Hey what about iwaizumi/bakugou + home (you can choose one)
Here's a lil Bakubro fluff, to make up for just... all of Please Let Me Take You..
So maybe it wasn't as easy as Bakugou had thought. Two years into being a pro, and he was still stuck in his stupid, cramped apartment, riding around in a beater car- Mitsuki said it'd build character and refused to get him anything better, the hag- and criminally overworked. He scowled at the tarnished mirror wall on the creaky old elevator as it climbed slowly up each floor. A few short years ago, he'd be calling himself lazy for even thinking of taking the elevator, but the fatigue he felt in every muscle screamed at him for every step he took outside of his working hours.
It was awful. This wasn't the life he had envisioned for himself. Overworked, underpaid, and just tired. He should already have himself a penthouse or at least a house, not some dingy apartment...
But when he opened the door, keys thrown into a decorative bowl you just happened to bring by one day, the halls filled with the spicy sweet scent of curry and your off-tune humming, he couldn't help but smile to himself. Steeling his expression into his usual grumpy grimace, he trots out, wrapping himself around you with the excuse that he needs to make sure you're cooking it right. This place might be a shithole, but damn, it felt like home when you were there.