Saying “i Want Him” About The Character But Not In A Romantic Or Sexual Way . I Just Require Him

Thee kiddos

Blue by Billie Eilish is Touya Todoroki's song.

"Colder than your father's eyes, he never learned to sympathize, with anyone."

This line could honestly go for Touya or Enji in the aspect of never sympathizing with anyone.

"You were born reaching for your mother's hands, victim of your father's plans, to rule the world."

"Too afraid to step out side, paranoid and petrified, of what you've heard."

It explains him so well. And these lines:

"I don't blame you, but I can't change you."

This one reflects the understanding that the rest of the family may have towards Touya's actions that were based on his father, such as getting away from the house in general.

"I don't hate you, but we can't save you."

Could symbolize the relationship between him and his siblings, or even Rei. The song itself is very well written, and the melody and pitiful tone in which the lines are sung at would push even further into the idea that this song explains him well.

you haven't changed, you just think you have

Dabipool

my type if you care

The silence in Katsuki's dorm room was thick enough to chew. The only sound was the soft hum of the overhead fan and the rhythmic groans escaping his lips as you worked on his arms.

It had been another brutal training session, pushing his quirk to its limits and then some. Now, his arms screamed in protest, burning like a thousand tiny suns. But instead of his usual complaints and threats, Katsuki lay there, eyes squeezed shut, his jaw clenched. He knew you were taking care of him, and for once, his pride wasn't putting up a fight.

Your touch was gentle, your fingers kneading the muscles, thumbs working on the pressure points. He could feel your quirk working its magic, a slow, steady drain of his pain that didn't sap his strength. It was a secret they shared, a language of touch only they understood.

You moved from his arms to his shoulders, your fingers tracing the old scars like familiar constellations. He flinched at the touch of one, a jagged reminder of a nasty fall during their childhood.

"It's okay," You whisper, voice soft as a feather. "I'm not going to hurt you."

He scoffed, but there was no bite to it. He knew he was a walking hazard, especially after a day like today.

Your touch continued its journey, navigating the map of his face, tracing the high cheekbones, the sharp jawline, the scar that bisected his eyebrow. He almost growled when your hands reached the burn mark on his chest, a souvenir from that time he'd overheated his own damn body.

Then, your fingers were in his hair, gently massaging his scalp. The tension he didn't even realize he held melted away like ice under a summer sun. He could almost hear the crackle of electricity fading from his skin.

"You know," he mumbled, his voice thick with fatigue, "you shouldn't be doing this for me."

"Says the idiot who used his quirk till his arms felt like they were gonna fall off?" You countered, a playful lilt in your voice.

He couldn't help but crack a grin. "Well, someone's gotta make sure the damn King can still throw a good punch."

You snorted. "You're such a dork."

But the playful jab was laced with something softer, something honest. They'd known each other since they were snot-nosed brats, and somewhere along the line, their childhood friendship had blossomed into something more.

He didn't need fancy words or grand gestures to know you cared. It was in the way you'd always have his back, even when he pushed you away. It was in the quiet understanding that passed between them without needing to be spoken.

It was in the way you could calm his inner explosion with a touch, a whisper, a shared laugh.

He opened his eyes, meeting your gaze. Your eyes, like molten gold, held a tenderness that made his chest ache in a good way.

"Thanks," he muttered, the word rough on his tongue.

You smiled, a slow, genuine smile that lit up your whole face. "Anytime, Kats."

And as you sat there, his head in your lap, your fingers still playing with his hair, the silence no longer felt heavy. It was filled with unspoken words, comfortable companionship, and a love that crackled like electricity, yet felt as soothing as a summer rain.

He was Bakugo, the King of Explosions, always loud, always proud. But with you, he could just be Katsuki. Just your Katsuki. And in that quiet room, under the soft hum of the fan, that was more than enough.