heeyoo bae! <3 how are you? i heard requests are open so i was wondering whether you could write an angst katsuki bakugo x fem!reader fic. reader has a crush on katsuki but he doesn't realize it yet, which leads to her having the hanahaki disease (the flower could be gladiolus or orange lilies or whatever you think fits). katsuki also likes reader but he's insecure so he never confesses. miscommunication and stuff.
been reading your works for a while now, love your words<3 <3
.đ„sypnosis: Your quirk made flowers bloom on your skin until meeting Katsuki Bakugo made them grow inside your lungs instead.
You were born with a beautiful quirkâ one people called ethereal, almost divine.
When you felt strong emotions, flowers bloomed from your skin in drifting petals of color and scent. It was harmless, soft⊠romantic, even. Until it wasnât.
That was the flower your body chose when your heart decided it had fallen for him.
Katsuki Bakugou. Loud, explosive, infuriating, Katsukiâwho somehow made your chest flutter every time he glanced your way. He didnât know, of course. He never noticed the way your fingers trembled when he barked orders during workshop, or how your smile grew stupidly soft when he fell into deep focus while watching you work. He didnât know that every time he brushed past you, a single orange petal slipped from your lips.
You kept it secret. You had to.
Because once a petal appeared⊠the disease had already begun.
It all started when he first began coming to you for his support-gear revisions.
You were already well-known in the support course â not just because you were pretty, or because your quirk bloomed breathtaking petals on your skin when you worked, but because you were smart. Sharp. Precise. The kind of girl who could sketch a prototype in five minutes and have it functioning within an hour.
So when word got to Bakugo that some girl in Support could understand the concept and mechanism of his grenade gauntlets better than most support technicians, he didnât waste a second.
He stormed into your workshop.
Your eyes widened slightly as he practically loomed over your desk, the scent of burnt sugar and sweat hitting you before his voice even did. His palms were still smoking from whatever explosion heâd used it to.
The single word boom through your workshop. His crimson gaze swept over your face, sharp and assessing, like he was trying to decide if you were worth the seconds he spent breathing the same air.
âSo youâre the support brat old man Eraserhead said, huh?â
A muscle in his jaw twitched â like acknowledging your skill physically hurt him.
ââŠMy gauntlets are malfunctioning.â
He didnât ask for help. Bakugo never asked, he demanded. But underneath the usual bite in his tone, something flickered â the tense, frustrated desperation of someone who hated relying on others but needed someone who truly understood the mechanics behind his quirk.
Eraserhead recommended me?
Your heart warmed before you could stop it.
You werenât just known for having good looks or a beautiful quirkâ the kind that left glowing petals on your gloves, the kind people stared at. You were known because you proved yourself. Because you built, designed, innovated. Because in just your first year, youâd contributed more to advanced hero tech than most interns did in their entire course. You didnât get praise easily.
Eraserhead doesn't give praise at all.
So hearing that heâd personally recommended youâŠ
Yeah. That meant something.
You swallowed the smile threatening your lips, trying not to look as proud as you felt.
âI see,â you said lightly, adjusting your goggles.
âSo whatâs the issue?"
Bakugo shifted his arms, crossing them over his chest as he watched you adjust the goggles on your head. He exhaled a breath through his nose, clearly trying to hold back his impatience and agitation. He hated the fact that he had to come to someone else for help, he usually fix his stuff himself but he couldn't get it the way he wanted no matter what he tries and study.
he hates asking for help. His jaw ticked as he responded gruffly,
âItâs losing pressure output,â he muttered, eyes narrowing at the metal.
âThe blast ratio drops after the third detonation cycle. None of the idiots in Support B can figure out why.â
You brushed your fingers across the gauntlet, your quirk responding instinctively â a faint shimmer of petals drifting off your wrist. The glow reflected in the metal, and Bakugouâs eyes caught on them for a fraction of a second.
âAlright,â you said softly, focusing. âLet me take a look.â
Bakugo tensed as you reached for his gauntlet, his fingers instinctively twitchingâ like he was fighting the urge to yank it back. But he didnât move. Just stood there, jaw locked so tight a vein pulsed at his temple.
You examined the mechanisms carefully, your quirk flaring in responseâ petals glowing brighter where your fingertips traced over stressed joints and corroded seams. His eyes burned into the top of your head.
ââŠThe pressure valveâs got micro-fractures,â you murmured after a beat.
âOveruse without proper maintenance.â
A sharp exhale through Bakugouâs nose in half disbelief that you figured it out faster than Support B had in two weeks.
His voice came out low and rough.
âSo what? You just gonna sit there lookinâ pretty or actually fix it?â Â
That made you stop abruptly on your tracks.
Your eyes snapped up so fast it almost hurt. You were used to complimentsâ receiving them from left and right, casual and constantâ but somehow, hearing it from someone usually so brash and rude made your heart skip outright.
And your quirk reacted before your mind could catch up.
Petals bloomed beneath your skin, unfurling along your arms in warm, glowing streaks.
Noâno, focus! Itâs sarcasm.
You forced your breathing steady, willing the reaction to stop, unaware of how long youâd frozen in place. Inside, you were spiraling; outside, it probably just looked like youâd completely zoned out.
Bakugou clicked his tongue, irritation flaring.
His patience thinned as you stood there doing nothing, and his thoughts driftedâunhelpfullyâto Hatsume.
Are all support students this damn weird?
Then he noticed it. The flowers.
His eyes narrowed as the scent hit himâ sweet, sharp, undeniably floral. Stronger than before. His gaze dropped to your arms, petals glowing faintly against your skin.
âThe hell is that?â he demanded.
He gestured sharply at your arms, scowl deepening as he crossed his own over his chest. He knew calling you pretty had been a backhanded remarkâ half irritation, half reflex. What he hadnât expected was your reaction. The widened eyes. The flush creeping up your cheeks.
Or the way his chest felt oddly tight as he looked at you.
Your mind snapped back to reality.
âIâIâm so, so sorry!â you blurted out, words tumbling over each other as heat flooded your face. Your eyes darted everywhere but at him. Get it together. You werenât like this. You were supposed to be an expertâprofessional, composed. What the hell were you doing!?
Bakugo raised an eyebrow, watching you stumble through your apology. The flustered mess in front of him didnât match the calm, competent girl heâd seen seconds ago, and it threw him off more than he cared to admit.
He clicked his tongue and leaned in closer, eyes narrowing at the flowers still blooming along your arms. The scent grew stronger the nearer he got.
âWell?â he grunted in demand.
âWhatâre the damn things for? That your quirk or something?â
Your flush deepened as his proximity closed the distance between you. His scentâburnt caramel and smokeâmixed with your own, making your head spin just a little.
âUhââ You cleared your throat quickly, turning your face away, acutely aware of how close he was. He remained completely clueless. âItâs my quirk. Yeah.â
You forced a small, awkward laugh. âI⊠create flowers. Nothing more.â
Bakugo took another step closer, ruby eyes locked on the flowers now adorning your skin.
He scoffed, brow arching skeptically.
âYou create flowers⊠thatâs it?â
Before you could answer, he reached out and poked one of the blossoms with his index finger.
Your breath hitched. Your eyes widened, heat flooding your face as your quirk reacted instantlyâ more flowers blooming along your arms and wrists, petals unfurling in quiet bursts of color.
Bakugo didnât pull away.
Instead, his fingers brushed the petals again, slower this time. Curious. Almost careful. He watched closely as more blossoms formed beneath his touch, entirely unfazed by your flustered state.
ââŠHuh,â he muttered.
He scoffed again, but this time there was something else in his gazeâ interest. Fascination.
âSo what,â he said, âyouâre just a walking garden or somethinâ?â
âYâyeah⊠I think so?â you stammered, voice soft. Your eyes stayed on himâ on the way he looked at your quirk not with judgment, but with genuine curiosity. Admiration flickered bright in your gaze.
From that day on, things⊠shifted
Bakugo started showing up at your workshop more often. Sometimes with actual gear issues. Sometimes with half-baked excuses. He never admitted it, but he liked the quietâ liked watching the way you worked with absolute focus, liked how petals clung to your gloves whenever your quirk flared.
You found yourself waiting for the sound of angry stomps down the hall. Waiting for the door to slam open, for him to barge in like he owned the place.
What formed between you wasnât soft.
It was sharp-edged, loud, and full of bickering. Sarcastic remarks traded. Mutual respect earned the hard way. Long hours spent side by side, too close, too comfortable.
Friendshipâ if you could call it that.
One that slowly became⊠platonically inappropriate.
Bakugo slams the workshop door open with his usual explosive force, but this time he doesnât storm straight to your desk. He freezes halfway across the room when he sees youâ really sees you.
Your goggles are pushed up onto your forehead, revealing eyes that catch the light in a way that makes his chest tighten. The faint scent of petals hangs in the air between the two of you like an unspoken challenge.
He grits his teeth hard enough to hurt and forces out,
You glance up from your blueprintsâ and god, why does just looking at him make more flowers bloom under your skin?
His gaze drops immediately to where theyâre spreading across your collarbone, before snapping back up with a scowl.
âYou better not be fuckinâ around on my gear again.â
You composed yourself, took a steadying breath, and with a mischievous glint in your eye, stuck your tongue out and winked.
âCan't promise that,â you said teasingly.
Bakugoâs scowl deepened, crimson eyes flashing like sparks ready to ignite.
âTch! Donât think Iâm letting some brat like you talk to me like that!â he barked, stepping closer, fists clenched.
And just like that, the two of you fell into your usual rhythm, laughter, playful provocation, and the quiet electricity that neither of you admitted out loud.
But one day, everything changed.
It started small, almost imperceptibly. Bakugo began to notice the way his chest tightened when he thought about you, how his thoughts kept drifting toward you in the middle of class, during training, even in the middle of his own scheming. His friends didnât helpâ His friends started teasing him relentlessly, pointing out how he was always the first to leave class the moment it ended, disappearing to see his âsupport girl.â
True to form, Bakugoâs response was explosive. He yelled, threatened, and denied it with every fiber of his being but no amount of shouting could drown out the heat that was constantly plastered to his cheeks. The truth began to settle in, he had developed feelings for you.
His heart was clear, but his mind misinterpreted it. He told himself it was just distraction, that he was falling behind in class, that thinking about you constantlyâeverywhere, everytimeâwas a weakness. But deep down, he knew it was more.
That day, you were waiting for him as usual, glancing at the clock. Class dismissal should have been a few seconds ago. You were prepared for your usual scene, doors slammed followed by the blonde yelling curses.
But instead⊠he opened the door quietly.
No shouting. No scowling. No bickering.
He didnât even glance at you. He just walked in with a nonchalant expression plastered over his usually scowling ones.
âWow,â you laughed, leaning back in your chair. âSomeone woke up on the wrong side of the bed, huh?â
Your eyebrows knitted in surprise as you leaned forward slightly, studying him.
Bakugo stood rigid in front of your workstation, hands clenched into fists at his sides. His usual explosive behavior was completely absent, replaced by a stillness that made the air between you feel impossibly heavy.
âUh⊠bakugo?â you ventured, trying to tease him into his usual self. âYou okay? Did someone steal your loud voice or something?â
No growl. No snapback. No warning explosion near your feet.
His jaw worked silently for a moment before he finally spoke, voice low and rough.
âHowâs my gauntlets⊠need them by next month.â
You raise an eyebrow at his flat tone. Something is definitely wrong.
âThe prototypes arenât done yet,â you answer carefully, keeping your eyes on him. His gaze stays fixed on the table, avoiding yours. âI need a few more days to tweak the blast range and the heat regulatorââ
He cuts you off with a sharp scoff. It stings differently than his usual insults.
âSo itâs not ready. Great.â
You frown at his tone, irritation bubbling up. Youâre used to his anger, his impatience, his constant demandsânot⊠whatever this is.
âIâm trying my best,â you snap, crossing your arms. âI can only work so fast.â
Bakugoâs eyes flick up to meet yours, but the usual fire is gone. In its place is a cold, guarded expression that sends a chill straight through you.
You blink in disbelief, your mind struggling to process the weight behind those two words. Try harder? Thatâs all he can say?
Before you can respond, he clicks his tongue and turns sharply, walking away without another word.
You watch him leave, frustration and hurt mixing in your chest. Heâs never been this dismissive before. Usually, thereâs a back-and-forth, some sharp exchangeâ some sign that he cares enough to argue. But this? This distant, cold attitude hits differently, like a punch you didnât see coming.
You turn back to your work, but his words keep echoing in your head, Try harder.
It feels less like encouragement and more like an accusation.
The moment Bakugou walks out, your chest tightens like a vice.
Then, a single gladiolus, sharp and vibrant bursts into existence on the back of your hand. Then another. And another.
The pain in your heart was just enough to make your next breath a little shallow. You cough softly, almost dismissively, but a tiny, sharp petal brushes past your lips.
Your heart skips, and another cough follows, slightly harsher, petals flecked with faint red. Your eyes widen in terror.
No⊠this canât be happening.
Your fingers grip the workbench, trying to steady yourself, but your hands tremble slightly. The tightness in your chest refuses to ease, and for the first time, you realize your quirk might be doing something youâve never seen before.
The room tilts around you. Your legs threaten to give out beneath the weight of this sudden, sickening realization.
Katsuki Bakugo made you sick.
It was probably just a misunderstanding. Yeah. Just this time, right?
So over the next few days, you tried to fix things with him. The first time, you ran through the hallway, trying to match his long, heavy strides. You always used to walk out of school together. Always. Now, you forced yourself to believe maybe heâd just forgotten.
You sprint down the hallway, shoes skidding against the polished floor as you catch up. He doesnât slow down. If anything, his steps grow longer the moment he hears you say his name. His shoulders tense, tight and coiled.
âOi,â you say breathlessly, grabbing his sleeve before he can turn another corner and disappear completely.
For half a second, just half, he almost stops.
Then Bakugo jerks free hard enough that your grip slips.âThe hell do you want?â
It isnât the usual anger in his voice. Itâs something worse. Something unfamiliar.
Your chest tightens as the familiar itch blooms deep inside you, but you ignore it.
âDid you forget to swing by my workplace?â you ask, forcing your tone light. âI was already packing my bag.â
Bakugo scowls, stuffing his hands into the pockets of his hoodie as he glances your way. The usual fire in his eyes still missing.
âDidnât want to bother you,â he mutters. âFigured youâd be busy or whatever.â
His words are curt. Not quite a dismissal, but close enough.
He doesnât want to talk.
Your throat tightens, the itch worsening, but you swallow it down.
âWell, no, Iâm not,â you say quickly.
âSo you guessed wrong. Wanna walk out together?â
You flash your usual bright smile, even though it feels brittle.
Bakugo studies you with a mix of irritation and something you canât quite place. He weighs his options. Staying means talking. Walking with you means getting you off his back faster.
âTch. Whatever,â he grunted.
âDonât slow me down. Iâm not waiting.â
Relief washes through you as you fall into step beside him, unaware of the dead gladiolus petals slipping loose from beneath your collar and scattering behind you.
After that, it only gets harder.
Talking to Bakugo becomes strained. Your sickness worsens. You tell yourself that walking home together meant things were back to normal.
He stops swinging by your workplace as often, only showing up when he wants updates on his gauntlets. The truth is, you finished repairing them a long time ago. You just never told him. Because if he didnât need an excuse to come by, he might stop coming altogether.
And that thought makes the flowers grow heavier in your chest.
The next few days are agonizingly similar. Bakugo keeps his distance, curt and dismissive in a way that leaves you confused and quietly devastated, while you cling to the idea that everything is fine if you just donât look too closely. The itch in your throat worsens by the day, and you cough up a few more dead petals whenever youâre sure no one is around to see.
You keep pretending youâre still working on his gauntlets, even though theyâve been finished for days. You tell yourself you need the time, that youâre still tweaking things, but the truth is simpler and uglierâ
you need a reason for him to come back.
You notice the changes even if you try not to acknowledge them. Your skin looks paler every morning, your body weaker, your steps slower. Flowers barely bloom from your skin anymore, and when they do, they wilt almost immediately. Eating feels like a chore, and every quiet cough leaves more petals mixed with more blood at your lips.
You catch your reflection in the workshop mirror. Hollowed cheeks, sunken eyes, dark circles bruising the skin beneath them. A single gladiolus flickers weakly at your wrist before crumbling to dust. When blood streaks down your chin with another cough, you donât even flinch anymore.
The gauntlets sit finished on the shelf behind you, untouched and unclaimed.
Because if he finds out theyâre done, he wonât come back.
And without him, the disease is no longer subtle. Your body is shutting down faster than you can pretend otherwise.
You clutch one of Bakugo's gauntlets to your chest, the cold metal biting into your palms as a single tear slips down your cheek. Itâs heavier than you remember, solid and familiar, like proof he was here once.
Petals slip through your trembling fingers. Blood stains the fabric of your uniform dark at the edges.
you show up every day anyway.
You sit there in the workshop, gauntlet pressed to your heart, hoping heâll walk through the door one more time and not notice how badly everything has fallen apart.
Meanwhile, Bakugo is breaking in his own way.
It sits heavy in his chest constantly, like something lodged between his ribs. He tells himself itâs focus, that itâs discipline, that cutting distractions is what real heroes do. That walking away is necessary. That if he hesitates now, heâll fall behind.
Bakugo punches the wall of his dorm room. Again.
The impact rattles the room, pain shooting up his arm as his knuckles split and blood smears across the cracked plaster. He barely registers it. Pain is easier than thinking. Easier than the way his mind keeps drifting back to you without permission, to your voice calling his name in the hallway, to the way you smiled like nothing was wrong.
He doesnât understand it.
Why ignoring you feels worse than getting hit.
Why his chest tightens every time he passes your usual spots.
Why he keeps finding excuses not to go near your workplace, even though a part of him aches to.
He hates it. Hates how wanting you makes him feel weak. Hates how every step toward being the best feels like leaving something unfinished behind. Hates that no matter how hard he trains, thereâs a hollow space inside him that doesnât go away.
Another knock sounds from down the hall. Someone calling his name, probably kirishima dragging him to training again. Bakugo doesnât answer. He stays where he is, fist pressed into the wall, breathing hard, staring at nothing.
He tells himself this is what he chose.
Itâs over. Youâre getting worse every day, and you know it. Heâs not coming back, is he?
Youâre hunched over your desk, shoulders shaking as you brace yourself against the wood. Dead gladiolus petals litter the floor around you, darkened and matted with blood. Your chest aches with every shallow breath. You look at his gauntlets one last timeâpolished, repaired, perfectâbefore a small, tired smile pulls at your lips.
You grab a sticky note and a pen, hands trembling as you scribble something quick and messy, then set it beside the gauntlets.
Bakugo gets a text not long after. A short message. Simple. Telling him his gauntlets are finally perfected. Finished.
He stares at his phone like itâs lying to him.
Your workshop has been radio silent for weeks, felt more like months, and now suddenly, this?
His brow furrows, jaw tightening as he rereads the message. He canât decide whether heâs relieved or pissed off, especially after everything thatâs happened between you.
His thumb hovers over the screen, tension settling deep in his shoulders.
For a long moment, he doesnât reply.
âAbout time,â he types.
He hits send, but his jaw stays locked, teeth grinding as irritation coils with something heavier in his chest. His eyes linger on the screen longer than they should, waiting for the typing bubble that never appears.
He hates that the silence bothers him more than it should.
By the time dismissal rolls around, he has already decided. He will pick it up himself. No excuses. No nothing. He storms down the hall toward your workshop, anger pushing his steps forward until it falters at the door. He hesitates, then exhales hard and pulls it open.
No machines humming. No stray petals drifting in the air. Just clean surfaces and that sharp detergent smell that punches him in the chest because it's wrong. You smelled soft, floral, and sweet that always annoyingly lingers even after you left. Not fucking chemicals.
His gaze snaps to your work table.
His gauntlets sit there, polished and whole, tied together with a ridiculous pink bow. For a moment, he doesn't move. Something tightens behind his ribs. He crosses the room in three strides and yanks them toward him, rough fingers brushing against a folded note taped to the metal.
He reads it once. Then again.
Perfected output ratio. Blast sync calibrated.
Heat regulator utilized, blast range extended.
Additional reinforcement for durability.
..do your best, hero! âĄ
The paper crumples in his fist.
His breathing is loud in the silence as he rips the bow apart and shoves the gauntlets into his bag. His hands shake, just slightly, enough to piss him off. This is not how you end things. Not with a neat workshop and a cheerful note like nothing mattered.
Not after everything that happened between you.
He stands there longer than he means to, staring at the empty space where you should be, where you always were. The absence presses in on him until it hurts to breathe. Then, he decides.
Whatever this is, whatever he is feeling, he cannot keep swallowing it down. Tomorrow, he will find you. He will say everything. Every thought he buried, every word he held back, whether you want to hear it or not.
Unbeknownst to him, you were lying in the middle of a ruined field deep within a forest near your home.
The land had gone empty after humans tore through itâtrees cut down, soil scorched, animals driven away. It was empty. Broken. Ugly. So you chose it. Your sanctuary. Somewhere no one would see you fall apart.
You lay there almost motionless beneath the night sky, the air cold against your skin. Slowly, you pressed your palm to the ground and forced your quirk to activate.
Flowers erupted from the soil, spreading outward in wavesâ gladiolus blooming where nothing had lived before. Color replaced rot. Life replaced ruin. You poured everything you had into it, refusing to stop even as your chest burned.
Until you couldnât anymore.
You doubled over, coughing violently. Petals spilled from your mouth, soaked with blood. More followed. And more. Only then did you stop.
âThis is all I can do for now,â you whispered hoarsely.
You lay back against the earth, body trembling, too weak to move. Your gaze drifted upward to the stars scattered across the sky, bright and distant.
You wondered how Katsuki was doing.
Tears pricked at your eyes as you managed a bitter, blood-stained smile.
âIâm sorry, Katsuki,â you murmured. âThank you⊠Katsuki.â
The pressure in your lungs suddenly worsened.
You tried to breathe in, but your chest barely moved. Air wouldnât fill your lungs. Panic set in as you gasped, fingers clawing weakly at your collar.
Another choking cough forced more petals out, but it didnât help. Your throat burned. Your lungs felt packed, heavy, full.
You couldnât get enough air.
Your breaths turned shallow and broken, each one weaker than the last. Your vision blurred at the edges as your body fought for oxygen.
Then the struggle slowed.
Miles away, Katsuki Bakugo lay awake in his dorm room, staring at the ceiling.
Tomorrow, he would apologize. He would stop pushing you away. He would tell you the truthâ without yelling and excuses. That heâd been distant because he was scared. That he did care, so much. That he wanted you more than anything.
He practiced the words under his breath, heart pounding.
Not knowing the girl he looked forward to saying it to
.đ„a/n: HERE YOU GO! I'm sorry it took so longâ I've been figuring out how the hanahaki disease works so I can relay it canonically! >< I hope you enjoy this, tysm for this beautiful angsty idea<3
