark sweats, holding an armful of sweets and soft toys like he’d just lost a bet.

Bakugo nearly growled. “Say one thing,” he muttered, just loud enough, “and I’ll make carry my groceries to my place. In the rain.” The cashier said nothing. He scanned. Quickly.

Outside, the air was cool and quiet, and Bakugo felt himself relax a little. Until you cheerfully shoved your half of the snacks into his arms and started unwrapping an ice cream like it was the best night ever.

You bumped into his side. He scowled at you. Then scowled harder when you offered him a bite. He didn’t take it. Of course not.

…Okay, maybe he did. But only because "you dropped it near his mouth" and he was trying to avoid a mess. That was efficiency, not affection.

"You owe me idiot..." He murmurs around the mouthful of ice cream that he bought.