A Knock On Your Boyfriend, Bakugo’s Door Of His Dorm Room Causes A Groan To Escape His Lips, Unwrapping

Some Kacchan sketches 🧡

Behind the Screen

Pro Hero Dynamight x Blogger Reader | Aged Up

𖤣.𖥧.𖡼.⚘ 𖤣.𖥧.𖡼.⚘ 𖤣.𖥧.𖡼.⚘ 𖤣.𖥧.𖡼.⚘ 𖤣.𖥧.𖡼.⚘ 𖤣.𖥧. 𖤣.𖥧.𖡼.⚘ 𖤣.𖥧.𖡼.⚘

—

You post it as a joke. Kind of.

It’s late, and you’re curled up in bed with your fanfic draft open and half a Twix in your mouth. Your followers are going wild in the replies, and you’re riding the high of being the “unofficial Dynamight smut queen” of the timeline. You’ve been known for your over-the-top thirst tweets, but this one? This one’s feral.

—

@/blastyourbackout

“Dynamight wouldn’t even take the suit off. He’d fuck you with the gauntlets still on, breathing heavy through gritted teeth, all ‘Shut up and take it—this is what you wanted, right?’”

—

You toss your phone. That’s enough unhinged behavior for the night. Until the morning comes—and you wake up to hell.

Your tweet is trending. His name is trending. People are tagging him.

—

“this is NASTY and i love it.”

“@Dynamightofficial please read this and confirm or deny.”

“If Dynamight didn’t do this, I’d be shocked.”

“SOMEONE CHECK ON HIM”

“@Dynamightofficial thoughts??”

Then it happens.

—

@Dynamightofficial :

“Who tf is behind this account.”

“If you’re gonna talk like that, be brave enough to show your face.”

You nearly throw up. Your DMs? Melted. And sitting right at the top.

[Private Message – @Dynamightofficial]

“You write a lotta shit for someone who hides behind a screen.”

“You really think I’d leave the fuckin’ suit on?”

“Show me your face if you’re gonna say it like you know me.”

Your heart is pounding. And you shouldn’t. But you do. You send a selfie. Just a soft one. T-shirt, messy hair, bare face. You look like someone who absolutely shouldn’t be writing the filth he just read.

There’s a long pause.

He starts to finally type:

“…fuck.”

“You’re cute.”

“like super fuckin’ cute”

“You don’t look like someone who says I’d blow your back out against a fuckin’ window.”

You:

“I mean… would you?”

Him:

“You really wanna know?”

“You clearly think you know it all, writing the way you do.”

“So what—wanna let me show you what it’s really like?”

You pause. Breathless. Fingers trembling.

“Yes.”

⸻

A few days later, the meet-up actually happened.

You gave him your address—half-joking, half-panicking when he immediately replied with a thumbs up and a “Bet.”

You spent the next two days spiraling.

Cleaned every inch of your apartment. Shaved, exfoliated, moisturized places you didn’t even know needed it. Practiced how you’d open the door without looking like you were seconds from passing out. Told yourself it was just casual, just fun, just… whatever. you totally weren’t about to get fucked dumb by your fav pro that you write smut about.

Except it wasn’t. Because now. He’s at your door.

And he’s in the fucking suit.

Mask off. Jaw set. Gloves still on. That big, broad chest rising and falling.

Black and orange, thick with tension and sweat and that sharp smoky scent that clings to him after a patrol. His hair’s a mess. One gauntlet is attached, the other dangling from his hip. And he’s just standing there—broad, massive, silent—like he owns the whole building.

You freeze. Your heart slams.

“…Hi,” you manage to say.

His eyes drag over you—down your legs, over the shorts you probably could’ve made smaller and the tank top that wasn’t technically meant to be seductive, but absolutely became that under stress.

“Damn,” he mutters. “You look even better when you’re nervous.”

You try to laugh but it comes out breathless. “You really wore the suit?”

“uuuh yeah? did you think I was gonna show up here in a hoodie after all the shit you wrote about this thing?” He steps closer. “Thought I’d let you see it up close before I ruined your sheets.”

Your knees go weak.

You try to respond—something witty, something smug—but your words get caught somewhere between your throat and the fact that he’s already inside. Pushing the door shut behind him. Glancing around like he’s checking for cameras, or exits, or maybe just where he’s gonna lay you out first.

“You ready?” he asks, voice low. Rough. Already undoing the gauntlet from his wrist with one hand, tossing it aside.

You nod, dazed. “Yeah.”

He smirks—steps in closer until you’re backed up against the nearest wall, breath catching.

“Good,” he murmurs. “Because I’ve been losing sleep over the way you said I’d fuck you in this suit.”

You stare up at him, completely wrecked just by his presence, and whisper, “Was I right about some of this stuff I wrote?”

He dips his head down, lips brushing yours—barely.

“I’m here to fact check it.” he growls.

You shudder.

He pulls back just enough to smirk, eyes dragging down your body like he’s mentally ripping off every layer.

He hasn’t even touched you properly yet—but your back’s against your door, your legs are trembling, and Bakugou’s towering over you like he’s already won.

“That tweet got me thinkin’ about you all fuckin’ day, baby. Let’s see if you write better when you’re sore.”

His hero suit creaks with every breath. Heavy-duty gauntlets still locked around his wrists. His undersuit clings to him, black and orange and unforgiving across his chest, his thighs—everything.

“You scared?” he asks, voice low. His hand comes up—gloved fingers trailing under your jaw, thumb brushing over your bottom lip. “Or just nervous I’m actually gonna live up to that filthy little imagination of yours?”

Your breath catches.

“…both.”

He smirks. Then his mouth is on yours.

It’s not sweet. It’s not careful. It’s everything you wrote about—demanding, rough, obsessed. He kisses like a man starved. Like he’s been reading your tweets on loop.

And god, when his hand slides down your waist—those big gloved fingers gripping your ass, hoisting you up—your back hits the wall and you let out a soft, stunned whimper.

“That the sound you make when you’re not behind a screen?” he growls, lips dragging along your neck. “Fuckin’ hell, you’re even better in person.”

You try to answer, but he’s already slipping one hand between your thighs, dragging his knuckles over your heat—still covered by your shorts.

“Wrote that I’d be mean with it,” he murmurs. “That I’d tease you. Make you beg.”

His gloved finger presses just right over the damp spot in your underwear.

“So beg.”

Your nails dig into his shoulders. You feel insane.

“P-Please.”

He groans. “That all I get after all those filthy paragraphs?”

“Dynamight—”

His eyes flash. “Katsuki.”

You pant, skin burning.

“Please, Katsuki.”

“Atta fuckin’ girl.”

He carries you to your room practically kicking the damn door down. Your back hits the mattress, but he doesn’t follow right away. He stands at the edge of the bed, breathing heavy, gaze dark and hungry.

His suit’s half-unzipped now—exposing his chest, glistening with sweat and tension—but everything else stays on. That thick black material clings to his arms and thighs like sin. The gauntlets drop to the floor with a heavy thud, but the gloves? Still on. And he flexes his fingers slow—just to watch you squirm.

“You’re fuckin’ dangerous,” he mutters, eyes dragging over your body like he’s trying to memorize it. “Sittin’ there on your little blog, makin’ people think you’ve got me figured out.”

Your thighs squeeze together. He notices. Smirks. “Lemme show you how right you were.”

He crawls over you like a storm. Muscles shifting under his suit, voice dipping low, filthy, as he shoves your shirt up, lips ghosting over your stomach.

You arch when his teeth graze your hip. “Katsuki—”

“That’s right, baby,” he mutters, pulling your shorts off slow. “Say my name when you write about this later too.”

He pushes your thighs open, and he goes down. Tongue eager. Desperate. He eats you out like he’s proving a point—like he’s got something to prove to every single tweet you’ve ever posted. Groaning into you, gripping your thighs tight like he wants to leave handprints. You’re moaning, shaking, gripping the sheets, and he’s just eating it up—literally.

He comes up with his mouth slick and eyes wild. “Not even close to done with you.” And he isn’t.

He flips you. Presses you into the mattress. One hand on your hip, the other grabbing your wrist and dragging it up the bed.

“Hold that headboard, princess.” You feel him line up—still in the damn suit—and your breath catches as he sinks in.

Slow. Deep. Bruising.

“Fuck,” he hisses, jaw clenched. “You feel like I imagined. So fuckin’ tight, so wet—shit.”

You cry out. He starts moving. Harder. Deeper.

Every stroke is a claim. His hand slides down your back, then back up to wrap around your throat—not choking, just holding. Just letting you feel it.

“Write about this next time” he growls into your ear. “Write about about me makin’ you cum multiple fuckin’ times.”

You whimper—high, breathy, wrecked.

“That’s right. Take it. You wanted this.”

“I did,” you gasp. “I wanted you—”

“You fuckin’ got me now.”

When you fall apart—completely, wildly, back-arching and moaning his name like a prayer—he doesn’t stop. Doesn’t even slow.

Because he’s obsessed now. Addicted.

Your thighs are trembling. Your voice is hoarse. Your sheets are a mess—twisted, damp, clinging to your skin like the heat of him isn’t already enough.

He’s still going.

“One more,” he grits out, thrusts snapping into you slow and deep. “C’mon, baby—just one more for me.”

You’re barely hanging on—nails dragging helplessly down his back, vision blurry with overstimulation, body trembling under him as he rocks into you, all tight grunts and low, broken groans.

“You’re fuckin’ perfect,” he pants, sweat dripping down his temples. “Takin’ me so good—fuck—you feel like you were made for me.”

You moan, shattered.

He growls, fucks you harder, chasing his release like a wildfire. And when he finally gets there—when you clench around him, gasping out his name in a breathless sob— He snaps.

“Knew it,” he groans, hips stuttering. “Knew I’d fill this pussy the second I saw you.” oh, and he does. Deep. Warm. Heavy. Flooding you.

He keeps moving—shallow, deep rolls—just to push it in. Just to feel it drip. Just to make it last. His head drops to your shoulder, lips brushing your skin.

You barely register him pulling out until you feel it—messy, hot, dripping down your thighs.

“fuuuck you’re beautiful” he murmurs smirking down at you. Wrecked, ruined, glowing. He lays down beside you, just looking at you like you were a fucking trophy.

He then reaches for his phone.

—

[New Tweet – @Dynamightofficial]

“Just fact-checked one of your little fantasy tweets. 11/10 accuracy. Would reread. Would re-enact.”

—

You see what’s he doing and it snaps you out your daze, your eyes go wide. “You didn’t—!”

“Too late,” he shrugs. “Let ‘em guess which one it was.”

You grabbed your phone just as quick to quote it.

—

[New Tweet – @blastyourbackout]

“Just know the gloves stayed on.”

—

The internet breaks.

You can barely feel your legs.

And Katsuki Bakugou? THE pro hero Dynamight?

He’s already rolling over, tugging you to his chest, muttering in your ear, “Hope you’re not tired, princess. I’ve got a lot more tweets to prove right.”

MY MANNNNN

Bakugo Katsuki is unreasonable when it comes to you. He is constantly worried something is going to happen to you. He knows you're strong, he knows you're able to care for you. Its not that he believes that you are useless without him.

Its how clumsy you are.

The amount of times you have hurt yourself on basic items. You're constantly getting paper cuts and its to the point that he always has bandaids on him because he knows you're somehow going to get a cut or fall and skin your knee.

He has such a soft spot for you. But god does he get annoyed with how accident prone you seem to be.

But with that he's so protective over you. Not in a weird way but in a "i feel a need to make sure you're okay" kind of way.

You're the only person he will show any physical affection in public. He always has a hand on you. An arm around your waist, hand interlocked with yours, arms wrapped around you in a protective hug. Katsuki will try his best to make sure that you are safe even you some how manage to hurt yourself anyways.

As clumsy as you are. You are katuski bakugos sweet baby.

---

happy birthday, katsuki bakugo.

a/n ll birthday boy bakugo x g/n reader. fluff and not proofread!

“dear katsuki,” the ink of your pen pooled and smudged. whatever. this was the millionth try of the day anyway. you busied yourself, trying to write a happy birthday letter to the katsuki bakugo. pro hero dynamite. no. 15 hero. oh, did i mention he’s your lover?

lover boy! katsuki bakugo who is absolutely whipped for you, and you can’t tell me otherwise. it wasn’t about the grand gestures, but the small acts of love. cliche and overused? yes, but it’s true! he can’t help but poke and prod at you. it’s all light-hearted fun. but when he definitely knows when he’s going too far. you two are inseparable, quite literally soulmates. and of course, today is his birthday. the media flooded his time, but he knew he had to devote it to the one he loves the most. you, his reason to keep going.

lover boy! katsuki bakugo thinking of his last year in ua when you mustered the courage to confess to him. on his birthday of all days! “what?” he’d say.

“i like you, i really do! and uhm, happy birthday!” you blushed furiously, giving him a handmade charm bracelet with a poorly sculpted, disfigured version of him in his hero costume. you also created a poorly made sculpture of yourself to match. katsuki thought about how you looked so beautiful and cute, even as a clay figure. he would be lying through his teeth if he didn’t admit your beet-red face made his heart skip a beat. actually, that would be an understatement. even now, years later, with your long-term relationship, he’s been so accustomed to it. but he knows he has to be more than the “all bark no bite” person people make of him. of course, he’s aware he doesn’t have to prove anything to you, knowing you love him dearly. but. he wants to be the best person he can be. how foolish. you were supposed to be the one giving him a gift, but here he was, trying to something for you on his birthday. damnit, the things he would do for you.

lover boy! katsuki bakugo putting on his hero gear every morning, tucking strands of your hair behind your ear as he kisses you lovingly. to you, it was something he did every morning. to katsuki, it meant life and death. he would walk out the door, out of your loving touch that made him jolt. with no chance of returning home. no chance of life. no chance of seeing his mom and dad again. no chance of seeing you. so everytime he would see your sparkling eyes and pouting lips, he knew he couldn’t resist you, not even for a moment. god, how pathetic. you didn’t know, but he often cried thinking of your relationship. his thoughts would consume him. if he were to die, he would leave you all alone. and he knew it was selfish, but the thought of you being happy with someone else didn’t make him happy. it should’ve, knowing you would die peacefully. but the thought of you with someone else made his heart bitter. not the possessive-jealous type of bitter, but the bitterness that would eat at him daily. and of course, it’s not like he doesn’t voice his opinions. he completely trusts you. he just knows the risks of being a hero and what that meant for your relationship. 

lover boy! katsuki bakugo reluctantly at a “special” event held just for him. he reluctantly forced himself to go, knowing it was best for his career. but no matter the circumstances, he thought of you. his loving partner, his soulmate. he had to make sure you knew how much he loved you. of all times, he thought of you in great detail. the way the setting sun would hit the gentle silhouette of your face, illuminating it perfectly during your time spent together in the living room. your home. the home you two shared. the house you two bought together, knowing you would raise your family in it (if you want to have children, of course.) 

lover boy! katsuki bakugo returning home to find crumpled paper invading the wooden floor. he would’ve fallen flat if you didn’t catch him in time, his weight leaning into you as he stabilized himself, gripping your shoulders. he embraced you carefully. “woah birthday boy, you seem a lil desperate for attention. is everything alright?” you say. “no. jus’ missin’ you. that’s all.” he dug himself into the crook of your neck, his spiky blonde hair felt relaxed under your touch. “so, wassup with all of this?” katsuki asked, his embrace only tightening as he gestured to the paper. “oh, well, i tried writing you a heartfelt letter,” at this the blonde scoffed. “a damn letter? y’know i alreay know how much you love me.” at this you giggled and playfully hit him. “i just wanted to make sure you knew!” katsuki frowned. “then i have something to show you,”  your confused gaze followed his, tracing where he was looking. he reached for something in his pocket. a ring. “don’t need a present. i already have mine,” katsuki bakugo said, slipping a beautifully crafted ring onto your finger, kissing it delicately. “stay with me will you? and we’ll have much more to celebrate than this.” 

Saw this skull shirt and you know I had to draw him in it

[DO NOT REPOST]

Hi Neema! Can I request please, Katsuki being his usual brash rude and loud self around others, but behind closed doors he becomes Luke a puppy around reader when the have sex and she treats him very sweetly and praises him a lot and he just melts around her. I have a feel in because of his family dynamic he didn’t get much earnest praise and folds like a chair for it.

Melt for Me

You barely have time to take your boots off before Bakugo starts barking.

“Dumbass, you’re gonna get yourself killed if you keep throwing yourself into fights like that,” he growls, running a hand through his sweat-damp hair. The front door slams behind him, his heavy boots thudding against the floor as he tosses his gauntlets onto the couch. “What the hell were you thinking?”

You sigh, already used to his dramatics. “I had it under control.”

“Like hell you did,” he snaps, stepping in front of you, his crimson eyes burning with frustration. “If I wasn’t there, you would’ve been fucking toast! You don’t have to do everything by yourself, dumbass!”

You roll your eyes, shutting the door behind you. “Oh, so I’m a dumbass now?”

“You’ve always been a dumbass!”

He’s so loud, so worked up, pacing the small space between the couch and the kitchen like he’s too wound up to stay still. His hands clench and unclench, the lingering adrenaline from the mission still pumping through his veins.

You cross your arms, leaning against the doorframe, watching him huff and mutter under his breath. He’s always like this after a tough fight—angry, fuming, spitting insults like a feral animal. He keeps his walls up high, tough and unbreakable, never letting anyone see past the rough exterior.

Except for you.

You push off the doorframe and step into his space, placing your palm flat against his chest.

“Katsuki.”

His whole body tenses.

Your voice is gentle, nothing like the sharp edge of his. It’s enough to make his breath hitch, his anger stuttering mid-sentence. He looks down at you, his jaw still tight, but his eyes flicker with something softer.

You smile. “You worried about me?”

His lips part slightly, like he wants to snap back, but he doesn’t. His hands twitch at his sides, itching to grab you, to pull you in, but he hesitates.

“Tch.” He turns his head, a faint pink dusting his cheeks. “Shut up.”

You giggle, sliding your hands up to cup his face. His breath catches in his throat. You can feel the heat radiating off him, the way his muscles stay tense under your touch.

“You did really well today,” you murmur, your thumbs brushing over his cheekbones.

His hands tighten into fists. His mouth opens, then closes again, his brows knitting together.

“Katsuki,” you continue, “you protected everyone.” You press a soft kiss to his jaw. “You kept me safe.” Another kiss. “You’re so strong.” Another. “So amazing.”

His breath shudders out of him, his body deflating just a little. He grips your hips, but it’s not possessive or rough—it’s almost hesitant, like he’s afraid you’ll pull away.

“You really think so?” His voice is quiet now, hesitant in a way that’s so unlike him.

You pull back just enough to look into his eyes. “I know so.”

And just like that, he folds.

The mighty, loud, brash Bakugo Katsuki is gone, replaced by the man who melts at the sound of your voice, the warmth of your touch. His forehead drops to your shoulder, arms wrapping around your waist as if shielding himself from the world.

“I—” His breath is warm against your skin. “Fuck, baby.”

You guide him toward the bedroom, fingers threading through his hair, scratching lightly at his scalp. He shivers. By the time you reach the bed, the fight in him has completely drained away.

He sits at the edge, looking up at you with half-lidded eyes, his hands gripping your waist like you’re the only thing keeping him grounded. You straddle his lap, and his breath hitches, his fingers pressing into your sides.

“You like it when I praise you, don’t you, Katsuki?”

His Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows hard. He nods slightly, but it’s not enough.

“Use your words.”

His grip tightens. “Y-yeah,” he admits, voice barely above a whisper. “I—fuck, I love it.”

You smile, pressing another soft kiss to his lips. He chases after you, desperate for more, hands roaming up your back like he needs to feel every inch of you.

“Good boy.”

The sound he makes is downright sinful. A shaky exhale leaves his lips as he buries his face in your neck, pressing open-mouthed kisses against your skin.

You giggle, fingers sliding into his hair, tugging lightly. He groans, hips jerking up involuntarily.

“So desperate,” you tease, scratching lightly at his scalp. “Such a needy thing, aren’t you?”

His nails dig into your waist. “Shut up,” he mumbles against your skin, but there’s no bite behind it. If anything, he sounds wrecked.

“Why should I? I like watching you fall apart like this.” You tilt his chin up, forcing him to look at you. His pupils are blown wide, his breath coming in short, shallow pants. “You’re so beautiful like this, Katsuki.”

His face burns, and he looks like he wants to protest, but you don’t give him the chance. You press your lips to his again, swallowing any argument he might’ve had.

His hands wander up your back, trembling slightly, and you can’t help but feel your heart ache for him. He’s always been so strong, so independent. But here, in your arms, he’s something else entirely.

He’s yours.

And you’ll make sure he knows it.

part one

the music was loud. bass-heavy beats rattled the walls, drowning out drunken conversations and the occasional, ear-splitting whoo! from someone who’d had one too many shots. the house was packed, every square inch filled with people who weren’t you.

and yet, katsuki saw only you.

leaning against the kitchen counter, drink in hand, your head tilted back as you laughed at something some random asshole said. katsuki barely registered the guy’s face. all he saw was the way your smile stretched wide, the way your hand rested lightly on the counter, the way you weren’t paying attention to him.

his grip on his own cup tightened.

eijiro had ditched him ages ago, somewhere between his third beer and his “dude, i gotta check on my little sister.” which meant you were supposed to be under watch. which meant you shouldn’t be standing here, giggling at some nobody like you didn’t have a six-foot, red-haired menace for a brother who was ready to kick some ass.

“off limits, dude.”

bullshit.

katsuki wasn’t the type to step in unless absolutely necessary. but this? this was necessary.

he stormed over, his presence sucking the air from the room the second he got close. the guy talking to you faltered mid-sentence, side-eyeing katsuki like he’d just realized he’d been trespassing.

“oh—uh... hey, man, what’s up?”

“scram.”

the guy blinked.

“what?”

katsuki took another step forward, eyes glinting under the dim, neon glow of the kitchen lights.

“you deaf? i said scram.”

he didn’t have to say it twice.

you rolled your eyes as your partner scurried off, not wanting to test his luck against bakugou katsuki.

“really?” you sighed, crossing your arms. “was that necessary?”

“you tell me,” katsuki muttered, his eyes flicking over you, lingering on your lips that have stopped smiling.

you looked too damn good tonight. soft, glowing skin, a dress that hugged your curves, hair falling over your shoulders like you were some kind of problem sent to ruin him.

his jaw clenched.

“he was totally harmless,” you continued, sipping your drink. “not that it’s any of your business.”

his business?

katsuki narrowed his eyes, stepping closer, close enough that you had to tilt your chin up to keep eye contact.

“the hell it ain’t,” he muttered.

he expected you to shove him, roll your eyes, call him dramatic. instead, you just looked at him like you were finally seeing the way his fists clenched at his sides. the way his breath hitched when you leaned in, just slightly, your voice dropping to something sweeter.

“oh?” you tilted your head, lips curving mischievously. “then what is it to you, katsuki?”

fuck.

there always seemed to be something so dangerous about having his name on your lips. it made his head spin and something hot and restless coil in his stomach.

this was bad.

he exhaled, forcing his gaze away, forcing himself to move before he did something stupid.

like kiss you.

“eijiro’s looking for you,” he muttered, turning on his heel. “get your ass back to him before he starts losing his shit.”

he didn’t wait for your reaction. didn’t stick around to see the way your brows furrowed or how you chewed on your lip like you were holding something back.

he just walked away with his fists clenched yet again.

off limits, my ass.

© 2025 shinig6mis | do not plagiarize, repost, or translate any of my work.

thinking abt katsuki who gets mad when u put a pillow on ur lap when he lays down on it 💔💔 AND THIS IS FOR THE CHUBBY GIRLS W THICK THIGHS!!! urgh katsuki would so love a pluz size girl he would be all over her

katsuki was pouting. actually, no—he was sulking. that'd probably because he was in hell. not the kind with fire and demons, no, this was worse.

you had barely sat down on the couch before he sprawled out dramatically, resting his head in your lap like he always did.

it was his favorite place to be, right on top of you, wrapped up in your warmth, your scent, your presence.

but today, you did the unthinkable.

because right in front of him, you had the audacity, the sheer disrespect, to place a pillow on your lap. his lap. the lap that he was supposed to lay on, unfiltered, unobstructed, completely consuming you like he deserved.

“what the fuck is this?” he grumbled, glaring at the offensive object like it personally insulted his entire bloodline.

“it’s a pillow, katsuki,” you replied, suppressing a smile.

“yeah? no shit, why is it here?” his voice was all sorts of offended, like you had personally wronged him in the worst way possible. “i don’t wanna lay on some dumb pillow—i wanna lay on you.”

you rolled your eyes. “maybe i don’t want your heavy-ass head on my legs all the time.”

“oh, please,” he scoffed, shifting so he could grab at your thighs. his fingers squeezed your flesh, his grip firm but greedy. “these are mine. they’re meant for me. not a goddamn pillow.”

you bit your lip, trying not to laugh while his red eyes flicked between you and the pillow like he was debating setting it on fire. “katsuki—”

“no.” he glared at the pillow like it was his sworn enemy. “you’re warm. you’re soft. you’re perfect. and you’re putting this thing between us?”

he sounded actually hurt, as if the pillow was personally getting in the way of his love for you. “why would you do that to me?”

you blinked at him. “are you really getting this worked up over a pillow?”

“yes.” he said it without shame, without hesitation. “now move it.”

you raised an eyebrow, pretending to consider it. “and what do i get if i do?”

he smirked, shifting so his hand trailed up your thigh, squeezing with purpose. “oh, baby, you know what you’ll get.”

you sighed dramatically, pretending to be reluctant as you removed the pillow.

the instant it was gone, katsuki squished his face into your thighs with a satisfied groan, wrapping his arms around your waist like he was afraid you’d take it away again.

“never pull that shit again,” he mumbled, nuzzling into you. “i got the best damn thighs in the world, and you wanna cover ‘em up with some dumbass pillow? over my dead body."

he sighed deeply, like he had just endured the greatest hardship known to man. his face was completely buried in your thighs, as if he could merge with them if he tried hard enough.

"see?" he murmured, voice slightly muffled against your thigh. "this is how it's supposed to be. no stupid pillow. just you."

you rolled your eyes, but the fond smile tugging at your lips betrayed you. "you’re such a drama queen."

"yeah, and you're my throne, so shut up and let me enjoy it," he shot back, already closing his eyes like he planned to stay there forever.

you huffed a laugh as you ran your fingers through his hair, scratching lightly at his scalp. his grip on you tightened, a pleased hum vibrating against your skin as he melted into your touch.

for someone so explosive, so rough around the edges, he sure acted like a needy housecat when it came to you.

‎‧₊˚✧[ it's me, kia ! ]✧˚₊‧ ｡ﾟ•┈꒰ა ♡ ໒꒱┈• ｡ﾟ ‎‧₊˚✧[ more of katsuki ! ]✧˚₊‧

⋆˚࿔ kia's note ˚⋆ anon ilysm for requesting this, i really do. i'm probably writing the breeding kink next after this, considering it a 4k special since we're going so fast😭 lmk if you wanna be tagged and i hope you guys enjoy💗💗

"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.

HAPPY BDAY AAAHHHH

‼️💥HAPPY BIRTHDAY KATSSSSS💥‼️