Hey Darling! Lovely To See You Back, Your Writings Were A Part Of My Daily Routine As It Serves Me Some

when katsuki’s copying your snaps so you pull a move

you sat, scattered across your bedroom with your friends. you decided you should all have a sleepover because you hadn’t hung out as a group in a while. as you all continued to giggle and watch a show on your television screen, your phone lit up.

a notification from katsuki, who you were sending photos of yourself to every couple of minutes. of course, he copied them with ease and without a care in the world.

but suddenly, your eyes widened, and you grinned like the cheshire cat. you had an amazing idea. you held the camera not too far away, and flexed your arm, showing your muscle. you giggled, would katsuki really fall for the trick and send you the same pose back?

less than a minute later, he opened the photo, but tsuyu sat next to you and leaned against her arms behind her. she asked, “are you feeling okay? you don’t appear to be interacting with the group as much.”

you nodded, “i’m okay, i’m just trying to get my boyfriend to do something,” then smiled at her clueless face. she was adorable.

you gained another notification from katsuki, so you clicked it and opened the photo.

jesus christ. his muscles were huge.

his shirt was off, and his bicep had a scar on it, he was looking into the camera with a glint in his red eyes and a smirk on his face. you blushed, and your lips stretched into a smile. you saved the photo to your camera roll, and he immediately texted you a message.

‘glad you think i look that good’

you rolled your eyes and smiled, and suddenly you heard a knock on your dorm door. the room went silent, and mina picked up the remote control and paused the show you were watching. everyone looked at each other, then at you. after a couple of seconds, there was another knock at the door and a sigh. you stood up and timidly walked over to the door, then opened it.

katsuki stood there in a black tank top with a white skull in the middle and sweatpants. his muscles still stood out even in his top and pants, and he smirked down at you, then raised his eyebrows.

you looked back at the quiet room and smiled, “don’t worry guys, it’s just katsuki!”

“y/n, he probably came here to be with you. you can let him in, you don’t have to ask us.” you smiled at kyoka’s words, then you squealed and jumped.

your boyfriend didn’t say many words, but you latched onto his bicep and tugged him into your room. he locked the bedroom door then you pushed him onto the bed to watch the show with the girls. you sat crisscrossed with him and switched positions frequently until you were comfortable.

once he laid down on your bed, you immediately followed after him and slung your leg and arm over his body. he groaned and gently pushed your head away when you tried to nuzzle into him, but you whined.

he grinned, knowing he was just trying to irritate you. he then placed his large hand on the back of your head and pulled it back closer to his body, and once everyone was looking away, he kissed your hair.

katsuki would never admit it, but he just wanted to lie down with you. didn’t care much to talk or show you anything, but wanted to be in your presence. you would always be the one to bring his mood up.

words weren’t needed to express his love for you, and vice versa.

but a couple of minutes later, the two of you were passed out, snuggled together in your bed. ochaco stood up from the bean bag and leaned over.

she whispered, “aww, look at those two! they’re adorable, i’ve never seen bakugo like this!” she placed her hands together and spinned.

but mina had a different idea.

“yeah, they’re cute, but eijiro can use this as blackmail, and so can i,” she joked. she took her phone out and made sure the flash was off, before smiling with malicious intent and looking at all the girls. they giggled, and she finally took the photo.

she sent it to eijiro, who texted back, ‘i always knew he was down bad for her’

hope u guys liked this one! tysm for so many likes on my first katsuki post

will bakugou choose seoul, korea or your wedding anniversary?

Bakugou had turned the damn house upside down three times.

“Where the hell is it?” He hissed under his breath, storming through the hallway closet for the third time in two days. He’d torn apart the shoe rack, the document folders, and even flipped through the cookbooks in the kitchen, just in case he’d used it as a bookmark. No dice. The damn passport was still missing.

His hair was sticking up more than usual—half from stress, half from the static of the hoodie he’d thrown on that morning in frustration. They were supposed to leave for Korea in three days. Three. It was the biggest pro-hero conference he’d ever been invited to—panel talks, interviews, awards. Best Jeanist, Lemillion, and even Halfie had their confirmations sent in already.

And what did he have?

An expired copy of his license (he got a new one; the expired one’s just in his drawer), a half-crushed protein bar, and a very pouty, very pregnant wife in the living room.

You had your feet up on the couch, ankles slightly swollen beneath the oversized hoodie you’d stolen from his wardrobe. You were scrolling on your phone with one hand, the other resting on your baby bump, lazily tracing circles. When Bakugou stomped past, you looked up with the slow blink of a cat.

“Still lost?” you asked, not bothering to hide your amusement. Even laughed under your breath.

The audacity, he thinks, though it wasn’t frustration. He could never be mad at you.

Because he knows you’ll get mad at him, too.

Bakugou didn’t answer. He grunted instead, pulling out another drawer in the cabinet near the TV.

“Maybe it grew legs and walked off,” you teased. “Or maybe your big fat ego swallowed it.”

He shot you a look. “Not helping.”

You hummed. “Not trying to.”

Your pout had gotten more dramatic since hitting six months. Bakugou noticed it more these days, how you’d stare down your food like it personally offended you, or how you’d sigh theatrically every time the topic of even him leaving the house came up. At first, you’d been supportive—even joked that you’d video call him during the conference and heckle him from the screen. But once you found out the biggest day of the event landed on your wedding anniversary, the whole game changed.

Suddenly he feels like he’s on house arrest.

“Maybe it’s a sign,” you murmured, taking a sip of the juice he made you this morning. “Maybe you’re meant to stay home this time.”

Bakugou scoffed. As if.

“Ain’t no damn sign. It’s just misplacin’ shit.”

“You don’t have to go,” you said again. “You could stay. Cuddle me. Eat cake. Listen to me cry about clouds.”

“You said I could go if I find my passport,” he pouts, brows furrowed, and his lips jutted slightly.

“I did, and don’t be mad,” you replied. “I want you to go. Really. You’ve worked so hard.”

“Then why do you look like you wanna punch me in the throat?”

You blinked at him. “Because it’s our anniversary and I’m hormonal. Sue me.”

“Uh-huh.”

“So I hope you don’t find it.”

That was the end of that conversation.

-

The night before their anniversary came sooner than expected.

Bakugou had made a reservation at one of the nicest rooftop restaurants in the city. Private booth, soft fairy lights, cityscape twinkling behind them. The host even laid a small bouquet of lavender on the table when he told them it was for a special occasion. He hadn’t told you where you were going, only grunted, “Wear that dress you like—that comfy one. You know the one.”

He hadn’t mentioned anything new about the passport ordeal. You, who figured he’d either given up or accepted fate, were mostly content to enjoy the evening.

You looked like a dream, so his focus was entirely on you. Someone who he somehow managed to have (maybe his bond with his guardian angels came in clutch and even contacted Cupid himself to arrange an arrow for you two).

You waddled into the restaurant, cheeks a little fuller, eyes glowing. He still looked at you like he couldn’t believe he got so lucky. He thinks it makes you shy, how intense his gaze got, even after everything—the morning sickness, the mood swings, the late-night hospital runs due to paranoia.

“You okay?” he asked, placing a hand on your lower back as you walked in.

“Mm,” you hummed, leaning into his touch. You could barely hide your smile at this point. “You’re staring.”

He didn’t even deny it. “I am? So what? Can’t a man just appreciate his wife?”

Dinner went well, for the most part.

You had one hand on your belly, the other wrapped around his fingers on the table. You were halfway through your chocolate mousse when Bakugou reached into his jacket pocket and slid something across the table.

“No,” you said slowly, setting your spoon down. “You didn’t.”

“Yeah, I did.”

He didn’t look smug at all, more like... hopeful.

Your brows furrowed. You reached for the passport, flipping it open.

There it was. His damn passport. Found. Intact. Stamped. His most recent picture was taken only a few months ago.

Yoh stared at it. Then at you. Then back at it again.

“…You found it?”

“Yup.”

“Where was it?”

He cleared his throat, gaze shifting to the side.

“…Behind the dresser in the guest room. Stuffed in that red envelope labeled ‘Important Shit,’ which you labeled in your handwriting, by the way.”

You paused. Your cheeks puffed again as your lips turned downward in the softest pout he’d ever seen. You looked down at your half-eaten dessert, spoon idle.

“You’re really gonna go?”

“I want to,” he admitted. “But I don’t wanna leave you pissed off and lonely, either.”

You didn’t say anything at first. Just poked at your mousse with your spoon. Your lashes were low, and he could tell you were struggling. Not angry, just…sad.

Finally, you said, “It’s just one. It’s just one anniversary. We’ll have dozens more, right?”

“We will. We’ll have centuries more.”

“…And you’ll video call me. Every day.”

“Morning and night.”

“And text me when you land. And when you eat. And when you leave the venue. And—”

Bakugou reached across the table and tugged gently at your hand. His hands are rough against yours, but they’re filled with sincerity and utmost love that a man could give to his wife.

“Hey.”

You looked up.

His voice softened.

“Seriously, d’ya think I’d leave you without a plan?”

You blinked.

“I’m leavin’ you flowers and your cake. I told Kirishima to drop off that spa basket thing you said you wanted last month. And your mom’s stayin’ over the night of. I made sure. I even stocked the fridge.”

Your mouth parted slightly, tilting your head to the side. “You…did all that?”

“Yeah.” He looked almost bashful now, scratching the back of his neck. “Didn’t want you to think I forgot. Even if I ain’t here physically. I’m still here.”

Your eyes shimmered just a bit. A good sign, Bakugou notes.

Then you smiled—soft and tired and affectionate.

“God, you’re gonna make me cry.”

“Tch. Don’t cry. I’ll look like an asshole.”

You laughed then, nose crinkling. “You are an asshole. But a sweet one.”

“Yeah, you love me.”

“I do.”

You two didn’t talk about the passport again that night. Not after that.

Instead, you finished dessert. Slowly. Your hand stayed in his the whole time.

When you walked out of the restaurant, he kept his arm around your shoulders, guiding you carefully down the steps like you were made of glass. You leaned into him, soft and warm, your belly pressing into his side.

And when they got home, you told him, “Let’s open the anniversary cake early.”

He didn’t say no. Not when you looked that happy. It doesn’t matter that he’s already full from the chocolate mousse you two had earlier.

When night finally settled, and Bakugou’s wiping the excess frosting off the corners of your lips with a napkin, he hears you say, “Come home soon, okay?”

He nodded, then softly kissed the crown of your head.

“Always.”

Always come home to you.

-

The morning of Bakugou’s flight started earlier than usual.

He had been up before the alarm even went off, brushing his teeth with the kind of intensity that only came from years of military-grade discipline… or nerves (also because he wants all bad germs on his mouth to die). Not that he’d ever admit to the latter. He stood in front of the mirror, towel slung low on his hips, steam curling from the hot shower as he stared at his reflection.

This was it. The day he was supposed to fly out to Korea.

Except—he wasn’t going.

Not really.

He’d made his decision last night, somewhere between the weight of your hug and the feel of your heartbeat against his body when you fell asleep on his chest. The moment you started snoring softly, your nose slightly buried in his shirt, he realized there was no way in hell he was getting on that plane.

Not this time.

But you didn’t need to know that just yet.

Because if there was one thing Bakugou knew about his wife, it was that you’d throw a fit if he skipped a life-changing professional opportunity just to spend your anniversary folding baby laundry and rubbing your swollen ankles. Plus, he knew you’d never allow him to stay. And if you knew he was lying about leaving, you’d huff and puff until he actually made him go.

So, he planned ahead. Like a goddamn mastermind.

By the time you woke up—slightly groggy with pillow lines on your cheek—he had already “packed.” His suitcase was zipped shut and positioned neatly by the door. His travel duffle bag sat upright next to it. His travel documents were tucked inside an envelope labeled “Do Not Open Unless Emergency.” (Totally blank inside.)

You blinked at him sleepily, rubbing your eyes as you waddled into the living room in his oversized T-shirt. One of the many shirts he was sure was missing from his closet.

“You already packed?” you murmured, voice small and pouty.

He turned from the kitchen, coffee mug in hand. Acting too nonchalant to not give anything away.

“Yeah,” he said. “Didn’t wanna rush.”

You crossed your arms over your bump. “It’s only a three-hour flight, Katsuki. Not an expedition to the Arctic.”

“Still gotta prep,” he said, biting back a grin.

Your eyes narrowed suspiciously, but the smell of something sweet distracted you. Bingo.

He stepped aside, revealing a neatly arranged dessert box sitting on the counter. Inside: four of your favorites—strawberry shortcake with extra whipped cream, a slice of creamy Basque burnt cheesecake, a generous portion of tiramisu, and your current obsession: mango sticky rice.

“You bought me desserts?” you awed.

“I bought you a stack,” he corrected. “Don’t think I don’t know you get all sad and start craving sugar when I leave.”

You scoffed. “I do not.”

“You do,” he said, crossing his arms smugly. “You pouted so hard last time I left, I came back to find the fridge empty and you passed out with a half-eaten ice cream tub on the couch.”

“That was one time!”

“And I’m not takin’ chances.”

He bent forward, pressed a kiss to your cheek, then to your rounded belly. “Eat well. Don’t lift anything heavy. Text me when you’re sleepy. I’ll land by lunch. Kirishima’s already on the way, but it’ll take a while because of traffic since the bridge is getting repaired.”

“You’re acting suspicious,” you said, frowning as you clung to his shirt. “You never say goodbye this… nicely.”

“That’s rude,” he muttered. “I’m always nice.”

“No, you’re normally grumpy and say something like, ‘Don’t burn the house down while I’m gone.’”

He smirked. You weren’t wrong entirely.

“Well, maybe I don’t wanna come back to find out you’ve cried over an empty dessert box.”

Your lip wobbled, and he kissed you again—softly this time, with an extra squeeze to your waist.

“I’ll be back before you know it. It’s just for two nights.”

-

He left around nine. Or at least, pretended to.

Instead of heading to the airport, he drove straight to his agency, parked in the underground garage, and holed up in his office. There was a bottle of juice in the mini fridge, emergency snacks in the bottom drawer, and an absurd number of congratulatory emails flooding his inbox that he ignored.

The hours ticked by slowly.

He checked his phone a dozen times. No calls. No texts. Just one blurry photo from you of the dessert box with the caption: You’re lucky I’m in a sugar coma right now. Or I’d be mad you left without triple kissing me goodbye.

He snorted.

Around lunchtime, he got restless. Then irritated.

Then, at exactly 1:00 P.M., he got in the car and drove home.

No warning.

No heads-up.

He half-expected you to be lounging in the living room, watching drama reruns and fanning yourself while complaining about heartburn. But when he pulled up the driveway and unlocked the front door—

The house was suspiciously quiet.

His brows pulled together.

“[Name]?” he called out, stepping in.

Nothing.

He frowned and shut the door behind him, stepping out of his boots. He heard a thud from the back hallway. Then a low grunt. A shuffle.

His eyes narrowed.

Then he heard you muttering.

“Come on, come on, I’m not that heavy—”

He rounded the corner—and stopped cold.

There you were.

Standing in the hallway. Sweaty. Red-faced. Holding a large box half your size with both hands, your bump barely giving you enough room to balance it. Your lip was caught between your teeth as you struggled to carry what was definitely one of the boxes he had explicitly labeled: Do Not Touch.

“…What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

You screamed.

You literally screamed—jumping nearly out of your skin, eyes wide like you saw a ghost.

Or a burglar.

Or both, at this point.

“—Katsuki! I thought you were in Korea—what the hell—”

“Put the box down.”

“You can’t just walk in like that, I thought—I—”

“Put it down, [Name].”

You dropped it with a loud thunk, wobbling backward and grabbing your shoulders.

“Oh my god, I thought you were a home invader! I was ready to throw a candle at you—why are you back?!”

Bakugou marched toward you, still wide-eyed with a mixture of rage and pure panic. He can’t believe this at all. “More importantly, why the fuck are you lifting boxes?!”

“I was bored!”

“Bored? So you decided to tear a disc and pop a blood vessel?!”

“I didn’t tear anything! And it wasn’t heavy; it’s mostly baby blankets!”

He crouched down instantly to pick it up—still heavy, despite your excuses—and carried it to the nursery, grumbling the entire way. “Goddamn woman’s gonna give me a stroke,” he muttered, though there was never any heat in his words.

You waddled after him, still stunned.

“Wait. Why are you here?!”

“I never left.”

“You… what?”

“I stayed at the agency. Figured I’d come back after you thought I was gone. Catch you red-handed.”

“You liar!”

He turned toward you, his frustration subsiding.

“You’re not even a good liar! You went full fake goodbye mode this morning! You even left me mango sticky rice!”

“Yeah. ‘Cause I knew you’d snoop around and start being reckless the second you thought no one was watching.”

Your cheeks puffed up again. That damn pout.

“I was just nesting,” you mumbled.

“Nesting doesn’t involve deadlifting half a closet,” he shot back. “You promised you’d take it easy.”

“…I thought you were in Korea.”

“Yeah, well, again, surprise.”

You blinked up at him again, eyes soft now, overwhelmed. “…You really stayed just for me?”

When he sets the boxes down, he exhaled and cupped your cheek, thumb brushing under your eye. “You really thought I’d leave you alone on our anniversary? Pregnant? Carrying boxes? Eating dessert by yourself? What do you take me for? A shitty husband?”

You hit his chest weakly.

“You’re so unfair,” you muttered.

“I know,” he grinned. “And I love you.”

You melted then. Completely.

Wrapping your arms around him, your bump pressing into his stomach, you buried your face in his chest and whispered: “I love you too, you dramatic maniac.”

That night, there was no flight. No press. No conference.

Just takeout on the couch, your feet in his lap, mango sticky rice on your plate, and his hand splayed across your belly like a homecoming gift.

Bakugou may have missed a headline.

But he made the right choice.

And that mattered more.

SEUMYO © 2025. PLEASE DO NOT REPOST, PLAGIARIZE, MODIFY OR TRANSLATE.

Hii! If you don't mind, can you write an bakugou x fem reader where reader likes Katsuki and everyone including Katsuki knows cuz she always gives him gifts (that he throws out), compliments him, and overall just always there annoying him and one day Katsuki had enough and lashed out on her telling her that she's annoying and insulting her. Reader ofc got hurt by this and stopped. You can decide if it's full angst and no happy ending or angst but happy ending!

If you don't like writing something like this it's fine!! I love your works btww!!💕💕

Too Much

You were relentless.

Every morning, you greeted him with that same bright smile. Every training session, you cheered him on, even when he didn’t need it. Every holiday, you left little gifts—protein bars, extra bandages, even stupid handmade keychains with tiny explosions on them.

And every time, Bakugou threw them away.

It wasn’t that he didn’t notice you. No, everyone knew you liked him. Even he knew. How could he not, when you made it so damn obvious? You were always there, always orbiting around him, always pushing and pushing—until one day, he finally snapped.

It happened after class, in the locker room hallway. You had just handed him another stupid little package, a neatly wrapped box with a bow on top. Probably some homemade treat again. His jaw clenched. His patience ran out.

"Tch—just stop it already!"

You blinked, taken aback. "Huh?"

"Just fucking stop, alright? You’re so goddamn annoying!" His voice was sharp, cutting, full of frustration that had been building for months. "Always following me around, always giving me shit I don’t need, always acting like—like if you do enough, I’ll magically like you back!"

Your hands curled around the gift, fingers trembling. The sting in your chest was immediate, like someone had punched all the air out of your lungs. "I-I just…"

"What, huh? You think if you keep this up, I’ll suddenly give a shit? News flash—I don’t!" His ruby eyes burned into you, his scowl deeper than ever. "I never asked for any of this! So just… fucking quit it already!"

Silence.

You swallowed hard, lips parting like you wanted to say something, but the words never came. Instead, you nodded—once, twice—before clutching the gift to your chest and walking away. No tears. No protests. Just… silence.

And for the first time in a long time, Bakugou felt off.

***

Days passed. You avoided him. You weren’t dumb—you heard people whisper about it. You saw the looks your friends gave you, full of pity. And you hated it. So you threw yourself into training, into your studies, into not thinking about him.

But Bakugou?

He noticed.

At first, he told himself it didn’t matter. But every time he glanced at his desk and saw nothing there, every time he caught himself looking for you in a crowd, every time he found himself missing your voice, something gnawed at him.

And eventually, it ate him alive.

So one day, he found you sitting outside, staring at the sunset, and without thinking, he sat next to you.

You stiffened, eyes flicking to him, but said nothing.

A long silence stretched between you before he finally muttered, "You stopped."

You scoffed, shaking your head. "That’s what you wanted, right?"

His hands curled into fists. "I—…Fuck, I didn’t mean—" He exhaled sharply, frustration mixing with guilt. "Look, I was a dick. I know that. But I didn’t…" He struggled, searching for the right words. "I didn’t want you to go away."

You stared at him for a moment before looking away, voice quiet. "Then why did you tell me to?"

Bakugou had no good answer.

But for the first time, he reached into his pocket and pulled something out—a small, worn-out keychain. One of the stupid explosion ones you had made. The one he hadn’t thrown away.

And for the first time, you saw the faintest dusting of pink on his cheeks as he shoved it toward you.

"Shut up and take it back."

this is the best dad katsuki thing ive ever read

"Explosions of the Heart"

This one is rlly long😭

☆☆☆

The hospital reeked of antiseptic and tension. The fluorescent lights flickered overhead as Bakugo Katsuki paced the floor like a caged animal. His hands—usually steady in battle—trembled slightly. Outside the delivery room, his world was unraveling.

"Mr. Bakugo," the nurse called gently. "She’s in distress. We’re doing everything we can."

He didn’t answer. His crimson eyes were locked on the swinging double doors that had swallowed you hours ago.

You—his wife, his partner, the only person who could call him a dumbass and still get a smile out of him—were behind those doors. And you were fighting a battle even he couldn't charge into fists-first.

Twelve Hours Earlier

Your water had broken in the dead of night. You’d barely gotten a full sentence out before Bakugo was already tossing clothes into a bag and barking at the cab company over the phone. By the time you reached the hospital, contractions were tearing through you like lightning, each one worse than the last.

Something wasn’t right.

The baby was breach. Your blood pressure spiked. You were losing too much blood. They rushed you into an emergency delivery, voices sharp and fast. Bakugo hadn’t been allowed in.

Present

Time blurred. Katsuki hated feeling useless more than anything. He should be in there. He should be beside you, holding your hand, telling you it was going to be okay even if his chest felt like it was going to explode.

A sudden scream tore through the hall. Your scream.

His knees buckled. He hadn’t even heard himself move before he was slamming into the door, fists glowing faintly, ready to break it down—

"Sir!" a nurse barked, shoving him back. "You can't go in there!"

"That’s my damn wife!" he snarled. "Let me—"

The screaming stopped.

Too abruptly.

Bakugo froze. The world stopped moving.

Seconds felt like eternities until finally, the doors opened and a doctor stepped out, blood on her scrubs and exhaustion in her eyes.

"She’s alive," she said softly. "And so is your son. But it was close. Too close."

His legs gave out and he collapsed into the nearest chair. His hands covered his face as air finally returned to his lungs. Alive. You were both alive.

"You can see her now."

He stood shakily, pushing into the room. You looked like hell—pale, exhausted, barely able to lift your eyelids—but when you saw him, a weak smile curved your lips.

"You look like shit," you whispered.

A choked laugh escaped him. He grabbed your hand and pressed it to his lips. “Don’t ever scare me like that again, dumbass.”

Then he saw the tiny bundle in your arms. Wide red eyes—his eyes—blinked up at him.

"Hey, little guy," he said, voice thick. "You’re already causing trouble, huh?"

You laughed faintly, and Bakugo leaned in, touching his forehead to yours.

"Next time," he murmured, "we're adopting."

---

Two Weeks Later

You were finally home.

The scent of sterilized hospital air had been replaced by the warmth of your shared apartment, still littered with unopened baby gifts and half-assembled furniture. It felt surreal, like you had died and somehow gotten a second chance.

Katsuki hadn’t left your side since the hospital.

He’d been quieter than usual—not cold, but... different. Protective. Watchful. The explosions were fewer, the yelling almost nonexistent. And at night, when he thought you were asleep, you caught him just staring—at you, at the baby, at the scar the IV left on your hand.

Like he couldn’t believe either of you were still here.

You shifted slightly on the couch, wincing. Your body still ached like hell. The stitches, the swelling, the pressure—no one talked about how brutal recovery would be. You felt raw. Fragile.

"Katsuki," you called weakly.

He appeared instantly from the kitchen, a bottle in one hand and your pain meds in the other. "Need something?"

"Come sit with me."

He hesitated. "You’re still hurting. I don’t wanna crowd you."

You reached out, fingers curling in the air.

He sighed, set everything down, and slid onto the couch beside you. Carefully. Gently. You leaned your head on his shoulder, your newborn cradled against your chest, tiny breaths warm against your skin.

"He looks like you," you murmured.

"Poor brat," he said, but his voice was soft.

Your fingers laced with his.

"You’ve been quiet."

He didn’t answer for a long time. Then:

"You almost died." His voice cracked. “And I couldn’t do shit about it.”

You turned to look at him, eyes brimming. "But I didn’t. We didn’t. Katsuki, you didn’t leave me. Not for a second. That means everything."

He clenched his jaw. “I’ve fought villains who tried to kill me. I’ve been stabbed, exploded, buried under rubble. I can deal with that. But you, bleeding out and screaming and I couldn’t even touch you—” He broke off. “I’ve never been that fucking scared in my life.”

Tears slipped down your cheek, and you pressed your lips to his temple. “You’re here. I’m here. Our son’s here. That’s all that matters.”

He looked down at the sleeping baby, chest rising and falling in sync with yours. “He’s tiny.”

You smirked. “So were you. Until puberty hit like a damn truck.”

A reluctant chuckle rumbled from him. “If he has even half your stubbornness, we’re screwed.”

“Half yours, you mean,” you teased.

The room went quiet again. You nestled closer, letting yourself breathe in his warmth, his scent. Safe.

“I thought I was ready to be a dad,” he said suddenly. “I trained for it. Got the nursery set up, read every damn book. But the second they handed him to me, I realized I didn’t know shit.”

You smiled sleepily. “You’re already doing perfect.”

“You’re just saying that ‘cause I haven’t blown up a diaper yet.”

You both laughed—quiet, tired, and a little broken, but real.

He looked at you, really looked, eyes softer than you’d ever seen them.

“I love you,” he whispered.

You blinked. Bakugo never whispered.

“I love you too,” you whispered back, voice catching.

And for the first time in weeks, you both finally exhaled.

---

Three Months Later

“You sure you’re okay without me for a few hours?” you asked again, already halfway out the door.

Bakugo rolled his eyes, baby monitor clipped to his sweatpants, your son strapped into a carrier on his chest like a slightly confused koala.

“D’you think I can’t handle him or something?” he grumbled.

“I think he shat through three outfits before noon yesterday, and you nearly declared war on baby wipes.”

Katsuki scowled. “One time.”

“One time per diaper.”

You kissed his cheek before he could argue, smirking. “You’ll be fine, Dad of the Year.”

The door clicked shut behind you.

And just like that… it was quiet.

Bakugo glanced down at the wide-eyed little boy strapped to his chest. “Alright, kid. Just me and you.”

The baby blinked, then made a soft gurgling noise.

“You better not be loading your diaper already.”

**

The first twenty minutes went smooth. Katsuki heated a bottle with military precision, burped the baby like a pro, and even played peekaboo without blowing anything up.

Then the baby started crying.

Loud.

Katsuki checked the diaper. Clean. Tried feeding him. Refused. Burping? Nothing. Pacifier? Launched like a missile.

“Are you broken?” he hissed, bouncing him awkwardly.

The baby wailed louder.

Bakugo, future Number One Hero, demolisher of villains, destroyer of fear itself… was being absolutely obliterated by a 12-pound infant.

“Alright!” he shouted over the crying. “You win, gremlin!”

He tried the ultimate move: laying on the couch with the baby on his chest, just like you did.

It worked. Instant silence.

“…Seriously?”

Tiny fingers gripped the collar of his shirt, and the baby let out a satisfied sigh, snuggling deeper against him.

“Tch. You just wanted to lay on me, huh?” Katsuki mumbled. “Clingy little nerd.”

He didn’t move. Not even when his phone buzzed. You’d texted: Everything okay?

He snapped a photo of his son sleeping peacefully on his chest and sent it back.

We’re good. Don’t rush.

He stared at the photo for a long time, warmth blooming in his chest. The kid looked so much like you when he was relaxed. And Katsuki realized something he hadn’t said out loud yet.

He loved this.

Being a dad.

The mess, the noise, the confusion—it was all chaos he could handle if it meant protecting you and this little bean.

“You’re not that bad, y’know,” he muttered. “Might even grow up to be cooler than me.”

The baby snorted in his sleep.

“Yeah, alright, don’t push it.”

**

When you walked in an hour later, you found them both fast asleep—Katsuki snoring, the baby drooling on his chest, one tiny fist tangled in his dad’s ash-blond hair.

You smiled and quietly snapped a photo.

The caption would read: My boys. Chaos level: manageable.

For now.

---

Ten Months Later

Your son had started babbling a while ago, but it was mostly incoherent nonsense—"ba-ba," "da-da," the occasional squeal that sounded like a baby pterodactyl mid-meltdown.

Katsuki had been watching him like a hawk, waiting for the first real word. It had practically become a competition between you two—who would he say first? "Mama" or "Dada"?

Katsuki refused to lose.

“You know I carried him for nine months, right?” you said, folding laundry one afternoon.

“Yeah, and I carried your ass through every post-labor breakdown, so I’d say we’re even,” he grunted, ruffling your son’s spiky blond hair as he sat chewing on a toy grenade (definitely plastic).

Your son looked up at him with wide, mischievous eyes and suddenly let out a loud, clear—

“Boom.”

Silence.

You blinked. “Did he just—?”

Katsuki’s eyes widened. “No. No way. Say it again, brat.”

The baby giggled. “Boom!”

“Oh my god.”

Katsuki stood there frozen for a moment, and then his mouth curled into the smuggest grin you’d ever seen.

“That’s my boy.”

You threw a sock at his face. “Katsuki, his first word was ‘boom.’”

“I’m proud as hell.”

“He’s not a grenade!”

“He’s mine, so yes, he is.”

Your son squealed again. “Boom!”

Now he was bouncing.

“Stop encouraging him!” you said, even though you were trying not to laugh.

Bakugo squatted beside him and bumped their foreheads together gently. “Boom, huh? You’re gonna be a damn legend.”

You shook your head in disbelief, watching your two pyro-twins grin at each other like chaos incarnate.

Katsuki looked up at you, full of fire and affection. “Guess we know what kind of quirk he’s leanin’ toward.”

You groaned. “We are so not baby-proofed for explosions.”

Katsuki smirked. “Guess I better teach him control before he blows up the crib.”

Your baby babbled happily between them again. “Boom!”

Yeah. You were definitely raising a little dynamite.

And honestly? You wouldn’t have it any other way.

---

Age: 2 Years, 3 Months

Your son’s first day of daycare was supposed to be normal.

You’d packed his snacks, extra clothes, diapers, wipes, and left strict instructions that he was “sweet, a little stubborn, and very attached to his Bakugou-brand plushie.”

You also wrote in bold: “If he gets upset, avoid loud noises. They tend to... backfire.”

The teacher smiled politely. “We’ve handled all kinds of quirks. Don’t worry.”

You didn’t.

Until the phone call.

Three hours later.

Bakugo answered it on speaker.

“Hello, this is—uh—Miss Hikari from Little Hero Steps Daycare. We have a small situation.”

Katsuki’s eyes narrowed. “Is he hurt?”

“No! No, he’s fine. Perfectly fine. A little excited, actually…”

Your stomach dropped.

“…but the plastic slide may have, um... detonated.”

Katsuki let out a low snort. “He blew up the slide?”

“It was only the top half,” she added quickly. “And technically, it was more of a pop than a boom.”

You could feel Katsuki’s pride from across the kitchen.

“Are the other kids okay?” you asked, horrified.

“Yes! No injuries. He wasn’t upset, just… showing off. He said ‘Boom!’ and then—”

“That’s my son,” Bakugo said, folding his arms with a smug little smirk.

You elbowed him. “That is not a good thing.”

“Didn’t say it was bad either.”

**

When you arrived at the daycare, your son was sitting on a beanbag with three teachers around him—like he was some kind of dangerous celebrity.

His hair was wild, his cheeks were smudged with soot, and he looked way too pleased with himself.

“Mommy! Daddy!” he yelled, running over and nearly tripping on his own feet.

“Hey, you little menace,” Katsuki muttered, picking him up.

“Boom!” he chirped proudly, like it was his name.

One of the teachers came over, cautiously.

“We think his quirk is starting to develop. It’s... early, but very similar to yours, Mr. Bakugo.”

Katsuki beamed. “Damn right it is.”

You groaned. “Please tell me we’re not banned.”

The teacher laughed nervously. “No—though we’re investing in more fireproof playground equipment starting immediately.”

**

That night, after your son was passed out in his crib, soot still faintly dusting his forehead, you collapsed on the couch.

“He’s gonna be a handful,” you murmured, resting your head on Katsuki’s chest.

“Yeah,” he muttered, stroking your hair. “He’s gonna be a hell of a hero too.”

You smiled, eyes drifting closed as you listened to your husband’s heartbeat under your cheek—steady, strong, and forever explosive.

Just like the little boy down the hall.

---

You were pregnant. Again.

You hadn’t meant for it to happen quite so soon—not when your firstborn was still blowing up laundry baskets for fun and calling it “training.”

But the second those two pink lines appeared, your stomach flipped. Part nerves. Part excitement. And a lot of “oh god, how is Bakugo going to react?”

**

You told him on a quiet evening. Your son was asleep (finally) and the living room still smelled faintly of scorched Play-Doh.

You sat beside him, heart racing.

“I’m pregnant.”

Bakugo blinked. He looked at you. Then at your stomach. Then back at you.

“…Are you sure?”

You nodded, biting your lip.

He leaned forward slowly, resting a hand on your thigh like he thought the couch might explode.

“Holy shit.”

You laughed. “That’s… not the response I expected.”

He stared at your stomach for a long time before finally saying, softly, “You okay with this?”

“I’m scared. But yeah. I want this.”

He nodded, jaw tightening. “You nearly died last time.”

“I know.”

“You think I can do this again?” His voice cracked, barely above a whisper. “What if I lose you this time?”

You reached for his hand. “Then you hold me tighter and fight harder.”

Bakugo clenched his fists, then gently rested one palm on your belly.

“…You better be a chill baby,” he muttered. “I can’t handle two demolition experts at once.”

**

Your son found out a week later when he walked into the kitchen, pointed to your tiny bump, and said:

“BOOM 2?”

You choked on your orange juice. Katsuki burst out laughing.

From that point on, the baby was Boom 2 to him.

**

As the months passed, your second pregnancy felt... different. Easier in some ways, harder in others. Your son was older now, talking more, asking endless questions.

“Did I live in your belly too?”

“You did, baby.”

“Was I loud?”

“You screamed the whole time.”

He nodded proudly. “Boom!”

Katsuki didn’t stop worrying. Not for a second. Every time you winced, he was at your side. Every time you had a check-up, he came. He argued with nurses over your chart. Practically threatened the OB into promising you a safer delivery plan.

“I lost my shit once,” he told the doctor. “I’m not doing that again.”

**

One quiet night, a few weeks before your due date, he crawled into bed behind you and wrapped his arms around your belly, pulling you gently against his chest.

“Still scared,” he whispered against your skin.

“I know,” you whispered back.

“But I want this. I want all of this. You, him”—he nodded toward your sleeping toddler down the hall—“and this tiny bomb too.”

Your heart melted.

“I want them to know they’re loved,” he added, voice thick. “No matter how loud, or messy, or crazy it gets.”

“They’ll know,” you promised, turning to kiss him softly. “Because they have you.”

Katsuki didn’t answer. He just held you tighter, his hand on your belly.

And somewhere inside, Boom 2 kicked like they were already ready to make an entrance.

Just like their brother.

Just like their dad.

---

It started with a kick.

Not just any kick—one that rocked your whole body at 3:12 a.m.

You groaned, gripping the edge of the bed.

Katsuki shot up like a soldier under fire.

“Contraction?” he barked.

“Yep,” you hissed, breathing through it.

He was already moving—bag in hand, grabbing your shoes, shouting toward the baby monitor: “Stay asleep, Boom #1!”

**

This time around, the doctors were ready. And so was Katsuki.

Still, even as they guided you into the labor room, he was white-knuckling the edge of your bed, eyes locked on you like if he blinked, you’d vanish.

You reached for him.

“I’m okay,” you said between waves of pain. “I’m okay.”

“I’m not letting go of you this time,” he muttered, voice low, jaw clenched.

And he didn’t.

Not when your screams broke through the walls.

Not when the monitors started beeping faster.

Not when the doctor said, “We need to move quickly—cord’s wrapped.”

He held your hand through it all. Pressed his forehead to yours. Whispered every curse word in the book, followed by: “You’ve got this. You’re stronger than anyone I’ve ever met.”

And when the final cry rang out—

A high, sharp wail that cut through the air like lightning—

Bakugo exhaled like he’d been holding his breath for nine months straight.

“She’s perfect,” the nurse whispered.

“She?” you breathed, dazed.

Katsuki blinked. “A girl?”

They placed her on your chest—tiny, red, angry as hell. She immediately latched onto your hospital gown like she was ready to fight the world.

You laughed through tears. “She’s already like you.”

Katsuki stared at her.

Just stared.

His eyes—those wild, stormy eyes—were wide and full of wonder.

“You’re kidding me,” he whispered. “I’ve got a daughter.”

You reached for his hand. “You’ve got us.”

He leaned down, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead, then to your daughter’s.

“I swear on my damn life,” he whispered, “no one’s ever gonna mess with you.”

She let out a fierce little squeak.

And he smiled, completely undone.

**

An hour later, you were resting, and he was sitting by the bed with your baby girl tucked into the crook of his arm.

“Name?” you asked, eyes heavy but heart full.

He looked down at her, then at you.

“What about Kaori?” he said. “Strong. Bright. Means fragrance or light.”

You smiled. “Kaori Bakugo. It’s perfect.”

And for the first time that night, the hospital room felt still. Safe.

Because no matter how explosive your little family was becoming—

It was built on something unshakable.

Love. Fire. And a whole lot of Boom.

---

Two days after Kaori’s birth, you came home—sore, exhausted, but glowing. Kaori was tiny, sleepy, and wrapped like a burrito in her fuzzy explosion-patterned blanket that Katsuki insisted she wear home.

Your front door creaked open slowly.

Bakugo carried Kaori in with terrifying precision, like she was made of nitroglycerin.

Inside, your two-year-old son was standing barefoot in the hallway—holding a plastic grenade in one hand and a drawing in the other.

“Mommy!” he shouted, running at you.

You caught him one-armed, lifting him up, groaning slightly. “Easy, baby.”

Katsuki stood back, rocking gently with Kaori in his arms. “Hey, Boom #1,” he said softly. “Wanna meet your sister?”

Your son blinked, looking at the tiny pink bundle.

“That’s her?”

“Yup.”

“She looks squishy.”

“She is,” you said, chuckling. “Gentle, okay?”

He padded over on tiptoes, peering up at her like she was some sort of sacred relic.

“…She doesn’t go boom?”

“Let’s hope not,” Katsuki muttered.

“She’s your baby sister,” you explained. “Her name is Kaori.”

He tilted his head. “Can I keep her?”

Katsuki smirked. “She’s not a pet.”

“But I love her already,” your son said proudly. Then leaned close and whispered (as if it were a spell): “Boom.”

Kaori stirred slightly… and farted.

A loud one.

Your son lost it.

“SHE DOES BOOM TOO!” he screamed.

Katsuki nearly dropped her from laughing so hard. “Oh god. She’s already like you.”

**

You all settled in the living room. Kaori slept peacefully on Katsuki’s chest while your son built a pillow fort and declared it the "Boom Base."

“She can live in the base with me,” he announced.

“She’s not old enough for base life yet,” you said.

“I’ll protect her,” he added matter-of-factly. “From monsters. And spiders. And broccoli.”

You looked over at Katsuki, who was watching the two of them with a look you’d only ever seen twice before: once on your wedding day, and once when your son took his first steps.

“Didn’t think I could love more than I already did,” he murmured. “But damn.”

You scooted closer and leaned into him, Kaori safe between you.

“Looks like we’re officially a team of four.”

“Correction,” Katsuki said. “We’re a squad.”

A very loud, occasionally explosive, wildly chaotic squad.

And honestly? You wouldn’t trade it for the world.

dabi's first kiss is when you run into him in an alleyway while trying to get away from someone following you. he's just there, minding his business. when you approach him, ask him to help (to which he reluctantly agrees), and ends up making out with you with his back towards the street, effectively hiding you (and him bcs his dark clothes) from whoever was following you around.

---

-Hii! I'm Khloe-

I write mainly for Katsuki, but I could write for others too!

Please send requests!

MISSING A DATE . they forget about a big date with you and realize it too late

with deku + bakugou (in their pro-hero era)

one thing about him is that he always tried his absolute best to make time for you amid his busy schedule. you understood that you weren't the only one that demanded his attention due to his work and were okay with that. as long as you still got your 'me-time' with him, where he blocked out the world and focused on you and only you, you couldn't ask for a more perfect relationship.

but this was your last straw. you had forgiven the late nights, the last-minute cancellations—gotten used to being alone in your luxurious apartment, which only reminded you of the one thing you were missing.

you had planned this date for months. a set time where you both blocked off time that night to just be with each other in a word that tried everything to keep you apart.

"remember tonight, baby." you chirped as you kissed him goodbye that morning.

he hummed and gave you a tight hug before leaving.

you felt giddy as you prepared yourself, slipping into your best clothes and fixing yourself in the mirror. you felt as you did on the night of your first date with him. you couldn't be more excited.

then, you waited. and waited. the restaurant happily sat you next to a window, the streetlamps twinkling romantically against the dusky backdrop.

you waited some more. soon your bright posture slouched as your checked your phone. messaged him a couple times, called a few times more. he's probably just running late.

families came and went, and before you knew it, hours had passed.

you burned in embarrassment as you stared at the empty chair across from you, focusing your frustration as if he was sitting there. but even that didn't give you relief. every one of your thoughts and feelings came to the same conclusion—

he hadn't shown up.

IZUKU

you ordered some food to-go. why not get something out of this outing? besides, the food would do good to distract you from the dread swirling in your stomach. you flashed the server a quick smile before dragging your feet out the restaurant.

you threw your bag, coat, and shoes to the ground as you walked into your apartment, uncaring of where they ended up. you needed the couch, a movie, and the food you were carrying.

a few hours later, izuku showed up. you heard the door slide open and the jangle of his keys. his heavy sigh was familiar and it almost made you feel bad for feeling so angry about him missing this date. almost.

you made no move to greet him as he entered the living space, a big grin plastered on his face. "you look pretty."

the compliment was just salt on the wound, ironically. you hummed, remaining laser focused on your show.

he tugged off his white gloves and set them on the table. "what's got you all dressed up tonight, hmm?" he sat next to you, running his hands up and down your arm.

you just handed him one of the takeout boxes. "want some?" you said dryly.

"what's this—? oh, i recognize the name of this restaurant..." he surveyed the box in his hands, his voice becoming quieter as he sunk into his thoughts. "oh."

you got off the couch.

"oh." he repeated, staring at the takeout box incredulously. "baby, don't tell me tonight was—"

"it was." you said simply, walking into the bedroom. you couldn't bear to look at him.

"fuck." you heard him hiss. a light thudding followed as he hurried after you. "y/n, god, i'm so sorry—don't tell me you went there alone—"

"izuku, i don't care anymore." you turned around abruptly, making him skid to a halt before you. his expression read shock. "i don't."

he slumped and inched closer to you. "no, don't say that—"

"you don't give me a reason to care anymore." you laughed wryly though your lips trembled. "i—" your breath hitched and you turned away from him.

his voice sounded watery as he tried to turn your body to face him again. "i'm so sorry, there was a hangout at the agency after work today and... shit, i totally forgot—"

"a fucking party?" you snapped. "you blew off the date you and i planned for months in advance because we never get to spend time together anymore to hang out with the same goddamn people you see every single day?"

he groaned. "i know, i know—"

"you don't know, izuku." your voice quivered. "you don't, okay?" you sobbed.

he was stunned to silence, unsure of how to right something so horribly wrong.

"you don't know what it's like to always be waiting. i'm always waiting for you. you always have something better to do." you sobbed, sitting on the edge of the bed. you really didn't want to have this conversation with him; you knew you'd break down sobbing. you thought it would've been best if he didn't come back home at all.

he knelt beside you, resting his head where your knees hung over the bed. he stared up at your heartbroken face with tears threatening to flow. "there is nothing that deserves my time more than you." he said firmly.

"you say that as if it's true." you said quietly. "but you don't even..." you looked away from him to reign in your emotions.

he frowned deeply. he knew it was all his fault. you reminded him this morning and he still forgot. you had no reason to believe the words coming out of his mouth. that doesn't mean he's going to stop trying to prove them.

he rested his head against your stomach and wrapped his arms around you tightly. "you have every right to hate me right now, y/n. you've been lonely and overlooked and i haven't done anything to make things better."

you refused to look at him.

he tilted his head with hopes of catching your gaze. "y/n, i mean it. there's nothing that deserves my time more than you. anyone else would've left me. you've given me love and understanding with my hero work..." he choked on his words, finally facing the reality of his relationship. "and i've just taken it and left you behind."

you sniffled.

he stood, bending at the waist to kiss your forehead. "i love you. so much. it's time i start proving it, huh?"

your eyes flickered to his, questioning evident on your expression.

he smiled sadly. "japan has many heroes. i'm sure kacchan and todoroki can handle things without me for a while."

you huffed and rolled your eyes. "very funny. you're a hero, izuku, it's in your nature to shoulder everything." you pouted, guilt threatening to inhabit your thoughts.

he shook his head, cupping your cheeks in his hands. "i'm dead serious. the world doesn't need me everyday, you do. and i'll adjust my schedule to suit."

"but..." you groaned. "god, why do i feel guilty now?" you mumbled.

"stop it. you're not keeping me away from anything. this was long overdue. nothing would make me happier," he grinned and kissed you again before tackling you in a hug.

BAKUGOU

you left the restaurant without another word, feeling so sick to the stomach that you couldn't even bear to go home to the empty apartment.

you tried desperately to convince yourself that something important was holding him up. he didn't forget. he just had some life-threatening epic battle that he needed to attend to. he didn't forget.

you crashed at a friend's house for the night, after a very satisfying rant session about your dilemma. they were a great soundboard and didn't try to regulate your emotions. in a lot of cases, just letting your feelings fly free was the best way to cope with a situation out of your hands.

rrrring rrring

you saw the caller ID and was tempted to ignore the call. but your hands moved on their own, accepting it and putting the phone to your ear.

"y/n l/n." bakugou snarled on the other side. "where the fuck are you?"

"a friend's house."

"why?"

you shrugged, hoping your unbothered reaction would be translated across the phone. "wanted to be with someone last night after my boyfriend stood me up."

silence. a very long silence. you heard him cuss under his breath before he replied. "yesterday was our date."

you hummed.

"y/n. come home."

"i'm good here, really."

"i'm serious, come home."

"why? the off-chance of seeing you there?"

his voice grew more desperate. "y/n—" his breath caught in his throat. "i'm home. i'm waiting for you. we can do something today, maybe—"

"katsuki, you can't keep treating me like a test that you can make up whenever you fail the real thing. you're not there when it fucking matters." you snapped, your resolve crumbling as your eyes started to water.

he gave a weighted sigh. "you're right. i've been treating you like shit."

you scoffed.

"but you're always on my mind. every time i see you asleep when you were trying to wait up for me, i—" he inhaled deeply, trying to keep it together. "i'm not the best boyfriend. believe me, i know that. and i'm losing you... i can see that, too."

you waited.

he sniffed. "come home, y/n. please. i—"

you hung up. you tossed your phone aside and stretched. you gently wiped at your cheeks, realizing how many tears streaked them.

after thanking your friend for their hospitality, you decided to go home. you dreaded the conversation that awaited you. uncertainty riddled your thoughts; was this the end?

you opened the door and immediately heard pounding footsteps to meet you. bakugou stood there, looking uncharacteristically stressed and awkward.

you just gave him a passing glance as you slipped off your shoes, hanging your coat up. you walked past him, going to the washroom to refresh yourself with a much needed shower.

as the water ran down your skin, you began to feel guilty. he was a hero. he saved lives. and you were crying over a missed date with him? when his mere presence meant the safety of those around him?

no matter how valid your frustration and sadness was, you couldn't help the creeping guilt from overwriting your feelings.

you stepped out of the shower, then dressed comfortably for a night in. when you opened the bathroom door, he was waiting outside like a puppy.

you sighed. "i'm sorry." you finally said.

his neck snapped to look at you. "why the fuck are you apologizing?"

"you're a hero. i knew what i'd be signing up for when i got into a relationship with you—"

"are you crazy?" he growled, grabbing your cheeks and tilting your face to look at him. he searched your eyes with concern, as if there was something wrong with you. "you don't need to apologize. my being a hero is no excuse for the way i've been treating you."

you frowned. "but—"

"no." he pulled you into a hug, wrapping his arms around your head. "you—" he laughed dryly. "i can't believe you thought to apologize to me. you're really crazy."

you opened your mouth to say something, but he cut you off. "i'm so lucky to have you. seriously. i can't live without you and i will do everything to prove that from now on."

you pulled away and looked at him. "you better mean it."

he gave you a lopsided grin. "i do. thanks..." he trailed off.

you cocked your head to the side. "for...?"

he kissed you gently. "staying." he hugged you tightly, his next words barely a whisper, "i'm always gonna be there for you."

amidst a couple of tears, you believed him.

© miniimight ! thanks for reading <3

TAPE IT | Bakugo Katsuki

synopsis:The night before Bakugo Katsuki ships out on another high-risk overseas mission, he doesn’t waste time with promises—he makes a memory instead. One raw, unforgettable moment laced with lust, love, and the ache of impending absence.

With only hours left together, he takes his time, worshipping you with hands and mouth, making you hold the camera so he can take a piece of you with him.

content: smut.

He’s leaving tomorrow.

Another mission overseas. Long, high-risk, and buried under a pile of top-secret files. He didn’t tell you much—just enough for the silence between you to grow heavier, thicker. Just enough for the air to carry that sharp ache of goodbye.

It’ll be weeks before you feel the weight of him in your bed again. Weeks before you can breathe in the scent of smoke, cedarwood, and sweat clinging to his skin. Weeks before you hear the low rasp of his voice murmuring your name like a prayer as dawn starts to break.

So tonight, katsuki's making a memory. His way.

You should be tangled up in sheets, limbs entwined, whispering lazy nothings in the dark. But instead, he’s on his knees in front of you, kneeling between your thighs on the couch, like you’re something sacred. Like this is a ritual. And maybe it is.

He looks up at you like he’s memorizing the sight—like he doesn’t know when he’ll get to see you unravel like this again. His hands are firm on your thighs, thumbs tracing circles into your skin with reverent, almost desperate care.

“You’re gonna hold the camera, baby,” he says, voice thick and slow, like honey warmed over a flame. He presses your phone into your trembling palm, already recording, already flipped to show your own flushed, breathless face.

“I want it clear. I want it steady,” he adds, and there’s a tremor in his voice he’s trying to hide. One that tells you this means more than he’s saying.

You blink down at him, heart thudding in your chest. “Katsuki…”

He cuts you off with a soft smile—lazy, confident, but with eyes that shimmer like they’re drinking you in for the last time. “Don’t go all shy on me now,” he murmurs, brushing his nose against your thigh. “Not when I’m about to ruin you so fuckin’ sweet.”

Your breath catches, thighs twitching around him, and his smile stretches wider. That dangerous grin—the one that says he’s got you exactly where he wants you.

“There she goes,” he whispers.

And then he leans in.

His tongue slides over you, slow and unhurried, a soft tease that makes your entire body tense and melt all at once. He’s not rushing—no, never. He’s savoring. Worshipping. Learning the shape of your pleasure with every stroke of his mouth like he’s afraid he’ll forget it.

“Don’t drop it,” he murmurs against you, the vibration of his voice sending shocks down your spine. “You’re doin’ perfect, baby. Just like that. Let me see you come apart.”

You whimper, hips rolling softly, and the phone jolts slightly. His grip on your thighs tightens, grounding you, commanding you.

“Careful,” he breathes, licking up the slick mess he’s made like it’s his lifeline. “Told you I need this steady. I’m gonna be halfway across the world, starin’ at this screen every damn night. Gonna be strokin’ it slow, listenin’ to those pretty little moans of yours, imaginin’ it’s my mouth on you all over again.”

The confession makes your stomach warm, heat blooming in your face raw and intimate. A tether stretching across oceans.

“Eyes on the screen,” he whispers, lips brushing your most sensitive spot with every word. “Wanna see what I do to you. Wanna see how fuckin’ gorgeous you look when you fall apart for me.”

Your grip tightens around the phone, knuckles white, as your thighs tremble slightly. His mouth is relentless now—tongue circling, lips sucking, pressure building like a storm. Every flick, every breath, every hum of pleasure from his throat sends another wave crashing through you.

And he doesn’t stop. Doesn’t pause.

Not when your back arches off the couch. Not when your moans spill out like confessions. "Fuck Katsuki" Not when your body begged for mercy, curling in on itself you thigh closing in on him. But you should know better.

His hands hold you wide open, possessive and unyielding.

“God, you’re perfect,” he mutters against you, voice thick with emotion. “How the fuck am I supposed to leave this behind?”

You’re already falling, already lost—when his voice breaks the edge with a breathless, reverent sigh.

“There it is,” he whispers, smiling against your skin like he’s found heaven. “Feeling good baby?”

If anything, he gets hungrier.

His tongue drags through your slick with slow, deliberate reverence—like he’s carving the memory of your taste into the back of his throat. Like if he lingers long enough, if he swallows enough of you, it’ll carry him through the weeks of distance ahead.

And then—sharp.

You gasp, hips jolting when he sinks his teeth into the soft swell of your thigh. Not hard enough to hurt. Just enough to make your breath catch and your fingers tighten around the phone.

“Katsuki—!” you hand fly to hair, voice half-shock, half-plea, the sting blooming into something electric.

He chuckles low, tongue soothing over the mark he’s left before he does it again, a little higher this time. Another nip. Another burn of his teeth, followed by the warm balm of his mouth. He paints your skin with purple hues, teeth and tongue and lips all working in tandem like a man crafting a masterpiece.

“Gotta take a piece of you with me,” he mutters against your thigh, voice thick with longing. “Even if it’s just this—these marks. Proof I was here.”

You’re panting now, trembling with every brush of his tongue, the heat between your thighs unbearable.

And then—

Oh god. He zeroes in. Mouth sealing around your clit with devastating precision, tongue flicking with practiced pressure, and your vision blurs.

Your head falls back against the couch, mouth dropping open in a soundless moan—but he groans into you, low and commanding.

“Eyes on me.”

You drag your gaze down, barely coherent—but the moment your eyes lock with his, it’s like the world narrows to nothing but the fire between your legs and the storm in his stare.

His gaze doesn’t waver. Doesn’t falter. It holds you captive—hot and fierce and gone. There’s nothing soft in it now. Just hunger. Worship. Desperation.

He sucks—harder, deeper—tongue curling, lips tightening—and your thighs clamp around his head on instinct. He doesn’t fight it. Doesn’t even flinch.

His fingers dig into your hips like anchors, grounding you while his mouth pulls you under.

And he never breaks eye contact.

You’re unraveling right there in front of him—shaking, gasping, eyes wide and glossy, phone trembling in your grip. Your body bows like it’s offering itself to him, chasing the edge with no hope of slowing down.

“You feel that?” he rasps between strokes, mouth slick and voice dark with need. “How perfect you taste? How fuckin’ lucky I am?”

You whimper—wrecked.

“Fuck, baby. Gimme all of it,” he groans, lips wrapping tight around your clit as he sucks again, harder this time. “I want you dripping down my throat when I go.”

Your stomach coils, everything inside you knotting so tight it feels like your bones might snap—and still, his eyes are locked to yours, dragging you over the edge with nothing but sheer will.

You come undone with a cry—loud and broken—and his mouth doesn’t stop. He carries you through it, tongue easing you down, slow and sweet, while his hands stroke up and down your sides, grounding you as your whole body trembles.

Your phone is barely still in your hand, the screen catching everything—your ruined moans, your soaked thighs, and the way Katsuki Bakugo worships you like you’re something holy.

And through it all, he’s watching you. Just watching.

Like you’re the only thing in the world he never wants to forget.

Your breath is ragged, chest rising and falling like waves crashing against the shore, and your grip on the phone is barely there—shaking, slipping.

He notices.

Of course he does.

Wordlessly, Katsuki reaches up and takes it from your hand, his touch gentle, thumb brushing your knuckles before he sets it aside. Somewhere safe. Somewhere it’ll keep every second of what he just gave you.

Then his eyes return to yours—soft now, but burning still. Like he’s letting you see everything he never says.

Without a word, he leans up, muscles flexing as he shifts your body with ease, guiding you into his lap like you belong there. Because you do.

Straddling him, your legs wrapped around his hips, your skin still flushed and damp, you can feel just how much he’s been holding back—hard and aching beneath you, breath hitching the moment your heat presses against him.

But he doesn’t rush.

His hands settle on your waist, grounding you, worshipping you with the slow glide of his palms up your back. He leans in and kisses your shoulder—soft, barely there, like he’s afraid he’ll break the moment if he moves too fast.

Another kiss, higher now. Then one just under your jaw, lips lingering like he’s pressing pieces of himself into your skin to stay behind.

And then—

He slips inside.

Slow. Deep. Home.

Your breath catches in your throat, and your hands fly to his shoulders, nails digging in as he fills you, the stretch so perfect it’s almost overwhelming.

A soft moan spills from your lips—half his name, half a cry—and he groans low in your ear, head dropping to your neck as he holds you there, body trembling with restraint.

“Fuck,” he breathes, voice rough and raw. “I needed this. Needed you.”

You cling to him, burying your face in his hair, your lips against his temple. He moves slowly at first—hips rolling, grinding deeper than thrusting, like he’s savoring the way you mold around him. Like he’s memorizing every squeeze, every twitch, every desperate little sound you make.

Every inch of him is pressed to you—his chest against yours, his arms holding you like he never wants to let go.

“You feel that?” he whispers against your neck. “That’s me, baby. All of me. Gonna fuck you slow, so you remember me every time you close your eyes.”

You whimper his name, nails raking down his back, and he groans like it’s the only sound that matters in the world.

His lips find your shoulder again, kissing you through the burn, through the pleasure, through the ache of what’s coming tomorrow.

And with every breathless roll of his hips, every kiss, every whispered word—you know.

The moment he bottoms out, your body folds—curling into him, muscles seizing up around him with a whimper so soft it barely leaves your lips.

But he feels it.

Feels everything.

You’re clutching at his shoulders like they’re the only thing keeping you tethered to earth, face buried in his neck, mouth open and panting against his skin. He’s so deep you swear you can taste it, and the sigh he lets out against your throat sends a shiver straight through your spine.

“Fuck, baby,” he groans, turning his head just enough to press his lips against the curve of your neck. He kisses you there, open-mouthed and reverent, then bites—gently—just to hear the noise you make.

You’re babbling in his ear now, too gone to form full thoughts, too full to think straight.

“So good—Katsuki, fuck, it’s s’good—don’t stop, don’t ever—feels so full, I—”

Your hips twitch without thinking, starting to grind in slow, desperate circles against him. The slide of your slick, the stretch, the obscene sound of it—it all makes his head spin.

But then his palm cracks against your ass, sharp and sudden.

You yelp—a high, breathy noise—and he smooths his hand over the sting, soothing the spot he struck before doing it again, this one heavier, more possessive.

“Easy,” he growls, lips ghosting your ear now, breath hot and ragged. “You tryin’ to make me lose already?”

You can’t answer. Not really. You just moan, hips still grinding, needy and uncoordinated, chasing more of him, chasing everything.

He slaps you again, a low groan tearing from his throat at the bounce of your ass against his lap.

“Fuck, listen to that,” he growls, his voice pure gravel and heat now. “Hear how wet you are? That’s my pussy, makin’ all that pretty noise for me.”

You whimper his name, nails dragging down his back, and he doesn’t wait this time—his hands gripping your hips, dragging you back and down as he starts to thrust.

Slow, deep, each one deliberate—like he’s staking a claim he already owns.

“You’re perfect,” he pants, watching your face twist as he hits that spot that makes your toes curl. “Feel so good wrapped around me, baby. So warm, so tight—fuck, I could die right here.”

Your whole body’s trembling now, your moans mixing with the slick slap of your bodies meeting, the room thick with sweat, breath, and the kind of love that’s too big to say out loud.

He buries his face in your neck again, voice lower now, a broken whisper:

“Gotta make it count. Gotta give you everything—leave you aching for me.”

And you are. Already. A mess in his lap, your walls fluttering around him, hips rolling to match his pace, your tears hot on your cheeks even though you're moaning through the haze.

He watches you fall apart on top of him, lips parted, tears clinging to your lashes, your body grinding like you’re chasing something you can’t name. And maybe you are. Maybe you both are.

Because something cracks in him.

Maybe it’s the way your slick clings to him, or the way your ass bounces against his thighs with every roll of your hips, so soft, so perfect. Maybe it’s the broken sound of his name tumbling from your mouth again and again like a prayer.

But suddenly he’s not holding back anymore.

“Fuck, baby,” he groans, hips snapping up with a growl. “This ass—fuck. Feels too fuckin’ good. Can’t take it slow no more.”

And then he’s moving—fast, hard, dragging you down as he thrusts up into you with punishing precision, hitting so deep you cry out. The couch shifts beneath you both, the sound of skin slapping echoing through the room like a drumbeat.

He wraps his arms around you—a full-body bear hug—one hand splayed between your shoulder blades, the other cradling the back of your head like you’re something fragile even as he ruins you.

You’re gasping, voice caught in your throat as he drills into you, every thrust stealing the air from your lungs, and all you can do is take it.

“Katsuki—Katsuki, I—fuck, I can’t—”

Your voice is barely there, a soft, shaking whisper right in his ear as you cling to him, shivering in his arms like your body can’t take another second but also never wants to let go.

He holds you tighter, breath ragged, sweat slick between your bodies, and moans low in your ear, voice cracking with it.

“Yes you can, baby. You’re takin’ me so fuckin’ good. Just a little more. C’mon, just—fuck—just like that—”

Your hand flutters against his back, trying to grab at something, anything, even as your trembling fingers tap twice—soft, instinctive—against his spine.

Tap out.

And he knows.

His thrusts slow instantly, but his hold never loosens—just rocks you through the aftershocks as you melt in his lap, spent, clinging to him like you’ll drown if you let go.

He presses a kiss to your temple, then another to your cheek. One more to the spot just under your ear where your pulse still flutters fast and wild.

“Got you,” he whispers, his voice hoarse but warm. “I’ve got you, baby.”

You’re trembling in his arms, body spent and sensitive, but he’s still there—still inside you, still moving, his hips rolling deep, desperate for his own high.

“Fuck, baby,” he pants into your neck, voice frayed and trembling. “I’m close—I’m so fuckin’ close.”

Your walls flutter around him again—tight, soaked, aching—and he groans, deep in his chest, like the sound is being pulled from his soul.

“Can feel you,” he gasps. “Still fuckin’ squeezin’ me. Shit—you’re gonna make me—”

You shiver again, your body helpless in his hold, and then—then—your breath catches.

It hits like lightning.

Your climax crashes over you in sharp, rolling waves, your entire body curling tight against him with a cry that’s half his name, half a sob. Your nails dig into his shoulders, legs shaking, your slick gushing around him as your pussy clamps down—tight and rhythmic, like you’re trying to keep him.

“Katsuki—”

He loses it.

His arms lock around you, crushing you to his chest as he thrusts once, twice—then groans, low and broken and so damn full of you—and spills inside you with a shudder.

Thick warmth pulses deep, his whole body tensing as he rides it out, his face buried in your neck, gasping into your skin like you’re the only thing anchoring him to this world.

He doesn’t stop holding you.

Even as the tremors fade, even as his breath starts to slow, he keeps you close—his cock still nestled deep inside, your bodies flush and sticky and shaking, hearts beating hard against each other.

He kisses your neck, soft this time. Reverent.

Can you pls do an “asking my gf awkward questions” with Bakugo abt periods or any girls’ struggles? Ofc everything is jst pure innocence & genuine curiosity 🤍

.𖥔 ݁ ˖ Wait….. that happens?! .𖥔 ݁ ˖

☘︎ . . . genre. fluff

☘︎ . . . pairings. bakugou x fem!reader

☘︎ . . . requested? yes by anon

⤿ bakugou asking yn awkward questions.

It started with a TikTok trend.

Mina had dared Bakugou to try the “asking my girlfriend awkward questions” challenge. Of course, he scoffed and said, “That’s stupid.” But then he saw the look in your eyes, teasing, expectant, daring him back and well… maybe it wasn’t such a dumb idea.

So here you were, cuddled on the couch, phone recording as Bakugou awkwardly cleared his throat.

“Alright, I got questions,” he muttered, glaring at the phone like it personally offended him.

You giggled. “Fire away, Katsuki.”

“…So, uh. Period cramps. They actually hurt like that?”

You blinked. “Yeah. Imagine your insides trying to kill you once a month.”

His eyes widened. “What the f—seriously?!”

You laughed, watching him furrow his brows like he was preparing for battle.

“That’s not even the worst part,” you added casually. “There’s bloating, mood swings, cravings…”

“Cravings I get,” he mumbled. “You ate two whole pints of ice cream last week and cried watching a cat video.”

You swatted his arm. “Don’t expose me!”

He smirked, then hesitated before asking the next one. “…Is it true you just, like, randomly bleed? Even in your sleep?”

You nodded. “Yeah. It’s like a horror movie, but less fun.”

Bakugou looked genuinely horrified. “And y’all just… deal with it?”

You shrugged. “Yeah. We kinda have to.”

There was a pause. Then he muttered under his breath, “You’re all tough as hell.”

You blinked. “What was that?”

“I said you’re badass, alright?” he snapped, cheeks just a little red. “Having to go through all that every month? Shit’s brutal.”

You grinned and leaned into him. “Aww, is that sympathy from the great Bakugou Katsuki?”

“Shut up,” he grumbled, wrapping an arm around you. “…But yeah. I didn’t know it was that bad. You ever need anything, just tell me, alright?”

You smiled, heart full. “Thanks, Katsuki. You’re the sweetest.”

He scoffed. “Don’t tell the others.”

© jxwl4k 2025

katsuki bakugou with a s/o who has a healing quirk

pairing: katsuki bakugou x gn!reader

tags: mention of pain & injuries, argument with bakugou, reader's quirk hurts them, hurt/comfort, happy ending

bakugou and you were classmates before you started dating and he was roughly aware of how your quirk worked

however, just like with most other people around him, he didn't actually pay as much attention to the details of your quirk

which is why he's quite surprised when he finds out that your quirk has a downside to it: whenever you heal someone, you feel their pain!

bakugou has always thought you were weaker than him, due to your quirk only being useful for support, but that revelation makes him rethink everything

you're much tougher than he gave you credit for! you must've endured so much pain, without even showing any of it. you were more admirable than any of his other classmates…

but bakugou also began to look back on all the times he got unnecessarily hurt and you were there to help him

he thought the only person he'd harm with his careless attitude while fighting would be himself. but you were hurt just as much, as you healed him up every time, no matter the injury…

bakugou can't help but get angry at himself, for being such a fool and getting you hurt with his own carelessness!

but since he isn't very good at expressing his feelings, he ends up taking his anger out on you, the one person who truly didn't deserve it

he starts yelling at you, that you need to stop using your stupid quirk and that you did more harm than good!

though when you end up crying and tell him to leave, he quickly regrets his words…

the same day on that evening, he shows up at your room with flowers and chocolate, looking guiltily and apologizing for everything he said

luckily for him, you accept his apology and bakugou promises to never yell at you again like this, as well as to be careful from now on, so you won't have to use your quirk on him anymore!