My Man Appreciation Post Cause It's His Birthday Today 🥳🥳🎂🎂

Illustration by @ seisyunbotdesu on Twitter

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.

— katsuki bakugou ⋮ 03 / 16 / 25. ❝ 𝓗𝑨𝑷𝑷𝒀 𝓑𝑰𝑹𝑻𝑯𝑫𝑨𝒀 ❞

content warnings ⨾ soft!pro-hero!katsuki bakugou. happy (early) birthday katsuki !! profanity. bad days. kirishima mentioned. gn!reader - no pronouns, but reader is wearing a dress. not proof-read. word count ⨾ .6K ❪ 619 ❫

“you look pretty. gettin’ all dressed up for something?”

you meet katsuki’s eyes in the mirror. he stands in the doorway, leaned against the door frame with a smile on his face. your eyes drift and you realize he’s still wearing his costume. with furrowed brows, you turn to him and tilt your head. “katsuki,” you whine, throwing your hands into your lap. “you’re still in your gross hero stuff. we’re supposed to leave in twenty minutes! how are you meant to shower and do your hair and find an outfit and-“

he makes it to where you’re sitting in two and a half strides, his boots leaving mud tracks as he walks through the bedroom. he cuts you off with a chaste kiss, his gloves rough against your otherwise soft face. he leans back and smiles softly. “i’ll be quick, don’t worry. we’ll make it on time, baby.” when you pout, he laughs. “just wanted to see you for a sec. had a shitty day.”

your brows unfurl and you frown. “poor baby,” you coo, cupping his cheek, disregarding the ash smudged on his face. “do you want to talk about it? i can reschedule the dinner for a later reservation.”

“nah.” he shakes his head, but sighs and sits down on the edge of the bed. you bite your tongue, reminding yourself that you can just wash the sheets later rather than berate him about it now. “just a lot of running around. shittyhair got thrown into a fucking building.” he laughs and drags a hand down his face. “so much for a happy birthday right?”

“i told you you should’ve taken the day off,” you sigh out, raising your brows and turning back to the mirror.

“criminals don’t take days off.” it’s quiet, a stark contrast to his usual intensity. you look at him through the mirror and bite the inside of your cheek. he looks so . . . defeated.

“katsuki,” you mumble, turning back around with another frown. you stand and walk over to him, standing in between his legs. “we don’t have to go tonight. we can stay in and watch a movie. it’s your birthday, y’know. we can go out some other time.”

he looks up at you and sighs. you take this time to look at him—really look at him. his boyish features from high school are long gone; chubby cheeks replaced by a sharp jawline, eyebags replaced by crows feet, the same freckles scattered across his cheeks.

he wraps his arms around you in a hug and presses his face into your stomach. you don’t mention how he bought you this dress and how the ash is most definitely going to stain it.

“you’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me,” he mumbles into the fabric, pressing into you harder. you feel your expression soften and you put your arms around his shoulders, squeezing three times—a special way to say i love you. “i don’t know what i would be without you.”

“you’d still be an amazing pro,” you say softly. “maybe a little lost—a little skinny, too.” he laughs and you smile. “but still an amazing, hardworking, kind, determined, helpful, loving pro-hero.”

he hums and for a long moment—maybe five minutes—you two stay like that, silent. the only noise is the AC running through the vents, and the washing machine. eventually, he leans back, keeping his hands on your hips.

“i love you.” he doesn’t say it often, choosing to express it in other ways, but when he does, it’s the best part of your day.

you lean down to press your lips against his, soft and full of meaning. “i love you too, kats. more than you will ever know.”

staying awake in the name of love k. bakugo

Despite his strict bedtime and his hatred of anyone interrupting his schedule, Katsuki would stay up for you and you alone. 

He would never do it for pleasure, simply because you wanted to, because he valued both of your health too much for him to compromise hours of sleep like that. 

But whenever you were having a rough time, unable to fall asleep due to the excruciating amount of pain you were in, he took it upon himself to stay up with you. He wouldn’t fall asleep until you did, and even then he was hesitant to rest his eyes. He felt as though resting would compromise your sleep and leave you laying there restless for the rest of the night, tossing and turning in agony. 

He was a hero, and he couldn’t bring himself to doze off when he knew there was someone out there in pain, especially someone he loved so furiously and endlessly. 

Katsuki Bakugo hated staying up, but he would do it if it meant taking care of you.

Taglist - @justmylvr @lwcedribbons @im0nsaturn @dvartefox @failurewater @f0reverfaded @t0asty1 @iv-vee @mp3nai @straows @grenadehearts @hecate-frenchfries

ⓒ luvseraph , 4/14/25

Happy

Bitches will find a fictional man attractive and then immediately imagine him in situations where he is losing alarming amounts of blood

💫 stars were made for falling

angst has a special place in my heart

Hii!! May I request an angst to fluff? But if you don't take angst request pls feel free to ignore this!! So Katsuki and fem reader who dated for half a year between almost end of first year then half of their scond year but then Katsuki breaks up with reader cuz she was a 'distraction' and of course left her heart broken. And then on third years, in the middle of their semester, he then realizes he still loves reader and like tries to reconcile with her. Idk what else to add so I'm just leaving the rest to you!! Love your works btw they're so good!!

.𖥔 ݁ ˖ Still yours .𖥔 ݁ ˖

☘︎ . . . genre. angst to fluff

☘︎ . . . pairings. bakugou x fem!reader

☘︎ . . . requested? yes by anon

⤿ Bakugou broke your heart. He came back. You made him earn it. He did.

1st Year, End of Semester

You and Katsuki Bakugou were never loud about your relationship.

He wasn’t the type to hold hands in public or shout about how much he loved you. But in the quieter moments in between training and studying he’d slip you his hoodie, walk you to your dorm without a word, or rest his forehead against yours after a long day.

It started in the last stretch of your first year, grew steadier into second year. Six months of something real. Something gentle despite him being the most explosive person you knew.

But it ended with a bang.

2nd Year, Halfway Through

“I can’t do this anymore.”

You stood in the training room, the air cold, his words colder.

You blinked. “What?”

Bakugou’s hands were clenched. His jaw was tight.

“You’re a distraction,” he muttered. “I need to focus on becoming the best. I can’t afford to waste time… worrying about you all the time.”

You stepped back like you’d been hit. “So I’m a waste of time now?”

“That’s not what I—” he paused, growling. “I just—this is what’s best.”

For who?

You didn’t cry then. Not in front of him. You just nodded, whispered “Okay,” and walked away. You didn’t see the way his eyes followed you until the door shut behind you.

3rd Year – Mid-Semester

You weren’t the same girl from a year ago.

You smiled less, laughed with your friends more, focused harder on your studies. You’d built walls around your heart high and unbreakable.

Bakugou had noticed.

From across the classroom, during missions, in the dorms. He saw how you no longer looked his way, how your smile didn’t pause for him, how you didn’t flinch when his name came up in conversation.

You’d moved on or at least, that’s what it looked like.

But him?

He was stuck.

Stuck in the memory of you smiling in his hoodie. Of how you cheered him on after training. Of how you looked at him like he was already the best, even before he believed it himself.

He had pushed you away for his dream, only to realize… you were part of it.

One Night After Training

He found you alone by the vending machines. Hair still damp from your shower. Hoodie zipped up to your chin.

He swallowed. “Hey.”

You glanced at him. “Hey.”

God, it was like you didn’t even see him anymore.

He shoved his hands in his pockets, staring at the floor. “I’ve been… thinkin’.”

“About?”

“You. Me.” His voice dropped. “Us.”

You froze.

He rubbed the back of his neck, frustration creeping in. “I was a damn idiot. Thought cutting you off would help me focus. But all it did was make everything harder.”

You didn’t speak.

“I miss you,” he whispered. “All the time. Every day.”

Still, silence.

His heart thundered in his chest. “I don’t expect you to forgive me. Hell, I wouldn’t if I were you. But… I just needed you to know that I’m sorry.”

Your voice was soft. “You really broke me, Katsuki.”

He flinched. “I know.”

“I thought I wasn’t enough. That I was holding you back.”

He stepped closer. “You were never the thing holdin’ me back. You were the thing keeping me grounded.”

You looked up at him, eyes full of pain he wished he could erase.

“Why now?” you asked.

He exhaled. “Because it took me losing you to realize I don’t want a future where you’re not in it.”

You stood there, heart aching with all the love you’d buried. He wasn’t asking for much. Just a chance. A beginning.

“I’m not saying it’s easy,” you murmured. “But I still… I still love you, Katsuki.”

His breath caught. “Yeah?”

You gave a small nod.

He hesitated, then reached out slowly, gently wrapping his fingers around yours.

“Then let me make it right,” he said. “Day by day.”

And this time, you didn’t let go.

Bakugou didn’t win you back with flowers or grand gestures. He showed up every day.

He trained with you, walked you home again, left you little notes before exams. He asked about your day and actually listened. He never interrupted. Never raised his voice at you, not once.

He remembered things you didn’t think he would your favorite drink, the way you hated thunderstorms, the way you liked your rice crispy instead of soft.

He gave you space, but never made you feel alone.

He didn’t rush your heart back to him.

He waited for it.

And slowly, it came back.

Not all at once but gently, like the kind of love you had at the very beginning.

© jxwl4k 2025

There's an unspoken rule that gets established early on in your relationship with Bakugo, one that he assumes you know after a few months together.

The rule in question? You need to kiss him three times before you leave his apartment; one for luck, one for the road, and one just because.

One day, you're in a rush to get out the door, running late for a lunch date with your friends. You're bouncing around his apartment to be sure you have everything — phone, keys, wallet — and place a quick kiss to his lips as you pass by him in the living room. "I'll be back in a few hours, love you!"

Bakugo grabs your wrist gently, tugging you back toward him with a pout on his face. "Nuh uh, c'mere." He pulls you over his lap, cradling you while tilting your chin up to face him. "You're askin' for trouble if you think we're done here, sweets."

You blink at him in confusion. He rolls his eyes, no actual annoyance behind it, and shakes his head. "Ya only gave me one kiss, you know better than that."

"Oh, so I owe you—"

"Damn right you do," he cuts you off with a cocky little smirk that he's too good at doing. "Three — no ifs, ands or buts. And mean it, none'a those quick bullshit pecks, real kisses."

Of course, what were you thinking? You lean forward and press the first kiss to his lips, soft and gentle. "One," you whispers before following up with two more, slow and purposeful. "Two and three."

"Much better," Bakugo whispers with a genuine smile. He lets you get back to your feet, a large palm on the small of your back to support you. He pats the back of your thigh once you're steady. "Love you too. Have fun with the girls, but not too much fun. Don't wanna chase ya down the sidewalk again after you down 4 mimosa pitchers to yourselves."

three kisses from him would cure my depression at this point, chat.

𝜗𝜚 bakugou katsuki | bad operation

❕smut mdni, prohero!katsuki, rough sex.

“k-katsu…s-slow- ah! down!” your boyfriend prohero bakugou katsuki only tightened his grip on your waist as you cried out helplessly. an operation had failed today and, oh no… the explosive dynamight was going to fuck you for hours without getting tired.

“s-suki! please! mphhg-” his big hands gripped the sides of your waist tightly, his spiky hair sticking to his forehead with sweat. the moment he got home, he had only taken off his gloves and large pieces of his costume, and now with his black top clinging to his arm muscles, damn it, he was nothing short of a perfect sight. he was always hard, and always too much for you. even though his big cock had entered your pussy countless times, it gave you a new taste every time.

your moans grew louder as katsuki fucked you hard without speaking. you even thought your voice would break. “fucking idiots…” a few small raspy whispers. oh, he was so, so angry. huh, goddamned prohero katsuki bakugou, he knew how you liked it when he was fucking your pussy hard and seeing stars.

with his red eyes as bright as flames, he will watch with great pleasure how you get destroyed while he fucks you in missionary position. what could be better than destroying your ruined pussy instead of lashing out in anger?

“say it, who is destroying you right now?” and yeah he knew he was in heaven as the tip of his big cock touched your womb and pressed hard against the tiny bulge forming in your belly.

how many times have you cum so far? three, four?

“i’m gonna cum in that fucking pussy of yours until i’m sure you’re seeing stars, you hear me?”

© itoshhi 2025 {do not copy, translate, steal, modify without permission.}