Happy Birthday Stupid Ugly Fuck

How it started How it ended

Let's be real, if a man talked dirty to me like they do in fanfics, I would use my pepper spray.

When your favorite writer hasn't updated since 2020

BAKUGOU KATSUKI ✰ BIRTHDAY BOY, HAPPY BIRTHDAY

Bakugou used to love birthdays.

He’d be the center of attention. With every year being bigger than the last (because, honestly, did you expect his well-off parents to hold back on their only son?). Cameras clicked, kids shouted his name, and adults smiled in awe. He never cared if they liked him or feared him—he was admired.

And for a time, that was enough.

But somewhere along the line, the spark in those birthday candles started to feel dull.

His parents still celebrated, of course, usually with a home-cooked meal, a cake from his favorite bakery, and a gift he pretended not to like but secretly adored. His grandparents would always show up with noisy hugs and poorly wrapped presents, and his mother still made him wear a stupid little birthday crown at the table.

It was embarrassing, but it was also safe.

Familiar.

Then came UA.

By high school, the world cracked open in ways he hadn’t expected.

Everyone was strong.

Everyone had dreams.

He wasn’t the only one aiming for the top, and it was maddening—but also, for the first time, grounding. And he got friends—real ones. Not sycophants or kids scared of his quirk to say anything—so they just stay behind him, but people who challenged him through his shouting, his pride, and his anger.

Shitty Hair was the first to barge into his dorm room on his birthday with a lopsided grin and a poorly wrapped gift. “It’s a protein bar sampler! Thought you’d wanna see which one you could crush with one hand!”

After that, it became a tradition. Racoon Eyes brought handmade cards with glittery explosions. Soy Face made crown cut-outs from construction paper that Bakugou refused to wear but never threw away. Dunce Face bought the same grocery store cake every year with a new dumb nickname written in icing (he gets more creative each year—it’s starting to piss Bakugou off).

It was stupid. It was chaotic. It was good.

It became his day again.

And now—now he was 23.

The world around him had changed again.

He was a pro now. He had his own agency, his own patrols, and his own damn business cards that got passed around in hero circles and used to shut down villains on sight. Dynamight—no, Great Explosion Murder God Dynamight, they called him, like he was some unstoppable force (and an unstoppable force for a long-ass hero name). Which he was, most of the time.

But today?

Today, he just wanted to come home.

The celebration at the agency had been loud, grand, and grating. His staff meant well. Hell, even his sidekick (wow, surprising, he only had one because he was the only kid with the balls to directly say to Bakugou that he’ll surpass him during a personal interview) had pooled money to get him a custom gauntlet case with engraved initials.

There were banners (too flashy), snacks (pretty good), an off-key song, and a gaudy cake that someone ordered with indoor-safe sparklers instead of candles. He’d smiled (barely), given a thank-you speech that was short and gruff but genuine, and then dipped out the first moment he could without looking like a total ass. Bakugou knew exactly where he wanted to be.

Home.

You were waiting for him there.

Because you are his home.

He inhaled and instantly recognized the scent of soy, garlic, and ginger—it hit like a nostalgic punch straight to his gut. Home cooking. His home. You.

You peeked your head out from the kitchen and grinned. “Took you long enough, birthday boy.”

He let out a long breath, shoulders dropping, mouth tugging into a real smile as he kicked off his boots and unzipped his jacket, haphazardly draping it on the coat rack. “You been cooking this whole time?” he asked, padding toward the kitchen, hands already aching to hug you.

“I had to start late since someone had a fancy party,” you teased, arching a brow.

He caught your waist and pulled you in, burying his face into your shoulder. You were warm. Always warm. Always his to come home to. “Smelled it from the driveway. Thought I was gonna cry.”

You laughed, carding your fingers through his hair. It’s soft. It’s real. It’s what Bakugou, for the longest time of his life, thought he didn’t deserve.

“Well don’t cry. You’ll ruin your grumpy old man image.”

“You keep sayin’ old like I’m ancient,” he grumbled, voice muffled against you.

“You are! Twenty-three? That’s basically the beginning of the end.”

Bakugou snorted, lifting his head just enough to kiss your cheek. “Then I guess you better start takin’ care of me, huh?” he murmured, giving you another kiss on the cheek—and he’s tempted to bite into those round cheeks of yours, but he holds back; maybe later, he thinks. “Gonna live up to your promise?”

“I already do,” you said, smug.

Dinner was spread out in neat portions on your little dining table—fried karaage, miso soup, tamagoyaki, mapo tofu (yes, you finally lived up to surpassing Fuyumi’s recipe), Japanese curry, and a bowl of white rice shaped into a neat little mountain with a pickled plum on top. Comfort food. His favorites.

You even laid out a folded napkin at his seat and put a can of his favorite cold tea beside it.

But it was the bento cake in the center that made him pause. It was small—round and modest, clearly homemade. The white frosting was a little uneven, and there were three stubby candles jammed into the top in a crooked triangle. The frosting on top attempted an explosion shape but looked more like a flower in bloom. He loved it.

“You made that?” he asked, lowering into the seat and staring at it like it was some rare artifact.

“Baked and frosted. Don’t look too close, or you’ll see my fingerprints in it,” you said, sitting across from him. “And before you ask—no, I didn’t buy it from some store. I wanted to make it for you. Even if it’s ugly.”

“It’s not ugly.”

“Liars go to hell.”

He huffs. “Well, I think it’s fuckin’ adorable.”

You two ate slowly. Bakugou didn’t scarf it down like he did in the breakroom or during hero meetings. He savored each bite as you two shared a warm conversation over dinner. You told him how a kid at daycare tried to make you a birthday card to give to him but ended up scribbling dinosaurs fighting a volcano instead. You showed him a crayon drawing folded in your bag. It said, “Happpy Brithdai KATSOOKY.”

He laughed so hard he snorted.

After dinner, you two sat at the table for a while, talking about nothing, hands brushing occasionally, until you leaned forward and lit the candles. When you’re close like this, Bakugou could clearly remember every feature on your face—it’s something he wants to commit to memory every night.

“Make a wish.”

“Hm,” he hummed in thought.

“Make a wish quickly before the fire alarm sets off, dummy,” you smiled, joking.

He looked at you through the candlelight—lips slightly parted, eyes soft and loving. Yeah, he wants your face engraved in the deepest corners of his brain.

Bakugou made a wish. Then blew them out.

“What’d you wish for?” you asked.

He got up, walked around the table, and pulled you to your feet. “You.”

“You already have me,” you tilted your head to the side.

“Then I wished for more of you,” he replied, pressing your foreheads together.

“You’re sappy when you’re full,” you murmured, brushing your thumb across his jaw.

“I’m sappy when you bake me cake and feed me curry.”

You fed each other bites of the bento cake, poking fun at how sweet it was, until he dabbed a bit of icing on your nose. You retaliated by smearing it across his cheek. It turned into a mini war. Hands, faces, even his shirt took frosting damage. He scooped some off his collar and flicked it at you.

“I surrender! Oh my god, we’re a mess.”

“We can always take a shower later,” he says.

...

“Is that a suggestion or a promise?”

“You’re fuckin’ shameless,” he taunted, though showering together after isn’t that far off from what he was thinking.

“Uh huh. And who’s now old?”

“Still not me,” he said, wiping his face clean with a napkin. “And even if I was—if I hit fifty and go bald and need reading glasses and fall asleep at 9PM—if you’re still here with me, I’ll be fine.”

You paused.

“Yeah?”

He nodded.

“Even if I go gray first?” you asked.

“I’ll dye it with you.”

“What if I need a cane?”

“I’ll get one with spikes, and we’ll match.”

You laughed so hard you almost fell onto him. And when you looked up again, your eyes were glassy with affection.

“Happy birthday, Katsuki.”

He cupped your cheek, thumb brushing your skin with care he rarely showed anyone else.

“Best one yet.”

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“i remember practicing how to ask you out.”

you laugh against tsukishima’s frame, looking up into his eyes. his contented smile instantly drops, morphing into a mock frown: “what’s so funny?”

“you?” you manage in between giggles. your fingers poke at tsukishima’s cheeks, tracing the reddish glow settling in them. “you? the high-and-mighty tsukishima kei? practicing how to ask me out?”

“shut up,” he muffles, burrowing his face in your hair. “i was nervous, ok?”

as you relish in the comfortable warmth, you take the moment to recall the day tsukishima kei, your long-time bestfriend, confessed his feelings for you.

you initially thought tsukishima was mad at you—he was equipped with an uneasy glower as he made his way towards your classroom. judging by the way your classmates dissipated at the very sight of him, the thought was a common one. no one was fond of an angry tsukishima kei.

“tsukki?” you asked, shifting from where you had been leaning on the wall. “anything wrong?”

the tall blonde remained unmoving, instead radiating wordless fury in droves. you sighed at the familiar action—this was not the first time tsukishima had gotten into a rut, and certainly not the last.

“tsukki,” you inquired further. “i’m here, if you want to talk. or not—”

suddenly, tsukishima smacked the space beside your ear, leaning his forehead to yours. after recovering from the shock of the sudden movement, all that was left in your senses was blatant confusion. “what in the—tsukishima kei, what are you doing?”

everything that followed happened in the blink of an eye.

the wall pinning. the hair-length distance. the term that came to mind—kabedon—and the realisation that dawned upon you: the blush in tsukishima’s cheeks weren’t spurred on by exasperation, but embarrassment.

“go out with me?”

of course, you had said yes to those four words. the assent had brought you here, cuddling in tsukishima’s arms. despite the eventual happy ending, you still thought his method of confessing was absolutely ridiculous. “i can’t believe you thought it was a good idea to confess by trying to kabedon me.”

“trying?” tsukishima huffs, adjusting his glasses. “that was a pretty successful attempt, if i say so.”

“mhm,” you hum, placing a hand on his chest. even with the knitted sweater tsukishima was wearing, you could still feel his heart race at your touch. “who even suggested the idea? doesn’t sound like something you would do.”

“yamaguchi. and hinata. in hindsight, i have no idea why i listened to those two in the first place. excruciatingly awkward, although—”

the annoyance splayed over tsukishima’s features reverted back into the smile he was donning earlier: gentle, feather soft.

“i’d go through all of that again if it meant being here with you.”

masterlist

౨ৎ katsuki bakugo loves to sleep naked with you.

but not in a sexual manner, no. instead, in the most loving way imaginable. he loves to feel your plush and honey soft skin rubbing up against him. he loves how warm to the touch you feel, basking in the fervor plethora of just you. bare you.

just to rub his hands all over your body feels like heaven to a man like him. for you to be so comfortable in showing him the most beautiful body that God has given you has him almost shedding tears. he honestly feels like the luckiest man alive.

knowing he only gets to trail his fingers through every crack and crevice of you, that he’s the only one to love on your tinted brown skin is so excruciatingly satisfying. he can’t get enough of it.

no, he just can’t get enough of you.

having a heated make out session with bakugou when he’s wearing his glasses and having to straighten them on his face after is just too good i fear. bonus points if you have to wipe your lipstick off his mouth with your thumb as he looks at you with half-lidded, lovesick eyes and a stupid lazy grin.

Wow that wpuld suck

EVERYONE SOBBED PROBABLY

here's a thought:

tsukishima kei is mean. he complains that you talk too much, laughs when you flunk your tests, and insists that you're clingy. others wonder why you're even with him.

but they don't know that when he tsks at your rambling, he shifts one side of his headphones away to hear your voice. they don't know that even though he teases you for your low test scores, he would stay up late at night just to tutor you till you'd get it right. they don't know that after rolling his eyes at your affection, he places a chaste kiss on your forehead and hides his red face in your hair.

so when they say you deserve better, you laugh at their cluelessness and state with a smile, "he's more than everything i could ever want." and he falls in love with you all over again.