Still Wearing the Night | Pro Hero Bakugou Katsuki x Reader
Synopsis:
Bakugou Katsuki comes home—no explosions, no crowds, no expectations. Just smudged eyeliner, heavy exhaustion, and you waiting to take care of him.
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Bakugou comes home looking like himself—but softer.
No hero costume. No gauntlets. Just a worn hoodie, loose shirt, and the faint smell of smoke that never quite leaves him. What catches your attention, though, is his face.
The eyeliner’s still there.
Smudged beneath his eyes, uneven like he tried to wipe it off and gave up halfway. It makes him look tired in a way that hurts your chest—beautiful, yes, but worn thin by the night.
You don’t comment on it.
“Hey,” you say gently.
“…Hey.”
That’s all he has in him.
He drops his bag by the door and lets his forehead rest against your shoulder the moment you step close. No words. Just weight. Trust.
Your hands come up instinctively—one at his back, the other sliding into his hair. He exhales, long and shaky, like he’s finally allowed to stop holding himself together.
“You eat?” you ask softly.
He shakes his head.
You click your tongue quietly, guiding him inside. He follows without complaint, shoes kicked off wherever they land. When you sit him down, he stays put, elbows on his knees, eyes half-lidded.
You kneel in front of him.
Your thumb brushes gently beneath his eye, careful not to sting. He flinches at first, then stills when he realizes it’s you.
“…Didn’t get it all off,” he mutters.
“I can see,” you say, smiling softly.
You grab a warm cloth and slowly clean his face, touch light, unhurried. He watches you like this is the only place he’s meant to be. When you’re done, you press a kiss to his cheek—right where the eyeliner used to be.
His hand finds your wrist, grounding.
“Stay,” he says quietly.
You don’t answer. You just climb into his lap, arms sliding around his shoulders. He wraps around you immediately, face tucked into your neck, breathing evening out with every second.
Your fingers trace lazy lines along his back. His thumb rubs small circles into your side.
“I hate taking it home,” he admits, voice muffled. “The noise. The looks.”
“I know,” you whisper. “You’re safe here.”
He nods against your skin.
You stay like that for a while—no hero, no battlefield, just the two of you breathing together. Eventually, he shifts, forehead resting against yours.
“…You make it easier,” he says. “Everything.”
You smile and press your lips to his—slow, soft, lingering. He kisses you back like it’s the last quiet thing he gets before morning.
When you pull away, he rests his head on your shoulder again, eyes closed.
The eyeliner may be gone.
But the night still clings to him.
And you’re more than willing to carry it with him.