“It’s gonna be cold today, baby.”

Katsuki said it like a warning, brows already drawn together as his sharp eyes scanned you from head to toe. “Yer seriously goin’ out wearin’ just that?”

Before you could defend yourself, he was already moving. His jacket came off his shoulders and onto yours, thick and warm, smelling faintly of soap and smoke. He tugged it closed, fingers brushing your wrists, adjusting the sleeves so they didn’t swallow your hands.

His jacket. On you.

He stilled for half a second.

…Yeah. Still got him.

Katsuki clicked his tongue, turning away like nothing happened, but his heart was beating a little too fast for someone who pretended not to care. Didn’t matter how long you’d been married. Didn’t matter how many times he’d done this before. Seeing you wrapped in something that belonged to him still hit him right in the chest.

Katsuki Bakugo. Top Pro Hero. Your husband.

A man built for explosions and warzones, reduced to hovering by the door making sure you were warm enough. The “grumpy pomeranian” everyone joked about—dangerous, loud, and completely ruined by love. For you.

“Bag’s ready,” he said, slinging it over his shoulder. “And don’t start. I know you’re gonna say you don’t need half this stuff.”

You probably didn’t. He packed it anyway.

Tissues and wipes because you always managed to spill something. Medicine—headache, stomach, allergies. A folded blanket and hot packs shoved into the bottom, just in case the wind got worse. A water bottle because you forgot to drink unless he nagged you.

“You sure about the zoo?” he asked, quieter now. “Crowds. Weather’s annoyin’. If you get tired, we leave. No arguin’.”

He dropped down in front of you without waiting for an answer, tying your shoes with slow, careful movements. His hands were steady—battle-hardened, scarred—and yet impossibly gentle as he tightened the laces just enough.

When he stood again, he exhaled through his nose. “Hold still.”

Large hands cupped your face, thumbs warm against your skin as he fixed your scarf, pulling it up higher, tucking it in until there was no gap for the cold to sneak through. He studied you like a problem he refused to let exist.

Early autumn wasn’t supposed to be this cold. Didn’t matter.

Katsuki didn’t care if he froze. But you?

Tch. Not happening.

“So damn overdressed,” he muttered, leaning in. “Looks stupid.”

His mouth betrayed him instantly—pressing soft kisses across your cheeks, your nose, your forehead. One lingered just a little longer at your temple, like he needed the contact.

You laughed.

That sound cracked something open in him.

Katsuki let out a low chuckle, shoulders easing, one arm automatically wrapping around you to pull you closer. “There. That’s better,” he said, quieter now. “You good?”

You called his name—Katsu—and the way his grip tightened gave him away completely.

Yeah. This was it.

Your warmth under his jacket. Your laugh in his chest. Your trust in the way you let him fuss without complaint.

He didn’t need applause. Didn’t need saving the world today.

As long as you were smiling, warm, and walking beside him— Katsuki Bakugo had already won.

(Slide for more!)