cw: smut, surferboy!kiri, praise, fingering, public sex, slightly nerdy kiri, biting, fluff, overstim, orgasm denial, cockwarming, slight somnophilia, cunnilingus, lmk if i missed anything >_<
a/n: finally home for the summer so I’ll have time to write again, send recs!!!
Surfer!Kirishima who’s always at the beach before sunrise, chasing waves with you on his mind. He’ll spend hours combing the shore afterward, pocketing smooth shells and pretty rocks he thinks you’ll like, already imagining the way your face will light up when he presses them into your palm later.
Surfer!Kirishima who tries to teach you how to ride his board but can’t stop laughing when you immediately tip over. “Baby, you’re supposed to stand on it, not wrestle it,” he teases, hauling you back up by the waist. He’s merciless about it, calling you his “little sea turtle” every time you wipe out, but he always kisses the salt off your lips afterward.
Surfer!Kirishima who pretends to hate it when you tease him about his sun-bleached ends, grumbling under his breath—until you’re carding your fingers through his hair for hours while he melts into your touch, eyes half-lidded and content.
Surfer!Kirishima who gets relentlessly teased by you for being a “shark boy.” You’ll poke at his sharp teeth and call him Jaws whenever he grins too wide, and he always retaliates by chasing you into the water, growling, “Keep talking and I’ll show you how much of a shark I can be.”
Surfer!Kirishima who gets so excited showing you the tide pools, pointing out every colorful fish and rambling about how great whites are actually “the biggest misunderstood sweethearts of the ocean.” His voice goes soft when he talks about them, like he’s trying to make you love them as much as he does.
Surfer!Kirishima who has your name written in small, neat letters on the bottom of his surfboard. He did it one night when he couldn’t sleep, carving it carefully near the tail. He never tells you, but every time he paddles out, he glances down and smiles to himself, like having your name there keeps you with him even when you’re not.
Surfer!Kirishima who pulls you onto his board at sunset, letting the two of you drift farther out while his fingers slip beneath your swimsuit. He works you open slow and deep, murmuring praise against your ear the whole time. “That’s it, sunshine… just like that. Such a good girl for me.” He doesn’t stop until you’re shaking and cumming around his fingers, then kisses your temple like you didn’t just fall apart in the middle of the ocean.
Surfer!Kirishima who grinds against you in the water when his friends are only a few feet away, voice low and teasing. “Quiet, baby. Don’t want them to hear how pretty you sound when I’m inside you, right?” His hand stays firm on your hip, keeping you close while he rocks into you beneath the surface.
Surfer!Kirishima who drags you back to his little beach house after a long day, too tired to do anything but strip you both down and slide into you from behind. He falls asleep like that, buried deep, one arm slung over your waist, the sound of the waves drifting in through the open windows.
Surfer!Kirishima who eats you out so slow and thorough that you’re half-asleep by the time you cum, the ocean breeze cooling your skin while he licks you through it. He loves the way you go boneless under his mouth, murmuring, “Love tasting you like this… all relaxed for me.”
Surfer!Kirishima who invites his friends over for a late-night swim but spends the whole time behind you in the water, two fingers buried deep while he whispers against your neck. “Don’t cum, baby… be good for me.” He sounds so sweet about it, but the second you break and cum anyway, he’s praising you in that low, rough voice. “Fuck—there you go. Couldn’t help yourself, huh? My needy girl.”
Surfer!Kirishima who has a habit of leaving bite marks all over your thighs. He loves spreading you open on the beach towel after a surf session, sinking his teeth into the soft skin just hard enough to leave pretty red crescents. He’ll soothe each mark with his tongue afterward, murmuring against your thighs, “Can’t help it, sunshine… you taste too good. Everyone’s gonna know you’re mine when they see these.”
Surfer!Kirishima who waits until the beach is empty at dusk before dragging his board higher up the sand. He lays you out on it, the wax still warm from the day, and fucks you slow and deep while the waves crash a few feet away. One of his hands stays wrapped around your throat, the other pinning your thigh open as he groans against your ear, “Fuck, you look so pretty like this… all spread out on my board.” He doesn’t stop until you’re shaking and crying out his name, the sound nearly drowned out by the ocean.
cw: smut, surferboy!kiri, praise, fingering, public sex, slightly nerdy kiri, biting, fluff, overstim, orgasm denial, cockwarming, slight somnophilia, cunnilingus, lmk if i missed anything >_<
a/n: finally home for the summer so I’ll have time to write again, send recs!!!
Surfer!Kirishima who’s always at the beach before sunrise, chasing waves with you on his mind. He’ll spend hours combing the shore afterward, pocketing smooth shells and pretty rocks he thinks you’ll like, already imagining the way your face will light up when he presses them into your palm later.
Surfer!Kirishima who tries to teach you how to ride his board but can’t stop laughing when you immediately tip over. “Baby, you’re supposed to stand on it, not wrestle it,” he teases, hauling you back up by the waist. He’s merciless about it, calling you his “little sea turtle” every time you wipe out, but he always kisses the salt off your lips afterward.
Surfer!Kirishima who pretends to hate it when you tease him about his sun-bleached ends, grumbling under his breath—until you’re carding your fingers through his hair for hours while he melts into your touch, eyes half-lidded and content.
Surfer!Kirishima who gets relentlessly teased by you for being a “shark boy.” You’ll poke at his sharp teeth and call him Jaws whenever he grins too wide, and he always retaliates by chasing you into the water, growling, “Keep talking and I’ll show you how much of a shark I can be.”
Surfer!Kirishima who gets so excited showing you the tide pools, pointing out every colorful fish and rambling about how great whites are actually “the biggest misunderstood sweethearts of the ocean.” His voice goes soft when he talks about them, like he’s trying to make you love them as much as he does.
Surfer!Kirishima who has your name written in small, neat letters on the bottom of his surfboard. He did it one night when he couldn’t sleep, carving it carefully near the tail. He never tells you, but every time he paddles out, he glances down and smiles to himself, like having your name there keeps you with him even when you’re not.
Surfer!Kirishima who pulls you onto his board at sunset, letting the two of you drift farther out while his fingers slip beneath your swimsuit. He works you open slow and deep, murmuring praise against your ear the whole time. “That’s it, sunshine… just like that. Such a good girl for me.” He doesn’t stop until you’re shaking and cumming around his fingers, then kisses your temple like you didn’t just fall apart in the middle of the ocean.
Surfer!Kirishima who grinds against you in the water when his friends are only a few feet away, voice low and teasing. “Quiet, baby. Don’t want them to hear how pretty you sound when I’m inside you, right?” His hand stays firm on your hip, keeping you close while he rocks into you beneath the surface.
Surfer!Kirishima who drags you back to his little beach house after a long day, too tired to do anything but strip you both down and slide into you from behind. He falls asleep like that, buried deep, one arm slung over your waist, the sound of the waves drifting in through the open windows.
Surfer!Kirishima who eats you out so slow and thorough that you’re half-asleep by the time you cum, the ocean breeze cooling your skin while he licks you through it. He loves the way you go boneless under his mouth, murmuring, “Love tasting you like this… all relaxed for me.”
Surfer!Kirishima who invites his friends over for a late-night swim but spends the whole time behind you in the water, two fingers buried deep while he whispers against your neck. “Don’t cum, baby… be good for me.” He sounds so sweet about it, but the second you break and cum anyway, he’s praising you in that low, rough voice. “Fuck—there you go. Couldn’t help yourself, huh? My needy girl.”
Surfer!Kirishima who has a habit of leaving bite marks all over your thighs. He loves spreading you open on the beach towel after a surf session, sinking his teeth into the soft skin just hard enough to leave pretty red crescents. He’ll soothe each mark with his tongue afterward, murmuring against your thighs, “Can’t help it, sunshine… you taste too good. Everyone’s gonna know you’re mine when they see these.”
Surfer!Kirishima who waits until the beach is empty at dusk before dragging his board higher up the sand. He lays you out on it, the wax still warm from the day, and fucks you slow and deep while the waves crash a few feet away. One of his hands stays wrapped around your throat, the other pinning your thigh open as he groans against your ear, “Fuck, you look so pretty like this… all spread out on my board.” He doesn’t stop until you’re shaking and crying out his name, the sound nearly drowned out by the ocean.
The knock at your door snapped you out of sleep. You rolled out of your bed as the light pounding continued, and steadied yourself before approaching the door. You approached the door tentatively, unsure of whether or not to open it until a disgruntled groan came through the wood.
“Let me in.” The voice called, exaggerating each syllable in a way that only one person you knew did when he was drunk. He called your name, and you could hear the sound of a body dropping against a wall. You pull the door open slowly, watching as a head of blonde hair slips through the door, sliding along the wall until it reaches your shoulder. The scarred face turned up to you, eyes wide and glassy in the lack of light.
“What are you doing here Katsuki?” You asked, gripping his shoulders and lifting him to standing.
“Came to see you.” He grumbled, brows furrowed in concentration as his eyes traced you
“Why?” You demanded, hands still placed on his shoulder. “I haven’t seen you in weeks.”
“I’ve been busy.” He replied, words tripping over one another. “I missed you though.”
You attempted to ignore the last of his words, a sentence you did not recall Katsuki having said before. “That’s what you say every time, that you’re busy.”
His bottom lip drooped into a pout, hands rising to land on your shoulders. “Are you mad at me? Don’t be mad—my girl can’t be mad at me.”
“I’m not your girl.” You told him, gently this time. You had seen Katsuki drunk, in rare moments at UA reunions. More often than not he had been passed out, face down in a booth or entirely supported by Kirishima. On the rare occasion he was awake, stumbling over his feet and snapping at nearby people. This was something different, a halfway point between the two.
Katsuki’s brows furrowed, hands moving past your shoulders as his arms wrapped loosely around your neck. “You’re my girl.”
“No.” You said, lips pursing together. “We’re friends.”
“No.” He replied, shaking his head stubbornly. He paused momentarily, and spoke slowly, “We’ve . . . made love.”
“Yeah, but that doesn’t change much. We’re friends, we’ve slept together, but you don’t have time for a girlfriend.” You reminded him, smile slightly forced. You did not want to explain the situation that had caused you many frustrating nights to the person who had contributed greatly to the frustration, but you did not tell him that.
“Oh,” He breathed. Katsuki leaned forward, placing nearly all of his weight on you. You accepted it, but reached past him to turn the lock. The movement brought your bodies closer together, his mouth inches from your ear. “Can we make love now?”
“You’re too drunk.” You told him, not wanting to remind him that he never used those words to describe your late nights. Katsuki’s brows furrowed, as he slowly stumbled forward, attempting to guide you to the bed. You were surprised he remembered the directions.
“I’m not too drunk, I just had a little to drink.” He said, rough blonde hair brushing against your neck. He usually did not elaborate, so you were surprised when he continued speaking. “Kaminari made me go out.”
“Oh, really?” You asked, allowing him to shuffle you toward the room. The back of your knees hit the edge of the bed and you paused, holding him up.
“Yeah, him and Shitty Hair.” He complained. You nodded,
“I’m sorry.” You told him, patting his shoulder. “You need to change before you sleep.”
Katsuki let out a large groan, but pulled away from you and toward your dresser nonetheless. There was a spare drawer now, filled with plain black shirts and baggy pants. You turned your head away as he slipped off his previous clothes, and pulled on pajama pants. He turned around and collapsed onto the bed, legs hanging loosely off the frame. You lay down on the bed and tucked yourself underneath the sheets. You gazed down at Katsuki. His eyes were half closed, dark red eyes looking back at you through thick lashes.
“Do you want a shirt?” You asked. The question was simply a formality, you knew the answer before he spoke.
“Too hot.” He replied, and you nodded.
“Can you bring me to my car tomorrow?” Katsuki asked.
“Sure, where is it?”
“I’m not sure.” He told you. Katsuki pushed himself to his hands and climbed toward you. He struggled to fit his body underneath the covers and collapsed half on top of you.
“Uh, you’re too warm.” You groaned, attempting to push him to the side so that you could at least tuck him underneath the covers.
“You say that everytime.” He chided, rolling off as you tugged up the covers. He kept an arm wrapped closely around you as he made himself comfortable, and you could tell he was falling asleep quickly. You were certain that in the morning his behavior would be a haze, but it would stick to your memory.
note: sorry it's been sooo long! i've been super busy but i'll hopefully be able to write a lot more over summer
The knock at your door snapped you out of sleep. You rolled out of your bed as the light pounding continued, and steadied yourself before approaching the door. You approached the door tentatively, unsure of whether or not to open it until a disgruntled groan came through the wood.
“Let me in.” The voice called, exaggerating each syllable in a way that only one person you knew did when he was drunk. He called your name, and you could hear the sound of a body dropping against a wall. You pull the door open slowly, watching as a head of blonde hair slips through the door, sliding along the wall until it reaches your shoulder. The scarred face turned up to you, eyes wide and glassy in the lack of light.
“What are you doing here Katsuki?” You asked, gripping his shoulders and lifting him to standing.
“Came to see you.” He grumbled, brows furrowed in concentration as his eyes traced you
“Why?” You demanded, hands still placed on his shoulder. “I haven’t seen you in weeks.”
“I’ve been busy.” He replied, words tripping over one another. “I missed you though.”
You attempted to ignore the last of his words, a sentence you did not recall Katsuki having said before. “That’s what you say every time, that you’re busy.”
His bottom lip drooped into a pout, hands rising to land on your shoulders. “Are you mad at me? Don’t be mad—my girl can’t be mad at me.”
“I’m not your girl.” You told him, gently this time. You had seen Katsuki drunk, in rare moments at UA reunions. More often than not he had been passed out, face down in a booth or entirely supported by Kirishima. On the rare occasion he was awake, stumbling over his feet and snapping at nearby people. This was something different, a halfway point between the two.
Katsuki’s brows furrowed, hands moving past your shoulders as his arms wrapped loosely around your neck. “You’re my girl.”
“No.” You said, lips pursing together. “We’re friends.”
“No.” He replied, shaking his head stubbornly. He paused momentarily, and spoke slowly, “We’ve . . . made love.”
“Yeah, but that doesn’t change much. We’re friends, we’ve slept together, but you don’t have time for a girlfriend.” You reminded him, smile slightly forced. You did not want to explain the situation that had caused you many frustrating nights to the person who had contributed greatly to the frustration, but you did not tell him that.
“Oh,” He breathed. Katsuki leaned forward, placing nearly all of his weight on you. You accepted it, but reached past him to turn the lock. The movement brought your bodies closer together, his mouth inches from your ear. “Can we make love now?”
“You’re too drunk.” You told him, not wanting to remind him that he never used those words to describe your late nights. Katsuki’s brows furrowed, as he slowly stumbled forward, attempting to guide you to the bed. You were surprised he remembered the directions.
“I’m not too drunk, I just had a little to drink.” He said, rough blonde hair brushing against your neck. He usually did not elaborate, so you were surprised when he continued speaking. “Kaminari made me go out.”
“Oh, really?” You asked, allowing him to shuffle you toward the room. The back of your knees hit the edge of the bed and you paused, holding him up.
“Yeah, him and Shitty Hair.” He complained. You nodded,
“I’m sorry.” You told him, patting his shoulder. “You need to change before you sleep.”
Katsuki let out a large groan, but pulled away from you and toward your dresser nonetheless. There was a spare drawer now, filled with plain black shirts and baggy pants. You turned your head away as he slipped off his previous clothes, and pulled on pajama pants. He turned around and collapsed onto the bed, legs hanging loosely off the frame. You lay down on the bed and tucked yourself underneath the sheets. You gazed down at Katsuki. His eyes were half closed, dark red eyes looking back at you through thick lashes.
“Do you want a shirt?” You asked. The question was simply a formality, you knew the answer before he spoke.
“Too hot.” He replied, and you nodded.
“Can you bring me to my car tomorrow?” Katsuki asked.
“Sure, where is it?”
“I’m not sure.” He told you. Katsuki pushed himself to his hands and climbed toward you. He struggled to fit his body underneath the covers and collapsed half on top of you.
“Uh, you’re too warm.” You groaned, attempting to push him to the side so that you could at least tuck him underneath the covers.
“You say that everytime.” He chided, rolling off as you tugged up the covers. He kept an arm wrapped closely around you as he made himself comfortable, and you could tell he was falling asleep quickly. You were certain that in the morning his behavior would be a haze, but it would stick to your memory.
note: sorry it's been sooo long! i've been super busy but i'll hopefully be able to write a lot more over summer
warnings: lots of feeling of inadequacy, talk of failed relationships, misunderstandings, kirishima is unfortunately not a real human man that i can physically love, fluff, like serious fluff, little bit of angst; relationships with a pro-hero are hard !!
part 2/2
The millionth time you think about him, it keeps you awake at night. Again.
Koji is sleeping perpendicular to you, feet tucked into your ribs with the sheets scrunched beneath his wide-sprawled body, which is a typical sleepy-time position for your wild child of a son.
The green light of the alarm clock is all mocking, 2:34 staring you directly in the face, and the patterns Koji's night-light produces have become one with the rotation of your thoughts. It's actually a little terrifying, considering the fishy shadows get larger as they spin through their cycle and the glow looks like it's breathing, fading from purple to blue and then back. Koji sleeps with his mouth open and his little snores only add to this peculiar atmosphere, the kind meant to nurture sleep and not the kind to be conscious in.
It’s creepy, totally. So that’s why sleep has evaded you—for days.
And because you see that bouquet every time you close your eyes, lying smushed against the concrete. It’s rained since then, hard, and you wonder if it’s still there, soggy and deteriorating, or if anyone has picked it up to throw it away. Maybe someone has, maybe Red Riot has.
Your eyes are probably rimmed red and puffy from all the rest that’s been stolen, but there are too many questions growing roots in your head, no matter how furiously you try to trim them: those flowers—why were they there in the first place? It was obvious Kirishima had brought them—that's what he had been holding behind his back—but why? If they were meant for someone in the hospital, like another woman he saved from certain death, then why did he toss them under a van?
It’s not like they were for you, right?
No way.
“No way,” you tell yourself, quietly so Koji doesn’t stir, and you rub your eyes so hard that they begin to sting and stick together when you try to open them again.
No. No way. Why would he bring you flowers? It had been kind of him to visit in the hospital, to check up on how you were doing, and the small conversation you had shared—what little you remember of it, after those pain meds—was nice, pleasant. But you certainly didn’t think it warranted any gifts, peach in color (a hue that was soft and reminded you of summer, when Koji was born).
And—if you even want to entertain this thought—if they had been for you, why hadn’t he offered them?
Even as you ask yourself the question, the sight of him in your hospital room comes back to mind. Shoe untied, hair gelled perfectly, tan skin reminiscent of warm afternoons at the beach, evenings at the park, late, as the heat died down. How red his face could turn, even the iron giant that he was, broad and formidable, built like he could never be afraid of anything.
And yet he seemed—shy.
You look good—I mean—better, better than you did. Not that—not that you looked bad or anything, just that—
Koji sits up suddenly and it’s so startling that you flinch out of your reverie.
"Honey bee?"
His eyes are still closed, but he rubs at them with a little fist while smacking his lips before scooting so he's laying near you again. In his sleep, his eyebrows are raising and furrowing, he's sighing heavily and twitching a little.
"What are you dreaming about, hmm?" Very carefully, you try to tame his unruly bed head but it sticks up regardless. All his hair gel from today is gone, but the effects of his sleepy wiggling are unmatched.
When his breathing evens out, you run a hand through your own hair, tugging at it slightly. Did you want the bouquet to be for you, from Kirishima? It's the question that's the loudest in all of this mess and it's the one that gives you goosebumps. There's a knee-jerk response asking, what would you even do with some flowers? Sit them on your table until they die? But through the cynicism, you can feel your face heating at the idea.
Heizo had given you three red roses on your first date, driving a car of the same color, pulling up after school so you could show off to your friends about your older boyfriend. "Can't I do something nice for my girl?" You had squealed, your friends had squealed, it had felt like a dream once, just like all things do in the beginning.
Unbidden, Kirishima replaces Nishida in the memory, in a car that matches his hair, holding an arrangement of peach flowers. When he picks you up, there are no wild squeals or any showing off, just a shared look between the two of you and some nameless feeling that makes your heart throb.
You’re exhausted. You’re going nuts.
The blue light from your phone burns into your retinas after you snatch it up from the bedside table, dimming and angling it so Koji isn’t bothered by the shine. Your fingers hesitate for only a second but you push through it; if you get shy now, these curiosities will continue to sprout and grow, these possibilities—if there even are any.
Searching 'red riot' populates hundreds of web pages on him, his Hero profile being the first result. There's one for his agency and a link to his Instagram, a Wikipedia page, a handful of random YouTube videos. The first few preview photos of him are all Kellog Kirishima, polished and manufactured for the public, but there is one at the end of them, candid, honest: a much younger Kirishima—shorter, to your great surprise—somewhere between the man he is today and the boy he must have been.
High school, maybe. The early days of Red Riot, standing next to another hero you fail to remember the name of. It moves you in a way that’s unexpected—that sparkle in his eye, the enthusiasm in his boyish grin, the pride in his stance—and it all has you clapping your hands over your burning face.
(You, -1)
There are only eight photos on his Instagram, the most recent one being from nearly a year ago. It’s another candid of him and a young girl, a few years older than Koji—the caption is emphatic, red heart emojis behind a few words stating how nice it was to meet a fan on the street that day. There’s one mirror selfie, which might have been funny if the sleeves on the shirt he was wearing weren’t digging into the meat of his biceps, if the playful little smirk he was giving wasn’t so—
If you get shy now, you’ll never stop wondering. You’ll never stop thinking about him.
As quickly as you can, you search ‘red riot girlfriend’, which fills you with so much hot embarrassment that you have to sit up in bed, lest it suffocate you. The scan through Google Images is rapid, hurried in the belief that the faster you look, the sooner this’ll be done and you can go back to bed.
For a few stilted minutes, you hunt through a handful of pictures—paparazzi shots and one more mirror selfie—of him and the same pretty woman. Walking down the street hand-in-hand, drinking coffee together, in a cute Halloween picture with matching puppy costumes. It’s—embarrassing, how hard your stomach drops.
But Kirishima looks...different, younger again, and the pictures are accompanied with a news article titled: Unbreakable? Red Riot and girlfriend split after 7 months, dated two years ago.
It’s—absurd your giant sigh of relief, how heavily you flop back to the bed.
Koji sits up again, causing you to recoil so hard that the phone drops out of your hands and onto your chest with a painful thunk. Even though he’s still rubbing his eyes, you can tell by the sleepy pout on his lips that he is actually awake this time, and he starts to cry quietly until you pull him closer.
You don’t say anything, just kiss his head and let him draw up his knees until they’re digging into your hip. After he shuffles a bit, it becomes obvious that the thing stabbing into you isn’t him, but a hard, plastic action figure, one with too many edges and points to be anyone but the very man keeping you awake.
It feels unfair, suddenly, to have him so close and yet not close at all.
—
The first time you tell your mother about him, she has an absolute field day.
“He what?” Already the book in her hands is closing, no longer as interesting as the story you're reciting. She doesn't so much as dog-ear the page, just shuts it and scoots closer on the bench you're sharing, as if there is some secret to be exchanged.
"Mom," you sigh, shake your head, and wonder if you've spoken a certain way you shouldn't have, if maybe you're misleading her somehow. The tone of your voice must be betraying you and all these sleepless nights. "I told you, he's very nice. It's not like—" dismissively, you wave a hand through the air, against whatever it is she's thinking. Whatever it is you're thinking.
"Flowers? He brought you flowers and you're saying—"
"I'm saying they might not have been meant for me, I don't know." When you shrug, she scoffs as if you have personally offended her by ruining this newest romance fantasy. "Maybe they were for Koji."
Almost on cue, he shrieks out a laugh, running too fast across the wood chips on the playground. There are some stuck in his hair and clinging to the back of his shirt, but he seems none the wiser as he tries to climb up a slide the wrong way. A little girl with kitten ears comes around a pole and waits for him at the top, causing him to emit another squeal before he scoots back down on his butt.
It's hard not to laugh at him, how sweet, how innocent.
When you look at your mother, she seems less than amused, and your smile flops.
"It doesn't matter regardless," you try to keep a stern tone to convey how done you are with this conversation—why had it started in the first place? "Kirishima is—"
On the LED screen downtown, a cardboard cutout near the rock climbing gear in a sports store, saving the world during reruns of Mighty Friends! and in his real, heroic life. Busy. Unattainable.
A stranger, one too great in size to fold into the shape of your hectic life. Now that you're fully awake and in your right mind, it's easy to remember that there’s no room for those nightly delusions. What you'd told Koji hadn't been untrue: Kirishima is probably preoccupied with all his Big Hero Stuff, and there was no time for him to play, to see the two of you again, which was fine. Really. Seriously. It is.
The mature-mom side of you can admit that, yes, it's a tad bit disappointing because he is very handsome—and friendly and respectful and gentle and good—but he's a single, up-and-coming Hero with the world at his feet; he must have a multitude of options in his romantic life, ready and waiting for whenever he calls.
And the truth is that you couldn't be involved, not with a boisterous little boy taking up all the space in your heart.
Koji jumps from a too tall ledge on the playground and, though he barely stumbles, never losing his grin, you feel the shudder that makes flowers sway, that makes the bench creak. With Kirishima on the mind, it takes you back to KOBE, to the war zone of glass and debris, and a shudder lights up your spine.
(“It'll only get worse," Nishida said, cigarette dangling from his lips, annoyance clear in the flare of his nostrils. Bringing up this subject with him always ended in a fight.
“Then tell me what to do, how do I help him?"
“Tell you what to do?" Infuriating, with the little smirk on his face. It had been raining when he'd come to pick up your son and he was already urging Koji into his car so they could leave before the conversation had time to develop. “Never thought I'd hear that from your mouth.")
(Nishida, -1)
"Hey," you call out to him, but already he's chasing after his friend, disappearing as fast as he'd come. If your mother wants to say anything about his developing quirk, she doesn't, much to your relief. Such a conversation will be stowed away between the pages of her books, at the ready when you finish another shift at work. Another thing you aren’t sure how to handle. Another talk she’ll need to have with you.
There's a squeal from the side of the playground you aren't privy to, and then another, and then it seems like every kid on the lot is screaming. Your hands tighten instinctively around the wood of the bench, the panicked expression of your mother echoing on your own face. It’s like the nightmare of KOBE all over again, and then it isn’t; Koji’s scream isn’t indistinguishable, but the very thought of him in danger has you leaping into action without a second thought.
Just as you come around slides and swing sets, you hear,
"Watch it, ya' brats!"
and then another chorus of screams, cheers, you realize. Relief is so heavy on your chest that it knocks you back a few steps as your heart hammers, eyes scanning the crowd for Koji's messy hair. You don't find him right away, too blind-sided by the figure of orange and green standing at the head of them all; an arm is waving around, trying firmly—yet gently—to get the kitten-eared girl to let go of something that looks frighteningly similar to a grenade.
It's Dynamight, loud and explosive, looking not much different than his cartoon figure on Mighty Friends. The scowl on his face has your own lips pulling down in turn, taking in each and every edge of his mask, of his hair, of his jaw. He seems all danger, a slip of a finger away from being an eruption—and yet the kids are swarming him, pulling on his pants, trying to climb up his back.
His eyes cut to you once and that's when you notice the mass of vermilion a step behind him.
That's when you notice Koji.
Seated against Red Riot's hip as if he's earned such a spot, grinning down at the kids watching him with open mouths. Awash in cherry red, looking as if he's lit up from the inside and can't contain the enjoyment bursting at his seams; there's something about the happiness so obvious on your son's face that makes you want to cry.
Kirishima is smiling that smile that squishes his eyes closed and Koji starts talking, gripping one of his bulky shoulders, lips moving so fast that you can't imagine the Hero can understand a word. He only lets up to breathe, nodding his head insistently when you watch the oh yeah? slip from Kirishima’s mouth.
A lot of kids love Bakugou,
Koji sucks his lip between his teeth and hugs his Hero suddenly, so overcome with excitement that he can no longer take it.
It's nice that he—remembered me.
The look on Kirishima’s face is fond, familiar somehow, an expression that dulls all his edges, that eases all his danger.
For some reason, you think of Nishida: how wonderful it had been to see him hold Koji for the first time in the hospital, to see them bond, skin-to-skin. How much your son resembles his father, with his smile and his chin, his little mannerisms. How much you loved Heizo, hoped for the two of you, and how much it hurt when he walked out.
The last four years of your life as a single mother had been all Koji, all the time—as it should have been—and you’d come to accept what Nishida had spit out during the last argument you’d had before ending things: nobody would want a single mother, someone and their kid they would have to take care of. And that was fine, because you didn’t need anyone to take care of you or your kid, because you could do it on your own.
Though sometimes, on nights the romance-novel side of your brain takes over, you can’t help but wonder what it would be like to have someone there, simply because you wanted them to be.
(Sometimes you can’t help but imagine a vase of peach flowers, greeting you on the kitchen table on too early mornings.)
Koji swivels around in his Hero's arms, craning his head back to set his sights on the bench—your bench—and then he's scanning the playground and looking through kid after kid until he sees you. The sound of his voice is lost in all the childish excitement, but mama! forms in his lips and you smile as wide as you can, earnest and eager under his loving little gaze.
(Mama, +1)
You know how Koji must feel because the urge to wrap him up in your arms is suddenly overwhelming, the need to hold him, safe and firm, and it propels you forward to slip past little, tangled legs and you do your best not to trip any of them. Kirishima spots you, you’re sure of it, can feel the eyes burning into your face, but you busy yourself with surveying the grass, the wood chips falling out of shoes and pant legs, with the trampled wildflowers under the watchful crowd.
“Mama, look!” Koji says, and you do.
And Kirishima is looking, too.
The shine in his eyes is almost identical to your son’s, who is gazing with big and proud eyes as if his Hero really is his. Kirishima takes a long moment to observe you, rosy irises flitting across your eyebrows, the middle of your nose, down the slope of your neck, and then meeting you head on. The wavering smile on his lips is all manner of awkward, like he’s trying to fight off a pointed grin that won’t surrender, and the surprise of it all has you speechless. Is your hair a mess? Are there stains on your clothes? Do you smell like little boy sweat?
“Hi,” he offers, forced to step closer when Koji reaches for you. His neck burns as he passes him and your hands rise and fall a little uselessly, trying not to touch his very exposed and toned chest. Sure, you had seen it on the cereal box-and his action figure and on Koji’s new t-shirt—but it’s hard to believe he just looks like that at all times. Unbelievable. Unfair, actually.
“Fancy seeing you here,” gently, you bounce Koji on your hip, smiling down at him as he sucks on his lip. The armor on Kirishima's jaw is distracting, and there's no way you can look at him with your stomach doing flips the way it is.
“Uh, yeah, we were—I, uh,” he stumbles, endearing, nodding to Dynamight after clearing his throat, “Patrol and all.”
“Isn’t that nice?” You bounce Koji again, who nods eagerly. When you dare to look up at Kirishima, he’s patting another little boy on the head, trying to stop him from grabbing at the gears on his shoulders while quietly asking “hey bud, how’s it going?” Another flex of his arms has your eyes shooting up to watch the clouds. “We didn’t expect to see you again.” Koji whips his head around to frown at you, eyes wide as if you’ve betrayed him until you add, “So soon, at least.”
“Aw, yeah, it’s been pretty hectic.” Kirishima waves his arms in the air vaguely, as if the little crowd is an indication of how eventful his life must be. “It’s great to see you though, both of you!”
The very argument you’ve been having with yourself seems proven, but it doesn’t feel like any kind of victory. You knew this was coming. You’re not sure why a confirmation is so damning. Anything you could have thought to say seems stolen by a sudden and unrelenting wave of melancholy, but you try your best to smile and focus your attention on Koji. An awkwardness settles and Kirishima tugs a little fist from the hold on his pants.
Shuffling on his feet, he tries, “I meant to ask for your number last time, or—or,” his face burns when you look back at him in surprise, turning his eyes elsewhere just as you have to, “—or figure out some way to get in contact with you. Just, you know, in case.”
“In case…?” Like always, his little smile infects you, eases the discomfort souring in your stomach. The image of him and that pretty girl in the puppy costume comes to mind; he’s too much like one, sweet and kind and cuddly—even with his abs of steel, which look exactly as they do on his rigid, plastic action figure. Exactly.
“Just,” he shrugs, “in case. You can always call me, or whatever, for anything.” Kirishima laughs, a little too forced. “Need a lightbulb changed? I’m your guy!”
The intrusive thought of him standing in your kitchen, tall enough to reach the ceiling without needing a step stool the way you do—shirtless—gnawing on his lip just as he is now as while repairing a light distracts you, opens the doors for a few other visions of him in various places in your apartment. The idea is comfortable, too much so. How much you want it is shocking.
“Not that—” he breaks you from the spell before it goes any further, “not that—I don’t want to step on anyone’s toes or anything, your husband or—or whoever.”
“Husband?” Even as you say it, his eyes dart down to where your hand is supporting Koji. In some strange world, maybe he had been sitting up in bed too, curling over his phone while searching for you on Facebook, eager to know what relationship status was listed there. “No toes to step on. Just me and my big, strong boy!”
“Oh, of course, of course!” Kirishima’s brows shoot to his hairline—and you notice a small scratch at the corner of his right eye. It’s faded, healed over time into a nearly translucent mark.
(An iron giant, you think, but still soft, still scarred.)
(The logical mom side of you is fighting to keep her footing in holding the Hero ten feet away, but you can feel her losing, melting under the warm burn of his sincere gaze, the smile he aims at the ground, as if to hide it. Koji flexes his arms and beams and his Hero follows suit childishly, making a silly face that erupts all the kids surrounding him with laughter.)
Dynamight turns to regard the three of you for the first time, making some kind of noise between a grunt and an oi that goes unanswered. The scowl on the blonde’s face deepens into something fiercely ugly, but he has to avoid a stray elbow to the groin, and so his attention is redirected for the moment.
Koji wiggles impishly, making a little irritated sound with the back of his throat until you put him down. There’s a small boy squatting at Red Riot’s feet, pulling grass from the ground to layer over his boots, and your son nearly pushes him over to get closer to the Hero—and he also ignores the warning hey! given to him.
He jumps in place while grabbing onto Kirishima’s arm and you wonder if anyone else can feel the minute shaking of the earth beneath his excited feet. “Can you train with me like—like you said you would? Please?”
In the past few weeks since you saw the Hero at the hospital, Koji has been asking non-stop about his “training session”. Standing with a little hand on his little hip, overrun with a not-so-little attitude, he’s had the gall to look you in the face and say, “mom, I really don’t appreciate that,” when you’ve told him you had no way of contacting Red Riot—which hadn’t been a lie.
(You could only stand there and watch him with an open mouth, wondering how your sweet boy had gone from five to fifteen overnight as he stomped to his room and loudly threw himself on his bed.)
(The sass was definitely all his father's.)
It’ll only get worse, you think, over time as Koji’s strength grows with him. Maybe he’ll get lucky and make it into U.A. but how rough will the road there be? Will he upend half of the street while throwing a fit? Will your apartment building fall victim to a sinkhole all because he’s having a nightmare?
Maybe one day Koji will be there, inside KOBE, just in the nick of time to save a waitress that was too distracted to see the car hurtling towards her, and on that day—would you rather him be able to use his quirk, or not?
In a world of heroes, it shouldn’t be so surprising, danger around every corner, but it is; no matter how much you pray or wish or beg to the universe, one day Koji will be somewhere, in the middle of something you—or maybe anyone—can’t protect him from. And who will you want him to be, on that day?
“Uh,” Kirishima hesitates—in answer and in picking up Koji, who takes his turn swatting at the gears on his shoulders. Slowly, gently, as if waiting for any sign of disapproval from you, he cups his hands under your son’s arm and lifts him up with ease. “Well little man, I, uh—”
The only person who can understand exactly what Koji will go through is the one person that refuses to help, and it breaks your heart here, now, the way it always does. There will be people in your son’s life that will jump at the chance to aid him—good people, generous and patient and worthy—but they will never be his dear, old dad, who Koji loves unconditionally.
Despite the flush drawing your eyes to the Hero’s chest, you step up to smooth Koji’s hair, which warrants a manly growl. “Remember what we said, hmm? How Red Riot has big guy stuff to do?”
Kirishima nods, lips dragging down into a small frown that looks misplaced on his handsome face. “Yeah, big guy stuff. Boring.” He crosses his eyes and sticks out his tongue, like the words leave a gross taste in his mouth, and even though what he’s confirming is making Koji—and you—a little sad, it still pulls a smile.
“But,” you sigh, “if there is ever a time when Red Riot is not so busy with big guy stuff,” you make a point to say the words to Kirishima, who looks just as surprised as your son, “maybe we can set up a playdate.”
Koji launches into a hurried jumble of can you do it now are you busy now we’re not busy I don’t have school on the weekends and that’s when Dynamight finally catches Kirishima’s attention.
“Hey,” he seethes, “we ain’t got time for this. Supposed to be working.” To prove how serious he is, he takes several steps back towards the sidewalk (a bundle of kids follow him anyway), like he’s gearing up to leave his partner behind.
“Yeah, man, one sec,” Kirishima’s eyes never leave yours, which seriously pisses Dynamight off, evident by the red rage painting his neck. "Yeah, yeah! That would be great! I can text you, if that's okay?"
"I’m not—," Dynamight makes an incensed noise with his throat before fixing you with his fiery glare, an easy target to put the blame on. It feels a little bit like a trap, one that will set off if you even think about giving Kirishima your phone number—but Koji is still jumping and talking, so you do it anyway. And thank the stars you are not having to ask the blonde for any kind of special attention for your son.
"I—" the back of Kirishima’s head gear is yanked, and it lowers him down a few inches as his partner drags him across the grass. "I'll let you know, I will!" The wave he gives is timid but it's returned with vigor by Koji, by the other kids at the park, by your mother.
Even though she’s near bursting at the seams to say something, anything, you only watch your son’s Hero as he’s towed away, gleaming, sunshine.
—
The fourth time you see him, it’s technically the fifth.
Koji is decked out in his usual crimson gear—a fiery hoodie (which is actually Endeavor merchandise, though your son refused to hear it and insisted it spelled ‘Kirishima’), his red kindergarten gym shorts (which should have been at the school and not stowed away in Koji’s backpack yesterday afternoon), and a pair of your socks that have been dyed in the washer. Again.
The afternoon has started later than you expected and your son is already a little miffed, since the playdate with Kirishima has taken a backseat to the meltdown Koji had about not having enough hair gel to spike his entirely up. In his carseat, his arms are crossed, pout facing the trees that surround the parking lot. All attempts at your “honey bee” have failed and he only lightens up when you put the car in park.
The directions Kirishima sent have taken you to a field of some sort, in a clearing, one hidden away by a thin forest of trees with leaves that are lime in the sunlight. There’s a beaten track around the outside that’s obviously been well-worn with use, over time, and there’s a set of bleachers at one far end that look about ready to collapse at the slightest touch. It’s in a neighborhood you’ve never explored and the privacy of it all has you wondering how the Hero found it in the first place; it’s quiet and reserved, probably free from prying eyes, some secret spot he’s chosen to share with you and Koji.
(Kirishima, +1)
In the trunk of your car is a little blue cooler with snacks and Gatorade for when the sun begins to tire Koji out. There's no way to know what Kirishima has in plan for today's "training"; hopefully nothing serious—Koji is only five, after all. There's extra things in there, too, like a sandwich cut in the shape of a heart and some tuna your son didn't finish yesterday, just in case an appetite grows for you while waiting, watching. You'll spread a blanket out on the ground and stay out of the way; Koji has been looking forward to this and you want him to soak up all the fun he can.
Who knows if he'll see his Hero again after this.
His Hero—who is sitting patiently on a picnic table in front of the parking lot, looking up now that you've arrived. The first thing you notice about him is his shock of hair—red as usual, but loose, down in a low ponytail at the back of his neck. The shorter pieces he spikes up at the front ("horns, mama," Koji tells you) don't quite reach all the way, little bangs hanging just in front of his eyes that he swipes away, grinning as Koji squeals his name. His voice must be easy to hear, even through the car door, because this clearing is so secret, so personal. Intimate.
The thought has your stomach turning traitorously, full of nerves you won't dare describe as butterflies, and you shake your head to be rid of all the sweetness, lest it give your heart any cavities. Koji is kicking his feet impatiently against the passenger seat in front of him and you turn to tell him that he needs to mind his manners and be respectful, but Kirishima is already approaching you, which tips you son over into a dangerous stage of excitement. All your words are lost to him as he jams his little thumb into the buckle of his carseat.
"Honey bee—"
And then he's already loose, somehow—when did he learn how to do that?—and knocking on the window as his Hero waves from just outside the door. Koji is a burst of "mama, let me out, let me out, let me out!"
It doesn't seem like Kirishima’s smile can get any bigger, stock full of pride and appreciation, but it does—it even wavers a bit, eyes shining like he might tear up at your little boy's excitement.
The only time you've ever seen him so serious, serene even without a smile, is in the hospital as he tried to figure out what to do with all the praise you'd given him.
Distantly, you think: this man saved your life, and he's here, now, splaying his large hand against the glass window so that Koji can measure the difference in the size of their palms. It feels almost a little unreal, when you take a step back—but Kirishima's shadow is warm, a comfort that's too easy to lean into.
You unlock the car before your son can yank the door handle off.
Koji leaps from his seat and his Hero catches him just in time, almost a little too late, and hoists him high into the air like he's just as excited to see Koji. Maybe he is.
When you get out and come around the back to open your trunk, your son has his hands pressed against Kirishima's cheeks, squishing them around his pointy smile.
“Hey, little man! You ready for today?”
There is no real answer, your son just raises his arms in the air and screams, wiggling to get put down right after so he can do something with all the energy that's been building for weeks. His Hero laughs, watching him run in a quick circle before turning his grin to you. It falters just the slightest as he takes you in, the same way it had when he'd looked at Koji, but something is different in his eyes; they're not as shiny, but just as soft, sweet.
The days of Koji’s summer-break from school are your favorite: so full of unending fun, trips with your mom, trips between just you and your little boy. The sun sets later, it’s warmth still lingering as Koji plays outside with the neighborhood kids. Scraped knees and syrupy shaved ice; cartoons and quick baths; the kind of exhaustion that comes with an overabundance of fun, of love and joy. You’re not sure why the memory comes as you offer a tentative smile, as you play with the hem of your sundress.
“Hey there,” you nod at him, hoping to rush past all the nerves rattling around in your stomach, “thanks again for agreeing to meet us.”
“Oh yeah! Of course!” Kirishima puts his hands on his hips a little valiantly, like that of a true hero, and he only relaxes when you laugh. “I’m—it’s good to see you, both of you.”
It’s becoming easier and easier, you realize, for him to render you so fragile.
It's the honesty that strips you so bare. Though you hate to keep comparing him to Nishida, it's hard not to when he had been your baseline understanding of "love" once; Heizo had always teased you about everything, and while there wasn't anything really wrong with that, it's unprepared you for times like this, men like this, unashamed of all that these kind of feelings.
Shy, maybe, but not chasing away his own butterflies.
So you bite your lip, and his eyes drift to it for a split second. “It’s nice to see you too, Kirishima.”
Koji runs into his Hero’s leg, wrapping his little (red) arms around it, and he receives a gentle pat on the head, though those crimson eyes never leave yours. That serious expression takes over his face again and his jaw works just the slightest, like he’s chewing on words and trying to decide which ones to swallow, which ones to let out. His other hand tenses. Relaxes.
When your son digs his little chin into the meat of Kirshima’s thigh, he finally regards him with a soft smile, the same fond one he had when you saw him at the park a few days ago. It brings back some comfort, the same kind you felt when Koji cried your name with such joy at the sight of you, and things seem to settle back into place, just like that. He must have another quirk, something different under the surface of his hardened exterior, he must.
“Let’s go!” Koji beams, sucking on his lip when his Hero returns the grin.
“I think your mom has some stuff, bud,” Kirishima nods to you, “Let’s help her really quick before we get started, okay?”
Koji frowns.
“It’s okay,” you laugh, sticking your tongue out at your sweet baby boy when he looks at you—only for him to return it with vigor. “You two go ahead, I can get it.”
Then Kirishima frowns.
“Really, go! Get to training!” The little wave only lowers the Hero’s lips, but Koji tugs on his hand—digs his heels into the ground and pulls with all his little might—until Kirishima scoops him up and they take off to the center of the field.
You watch them as you unpack the few things from your car—and you indulge yourself, again, just the way you had on your phone only nights ago.
Kirishima is here for you and Koji, and he's smiling the way he is because he is excited to be here. It's been on his mind since before the hospital, before the accident, since that day in Koji's class. Meeting you like this wasn't something he ever expected, but now you're here and so is he and maybe it's fate, that he's entered your little world when you both least expected it.
That's how it happens, right? These special things like this, the ones in your mother's novels.
It's not impossible to believe, it's nice—so nice—to imagine, and Kirishima has never given you a reason to think that isn't exactly how this is going.
(This.)
(Whatever this is.)
But there's something holding you back. Fear, probably, of wanting something that will only walk out again, in the end.
In the distance, Kirishima squats down so that he’s eye-level with Koji and gives him a high-five, and then another, and then they are playing some kind of patty-cake game that has your son bouncing on his toes. It’s no surprise that he’s a wild ball of energy; this is all he’s wanted for a long time.
(Maybe, you think, this is all so difficult because it’s what you’ve wanted, too. Before Koji, before Heizo. Maybe all your life.)
The blanket you spread out on the ground is big and soft, cushions the grass enough so that your butt won’t be aching in thirty minutes, and you take a water bottle out of the cooler for yourself. The shade feels quieter, further away, and you try to push all the bothersome thoughts into the dark.
Kirishima must say something about warming up because they both take a wide stance and stretch their arms high above their heads, and Koji reaches so hard that he eventually just starts jumping up and down. Red Riot joins him after a moment, letting out a loud woo! that your son mimics cheerfully. Their attention is drawn directly to you when Kirishima points your way, and then Koji is running as fast as his little legs can carry him to your blanket.
“Hey, mama!” He says, out of breath as he hugs you in a hurry, uninterested, before turning and sprinting past his Hero, who encourages him as he runs for the center of the field. It’s funny, the way your son keeps his arms straight and stiff, looking like a quick little penguin, and Krishima sends you a toothy grin when he hears you laughing.
When Koji makes it back, they stretch and jump some more, shout woo! as loud as they can multiple times in a row, and then Kirishima ducks low enough so that your son can climb on his shoulders. There’s an unmistakable flash of fear across Koji’s face as he becomes aware of just how giant his Hero is, but a large hand comes up to rest against his back, holding him a little firmer in place.
“Woo!”
“Woo!”
At times like these, it's easy to wish things were a little simpler, that there weren't an endless amount of shifts waiting for you at KOBE, that you didn't haven't to sacrifice weekend mornings with Koji as often as you do. If only there were summer days meant for the park and the park alone, all outside responsibilities pushed to the wayside, even for a little while.
If only Koji didn't have to travel back and forth from home to home every other week.
All the insecurities that have sprouted roots in your chest are quieted, just for a moment, when Kirishima grins at you again, standing on his toes so that your son can swat at some leaves hanging off a tree. The little legs hanging over his shoulders are swinging as best as they can; it reminds you of a little puppy, swishing his tail with all his joy.
They spin around once, twice, before Kirishima lets him down and points back out to the field. Whatever he tells Koji has him laughing, even more so when he pinches at his tummy, and then your son is off again with his goofy little run, and your heart picks up as the Hero makes his way to you and your blanket.
"Hey, I hope you don't think this is, like," Kirishima gestures to himself and then to Koji as he plops down beside you, far enough that you aren’t touching, but close enough that you can feel his radiant warmth, "weird or anything."
"Oh, I definitely thought it was weird," when you say it, his eyebrows shoot up, relaxing only after he sees your smile, "but that was when I thought you were some random creep and not actually Red Riot."
"Ah, yeah, sorry about that," a flush forms on his cheeks and he rubs at the back of his neck until you wave his apology away; it's not actually his fault. After a moment, he says, "I like kids, you know. Bakugou always tells me I'm such a child in a big guy’s body," he smiles when you laugh, "so maybe that's why I get along with them so much."
Koji shouts a woo! in the distance, jumping on his tippy toes while waving out his arms—jumping jacks?—and Kirishima cups a hand around his mouth and calls one back, the powerful echo of his voice vibrating straight through you.
Of all the heroes that come to mind, you're glad it's Kirishima that takes first place for Koji; it's difficult to imagine this setting with, say, Dynamight or Shouto—not impossible, but not as easily put together. Even Deku; as Japan's number one, he must be overflowing with responsibility, probably too busy to hardly get a good night's sleep.
"I like kids," Kirishima repeats, and you don't miss the quick side-eye he gives you. "I don't have any, but that doesn't mean, you know—I don't—" Koji is making his way back to the blanket, shoulders already slumped a little with exhaustion, "he's great, a great kid. I, uh, really like him."
It sounds a little redundant, but a compliment towards your son will never fail to be flattering. "In case you couldn't tell," you nod to Koji, red from head to toe, "he really likes you, too."
"I can tell, just barely," he jokes, "but, uh, he's great and, uh, you know—" it's a wonder how he doesn't draw blood, with as much as he bites his lip, "his mom, too, is great also."
Embarrassing as it is, it actually takes a moment to realize that's you, that you're Koji's mom, and when you do, heat breaks out across your face and neck like a bad sunburn. Kirishima is talking about you, who he thinks is great, and your son, who he also thinks is great, because he likes kids even if he doesn't have any.
The butterflies return in full force as if summoned; maybe they were.
"O-oh," you blink and the Hero turns suddenly, interest captured by the trees in the distance, a flock of birds that fly for the clouds. There's a wave of shyness emanating from him and it makes your head spin; an iron giant, still humble, still sheepish. "Is she?"
"Y-yeah!" Kirishima turns back enough that you can see the side of his glowing face, and he busies himself with picking at the blanket beneath you. "She's, uh, sweet and really kind and she makes me laugh and, uh," a sigh slips from him heavily as he finally meets your eyes, words coming out like they've been stuck in his chest for days, "really pretty."
Koji returns then, sweat beading along his hairline and making the ends a little dark, a little damp, and falls against Kirishima's side—who catches him without ever looking from you. It's clear that you're at a loss for words and so the Hero turns back to your son and grips his little shoulders to keep him standing upright.
"Okay, lesson number, uh, three, I think." Kirishima's face turns serious, a playful-serious, and your son nods before trying to pick his nose; his Hero brings his hand away from his face without a word and Koji gets the hint. "It's real important to eat at a caloric surplus in order to build muscle, okay? That's how you get the gains." He flexes his arms and nods at Koji to do the same; you look at his red hair, the sharp line of his nose, the flush still on his cheeks—anything but his bulging muscles.
A hand shoots out towards you, open, palm up. "Mom," Kirishima says, "snack me, please."
Koji giggles and does the same, with a little more enthusiasm. "Snack me, mom!" His Hero whispers 'please' quietly, and your son tacks on his manners as an afterthought, "pleeeaaassseee!"
"Mom, snack, got it." The cooler from home is at your side and you pull out three small packs of roasted soybeans, handing Koji the sweetened kind since they’re his favorite (it’s a day to spoil him, just a bit).
Kirishima opens it for him, murmuring in a low voice to be careful, not to spill, and then he eats from his own pack as Koji slumps down on his legs. They exchange a secret grin and your son gives him a thumbs up, which his Hero returns.
"Doin' great, buddy!"
The pride on Koji's face when he looks at you is insurmountable, brighter than the sun as it peeks through the trees.
Playtime continues until the clouds darken with the evening. They never do anything serious, nothing with quirks or requiring real strength, and it—placates you, and Koji, in a safe way. All the hesitancy you had about their "training" before, Kirishima must have remembered; he doesn't push, doesn't cross any lines he thinks you may have, and your son has a blast.
They do more stretching, more jumping jacks—Koji's version, which is mostly just jumping—and Kirishima helps him climb a tree with many strong, thick branches. Koji laughs, a lot, when he's spun around upside-down, when they play tag, when Kirishima eats his sandwich in one bite (the Hero is quick to realize his mistake, though, and hurries to insist Koji not do the same).
And he's worn out, when the three of you decide to hit the easy walking trail at the back of the field. It's paved, only going about 5 miles into the trees, the ones with branches that curve into one another and create a natural, viridescent tunnel. When Koji begins to stumble and rub his eyes, you offer to carry him, but he turns to Kirishima instead, one foot on the Hero's shoes and reaching up blindly with grabby hands.
It's quiet as you walk, observing the way Koji rests his head on Kirishima's collarbone, sporting the pout he gets when he's too sleepy. The sight of them is soothing—how easy, how effortless—and it has your heart wrenching in a way it hasn't in a long time. In a way it maybe never has.
Again, your thoughts turn to Heizo.
Despite what your mother demands of you, there isn't a financial system in place between you and Koji's dad; you had been afraid to ask him for such a thing when your son was an itty, bitty baby because—though you may loathe his approach—Nishida did take care of your son. To the dentist, picking him up every other week, water-park birthday parties; he was, and still is, very much involved, and Koji adores him, despite your own feelings for Heizo.
But there has always been a feeling of give-and-take between the two of you: he brought you flowers, you would accept his movie date; he worked long hours at his job, you would have dinner ready for him when he came home; he complained about you calling him when he was gone, you stopped; he wanted out, you let him go.
And it still wasn't enough in the end, and that guilt has always been a catch in your throat, something to swallow around.
"Why are you doing this?"
Kirishima's eyebrows quirk up in surprise and the look he gives you is a little deer-in-the-headlights. The tone in your voice, maybe, has him looking like he's going to apologize for—whatever he thinks he's done, but he just tries to glance down at Koji under his chin and then shrugs. "Because I said I would."
With the way he looks—soft and pliable, in his ponytail, in the sunset—it's easy to believe, but you push on regardless. "You're a very busy hero, I'm sure. I just—" he still looks concerned, so you bite your lip and watch your feet along the pavement. "—sorry, but don't you have…better things to do? I'm glad you like Koji, but—"
The meaning of your question seems to sink in and his face falls, just the slightest, "I am busy," Koji shuffles, eyes closed, lips smacking, "and I probably always will be busy. It's...rare that I get days like this, if I'm being honest." Kirishima looks at you, at you like he needs you to hear what he’s saying. "But I try to keep my word, and I already told Koji I would train him, if that's what you could call this."
The little laugh he offers is sincere and full of nerves, and it’s impossible not to give one in return. Happiness is a reflex, you realize, with him, with Kirishima, a knee-jerk reaction to the warmth his personality wraps you up in. Distantly, you think that you could believe anything he says if he looked at you the way he does, with your little boy in his supportive arms.
(Is it really that easy, that simple?)
“I may be late in doing it, but,” the breeze blows his bangs back a little and he blinks, “I always try to keep my word. It may seem like I forgot or something, but-but I haven’t!” The enthusiasm in his voice rivals Koji’s and he stops on the pavement, maybe to cement his point to you. Something earnest is written across his face, a question he’s too afraid to ask.
Patience, it’s all he needs, Japan’s Number 5 Hero, Red Riot. Of all the things he could want for—money and fame, material things, any of the women that adore him—he’s here, now, with you and Koji.
Just asking for a little understanding.
It doesn’t require a second thought, not after a day like today; you decide to give it to him.
—
The first time you call him, he doesn’t answer.
It’s a stupid idea to begin with, especially as your mother stands over the stove watching the broccoli steam, grating daikon with the kind of expertise you don’t have the time to inherit. Even with her back to you, the phone in your hand is angled a little obviously to the left, just in case she turns around and happens to catch sight of—something, anything that will betray what you’re thinking.
There’s a lot of food, that’s all.
The mackerel fillets had been on sale this week and you’d indulged, buying much more than you and Koji could handle so that you could eat it for a few nights in a row. The radishes were your mothers and she’d brought them over, claiming they were going bad and that you would use them faster than she could. Some of the rice from Koji’s lunch had gone untouched, because he started trying to gorge himself on sandwiches until you put a stop to it, and then there was soup waiting for you in the fridge.
Nishida asked for Koji a little early on Thursday, since he would be out of town the next weekend and you had agreed, albeit reluctantly (but there was the give and take; you have done something for him, and now he would owe you, per his rules).
So Koji was sitting by the door, bouncing on a couch cushion he'd dragged to the floor while waiting for his dad to show. Fresh and clean, even if he had thrown a fit about getting in the bath; near the end of the week, he always gets a little over-tired, much more prone to tears and attitudes too big for his little (red) pants.
Dinner had turned into a feast for your little family, especially with your son leaving, and you just thought maybe, perhaps, Kirishima would be interested in coming over for dinner.
Your mother still has her back turned and so you announce (very loudly), "I'm going to wash my hands in my bathroom," and if she hears you, she doesn't acknowledge it. Koji glances up from the floor, still a little watery-eyed even though his mood has improved, and you give him a tense smile before slipping into your room.
Kirishima finally had asked for your number after that day at the field and throughout the week he’d sent you photos of a few meaningless little things with silly captions: a dog he saw on patrol (puppy emoji followed by many exclamation points), a flower stall (these are very nice!!! reminded me of you and the pleading eyes emoji), a class of kids crossing the street (how is school going for koji?? great, i hope!!!), and a blurry photo of Dynamight mid-yell.
That one did not have a message attached.
And you had sent him things too, like a photo of how packed the newly renovated dining room of KOBE had been the other night (hope it goes smoothly for you!!!! not in the area, so no cars coming through the window hehe and a sweatdrop emoji), the newest romance novel your mom was reading (looks good!!), and a photo she had captured of you holding Koji, admiring the freshly gelled spikes on his head. To that, he’d sent lots of pleading faces and red hearts and also commented on how manly!!! your son’s hair was.
The territory you'd entered was—new, sudden.
One day he was just the Hero that your son adored, and the next he was thinking of you over an arrangement of white peonies, peach garden roses, succulents—and making a point to tell you about it. A little braver over text message, out of your line of sight; his sweet good night, sleep tight! <3 wishes were slowly unearthing every feeling for him you had tried to bury.
So that’s why you call him—and because of all the food, of course.
The tap water in your bathroom is running—just in case—but all you can focus on is the line ringing, the tone of your voice, if you sound nervous, if he’ll hear the water and ask about it, what he’ll say when he picks up the phone.
But he never does.
The minute his voice-mail starts to play, you hang up as quickly as you can, as if it will erase your attempt at reaching out, too. It's stupid—right?
Red Riot is preoccupied with big guy stuff, Big Hero stuff, that is much more important than dinner at your house. You can't blame him, of course not, especially after what he'd said that day at the field; he is busy, and always will be.
It's unfair to be disappointed.
Before you have a chance to pout about it, the doorbell rings and Koji is up and answering it by the time you toss the phone on your bed and leave the room. When he squeals, you smile—even if it is for Nishida.
"Hey," he says from the doorway, giving your mom a quick wave, "thanks for letting me have 'im, 'preciate it." Then he smirks, the little lift of his lips that always annoys you.
"Sure," though it's a little harder to be annoyed this time, with Kirishima on your mind, "it's—yeah."
Koji rushes out the door and into the night, only halting to a stop when his dad grabs the handle of his backpack at the last second. "Dad," he whines, giggling when Heizo puts his whole hand over his face.
Nishida stares at you a little too hard, too observant, before nodding, "Say goodbye to your mom, kid. Tell her you love her."
(Nishida, +1)
Your son waddles up to you a little shyly, hands on his cheeks like he doesn't know what to do with them. Koji prefers his I-love-you's to be natural, to say it whenever he really, really means it, but he hugs you around the legs until you hoist him up onto your hip. The crooked little smile he gives you makes you laugh, and then him when you pinch his side.
"I love you, honey bee," you say, giving him a wet kiss on the cheek, which he wipes off like it's full of poison. Your little boy, too cool for sappy emotions; he eventually hugs you around the neck tight, too tight, so tight you pretend to choke and he laughs.
"Love you, mama," Koji mumbles it between his smushed little lips, like he wants the words to be as small and as quiet as possible, but he over-puckers for a quick kiss regardless.
And then he's wiggling to get put down, throwing his arms around as he runs dramatically out the door—unrestrained, this time—and he's yanking on the handle of Nishida's car, shouting for his dad to hurry up.
Heizo watches him from the doorway for a minute with a smile that is all Koji—a real smile and not that little smirk. Then he turns to look at you and sighs.
Which you know to mean that he wants to "talk".
"So Koj' told me he trained with this Red Riot the other day, that he's gonna be a hero, too."
Immediately you're on the defensive, opening your mouth to spit out the argument that someone has to help him, but—there's no hostility to his face, so you swallow the instinctive reaction. "Uh, yeah, they did train." You say it with your head held high, shoulders squared because you want him to know how much it means to Koji, how much it means to you.
Nishida just nods, quiet, odd. "That's cool, I guess. Surprised the guy has the time for that kinda thing."
(The phone sitting on your bed suddenly feels very far away. )
You shrug, "Kirishima told him he would, so he did."
"Kirishima, huh?" The grin he sends you is all teeth, teasing tone in his voice, the one that always made you hot with embarrassment.
"No, it's—he told us to call him that, remember? At the hospital, he said to call him that." You don't know why the idea of Nishida knowing is awkward, maybe because you're not sure if there is anything to know.
"Okay, uh-huh," Heizo chuckles, the dry kind that you used to think was attractive; now it just sounds like he smokes too much. "Hey, whatever man, I just didn't realize you were into guys like that."
"Oh, you didn't think I liked nice guys because I stuck around with you for too long?"
"Don't be so dramatic," he rolls his eyes, smiling anyway, "'m just saying." You don't respond, unsure of how to, so he just shrugs and pushes up off the doorframe. "Watch out for the guy, is all. I could kick his ass if I had to, I just don't wanna."
And that's—weird. It totally stumps you.
"Yeah, okay, sure." You blink and he chuckles again before half-ass jogging back to his car, kicking Koji lightly in the butt when he gets close enough.
You take a few steps out into the driveway, crossing your arms and digging your fingers a little tighter into your sleeves before the car starts to pull away. Koji sits up as much as he can in his carseat while waving wildly, and he even returns a few of the kisses you blow him, and then they are gone.
You had been young, too young, when you and Nishida had begun dating, when you had your son, and you think there will always be some part of yourself that he has, whether he knows it or not. At one point in time, he had been someone you trusted, someone you looked to for answers because he was older and he was supposed to know what to do, and now there is some kind of finality to his words. Like an approval you didn't really need, like he's released you.
Kirishima is wonderful and kind and patient and honest and good. He makes you feel heard, with the way he watches as you speak, and he makes you feel beautiful, with the blush that paints him every time you stare too long. And he cares, about you and Koji—maybe not too deeply, not yet, since this is all still new, but you trust that he could, with time, that he could care in all the right ways.
"Ready to eat?"
When you look back at your mom, she's not trying to hide her smile in the slightest, and so you don't hide yours either.
Dinner spreads out a little later into the evening, but it's not awkward like it usually is, absent of all the "discussions" your mother typically needs to have with you. Instead she asks about KOBE, about your boss and your coworkers, if you like them, and you tell her that you do—some days. There’s no application in her hands to push onto you, for once; she just asks, she just listens. And she tells you about the book she read, the businessman that fell in love with a small-town woman and later realized what was most important to him. The pointed look she gives you is so her that you can only laugh about it, for too long.
The house is quiet without Koji, even quieter when you force some leftovers onto your mother and watch her leave for the night, but you try to enjoy a long, nice bath, since you hardly ever have the chance to take an extended one. The bed will be all yours, no feet in your ribs, but the thought doesn’t bring you as much comfort as you expected; too used to your little boy and all his mannerisms, his edges, his wild.
By the time you crawl under the blankets and check your phone, there is a new text from Nishida, which is just a photo of Koji slumped over in his carseat, fast asleep. It’s from nearly an hour ago and you’re sure they are home now, that your son is safe and tucked away in his bed as he should be.
There’s also three text messages from Kirishima, and two missed calls.
When it registers in your brain, you sit up so fast that your head spins. The first call was nearly thirty minutes after you’d made yours and the second was ten minutes after that, and the messages are—a little frantic.
7:37 PM: hey, sorry!!!! work things :( hope everything is okay!!!
7:59 PM: i’m off the clock if you need smth!!! sorry i couldn’t answer earlier
8:16 PM: just checking on youu! sorry i’m so paranoid it’s just part of my job lol
Immediately, you call him back and the second the tone rings in your ear, you want to hang up. It’s a few hours later now, he must be asleep, and if he’s not then he should be after a long day at work. If only you’d kept your phone on you—at least to send a message that you were okay and that it wasn’t urgent; now guilt the size of a golf ball is welling up in your throat.
It only rings twice and then he answers.
“Hey, is everything okay?” Kirishima is a little breathless, like he’d run to pick up the phone or something.
“Hey, yes, we’re fine.” You pause, cringing a little when he sighs, “I’m sorry if I made you worry—”
“No, no, that’s okay! I’m glad you called!” There’s a smile growing on his face, you can hear it in his voice. A beat goes by and it feels like something quiet changes in the silence. "I'm really glad you called.”
You think about the photo of the flowers, you think about the flowers, and the heart eyes he’d sent, his goodnight texts. All the things you haven’t spoken about yet, all the things you want to. It's impossible to ignore any longer.
“Yeah, I—me too.” As if he can see, you nod, “We had a lot of food at dinner and Koji is at his dad’s so I just—wanted to invite you over, I guess.”
“Oh,” Kirishima pauses, thinking, then exclaims, “Aww man! That’s—thank you, that’s so nice of—ah, bummer!”
The obvious disappointment in his voice, in his sigh, is flattering and has you laughing just a bit, which has him chuckling, just like always. A mirror of each other, it seems, in all the simple, easy moments.
“Sorry,” he says for the millionth time, and you can practically see him scratching the back of his neck, wherever he is, “I would have loved to, thanks for thinking of me.”
I am always thinking of you.
The instinct to say it overcomes you so suddenly that you have to physically clap a hand over your mouth, cheeks burning with how silly you feel. It’s so embarrassing, such a thought, but Kirishima sighs, almost dreamy, like he really is on cloud nine to know that you’re thinking of him during miniscule moments of your life, just as he is with his flowers.
An iron giant, blushing, but not at all ashamed of how he feels.
And so you tell him.
It takes digging your fingers into the blanket covering you, but you clear your throat and say, very quietly, “I think about you all the time.”
Kirishima is silent for long enough that you start conjuring up an awkward excuse in your head as to what that was, but then there is a muffled thump, like he's laying in bed, too, and flopping back down on his pillows. “Are we at the point of this yet where I can tell you I love hearing the sound of your voice?”
This, this back and forth, this slow descent, whatever this is. That same feeling from before blooms; you could believe anything Kirishima says when he speaks in this warm, late evening, summer tone. This could be whatever he wants it to be.
“I don’t know,” you murmur, “are we?”
He lets out a short laugh, “Can we be? Is that okay?”
As if he’s there, you roll on your side to stare at the empty, Koji- sized space next to you on the bed, tracing a mindless pattern into the sheets. “Mhm, that's okay.”
“O-okay.”
It’s hard to speak with the smile stretching along your cheeks and you have to bury your face into the pillow to stop yourself from screaming. It all feels so high-school—but there hadn’t been nights like these with Nishida; those usually consisted of something much different, less innocent.
“You can, uh, call me Eijirou, if you’d like.” Kirishima’s voice has deepened considerably, low and comfortable, and the change sends an electrifying shiver down your spine. “Bakugou calls me E, sometimes...and Eiji, Denki calls me that. It's kind of funny, I've thought about telling Koji to call me that because he still says Red Riot, but,” he seems to realize he’s just—talking, without end, and lets out a little groan. “Or whatever you want to call me, that’s fine too.”
Eijirou. Kirishima Eijirou.
You'd seen the name out of the corner of your eye when you'd done your perverse Googling, but you hadn't acknowledged it. Avoided it, more-like, as if you didn't have permission to even think about it yet.
The shift feels tangible this time, when you say, "Eijirou,” and he sighs, all dreamy again.
“I wish I could see you right now.”
That makes your face heat instantly; right now? There's a cup of tea you were steeping and forgot about on the nightstand next to you; the shirt you're sleeping in is old with a hole at the side, from where you'd ripped out the tag in annoyance one night; you're only wearing one sock. You're glad he can't see you.
Still—you try to imagine him there in the space beside you, watching with that look as you speak. “I wish that I could see you, too.”
There's a door that's been opened now and everything snowballs: Kirishima lets out another sigh, heavier this time, just shy of a groan and there's the ruffle of—something. Sheets, maybe.
“Can I—fuck—next week I should be more available, at least I hope.” The swear surprises you, though you've heard it from his mouth before. You realize that he's never cursed in front of Koji. "Is it bad of me to try and make plans with you for then?"
You'll be open too, since he is. Since Eijirou is. "No, not bad. Even if you get—busy, at least the idea will satisfy me for the moment." He laughs freely. "Is that bad to say?"
"No. I don't know. It's nice to hear, anyway." It goes quiet for a moment and you wonder if he's chewing on his lip like always. "I should be available but it's hard to know, that's all. And I don't want to disappoint you."
For some reason, you think of the pretty girl, the one he dated before. They looked happy in all their photos, the same smile echoing on each other's faces, the same smile that you wear now, and you wonder what happened between them. It's none of your business, obviously, but—he's busy, you know this. There's never going to be an endless amount of time for him.
Maybe something else caused their split, something you know nothing about and never will, but if it's the time, if you only get him in quiet moments like this, conversations late into the night because you couldn't stop thinking about him, then—
That's okay.
As a mother to a wild, young boy, you aren't going to be available 100% of the time either; Koji keeps you on your toes, and has for the last 4 years that you've been single, and maybe that's actually a good thing. Maybe you have the kind of patience Eijirou needs.
"It's okay," you say, because it is, "I know that you can get tied up with things because of your job, but I'm glad that you have the job you do because you're good at it." It's dead silent. You imagine him looking at you in the hospital again, with those wide eyes. "And I can—wait, if you'd like me to."
Eijirou’s swallow is audible, “I—uh, you—fuck—you drive me crazy, you know?” The little laugh he lets out is awkward, and then he clears his throat. “Sorry, is that too much? I don’t know, but you do. And—and I think about you all the time, too, by the way. Not just when I see flowers and kids and stuff.”
You have to smush your lips together, Koji-style, so that you don’t let out a weird sound, so that you can stop your cheeks from hurting with all your smiling. All this honesty is—a little bizarre and it has you lighting up in a way you never have. To be told so openly how someone feels about you. To be so transparent.
(An iron giant, bashful, saccharine.)
“I’m bad at saying this kind of stuff because you make me nervous, sorry.”
“It’s okay,” you laugh. As if he could ever be bad at anything; you’re putty in his hands at this point. “You make me nervous, too.” It feels good to say, finally. All of this does.
“I do?” His genuine surprise has you shaking your head, “Ah, man, I’m on fire right now, I don’t know how I’m supposed to sleep after this.”
With a little gasp, you whip around to look at the clock. It’s nearing 11 and, as much as you’ve enjoyed this little gush-fest, he must be exhausted. The low sound of his voice, you realize, is giving the day away, how heavy it must be on his shoulders.
“Oh, no, Eijirou!” You cry, “It’s so late, you need to go to bed!”
There’s a stifled sigh, like he’s trying to hold it in, and when he speaks again, you realize his voice has gotten even deeper, slower. “Can you say it again?” You don’t say anything, thinking, and he clarifies, “My name, I—sorry, I just,” he’s mumbling, “like the way it sounds.”
“Eijirou.” You say it easily around a smile and he hums lightly in response, sleepy, “Eijirou.”
“I had a whole thing planned, you know? With, like, flowers and all this stuff I wanted to say.” He shuffles something in the background. “Was gonna be really romantic.”
“You’re already romantic.” You keep your voice low to a whisper, and he sighs. “I still want to hear it, though.”
“No way, I’m too embarrassing.”
“No you’re not,” you laugh. Everything feels a little heavier now that you both are whispering and you curl into your pillow a little more, savoring the warmth of your sheets.
“Lemme tell you in person, okay?” He mumbles, “Promise I’ll tell you in person.”
“Sounds like a deal, Eijirou.” You smile, but the line is silent, save for his even breathing—soft, safe, promising, just like him.
—
The first time he asks you on a date, he doesn’t show up.
It’s hard—not to be disappointed, made even more difficult by how wrong the feeling seems.
This is okay, you tell yourself, because he is a Hero, busy with Big Hero stuff, and he’d told you as much, made sure to tell you as much, and yet you are still sitting on the couch, pouting at the clock hanging in the kitchen.
Your mother had agreed to come stay with Koji until you were set to return from whatever date Eijirou had planned, and—after an hour had passed, and then two, and then three—she had taken him to his bed, choosing to stay and read to him until he fell asleep. To give you privacy, let you sulk in silence, alone. Some part of her feels bad, you think, with how little she’s said tonight, since she pushed and pushed it, only for it to turn out the way it has.
It’s not her fault, and you want to tell her as much, but it’s hard to find the words with the frown commanding your lips.
It’s not anyone’s fault.
The second time you’d called him—he hadn’t picked up then, either, and you’d been checking online, everywhere, for something; you’d refreshed his agency page, worried that at any moment an announcement would come up about an accident or that someone was badly hurt; the news didn’t give any insight into specific attacks, certain heroes that were caught in any kind of crossfire or blaze or cars hurtling through the air.
For a long time, you just stare at the last message he’d sent you, which was all the flowers and heart emojis his phone probably offered surrounding i can’t wait to see you!!, sent earlier this afternoon when you were still getting ready, hopeful.
For a long time, you have to wonder if you are mad. If this is going to break your heart in all the ways it has already been shattered, time and time again by the man you placed your trust in previously. You have to wonder if it’s going to be worth it, in the end, and it’s hard, made even more difficult by how little you’ve gotten to experience with Eijirou.
Maybe you’re being naive, and all the signs are there and you’re just ignoring them. The pretty woman he'd dated before, how many times had she sat here, just like this, until she decided she didn't want to do it anymore?
Upset as you are, that thought reminds you of his face, his serious face, begging for things on the trail he didn't know how to ask for out loud. Maybe after all that's happened, all the ways his heart has been shattered, time and time again, he doesn't feel like he deserves to, and that's why he seemed so—thrown when you said you'd wait.
There are a few messages further up in your conversation that you scroll to, eager to find his attention somewhere—even if those moments have long passed. Eijirou had asked when Koji's birthday was and it wasn’t anytime soon, but he still wondered if your son would like remote control race cars; i could ask denki to supe them up, followed by a few lightning emojis.
It made you want to scream a little, because he just wasn't seeming to get that Koji would want anything Red Riot offered him; he'd tried the cereal just because Eijirou had been on the front, for crying out loud.
Kirishima is—such a huge contrast to Nishida; you think of the time when the two of you were still dating, before Koji, and he'd said he wanted to see you and you told him you were about to get into the shower, and he said he wanted to see anyway, even more now.
You can't imagine Eijirou saying such a thing to you. There's even some embarrassing voice in your head asking if he would ever want to see you naked, with how much of a gentleman he is, how respectful he is of your space and time.
In the kitchen, the clock ticks on, and there still isn't a word.
Koji giggles lightly from his room and you wonder what story your mom is reading him, probably the one about the chicken that tries to create a device so his best friend—a whale—can come up for a day on land with him, and you find that you want to curl up with him, your wild child, and kiss his little face, even if he thinks it's gross.
But there's a knock on that door, frantic yet light enough that the sound doesn't travel outside the living room.
The minute you open it, the minute he sees you, Eijirou has to hunch forward with his hands on his knees. There's dirt on his face, soot maybe, from Dynamight, and he's breathing like he's run out every breath in his lungs.
He says, "Oh, fuck", on a breath, full of stress and disappointment and worry, and the flowers in his hand—wilted, peach, tied tight with a light blue ribbon—shake with every gasp of air he sucks in.
Koji laughs again and your mom shushes him, and you step further onto your porch so the door can close behind you, supporting your weight as you lean back to give Eijirou some space.
Even though he's grabbing at his side like it's pinched painfully, he's still tracking his eyes all over your face, that same pattern as usual: your eyebrows, your nose, the slope of your neck. Your lips.
You twist them, unsure of what else to do with your expression.
Before, you'd wondered if you were mad and, now that he's in front of you—sweating, panting, hair down and a little messy, probably from running his hands through it—you realize that you aren't. There's a small whirlwind of emotions creating turbulence in your chest, but anger isn't one of them.
"I—" Eijirou puts a hand on his stomach and turns away from you, trying again to catch his breath. It must have been a long and hard run, if it's made someone as fit as him this tired. "I don't even—know what to—"
With how hard he's breathing, it almost looks like he's going to start crying, and that pushes you to help him, just a little. You've no idea if he really was going to, but the upset is undeniable in his very being, and so you hold out your hands for the flowers quietly.
A sad, screwed up look comes across his face, that he immediately has to release so he can breathe, and he hands them to you, hands trembling—from exhaustion, maybe worry.
"What were you going to say?" You ask, trying to adjust a few of the broken stems as he opens and closes his mouth, unsure. "You said you would tell me in person, your little romantic speech."
Fear is evident in his shining, wide eyes, like he can't tell if you're fucking with him or not. He tries to start a few times and gets tripped up before he has to lean his head back just to focus on getting the words out. "I don't know where this came from—"
(This. Whatever this is.)
"—I wasn't, like, expecting it, because it's just been me for a while and that's okay—"
(And that was fine, because you didn’t need anyone to take care of you or your kid, because you could do it on your own.)
"—and a lot of people like Bak—" Eijirou sighs and shakes his head, eyebrow furrowing like that's not really what he wants to say. Finally, he looks at you.
(A lot of kids love Bakugou.
Dynamight has come first in the Favorite Hero poll for the last six years in a row, just like the Handsomest Hero poll, Most Eligible Bachelor, Most Fashionable, Most—most things.
A lot of people love Bakugou.)
"And I just wanted to check on you in the hospital because I felt bad that I put you there, and then you just had this look on your face, like you were so—" despite himself, he smiles, and it looks a little like a grimace since he's still upset, "happy, I don't know. And now that I've thought about it, you were probably just on a lot of pain medication, but—" despite yourself, you laugh and he does too, a mirror image. "But I just wanted it so badly to be for me, even more once I learned you were Koji's mom."
(I, uh—Koji’s great.)
(He's great, a great kid. I, uh, really like him.")
(I can't believe I had such a—it's nice that he—remembered me, I guess.)
Eijirou groans, low like a growl, and runs a hand through his hair, "and then I fucked it up, like I always do, like I'm always going to do."
You think that you should be mad at him, upset at least, because it's disappointing that you didn't get to go on the date you'd set your hopes on. How many times had Nishida come home late, heading to bed while you tried to soothe Koji by yourself? How many times had he disappeared for hours without a word, leaving you pregnant and alone until he felt like returning?
Even as you think those things, remind yourself of why this should break your heart again, there's—nothing.
Because this is Eijirou, and not Heizo.
Because he brings you flowers—twice, since he messed up the first time—as a gift, and not with the expectation that you'll finally see him as nice, that you'll owe him something.
Because he asks about Koji, thinks about him, even though it's not his kid. Wants to train him, teach him all the things that scare you—and Heizo too, even if he won't admit it—and just play with him, like the big kid that he is.
Because he loves the sound of his name when you say it, just say it, not moan it in some debauched way, just say it, because he loves the sound of your voice and he wants you to know.
Because he keeps his word and he's here, even though it's a little late, even if it seems like he forgot or something.
"Not always," you offer quietly. It renews him in a way, something desperate and hopeful coming across his face as he steps closer to you.
"I'm so sorry, I really wanted to take you to this place because they have these little sweet things that look like peaches, the little fat ones from Animal Crossing—" Eijirou stops suddenly and utters a small curse—he does it a lot, actually, more than you realized, probably because of Dynamight—and starts patting the pockets of his jeans until he fishes something out.
"I meant to give this to you, like, ages ago."
In his hands is your little peach hair clip, the one you wear to work to keep the hair out of your face, the one you wore that day, when he saved your life.
In all this time, you had been wondering why peach?: the flowers he bought you, the photo of the flowers he sent you, that reminded him of you, even these sweet things he wanted to buy you—and it's because of this stupid little clip.
It's probably the first thing he ever knew about you, this silly thing you wear in your hair, and he's hung onto it since then.
"It got a little scuffed up in all the craziness, sorry. I could probably find another one for you, though, since it's technically my fault. Do you remember where you got it?"
You have to actually slap a hand over your face, because you can't believe someone like him can be so unaware, absolutely oblivious—
You pluck it from his hands quickly, this dumb little piece of you he kept, and then you stand on your toes to press your lips to his so he’ll stop apologizing.
It's a bit hard, since he's so tall, and he jerks a little in surprise, lips flattened together while his brain catches up to what's happening, and then his lashes brush your eyelids as he closes his, as he wraps an arm around your waist to hoist you up with ease. Nothing about it is sexual—you don't even wrap your legs around him, don't even have to, because he can just hold you like that, because he's so strong that it's ridiculous, honestly. Eijirou just kisses you back in the way that you've come to expect from him: soft, tender, with lips that are warm like sunshine.
It leaves you a little breathless and, when you pull back eventually, you count the little freckles that are scattered over the bridge of his nose, and then he kisses you for the second time, and the third, and the fourth.
And then Koji smacks the glass window and squeals, "ew!” before your mom yanks him away from the blinds where she'd been watching, like the little peeping Tom that she is.
"Uh-oh," Eijirou grimaces, but presses his forehead back to yours anyway. "You think he'll still like me after this?"
With a sigh, you just roll your eyes and breathe, "Eijirou," because he really is, he really is that clueless, as if anything he does could make Koji adore him any less.
As if anything he does could make you adore him any less.
(Eijirou, +100,000,000)
@silentw-lkr | @keigobby | @browneyedgirl22 - ah, i don't know why it wouldn't let me tag you ! :(
Barbarian! Bakugou who loves to torture you, the eldest child of one of his parent’s advisors.
As a kid, he loved to pop up behind you, out of bushes, around corners, just to hear you shriek and then he’d run off laughing. Tug on your hair until you’d bat at him.
As a teen, he was no better, galloping his horse entirely too close to you as he passed, jamming a chair in front of your door so you were late to the lessons you shared with him.
And as an adult? God, he was insufferable. His pranks weren’t so physical anymore, not aiming to make you shriek. He just liked bothering you, loved getting a rise out of you as you tried to study, his heavy boots sprawled across your desk as he sat in your chair. He loved your sharp tongue, grinning widely when you’d mutter our complaints over being his advisor one day.
You never understood why the women around the palace and kingdom fawned over him. Sure, he was handsome, with his golden skin and blonde locks and eyes the color of your favorite wildflowers… but he was an ass, and you both knew it.
But despite all his torturing and pestering, you never fought back, a fact that had him amping up his antics, getting bolder.
It’s how you end up in your current situation, pinned up against a shelf in the library, Bakugou’s hulking figure closing you in as he smirks down at you. He’s entirely too close, and you hold a book clutched to your chest to try and create a sort of barrier between you and his roaming gaze.
He looks entirely too comfortable like this, licking his lip before he speaks, his voice low and teasing. “Yknow my parents keep telling me that eventually I’ll have to settle down and start producing heirs. As my future advisor, I think it’s only fair you help me practice, for the good of the kingdom.”
Your eyes widen and cheeks heat at what he’s suggesting, and panic trips in your chest as he begins to lean in closer. You react without thinking, lifting the heavy book in your hands and swinging.
You didn’t really mean to hit him, only hoping that he’d dodge the swipe, but there’s a harsh smack as the leather makes contact with his cheek and his face is shoved sideways.
You gasp, the book dropping from your grasp with a clatter as your hands cover your mouth in horror, already babbling out apologies as he straightens, rubbing his cheek.
You can’t see his face from this angle, but you can see all your hard work and parent’s legacy crumble before your very eyes, sure that you’ve doomed your entire family with one accidental strike.
Tears begin to bubble at your lashline, blurring your vision as he turns to face you. You’re quick to cover your face, horrified to let him see you like this. You jump when a hand circles around your wrist and tugs it down, calloused from years of wielding a sword.
A moment later, he’s pressing the book back into your hand, quiet as you stare up at him in surprise, lip wobbling. He’s still silent as he cups your cheek, swiping away a tear that’s rolling down your skin, and you’re surprised to see that his ruby eyes are gentle, a sharp contrast to the usual glint he usually dons when looking at you.
“Shouldn’t tease you so much, ‘m sorry,” he murmurs, and your mouth falls open in surprise at his apology, especially since you can already see his cheek purpling where you hit him.
Before you can speak, he’s gone again, and you’re left staring after him, wondering what the hell just happened.
⋮ 𓏲ּ𝄢 ┆your a dutiful princess sent to marry the barbarian dragon king of the scarlet region for the sake of an alliance, only to find yourself caught between your terrifying new husband and the fiercely loyal dragon hybrid who slowly becomes just as possessive of you as the king himself.
⧼ 🏵️ ⧽ ∿ pairings 。 ⸝⸝ katsuki bakugo x fem!reader x eijiro kirishima 𓄲 genre ⨾ tropes 。 alternative universe (au: fantasy), romance, arrange marriage, polyamorous romance, mature themes, explicit sexual scenes, pwp 𓏲 contains 。 ᵎᵎ nsfw, 18+ only mdni, language, some world building, barbarian/dragon king!katsuki, dragon hybrid!eijiro, princess!reader, political marriage slight misogyny, slight jealousy, smut, threesome, dirty talks, virgin!reader, dom!katsuki, softdom!eijiro, oral (m & f receiving), unprotected piv sex, multiple orgasm, size kink, praise kink, breeding kink, slight degradation, missionary, cowgirl, cuckholding, spit roasting, pet names (princess, sweetheart, queen, good girl) ꩜ ⋆.˚ word count 。 18.8k ꔛ
꒰ star speaks ꒱ ✮ this idea was originally supposed to be just katsuki x reader but considering kiri is katsuki’s dragon companion in the fantasy au made me want to add him. . . and a lot of you thought the same because kiribaku x reader won the poll ( thank you to everyone who voted btw ) 👀 also, this is my version of the fantasy au considering there is not that much lore behind it. this took forever so here it is, ya nasties, hope you enjoy! ‹𝟹
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you were a princess, born with noble and royal blood that carried the weight of generations before you. it was a quiet certainty that had never once been questioned as it settled into every part of your life from the moment you first opened your eyes.
as the youngest princess of the emerald empire, your place in the world had been decided long before you were old enough to understand what it meant, long before you could even speak your own name.
your older brother was raised to be the heir, the future king who would rule with authority and knowledge, taught to lead and command and carry the legacy of your family forward, while you were something else entirely. you were softer in appearance but just as important. a princess who would one day be placed where she was most useful, a piece in the quiet and constant game that was the monarchy.
you were loved, there was never a doubt about that.
it showed in the way your parents looked at you, in way your brother indulged you, in the way the entire palace seemed to soften around your presence. you were the only princess, the youngest child, and you were treated as something precious, something to be protected and cherished, and they spoiled you in ways that made your life comfortable and warm, but even in that warmth there were rules that never changed.
your family was traditional, deeply so, and their love never wavered from the expectations they held for you.
from a young age, you were taught what it meant to be a woman in your position, and those lessons were repeated so often that they became second nature, something you accepted without hesitation.
a woman’s first duty was to be a wife, to stand beside her husband and give him children, however many he desired, without complaint, without question, because that was her purpose. the second duty followed naturally, to be a mother, to raise those children, to nurture them while the husband worked and ruled and carried on the responsibilities outside the home.
it was a cycle that had existed long before you and would continue long after, and you saw it in the women who came before you, in your mother who carried herself with quiet grace as she fulfilled her role, in your grandmother, in your great grandmother, and every woman in your lineage who had done the same without hesitation.
you never questioned it, not once, because it was all you had ever known, and there was a kind of comfort in that certainty.
this is what you are meant to be.
the thought came easily and without resistance, and you accepted it as truth.
while your father spent his time guiding your older brother through the complexities of ruling, teaching him about politics, the history of their land, the alliances and conflicts with foreign nations, you were guided down a different path entirely.
your mother oversaw your upbringing with careful attention, shaping you into what she believed a proper royal woman should be. she taught you discipline, how to hold yourself, how to move, how to speak with intention and restraint, and she taught you grace, the kind that made every action appear effortless even when it was practiced a thousand times before.
you spent countless hours learning what was expected of you, your days filled with lessons in etiquette where every gesture mattered, where the way you held a teacup or greeted a noble could reflect not just on you but on your entire family. you learned to dance, not simply for enjoyment but as a skill, something that would be required of you in court and gatherings, your steps precise and controlled under the watchful eyes of your instructors. you studied cultures beyond your own, memorizing traditions, customs, and expectations of other lands so that one day you would not embarrass your future husband’s court.
and above all else, you were taught obedience. it was a necessity. it would allow you to become the perfect wife you were meant to be.
you listened, you learned, and you never resisted, because there was nothing in you that wanted to. you were good, you were proper, you were everything they needed you to be.
so when the time finally came, when you reached the age where marriage was no longer a distant idea but an immediate reality, you did not protest when the arrangements were made, you did not question the decision when your future was decided for you.
you were told where you would go, who you would marry, and what it would mean for your kingdom, and you accepted it with the same quiet understanding you had always carried.
that was how you found yourself leaving the emerald empire, the only home you had ever known, and being sent to the scarlet region.
the difference between the two lands was impossible to ignore, it settled into your senses the moment you crossed the borders, the shift so stark that it almost felt unreal.
the emerald empire lived up to its name in every sense, a land rich with deep green forests that stretched endlessly, fields of flowers that bloomed in colors that softened the eye, rivers that reflected the sky like glass as they wound through the kingdom. the air there had always felt light, fresh, filled with the scent of earth and life, and the palace itself stood tall and elegant among it all, a place that felt open and welcoming even in its grandeur.
the scarlet region was something else entirely.
it rose from the land like something carved from the bones of the earth itself, a kingdom built atop a massive dark mountain that seemed to loom over everything around it. the stone was not polished or soft in appearance, it was jagged in places, heavy as if it had been shaped by fire and force rather than careful hands. the ground beneath it was uneven, darkened by ash and heat, and the closer you came, the more you could feel the difference in the air. it was thicker, warmer, carrying the faint scent of smoke that never fully disappeared.
the mountain itself stretched high, its peak often hidden behind dark clouds that clung to it as if they belonged there, and somewhere deeper within. there was the constant reminder of the volcano that gave the region its name, a presence that could not be seen fully but was always felt. it was not a place of soft beauty, it was a place that demanded attention. it felt alive in a harsher, more dangerous way, and yet there was something undeniably powerful about it.
the fortress that stood upon it was just as imposing, built from the same dark stone, rising high with sharp edges and heavy walls that spoke more of strength than elegance. it was not delicate, not meant to impress with grace, but with dominance, with the kind of presence that made it clear this was a kingdom that did not bend easily.
this was where you were meant to belong now, far from the green and gentle lands of your home, in a place that burned in scarlet and shadow, where everything far less forgiving.
and yet you stepped forward without hesitation, because this was your duty, and you had always known that one day you would be sent away to fulfill it.
you knew since you were ten.
the memory had settled into you quietly, it wasn’t a shock to you, it was inevitable. it had always been waiting for you even before you were old enough to understand what it meant.
it had been a warm afternoon in the emerald empire.
you had been seated beside your mother, your hands folded neatly in your lap as you were taught to do, your back straight even then because discipline had already rooted itself deep into your bones.
your father and your older brother had been speaking across the long table, their voices calm but firm, their words carrying weight even if you did not fully grasp them at the time. you remembered the way your mother’s hand rested lightly over yours, a silent instruction to listen, to pay attention, to understand that what was being discussed was important.
it was then that you first heard of the treaty.
not just a simple agreement, not just a passing arrangement between two lands, but something far more binding, something that would shape the future of both nations and, though you did not know it yet, your own life.
the emerald empire, prosperous and abundant, a land overflowing with natural wealth, had long held resources that other nations sought after. among them, the most prized were the emeralds themselves, stones that were not only symbols of status and power but also held practical value in trade, crafting, and even in certain forms of energy use that had been developed over time.
the scarlet region, in contrast, was not a land of abundance in that sense, but it held something far more dangerous and far more valuable in times of unrest.
power.
military strength that few could rival.
the treaty, as it had been explained in terms that would later become clearer to you as you grew older, was both an agreement of peace and a formal alliance. it was structured with precision, written in language that left little room for misinterpretation, signed under the authority of both ruling powers to ensure its permanence.
the emerald empire shall supply the scarlet region with an agreed upon and consistent quantity of emerald resources, the amount determined through mutual negotiation and subject to periodic reassessment under stable conditions.
in return, the scarlet region shall provide military support to the emerald empire, offering protection, reinforcement, and armed assistance in times of conflict, threat, or war, under the obligations defined within the alliance.
it was balanced and it made sense, even to those who were not directly involved in politics.
one land provided wealth, the other provided strength. together, they ensured stability, or at the very least, the illusion of it.
but treaties like that were rarely sealed by ink alone.
they required something more binding, something that ensured loyalty beyond written words.
and that was where you came in.
the alliance was finalized not only through the signatures of two rulers but through a betrothal.
between you, the youngest and only princess of the emerald empire and the sole heir of the scarlet region, katsuki bakugo.
you did not know his name at ten in the way you would come to know it later.
back then, it had just been a name spoken among many others, one that held importance but did not yet carry weight in your mind. you had simply listened, your gaze lowered as expected, your fingers resting against your mother’s as she gently squeezed your hand once, a quiet reassurance or perhaps a reminder.
this is your duty.
as you grew older, the details became clearer.
the scarlet region did not follow the same traditions as your homeland. where the emerald empire upheld strict customs, where succession was determined by lineage and only passed on upon death to the oldest son, the scarlet region operated under a different set of rules, ones that were far less rigid and far more dangerous.
there, a ruler could step down whenever they deemed it appropriate. there was no obligation to rule until death. there was no enforced waiting.
at first, it sounded almost freeing, almost progressive in a way that contrasted your own structured upbringing. but as you learned more, as history lessons became more detailed and less softened for your ears, you began to understand what that truly meant.
power did not remain in the hands of those who were unwilling to give it up.
not for long.
stories, whispered at first and then later taught more directly, spoke of rulers who had been found lifeless in their chambers, their bodies still and cold before any official declaration of abdication had been made. others were said to have fallen ill suddenly, their decline too quick, too convenient, leaving the throne open for the next in line.
poison.
assassination.
betrayal.
these were not rare occurrence, they were part of the system.
the scarlet region thrived on strength, and strength was proven not just in battle but in the ability to take and to hold power by any means necessary. it was a land where weakness was not tolerated, where hesitation could mean death, and where loyalty was often conditional.
they were barbaric in nature, as many in your homeland described them, though never in official statements. it was a quiet understanding, one that lingered beneath formal diplomacy.
and yet, despite that, or perhaps because of it, they were powerful.
that power was what your kingdom needed.
that power was what secured your fate.
katsuki bakugo had ascended the throne in his early twenties, far earlier than most rulers in your own land would have ever been allowed to. but his case had been different.
his father had never wanted the crown. that much had been made clear in every account you had heard.
he had ruled because he had to, because the position had been his responsibility, but there had never been any true desire behind it. and so, the moment he believed his son was capable, the moment he was certain that the boy had grown into someone strong enough to take over, he stepped down.
willingly.
a rare occurrence in a land where most rulers had power taken from them rather than surrendered.
that was how katsuki became king.
young, powerful, and already carrying a reputation that spread far beyond the scarlet region itself.
they called him the dragon king.
the title alone was enough to spark curiosity when you first heard it, but the explanation behind it made it something else entirely.
he rode a dragon.
not just any beast, not just some distant creature tamed through force, but one bound to him in a way that was deeper, more personal, more dangerous.
eijiro kirishima is a dragon hybrid and katsuki’s right hand, his closest companion, his weapon, and his ally.
the stories described them as inseparable, two forces that moved as one, their presence on the battlefield enough to turn the tide of war before it had even fully begun. it was said that when the dragon king took flight, when the skies burned with the presence of that creature beneath him, there was no room left for doubt.
fear followed then victory followed short after… always.
and now, that same man was the one you were meant to marry.
though the pair interested you more than anything.
hybrids were rare.
even in lands filled with strange creatures, old bloodlines, and ancient magic that had existed long before kingdoms were ever built, hybrids remained uncommon enough to be spoken about with curiosity and caution. stories about them traveled across nations in whispers and rumors, changing slightly depending on who told them, but one thing always remained the same.
once a hybrid found the one they belonged to, their loyalty became absolute.
it was said they did not serve the way ordinary soldiers served a king. it went deeper than duty and far beyond simple obedience. the bond between a hybrid and their chosen master was something fierce, instinctive, almost animalistic in nature. once formed, it lasted for life.
they protected, obeyed, and stayed.
even death itself was said to struggle separating a hybrid from the one they devoted themselves to.
you had heard stories growing up in the emerald empire. servants whispered about dragon shifters in hushed voices while preparing your baths or brushing your hair. noble women spoke of them with fascination during gatherings while men discussed them as weapons that could change the outcome of wars. some stories painted hybrids as dangerous beasts pretending to be human while others claimed they were more loyal than any knight sworn by oath.
you had never seen one before.
not until now.
the realization settled into you the moment the large doors of the throne room opened.
the room was massive, carved from dark stone that stretched high above your head into towering ceilings supported by enormous pillars etched with old markings and scars from time. fire burned from iron braziers mounted against the walls, their flames casting flickering orange light across the gloomy chamber. unlike the bright halls of the emerald empire filled with sunlight and polished marble, this place felt heavy.
ancient.
the air itself carried the faint scent of smoke and iron.
your footsteps echoed softly as you walked forward.
the king’s council and court lined both sides of the long walkway leading toward the throne, their eyes fixed entirely on you. warriors stood among nobles instead of guards standing separately from politicians like in your homeland. here they seemed to blend together into one brutal court where strength mattered just as much as status.
you could feel their stares. some were curious. some judgmental. some openly assessing you as though trying to determine whether the foreign princess walking toward their king was worthy enough to stand beside him.
still, your posture never faltered. not once.
your head remained high, your expression calm and serene exactly as you had been taught since childhood. every movement was graceful and measured as you walked across the dark stone floor.
your dress stood out immediately against the dullness of the castle.
soft lilac silk flowed around your body with every step, the fabric delicate and elegant beneath the firelight. silver embroidery climbed along the sleeves and bodice in intricate patterns resembling vines and blooming flowers from your homeland. sheer layers of fabric draped from your arms and trailed lightly behind you across the floor.
in this dark place of stone and ash and smoke, the dress almost looked unreal.
the only other strong color in the room came from the red-haired hybrid standing beside the throne.
his hair was bright like burning crimson beneath the firelight, wild and striking against skin. large dragon wings rested folded behind him, the scales along them dark red and gleaming faintly. even from where you stood, you could see sharp scales trailing along parts of his neck and arms while red horns stuck on his forehead.
and his eyes never left the king.
you understood the stories then.
slowly, you reached the foot of the stairs leading toward the throne.
without hesitation, you lowered yourself into a proper curtsy, bowing your head respectfully. though you were royalty yourself, you stood in a foreign kingdom before another ruler. your mother had drilled that lesson into you countless times growing up.
respect the customs of the land you stand in.
your voice was soft and composed when you spoke. “my king.”then you lifted your gaze and finally saw him properly.
katsuki bakugo sat sprawled across the throne like he had been born for it… like the throne itself belonged beneath him.
his vermillion eyes locked onto yours immediately, sharp and intense enough to make your breath still for a moment. his ash blond hair looked messy and untamed as though no one would dare attempt controlling it.
he looked dangerous, beautifully dangerous.
his entire torso was bare, leaving every inch of hard muscle exposed beneath the firelight. scars littered parts of his skin, old marks that only made him appear even rougher, even more intimidating. his body looked carved from stone itself, broad shoulders leading down to a powerful chest and strong arms wrapped with strips of orange fabric around his forearms and hands.
a dark red cape lined with thick fur rested across his shoulders, the heavy material falling behind him while the fur framed his neck. black tattered pants hung low on his hips tucked into worn brown boots that looked made for battle instead of ceremony. and around his neck hung layered necklaces made from stone, jade, teeth, and rough beads that clicked softly whenever he moved.
beside his throne rested a massive broadsword. the blade alone looked large enough to split a man in half.
the room had gone silent.
completely silent.
your eyes remained locked with his as he slowly stood from his throne. the movement alone shifted the atmosphere in the room. he descended the stairs with slow swaggering steps, each one heavy against the stone floor. he did not rush. he looked like a predator approaching something that had caught his attention.
his eyes never left yours.
not once.
when he finally stopped in front of you, his body towered over yours easily.
you suddenly understood why stories about him spread across kingdoms because there was something overwhelming about him, something that demanded attention.
your breath caught quietly in your throat when he suddenly lifted a hand and pinched your chin between his fingers. his touch was rough as it was warm. he tilted your head upward slightly so he could look at you better.
the entire room seemed to hold its breath.
you could feel his gaze dragging across your face slowly, studying every detail in silence for several long seconds… then his lip curled.
“tch. at least they had the decency to send me a pretty little princess.” his voice was rough and deep, carrying easily through the silent throne room.
heat crept beneath your skin instantly.
before you could even react, he scoffed and released your chin before turning away slightly. “i might actually kill them then myself if they had given me one that looked like a mountain troll.”
a few people in the court laughed nervously.
you stayed perfectly still.
then katsuki waved a hand dismissively. “eijiro, send the woman to her quarters.”
the command was directed toward the red-haired hybrid beside the throne.
unlike katsuki’s permanent snarl and sharp gaze, the hybrid smiled warmly at you the moment his name was called.
and somehow, in this cold dark throne room filled with warriors and strangers, that smile was the first thing that felt welcoming.
you walked through the dark halls of the castle in silence, the sound of your footsteps echoing softly against the stone beneath your shoes as the heavy doors of the throne room closed behind you.
in the corridor, the walls were made from dark stone carved rough in some places and smooth in others as though parts of the castle had been built directly into the mountain itself. large torches lined the hallways every few feet, their flames flickering wildly and casting shifting shadows across the walls and floors. the firelight painted everything in deep shades of orange and gold, but it did little to soften the gloom surrounding the place.
there were no large windows letting sunlight spill through the halls. no fresh scent of flowers drifting through open corridors. instead the air carried traces of smoke, leather, iron, and something faintly earthy that reminded you of ash after rain.
in front of you, eijiro walked at an easy pace as he guided you through the winding halls just as the king had ordered.
your eyes drifted toward him quietly.
back in the throne room, nearly all of your attention had been trapped on katsuki bakugo himself. it had been impossible not to stare at him when he looked the way he did sitting upon that throne like some wild king from ancient stories.
now, with the two of you alone in the halls, this was the first time you truly got a proper look at the dragon hybrid.
your gaze slowly scanned over him.
like katsuki, his torso was completely bare beneath the warm firelight, exposing toned muscle across his back and shoulders that shifted with every step he took. his body looked strong in a different way than the king’s. where katsuki carried sharpness and intimidation, eijiro looked sturdy and grounded… protective.
metal pauldrons rested over his shoulders, dark and jagged in shape almost resembling broken pieces of rock layered over one another. leather bracers wrapped around his forearms while fitted leather pants and armored boots completed the rest of his attire. several knives rested securely along the belt around his waist.
but none of that held your attention for long. your eyes kept returning to the scales.
patches of deep red scales spread across parts of his arms and shoulders, blending into his tan skin naturally. more scales traced along the sides of his face near his jaw and temples, catching the firelight whenever he moved.
his hair was a vivid red that matched the horns protruding from his forehead. large leathery wings remained tucked behind him neatly despite their size, the dark red membranes shifting slightly every now and then as he walked.
you had never seen anything like him before.
your staring lasted just a second too long.
eijiro glanced over his shoulder before a grin spread across his face. “y’know, princess, if you keep staring at me like that i’m gonna start thinkin’ you like what you see.”
heat rushed to your face instantly. your eyes widened before you quickly looked away. “i’m so sorry,” you said softly, your voice embarrassed. “i did not mean to stare.” you hesitated for a moment before glancing back at him carefully. “it is just... this is my first time seeing a hybrid in person. let alone a dragon hybrid.”
eijiro let out a warm chuckle. “hey, don’t worry about it,” he said easily, waving a hand dismissively. “seriously. there’s no need to apologize. i get that a lot.”
his relaxed tone eased some of your embarrassment almost immediately.
you looked at him again, more carefully this time. “does it bother you?”
“nah.” he shrugged. “people get curious. especially people from other kingdoms. honestly, i’d probably stare too if i saw somebody with giant wings for the first time.”
you found yourself smiling faintly at that. the sight seemed to encourage him further.
“plus,” he continued with a grin, “you’ve been pretty respectful about it. some people act weird.”
“weird?”
“yeah.” he snorted. “either they’re terrified or they ask if i breathe fire.”
your brows lifted slightly. “can you?”
eijiro barked out a laugh so suddenly that it echoed through the hallway. “okay, see? that one’s fair.”
you lowered your gaze quickly, suddenly feeling foolish. “i apologize. that was inappropriate.”
“hey, no.” he shook his head immediately. “i’m messing with you. i do breathe fire. only on my dragon form though.”
his easygoing nature made conversation strangely comfortable despite how unfamiliar everything around you was. for a moment, the tightness sitting in your chest since arriving at the scarlet region loosened slightly.
“so,” eijiro said after a moment, glancing at you curiously. “what’s the emerald empire really like?”
your expression softened. “It is beautiful,” you answered quietly. “very different from here.”
you looked around the dim hallway before continuing.l “there are gardens everywhere. flowers grow along most parts of the palace grounds and the walls are covered with vines and roses during warmer seasons.”
eijiro listened closely. “sounds nice.”
“It is peaceful,” you admitted. “the air smells sweet during spring.”
“huh.” he smiled. “guess this place probably feels kinda… intense compared to that.”
you hesitated before nodding slightly. “a little.”
he laughed softly. “yeah, sounds about right.”
for a few moments the two of you continued walking while talking quietly.
you asked him questions about the castle, about the scarlet region, about dragons and hybrids. he answered all of them openly, seeming almost excited by your curiosity rather than annoyed by it.
in return, he asked about your home, what kind of things you liked, whether all nobility in the emerald empire were taught so formally.
“pretty much,” you admitted softly.
“that sounds exhausting.” eijiro said.
“it can be.” you let out the faintest laugh.
eijiro glanced at you again before speaking carefully.“you nervous?”
you knew immediately what he meant. your fingers tightened lightly together.
“about the king?”
he nodded.
you were quiet for a moment before speaking honestly. “i do not think he likes me.”
eijiro suddenly laughed. not cruelly, almost fondly. “trust me,” he said, shaking his head. “you’d know if katsuki doesn’t like you.”
“I would?” your brows furrowed slightly.
“oh, definitely.” he grinned. “he’s not exactly subtle.”
you thought back to the throne room. to the way katsuki had looked at you, the roughness in his voice, and to the way his fingers had held your chin.
your face warmed slightly at the memory.
eijiro noticed immediately and grinned wider. “see?”
you quickly looked away. “i simply assumed he was displeased by this arrangement.”
“well,” eijiro admitted, rubbing the back of his neck, “he definitely wasn’t happy about being forced into marriage at first.”
your chest tightened slightly, but before you could speak, he continued.
“katsuki’s just bad with people sometimes. especially women.”
you blinked. “women?”
“pretty women,” he corrected with a teasing grin.
you looked down immediately, embarrassed at his constant compliments towards you.
eijiro laughed softly again before continuing more gently. “seriously though, don’t overthink him too much. he’s rough around the edges but he’s a good person. you’ll see pretty soon how he actually is when he dislikes somebody.”
the conversation slowly drifted again before you asked quietly, “how long have you known him?”
eijiro’s expression softened immediately. “since we were kids.”
you looked up at him curiously while he smiled faintly down at you.
“hunters caught me when i was eight,” he explained. “dragon hybrids sell for a lot depending on where you are.”
your eyes widened slightly. you remembered learning about how hybrids treated in some parts. some were either killed and butchered to be sold for their parts, or they were sold for entertainment. hybrids were rare as it is, but dragon hybrids were even more rare making them more valuable.
“they kept me trapped for a while.” his tone remained casual but you still felt sadness curl in your chest. “katsuki found me,” he continued. “he was around eight too. little psycho fought grown men with a knife.”
you stared at him as you listened, trying to take it all in.
“seriously. kid was terrifying… and i was a kid!” eijiro laughed.
you could strangely imagine it. after seeing katsuki earlier, just from that brief interaction, you can already tell he was much of a menace at eight as he is now.
“he saved you.” you said.
“yeah.” his voice softened. “and i stayed with him after that.”
“you are loyal to him. i’m not surprised.” your gaze drifted toward his wings.
eijiro looked at you for a moment before nodding once. “always.”
something about the way he said it made the old stories about hybrids echo through your mind again.
once a hybrid found the one they belonged to, their loyalty became absolute.
eventually, the two of you stopped in front of a massive pair of doors at the end of a quieter hallway.
“welcome to your new quarters, princess.” eijiro pushed them open.
you stepped inside slowly and was met with an enormous room.
dark stone walls surrounded the space but heavy curtains in deep crimson softened parts of it while large fur rugs covered portions of the floor. a massive fireplace burned along one side of the room, filling it with warmth. shelves carved from black wood lined the walls while candles flickered across various surfaces. the bed itself was enormous, layered with thick dark fabrics and furs.
despite the roughness of the castle’s aesthetic, the room still felt strangely luxurious.
eijiro watched your reaction carefully. “i know it’s probably completely different from your home,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck. “but the king made sure your quarters were comfortable for you.”
your eyes widened slightly. “he did? really?”
eijiro smiled sheepishly. “well... not really.”
your brows lifted in confusion at that.
“but he approved of all the things brought to your room! so that’s something!”
you could not help the soft laugh that escaped you. he reminded you strangely of a large puppy, earnest and friendly.
“thank you, eijiro. truly.” you nodded politely.
his grin returned immediately. “no problem. you are the future queen of the dragon lord. i live to serve you for you are his.”
his.
he stepped back toward the doorway. “i’ll send your new servants in to help with your bath before you retire for the night.”
“thank you.” you nodded again.
“get some rest, princess.” with that, he stepped outside and slowly closed the large doors behind him.
silence settled over the room.
you stood there for a long moment before slowly walking deeper inside, taking every little thing in. finally, you sat down carefully on the edge of the massive bed. your fingers brushed against the heavy sheets beneath your hands.
it was soft, warm… and foreign.
your gaze drifted slowly around the unfamiliar room.
this is my home now.
and for the first time since arriving in the scarlet region, the reality of it truly settled into your chest.
the last couple of weeks quickly fell into a repetitive pattern that slowly wore away at your patience no matter how hard you tried to remain understanding about the situation.
every morning you would wake up inside your chambers high within the dark stone walls of the scarlet fortress and ask one of the servants or guards whether the king was available, only to receive the same carefully rehearsed answers in return.
the king was occupied. the king was handling important matters. the king had already left the castle grounds before sunrise.
after hearing those excuses day after day, you eventually stopped asking as often because humiliation started creeping beneath your skin each time another servant avoided your eyes while informing you that your own betrothed apparently had no time for you.
most of your days were spent alone inside your chambers afterward. you ended up reading nearly every single one of the books on your shelves out of sheer boredom.
the books inside the scarlet region were nothing like the gentle romances and elegant poetry collections kept inside the libraries of the emerald empire. these stories were brutal and excessive and strangely honest about the people who lived within this kingdom.
there were tales about ancient wars fought between dragon riders that ended with entire mountainsides collapsing beneath fire and bloodshed. there were stories about barbarian kings who conquered lands with their bare hands and queens who poisoned enemies during feasts. some books were so violent that you occasionally found yourself staring blankly at the pages afterward trying to understand how someone even thought to write such horrifying details.
others were scandalously inappropriate.
one evening you accidentally spent an entire hour reading a story about a warrior taking a noblewoman against a castle wall. one of your handmaidens nearly dropped a tray in shock after realizing what you were reading. afterward she refused to look you directly in the eyes for the rest of the night while you quietly closed the book and pretended not to understand why her face had turned bright red.
still, despite the strange books and lonely silence surrounding most of your days, there was one part of your routine that you genuinely began looking forward to.
eijiro.
the dragon hybrid visited you almost every single day without fail.
sometimes he would arrive during breakfast and keep you company while the two of you ate together inside your chambers. other times he would take you through different sections of the castle while explaining the history behind certain halls and statues carved into the stone walls.
he told stories easily and enthusiastically, often speaking with his hands while his large red wings shifted behind him whenever he became excited.
unlike katsuki, who felt sharp and difficult to approach, eijiro was warm in a way that made conversation come naturally.
he answered your endless questions without irritation.
he explained the volcanoes surrounding the scarlet region and the old traditions involving dragon riders. he told you about battles fought generations ago and pointed out ancient carvings etched into the fortress walls. sometimes he made you laugh without meaning to. sometimes you caught yourself smiling more around him than you had since arriving here.
over time, your nervousness around the hybrid slowly faded.
and if you were being honest with yourself, there were moments where you quietly wondered who exactly you were supposed to be marrying. because while katsuki bakugo remained nothing more than a distant shadow constantly avoiding your presence, eijiro kirishima was the one actually beside you every day.
by the time three weeks had passed since your arrival in the scarlet region, you realized with growing disbelief that your wedding was only a week away.
a single week and yet you still had not properly spoken to katsuki since the first day you arrived. the realization irritated you more than you cared to admit.
that evening you sat in front of the vanity mirror inside your chambers while slowly brushing through your hair with careful strokes. soft firelight flickered across the room while one of your handmaidens prepared fresh oils nearby. you were waiting for eijiro again because he promised earlier that morning he would visit after finishing training with the soldiers.
you had begun expecting him.
which was exactly why surprise shot through you when the chamber doors suddenly burst open hard enough to slam against the stone walls.
your head snapped upward immediately.
katsuki bakugo stood in the doorway.
for a second, the entire room felt painfully still.
his broad figure nearly filled the entrance as firelight danced across his exposed skin and the heavy fur draped around his shoulders. his ash blonde hair looked slightly messy like he had run his hands through it repeatedly and those sharp crimson eyes locked onto yours instantly with an intensity that made your breath catch inside your throat.
it had been weeks since you last saw him.
weeks.
slowly, you stood from your seat before lowering your head respectfully. “my king,” you greeted softly. “what an honor it is to finally be graced by your presence.”
katsuki stared at you for a moment before clicking his tongue. “quit talking like that,” he muttered as he stepped further inside the room. “you sound like one of those damn council fossils.”
you lifted your gaze carefully toward him. “forgive me. i was simply trying to greet my future husband properly.”
“yeah, well, stop it.” he said, and despite his harsh tone, his eyes remained fixed on you far too intensely for comfort.
you slowly set the brush down against the vanity table. “to what do i owe this sudden visit?” you asked calmly. “i assumed you were occupied with your duties… as usual.”
something unreadable flashed across his expression at that.
then you continued before he could answer.
“it has been difficult, i must say. when the king is always occupied with ‘state affairs’ and his right hand is the only one willing to provide a tour of the grounds.”
katsuki’s jaw immediately tightened. “hair-for-brains has been babysitting you?” he asked sharply.
you frowned slightly at the insult. “eijiro has been kind,” you corrected as you stepped away from the vanity. “he told me about the volcanoes, the dragon-kin, the hybrids, and the history of this region. he has been a better guide than my own betrothed.”
a rough laugh escaped katsuki though there was no real amusement behind it. he moved closer until the warmth rolling off his body surrounded you completely. “kirishima’s an idiot who gives away secrets for free,” he scoffed. “if you wanted to know about this kingdom, you should’ve come to the source, not the help.”
your eyebrows lifted slightly. “i tried,” you answered, your voice firmer than expected. “every time i approached your chambers, your guards informed me you were busy breathing fire at your generals. eventually i began wondering if you were hiding something.”
for the briefest second, something shifted across his face. his stare softened just enough to notice before the scowl returned again. “i wasn’t hiding,” he said roughly. “i was preparing. do you have any idea what it takes to merge an emerald seat with a scarlet throne? despite the treaty, the court is looking for a reason to tear you apart the moment you step onto the altar.”
the words struck harder than you expected. your breath caught quietly in your throat and for a moment, you simply stared at him.
you had known this marriage was political from the very beginning. kingdoms did not bind themselves together through royal blood for romance. this union meant trade routes, military alliances, security, power, stability between two lands that could strengthen each other greatly. you understood that. you had been taught that since childhood.
but despite understanding all of that, despite knowing nobles could be cruel and proud and difficult, a part of you still had not expected that there were truly people within this castle who looked at you and saw someone unworthy.
you had crossed an entire continent for this marriage, you had left your home behind, your family, your kingdom, everything familiar, and somewhere within these dark stone halls, there were people waiting for you to fail.
they were watching and judging you, hoping you’d slip and fall and break you neck on the way down.
katsuki reached toward you suddenly, his gloved hand hovered near your chin. for a brief second, it looked as though he intended to touch you. then his jaw tightened sharply and he pulled his hand back with visible irritation, almost seeming angry at himself for the impulse.
“i didn't have time for royal pleasantries,” he growled. “but since you and shitty hair seem to have hit it off so well, i suppose you’ve learned enough to hold your own.”
despite yourself, your lips twitched faintly. “i’ve learned that the king is temperamental, guarded, and apparently very jealous of his second-in-command,” you said softly, tilting your head.
katsuki froze, his eyes widened for the briefest moment before narrowing into dangerous slits, a low sound rumbled from deep in his chest.
it sent a chill crawling down your spine.
“jealous?” he repeated sharply. “don't flatter yourself. i just don't like what’s mine being lectured by a soft-hearted mutt.”
his words made something uncomfortable twist in your chest.
your his property.
slowly, you stepped closer toward him until barely any space remained between your bodies. you could feel the heat radiating from him like fire against your skin.
“is that all i am to you?” you asked quietly. “property?”
katsuki stared down at you, his pupils shifted strangely. the sharp crimson of his eyes darkened until the color looked molten beneath the torchlight.
when he leaned closer, your breath caught, his forehead nearly brushed yours. “you’re a week away from being the queen of the scarlet region,” he said in a low gravelly rasp. “you’re not property, princess.” his gaze dragged across your face slowly, too slowly. “you’re the only thing in this godforsaken fortress that isn't made of ash.”
your heart stumbled painfully inside your chest. before you could respond, he continued.
“and if you think i’ve been busy playing soldier, you’re wrong.” he leaned even closer, close enough that you could feel his breath against your lips. “i’ve been making sure that when you finally walk down that aisle, no one is left alive who thinks they can challenge us.”
us.
“eijiro kept you distracted,” he muttered. “i kept you safe.”
silence filled the room after that.
your mind struggled to keep pace with everything he was saying.
you had thought he hated this arrangement. thought he was avoiding you because he wanted nothing to do with you. yet now he stood before you speaking about protecting you as though it had become his responsibility long before you ever wore his name.
“there are truly people here who oppose me that much?” you asked quietly.
katsuki scoffed. “there are people here who’d oppose the sky if it changed color for too long.” he stepped back slightly before dragging a rough hand through his ash blonde hair.
“the scarlet court is full of old bastards obsessed with bloodlines and strength. you’re foreign, soft, and refined. they think emerald nobles spend more time playing music than surviving winters. despite the benefits this wedding can give our kingdom, they don’t think you’re fit to be queen.”
“that is not true.” your brows furrowed faintly.
“i know that,” he snapped immediately. “they don't.” his jaw clenched again. “they think you’ll break.”
something stubborn rose inside your chest at that. you lifted your chin slightly. “and what do you think?”
his eyes locked onto yours instantly, intensely burning. “i think,” he said slowly, “that anybody who crossed kingdoms to marry into this hellhole without crying halfway through has more spine than half the idiots sitting in my council chamber.”
heat rushed unexpectedly into your face.
before you could answer, katsuki abruptly turned away. “come with me.”
“what?” you blinked.
“you heard me.” he strode toward the door.
confusion crossed your face immediately. “your majesty, where are we going?”
“tch. just move.”
you hesitated only a second before following after him and the moment you reached him, his hand suddenly grabbed yours. your breath caught sharply. his grip was large and rough and overwhelmingly warm around your hand.
before you could react properly, he yanked you forward behind him. “quit dragging me,” you gasped softly.
“quit dragging your feet.”
the chamber doors burst open as he pulled you into the corridor.
the dark halls stretched endlessly ahead, lit by fire torches burning against black stone walls. shadows flickered across the floors as servants quickly moved aside at the sight of the king storming through the castle with his future queen in tow.
you struggled slightly to keep pace with his long strides. “where are we going?” you asked again.
“you ask too many questions.”
“that usually happens when someone drags another person through a castle without explanation.”
he shot you an irritated glance over his shoulder. “you wanted to know why i’ve been busy so badly, right?”
you blinked. “yes…”
“then shut up and keep walking.”
despite his harsh tone, he never let go of your hand, not once. and somehow that fact lingered in your mind more than anything else.
katsuki continued dragging you through the castle halls with long aggressive strides that forced you to keep close behind him if you did not want to stumble over the hem of your dress. his hand remained wrapped tightly around yours, rough and calloused from years of swordsmanship and battle, his warmth almost startling against your softer skin.
you tried not to stare too openly at everything around you, but it was difficult. the scarlet region fascinated you. even after weeks of exploring with eijiro it still felt foreign to you.
your eyes drifted upward as you noticed enormous carvings etched into the high ceilings.
“those are incredible,” you murmured softly.
katsuki glanced upward briefly before grunting. “hm.”
you looked back at him. “what do they mean?”
“they’re old carvings.”
“i can see that.”
his eyes flickered toward you and for a second, you thought you caught amusement there, almost hidden. “smart mouth,” he muttered.
“i was simply asking.” you blinked innocently at him.
he clicked his tongue before finally answering. “they tell the story of the first kings. every ruler in the scarlet region traces their bloodline back to them.”
you looked back toward the carvings again with interest. the dragons were enormous in the stone art, wings spread wide across the ceiling while warriors stood beneath them holding weapons toward the sky.
“so the real dragons did come first?”
“obviously.”
“you do realize not everyone grew up here, yes?”
“annoying.” he let out a sharp exhale through his nose. despite the insult, he still answered. “before the kingdoms were built, dragon ruled these mountains. then people started worshipping them. eventually the strongest warriors bonded with them.”
“bonded?” your eyes widened slightly.
“dragon pacts.” his grip tightened faintly around your hand as he continued leading you down another hallway. “some humans formed bonds with dragon-kind. loyalty for loyalty. strength for strength.”
your thoughts immediately drifted toward eijiro. “is that why hybrids exist?”
“partly.”
“you sound reluctant to explain.” you looked at him curiously.
“because you ask too many damn questions.”
“and yet you keep answering them.”
he shot you another look over his shoulder. this time you definitely saw it, the corner of his mouth twitched. gone almost immediately.
he’s enjoying this.
you followed him down a massive staircase leading deeper into another section of the castle. the air grew warmer the lower you went, enough that you could feel heat brushing against your skin.
“why is it hotter here?” you asked.
“lava tunnels under the mountain.”
your eyes widened. “there is lava beneath the castle?”
“we’re built into a volcanic mountain, princess. what did you think was under us?”
you stared at him. “rocks?”
he barked out a laugh suddenly, a real one. rough and sharp but genuine enough that it echoed through the corridor. “unbelievable.”
heat crept into your cheeks at the sound. you had not expected him to laugh, especially not because of you.
the two of you continued walking until the hallway opened into a massive chamber lined with weapons mounted against the walls. swords. axes. spears. shields. some looked old enough to belong in museums while others appeared freshly sharpened.
you slowed immediately. “this is beautiful.”
“it’s an armory.” katsuki snorted.
you stepped closer toward one of the blades hanging on the wall. the sword was massive, far larger than anything you had ever seen used back home.
“people actually fight with these?” you asked.
“what the hell do you think they’re for?” he spat, his eyebrows furrowing as he spoke.
you glanced at him carefully. “you truly speak as though every question pains you.”
“because half your questions have obvious answers.”
“for you, perhaps.”
he stared at you for a moment before crossing his arms over his bare chest. “you really know nothing about this place.”
there was no mockery in his voice this time. only observation.
you looked down briefly. “i was taught about diplomacy between kingdoms and trade agreements and court etiquette. not weapons and volcanoes and dragon pacts.”
silence settled between you for a brief moment.
then katsuki spoke again, quieter this time. “that explains a lot.”
“what does that mean?” you looked back at him.
he shrugged. “you walk around this place looking at everything like you got dropped into another world.”
“perhaps i did.”
his gaze lingered on your face longer than necessary. you felt suddenly aware of how close he stood, how large he was compared to you, and how intense his eyes became whenever he looked directly at you.
your fingers tightened slightly around the fabric of your dress, trying to steady yourself before you cleared your throat softly. “what are scarlet region weddings like?”
“why?” katsuki’s brows furrowed immediately.
“because i’m marrying you in a week.” you said with an obvious tone of sarcasm.
“unfortunate for you.”
you ignored that as you asked again. “i would like to know what to expect.”
he sighed dramatically before leaning against one of the stone pillars nearby. “there’s a ceremony.”
you waited for more, but he stared back blankly.
“…that tells me nothing.”
“there’s fire. vows. drinking. fighting.”
your eyes widened. “fighting?”
“friendly fighting.”
“those are two words that should not belong together.”
“depends who you ask.” he shrugged.
you could not help the quiet laugh that escaped you.
katsuki’s eyes flickered toward your mouth immediately at the sound. you noticed it again and suddenly forgot how to breathe correctly for a second.
“what about emerald empire weddings?” he asked abruptly.
you blinked at the sudden question. “ours are more formal.”
“sounds boring already.” katsuki rolled his eyes as if he regrets asking.
“there is music and dancing.”
“boring.”
“poetry readings.”
he looked at you, horrified.
you smiled despite yourself. “decorated gardens.”
“if anybody forced me into a garden for my own wedding i’d burn it down.” he said, his expression tight as if he was already picturing it in his head.
you laughed at the look on his face while katsuki stared at you like he had never heard that sound before, like he wanted to keep hearing it. the realization made warmth spread slowly across your chest.
maybe he truly was avoiding me because he did not know what to do with me.
and somehow that thought felt far more dangerous than hatred ever could have been.
a week passed after your walk through the castle with katsuki, and somewhere within those seven days, something between the two of you shifted. it was not a dramatic shift. there had been no grand confession or sudden tenderness that transformed him into a different man overnight.
katsuki bakugo remained exactly who he was. he was still rough around the edges, still aggressive in the way he spoke, still impatient whenever somebody irritated him which happened often enough that you were beginning to think irritation was simply his natural state of being.
but despite that, things changed.
he was still busy constantly buried beneath matters of court and military discussions and whatever else dragged the dragon king away for hours at a time, but now he made space for you within those busy days.
sometimes he would appear at your chambers without warning only to stay for a few moments.
you would be seated near the fire reading one of the strange books from the scarlet region shelves when the door would suddenly swing open, revealing katsuki standing there with his arms crossed over his chest.
“what are you reading?”
you had looked up in surprise the first time it happened. “a history book.”
he narrowed his eyes suspiciously. “why?”
“because i enjoy learning.”
“sounds miserable.”
yet he still walked over and glanced down at the pages resting in your lap before grunting.
another time, he had appeared during your evening meal and simply sat down across from you without invitation. you remembered staring at him while servants awkwardly scrambled to bring another plate.
“your majesty?”
“what?”
“you are in my chambers.”
“obviously.”
then he started eating your food as though he had always belonged there.
sometimes he barely spoke during those visits. he would simply sit nearby while you read or embroidered or drank tea. strangely enough, the silence never felt uncomfortable.
other times, he joined you and eijiro during your walks through the castle grounds.
those were perhaps your favorite moments.
eijiro would be speaking enthusiastically about some story from his childhood only for katsuki to suddenly appear beside the two of you with an irritated scowl already on his face.
“why the hell are you telling her that story again?” katsuki would ask.
“because she likes hearing it,” eijiro would laugh.
“your stories are stupid.”
“you listened to all of them too.”
“shut up.”
yet he would stay, always.
and slowly, without realizing it, you started learning him in pieces.
you learned that he hated overly sweet wine but liked stronger drinks that burned your throat. you learned that he became quieter whenever he was exhausted instead of louder. you learned that although he complained constantly, he still noticed everything around him with sharp frightening precision. you learned that whenever he was thinking deeply, his fingers tapped against whatever surface was nearest. you learned that he looked at you intensely even during moments when he thought you were not paying attention.
and before you fully realized it, the day of your wedding arrived.
you stood outside the massive doors leading toward the throne hall with your heart pounding heavily inside your chest. the halls around you glowed with torchlight while distant music echoed through the stone corridors.
your wedding dress felt heavier than anything you had ever worn before.
scarlet region wedding attire differed greatly from the soft flowing gowns worn in the emerald empire. instead of delicate fabrics and flowers, your gown was designed like something worthy of a queen standing beside a warrior king.
the dress clung tightly around your torso with dark crimson fabric embroidered with thin golden threads shaped like dragon scales. the sleeves draped long around your arms while black sheer fabric layered beneath the heavier crimson silk. gold chains decorated your waist and hips, hanging against the fabric with tiny ruby stones attached to them that caught the firelight whenever you moved.
the neckline dipped lower than dresses from your homeland normally allowed, exposing the tops of your collarbones where matching gold jewelry rested against your skin. even your veil was different. instead of white lace, dark red fabric trailed behind you like smoke.
you barely recognized yourself.
then, the massive doors slowly opened and heat rushed into the hall immediately.
inside, the throne room had transformed completely. huge fires burned from enormous iron braziers positioned throughout the chamber while crimson banners hung from the towering walls. drums echoed loudly through the room in a deep steady rhythm that vibrated through your chest. warriors stood lining the aisle holding torches while musicians played harsh beautiful melodies from instruments unfamiliar to you.
this was nothing like emerald empire weddings filled with soft music and flower petals.
before you knew it, you were walking down the aisle and all eyes turned toward you immediately. the eyes of court katsuki’s councilmen, foreign guests from distant lands, warriors dressed in heavy armor, and nobles covered in jewels and furs.
you spotted katsuki’s parents seated near the front. the former king looked relaxed despite the importance of the ceremony while his wife sat beside him watching everything sharply. you had met them during your first week in the scarlet region and quickly realized katsuki had inherited more from his mother than his father. mitsuki bakugo possessed the same fierce presence as her son though hers carried far more control.
your gaze shifted toward the opposite side where your own family sat. your mother already looked emotional, clearly trying not to cry. your father sat tall with pride written across his face. your older brother, however, looked like he was considering starting a war simply to drag you back home.
you almost smiled. when your eyes met his, you gave him a reassuring look.
i’m alright.
slowly, your attention moved again, then you spotted eijiro.
the dragon hybrid stood near the front dressed in dark ceremonial armor lined with crimson detailing. the moment he saw you looking toward him, his entire face lit up with the biggest grin.
it was so warm and genuine that you nearly laughed. you quickly hid the smile threatening your lips before finally looking ahead.
and there he was.
katsuki.
your future husband stood waiting near the throne platform.
for once, his chest was not bare. instead, he wore ceremonial battle robes made from black and deep crimson fabric layered with pieces of dark armor over his shoulders and forearms. fur lined the heavy cape hanging behind him while gold clasps shaped like dragon claws held it together across his chest. thick leather belts wrapped around his waist where a dagger rested beside an ornate sword.
he looked terrifying, beautifully terrifying.
his vermillion eyes locked onto yours instantly and as you approached him, you noticed his gaze slowly travel over your body, from your face, to your dress, to the jewelry against your skin, then back to your eyes again.
the look in his expression made heat crawl into your cheeks.
the ceremony began shortly after.
instead of gentle vows spoken softly between lovers, scarlet region traditions felt almost ritualistic.
the officiant stood before a massive fire while chanting ancient words in the old tongue of the region. wine was poured into ceremonial goblets. your hands and katsuki’s were bound together briefly with crimson cloth symbolizing unity through blood and kingdom.
through most of it, you barely listened because katsuki kept staring at you, and somehow, you realized you were staring back just as much.
the rest of the room blurred around you. time itself felt strange and distant. until finally the officiant spoke again.
“seal this union beneath fire and blood.”
eyes widened slightly and before you could even fully process the words, katsuki suddenly grabbed the back of your neck. a sharp breath escaped you then he pulled you toward him.
his lips crashed against yours.
the kiss stole every coherent thought from your mind instantly.
he kissed you firmly without hesitation, one hand gripping the back of your neck while the other settled against your waist. heat flooded through your entire body as his mouth moved against yours with rough confidence that left your knees weak beneath the heavy layers of your gown.
oh gods.
your fingers instinctively grabbed the front of his ceremonial robes. you could hear distant cheering erupting around the throne room, but it sounded muffled beneath the pounding of your heartbeat.
when he finally pulled away, your lips tingled painfully, you stared at him completely stunned. katsuki’s eyes looked darker somehow, his thumb brushed briefly against your waist before he stepped back.
the celebration afterward became a blur of noise and firelight and endless drinking.
true to scarlet region tradition, there were fights just like katsuki mentioned.
warriors and duelists stepped into the center arena one after another while crowds roared around them.
sero hanta from katsuki’s inner circle defeated one soldier after a brutal sword fight that ended with both men bleeding and laughing. denki kaminari won his own match shortly afterward while shouting obnoxiously toward cheering spectators.
eijiro fought next.
you found yourself watching in amazement as the dragon hybrid moved with terrifying strength and speed before ultimately defeating his opponent.
then came katsuki.
the entire room seemed to erupt when the king stepped forward. his opponent looked almost honored to stand across from him.
the fight started with swords.
metal clashed violently beneath roaring cheers while sparks flew from each impact. katsuki fought like something feral unleashed into battle. he was aggressive, brutal, and overwhelming.
eventually the swords were discarded. then they were on the ground beating each other bloody.
you sat perfectly composed at the royal table, but beneath it, your hands gripped tightly against your dress. stress twisted painfully in your chest.
suddenly, warmth covered one of your hands.
you looked beside yourself and found eijiro smiled reassuringly at you. “don’t worry,” he said gently. “katsuki’ll be fine. i’ve seen him survive worse.”
you swallowed slightly. “that is not comforting.”
he laughed softly. “when we were sixteen he fought three mountain raiders at once after getting stabbed in the shoulder.”
“what?” your eyes widened in horror.
“he won.”
“that really does not make it better.”
eijiro grinned at your expression of worry.
your eyes shifted back toward the fight where katsuki slammed the other man hard into the ground making you winced. “besides… it’s not him i’m worried about,” you admitted quietly.
eijiro blinked before immediately understanding, then he chuckled. “ah.”
you looked at him helplessly. “that poor soldier.”
“trust me, he’s honored.”
you stared at him incredulously, not entirely sure what to reply to his reassurance.
eijiro leaned closer slightly before explaining. “in the scarlet region, it’s tradition to fight for the person you love.”
your brows furrowed.
he nodded toward the arena. “me and the others fought earlier because we’re unwedded. it’s meant to show strength, protection, and devotion for our future partners.” then he looked toward katsuki. “but katsuki’s fight is different.”
“different how?” your stomach tightened.
eijiro’s smile softened. “the longer the fight goes and the more blood he draws from his opponent, the deeper the devotion is believed to be.”
you froze completely.
eijiro continued quietly. “he’s fighting for you, my queen.”
shock rushed through you instantly. you had never heard of this tradition before, never read about it, never learned it during your lessons back home. yet suddenly everything felt different watching katsuki fight down there beneath roaring firelight.
every brutal strike, every drop of blood, every second that continued was for you.
eventually the soldier finally collapsed from exhaustion and blood loss.
the room erupted into cheers.
breathing heavily, katsuki straightened before immediately turning his head toward you, his eyes locked onto yours across the hall then slowly, a smirk twitched against the corner of his mouth. he walked directly toward you afterward. you noticed the blood that stained his knuckles, his lip was split slightly, yet he looked almost pleased with himself.
once he reached the table, he dropped into the seat beside you and threw one arm casually across the back of your chair. “you look pale,” he said.
you stared at him. “you nearly killed that man.”
“he’ll live.”
“why does everything think that’s comforting?” you replied back.
he snorted then his eyes dragged slowly across your face. “you watched the whole thing?”
you swallowed softly. “…yes.”
“good.” his smirk deepened slightly.
the grand hall roared with celebration, the air thick with smoke from roasted meats, the bitter tang of ale, and the deafening clash of warriors re-enacting battles for entertainment.
you sat at the high table, your new husband beside you, a solid, immovable presence. katsuki downed the last bit of his wine, a deep, dark scarlet that matched the banners of his kingdom. he swallowed it like it was water, not savoring it, just consuming it. the heavy goblet clunked onto the wooden table.
then his arm, which had been draped loosely around the back of your chair, moved. his hand landed on your shoulder, a firm, heavy pat. once. twice. a third time, each impact a little heavier, a little more deliberate.
your shoulder tingled under the weight.
he stood up. the noise in the hall seemed to dip for a moment, the crowd’s attention shifting to their king. he held his hand out for you, palm open, fingers curled slightly while you looked at his hand, confused.
the festivities were still raging. it was relatively still early. then you turned your head to meet his eyes. dark red, like cooled lava, intense and utterly focused on you. in that instant, the confusion evaporated, replaced by a cold, clear understanding that rushed from your head down to your toes.
it was time. your duty. the consummation.
your fingers, trembling slightly, reached out and grabbed his hand. his grip was instantaneous, tight, almost crushing as he pulled you to stand. you rose, your wedding gown suddenly felt like a ridiculous, fragile costume.
as you stood, you noticed katsuki’s eyes flick to eijiro who sat on your other side, giving him a quick knowing look.
eijiro’s smile faded into a serious nod, his own crimson eyes understanding. they seemed to speak without words, a silent communication that made your eyebrows furrow.
what did that mean? what had they planned?
but before you could dwell, katsuki was pulling you away from the table, his stride long and purposeful. he didn’t walk with you; he dragged you.
your hand was captive in his, and he led you through the archway out of the hall, into the colder, darker corridors of the castle. the warmth and noise of the feast died behind you, swallowed by the silence of the passageways.
katsuki looked intense, his profile sharp in the torchlight. his jaw was set, his brows slightly lowered. he didn’t look at you as he walked, his focus was on the path ahead, on getting to where he needed to be.
silence filled the space between you, thick and heavy. it wasn’t peaceful. it was a tension that crawled over your skin, a prickling awareness of where you were headed, of what was about to happen in the dark, private heart of his domain.
he didn’t lead you to the wing where your chambers had been for the past few weeks. he turned down a different corridor, one guarded by two massive stone dragons carved into the archway. he stopped before a door of dark, aged oak reinforced with iron bands.
“this is my chambers,” he said, his voice a low rumble in the quiet hall. “now it’s ours. i had the servants move your things here this afternoon.” his tone was matter-of-fact, final. there was no discussion. this was where you would live… with him.
katsuki opened the door. it swung inward without a sound.
you were met with a room similar in structure to your old one but vastly different in spirit. it was bigger, dominated by a massive bed with a dark wood frame and black linens. the air smelled like him—like smoke, leather, and something wild. weapons lay around not as decoration, but as tools temporarily set aside: a sword on a table, its edge gleaming; a pair of axes leaning against a chest; pieces of armor on a stand. scrolls and maps were piled haphazardly.
it was chaotic, masculine, and utterly his.
“it’s very… you,” you said softly, stepping inside after him.
“it’s a fucking room,” he grunted, closing the door behind you. the click of the latch was loud in the silence. “it serves its purpose.”
you turned to face him, now alone in the intimate space. the tension from the corridors condensed here, in the few feet of space between you. he finally looked at you directly, his sharp eyes sweeping over your body in the elaborate dress.
“you wore this shit all day,” he stated, not a question. “must be heavy.”
“they told me it is the traditional gown of the scarlet region for a royal wedding,” you replied, your voice gentle. “they told me it represents power and prosperity.”
“it represents a lot of fucking fabric,” he said, a slight, sharp smirk touching his lips. “you look… good in it. but i’ll prefer you without it.”
your cheeks warmed at his blunt words. you didn’t know how to respond to such directness.
he stepped closer, until you were face to face. his warmth radiated against you. one of his calloused hands came up to gently play with a strand of your hair that had escaped its intricate styling.
the contrast was startling, the brute king touching you with such deliberate softness.
“do you know what’s about to happen now, hm?” he asked, his voice lower, gravelly.
you swallowed, your eyes wide. “i-i know my duty to my husband,” you whispered. “to… consummate the marriage. to bond both our kingdoms.”
his fingers continued their slow movement through your hair. “duty. bond.” he snorted softly. “i may be a brute, princess. i may be have a temper and called a barbarian. but i won’t do anything to you if you’re not ready.” the words were gruff, but the meaning underneath was startlingly clear.
he was giving you a choice, within the cage of this marriage.
your body reacted to his soft touches. a shiver went down your spine that wasn’t entirely fear. your eyes closed for a moment, feeling the rough texture of his fingers against the sensitive skin of your neck, behind your ear.
it was soothing and terrifying all at once.
you opened your eyes to find him watching your face intently, studying every flicker of reaction.
“i… i want to,” you promised him, your voice timid but clear. “i am ready.”
a low sound, like a grumble of satisfaction, emanated from his chest. his eyes darkened, shifting from assessing to predatory. his fingers left your hair and traced down your shoulder to the back of your gown, finding the complex laces of the corset.
“you love learning, right? reading those historical books,” he said, his voice now a seductive murmur as his fingers began to work the first lace. “so learn this. in the scarlet region, we don’t consummate marriages like they do in other kingdoms. it’s not clinical. it’s not prude.”
another lace loosened.
your breath hitched as the structure of the dress began to give way.
“they call us brutes. barbarians.” another lace. “and they’re right.” the final lace came free with a soft pull. “we fuck like animals. and tonight, i will make sure every single morsel and peasant in this kingdom knows what we’re doing. i won’t hold back.”
you shivered as his words washed over you, crude and thrilling.
the last of the fabric, freed from its bindings, pooled around your legs and slid to the floor with a whisper of silk. you stood before him, bare except for the delicate necklaces on your neck.
his eyes raked over your body, no longer obscured. his gaze was hot, possessive, and utterly focused. his warm, calloused hands followed his eyes, roaming everywhere—your shoulders, the curve of your waist, the outside of your thighs. his touch was firm, mapping you.
your breathing became uneven, shallow as you watched him.
“fuck,” he breathed out, the word almost reverent in its roughness. “look at you.”
then he grabbed you, not gently. his hands hauled you into his arms, your bare body pressing against the warm fabric of his attire. you felt the hard planes of his chest, the muscles of his arms. for a second, you were enveloped in his scent and strength before he threw you onto the bed. you landed on the black linens with a soft gasp, the cool fabric against your skin.
he hovered over you, still fully clothed, a giant silhouetted against the torchlight.
his eyes grew darker, hungrier. he didn’t bother with ceremony. his own clothes were removed with swift, efficient movements, the ornate jacket torn off, the shirt pulled over his head and discarded carelessly on the ground, the trousers shoved down and kicked away until he was bare like you.
you shyly eyed his body from where you lay on the bed. he was… gorgeous. carved from muscle, scars mapping old battles across his skin.
“see something you like, huh?” he growled, noticing your wide-eyed look.
“you’re… very b-big,” you whispered, your politeness clinging to you even in this raw moment.
“ha! damn right i am,” he said as he moved onto the bed, kneeling between your legs. his hands pushed your thighs apart, making you shyly whine at the sudden exposure.
your palms came up to push against his chest lightly, a reflexive gesture of modesty. “i… i haven’t done anything like this before,” you confessed softly, your eyes pleading for understanding.
katsuki’s eyes softened for a fleeting moment. he leaned down, not entering you, but lifting himself up to kiss you.
it wasn’t a gentle kiss.
his lips crashed onto yours, hot and demanding. his tongue invaded your mouth, a battle you couldn’t hope to win but were compelled to join. there were bites; sharp nips on your lower lip that made you gasp, and shared spit, and breaths that grew ragged. you whined into his mouth, small sounds of overwhelm that only spurred him on. he groaned, a deep sound from his chest, and the wrestling of tongues was wet, messy, and utterly intoxicating.
“gonna taste every part of you, wife,” he muttered against your lips before breaking away.
he moved down your body, his hands holding your hips firmly. his mouth found your core, and he didn’t hesitate. he ate you out with the same aggressive dedication he did everything else. his tongue was relentless, exploring, licking, pushing inside you while grunted against your skin.
“so fucking sweet… like a prize… all mine…”
“s-shit—oh! katsuki… so g-good…” you moaned, a high, shaky sound.
katsuki groaned in between your thighs, his mouth moving messily on your mound, swishing vibrations through you that amplified the pleasure he was already giving you.
your body writhed on the bed from the shocking, unprecedented sensations crashing through you. your hands gripped the black sheets. you were confused by what you were feeling; this building, tightening coil of pleasure deep inside you, something you had no name for.
“i… f-feel—nghh…” you gasped.
“let go,” katsuki commanded, his voice thick. “just let go for me.”
and you did.
the coil snapped, and a wave of intense pleasure broke over you, making you arch off the bed with a sharp cry. he kept working you through it until you collapsed back onto the linens, trembling.
he moved back up, his body aligning with yours. his cock, heavy and hard, pressed against your slit.
“i can’t fucking wait any longer. i need to be inside you… been wanting you since i laid eyes on you,” he said, his voice dark with promise. “i’m gonna enter you now and you’re gonna take all of me like a good wife, hm?”
you were delirious in pleasure. just from that one orgasm, you felt indescribable pleasure from your husband. slowly but surely, you wanted everything and anything he was willing to give you. “p-please.” you begged.
katsuki glided his cock into you slowly, an inch at a time. you moaned at the intrusion, a mix of pleasure from before and the new, stretching feeling. he grunted, his own control evident in the slow pace.
“so f-fuuucking tight… wrapping around me like a damn vice…” he breathed.
you held onto him, your arms around his shoulders as he slowly inched deeper until he was fully seated inside you. it was a fullness that stole your breath, gasping as you clutched onto him. “ha—”
“painful?” he asked, his eyes searching yours.
“a little… but… it’s fading,” you whined softly. “p-please… move.”
“how can i deny such an honest plea?” katsuki teased, chuckling at your expression before he began to move.
his thrusts started slow but quickly gained speed and force. he fucked you on your back with a driving rhythm that shook the bed frame. each thrust punched a moan or a whine from your lips.
“oh! ah—ngh… s’good.” you threw your head back.
“such a good little wife… taking her king so perfectly…” he growled, his praise landing on you like a brand, making you cling to him tighter.
he paused for a moment, looking down at where your bodies joined. “fuck… you’re so small… made for me…” his thrusts became deeper, more harder. “gonna fill you up… gonna put my heirs right in here.” his desire was raw in his words, each slam of his hips a promise of possession beyond tonight.
“katsuki… please!” you begged, your nails clawing down his back.
“please what? need more, huh? you gonna cum again fro me?” katsuki groaned as he continued to plow into you.
“i… i don’t know—f-fuck!” you bit down on his shoulder as you ground up at him, meeting his thrusts.
“you do know, baby. feel it. come undone for me again.” katsuki nipped at your ear.
and you did, another peak crashing over you as he drove into you relentlessly, his own release following with a roar that echoed in the dark chamber, filling you with his cum as he collapsed atop you, breathing heavily into your neck.
but he didn’t stop.
the moment your second orgasm faded into tremors, katsuki kept driving into you, his hips setting a brutal, possessive rhythm that stole the air from your lungs. each thrust was a deep, claiming slam that made the bedposts creak in protest.
“k-katsuki…” you moaned, the name a broken sound on your lips. your hands scrambled against his sweat-slicked back, fingers digging into the hard muscle.
“that’s it, we’re not done yet. just like that, baby—oh, fuck,” he grunted, his voice rough with strain and pleasure. “moan for me. let the whole fucking castle know who you belong to.” his own moans were guttural that vibrated through his chest into yours. “so fucking good. taking me like you were made for it…”
katsuki’s hands, which had been braced on either side of your head, slid down to grasp your thighs. his calloused palms caressed the soft skin of your legs as he held them open, his grip firm, almost bruising in its intensity. he used that leverage to pound into you harder, deeper.
you arched off the bed, a sharp whine tearing from your throat as he hit a spot inside you that sparked white behind your eyelids. “right there… oh, gods, right there!” you sobbed.
“i know. found your sweet spot, huh? that feel good?” he growled, a smirk in his tone. “i feel you clenching around me, princess. greedy little thing.”
the sound of your bodies meeting was obscenely wet, a rhythmic slap of skin on skin that underscored every groan and whimper.
then, with a sudden, powerful shift, he manhandled you. his hands left your thighs to grip your waist, and in one fluid, dominant motion, he flipped the two of you around. you gasped as the world spun, finding yourself straddling him, his cock still buried impossibly deep inside you. the new position made you feel him even more profoundly, every inch of him stretching you.
“ah! fuck!” you moaned, eyes wide, hands flying to his chest to steady yourself.
“look at you,” he rasped, his vermillion eyes blazing up at you. “riding your king as if you’re riding a dragon yourself. so fucking perfect for me.” his hands settled on your hips, thumbs stroking the bone. “c’mon. show me what my good little wife can do.”
you were obedient, eager to please. tentatively, you lifted yourself up, a slow, trembling movement that made you both moan as he slid partially out. then you lowered yourself back down, sheathing him fully, a grunt punched from his lips.
“fuck yes. that’s it… just like that,” he praised, his eyes watching your face with a dark, satisfied smirk. your expression was one of overwhelmed bliss, mouth slightly open, eyes glazed. he cooed at you, the sound strangely tender coming from him. “such a pretty queen. taking her king so well. now… set the pace f’me.”
your confidence grew with his constant praise. you started to bounce on him, slowly at first, then faster, finding a rhythm. each descent made your breath hitch, each rise brought a needy whine. your arched your back, your hair spilling over your shoulders.
“katsuki… it’s so… i feel so full…” you whimpered.
“you are full,” he agreed, his voice thick. “full of me. and you look so fucking small wrapped around me… perfect fit.” his lust for you bled into the words, the awe in his gaze as he looked at where your bodies joined.
but the heat from the friction on your inner thighs began to burn, making you slow your movements with a pout and a soft whine of discomfort.
katsuki chuckled, a low, rumbling sound. “tired already? my delicate little flower.” he cooed at you, his thumbs still caressing your hips. “it’s okay. let me help, hm?”
instead of bouncing, you began to grind on him out of desperation. circular motion drew a deep groan from him. then you leaned forward, collapsing against his chest, tucking your face into the hot skin of his neck. you were surrounded by his scent, his heat, and it was intoxicating.
“please… please, katsuki,” you begged, your voice muffled against him. “i need—fuck… i don’t know what i need anymore… need more.”
“shhh,” he cooed, one hand cupping the back of your head, his fingers tangling in your hair. the other stayed on your hip, possessive. “i know what you need.”
katsuki planted his feet firmly on the bed, gaining leverage. and then, with a single, powerful beat of his hips, he started ramming up into you. he was fucking up into you from below, each upward thrust spearing you deeply, knocking the air from your lungs.
“ah—ngh… yes! right there!” you shrieked, a sound of pure, unadulterated pleasure. your moans and whines became a continuous stream against his neck.
“just let me do all the work,” he grunted, his own breathing becoming ragged. “a king serves his queen… especially in bed.” his thrusts were relentless, powerful pistons driving you up and down on his cock even as you lay pliant against him. you were putty in his hands, letting him use your body exactly as he wanted, your face hidden in the safety of his neck.
the sounds filled the room; his guttural grunts, your high-pitched whimpers, the wet slap of his hips meeting yours, the creak of the bed, the filth coming out of your husband’s mouth. it was sinful.
“gonna breed you so deep—fuck—fill this perfect cunt with my heirs… mark you inside and out…”
your only replies were broken syllables, your desire for his praise making you sing with every rough compliment.
katsuki’s thrusts started becoming erratic, sloppy, losing their military precision as his own peak approached.
“i’m close… fuck, I’m so close,” you whined, your body tightening around him.
“i am too,” he gasped, his voice strained. he pulled back just enough to look at your face.
your expression was one of utterly ruined bliss. your eyebrows were drawn together, lips swollen and parted, eyes half-lidded and hazy. you looked so pretty to him, so perfectly claimed.
katsuki leaned up and placed a sudden, soft kiss on your forehead, a shocking gesture of tenderness amidst the carnal frenzy.
you clutched at his biceps, your nails biting into his skin. “k-katsuki… i’m gonna…”
he grunted, and with effort, he stopped thrusting.
before you could even whine in complaint at the denied release, his arms were scooping you up. katsuki stood from the bed in one powerful motion, your legs instinctively wrapping around his waist as you clung to him, his cock still buried to the hilt inside you.
“wh-what…?” you gasped, startled.
“tch. patience,” he growled, his own need evident in the tension of his body.
he gripped your thighs firmly, his hands huge and warm. and then he began to move you himself, bouncing you on his cock as he stood there, using the strength of his arms and the leverage of his stance to fuck you onto him.
the thought of it… of him manhandling you so easily, picking you up and using your body like this, made you physically shiver. that shiver traveled inward, making your inner walls clench tightly around him, which drew a ragged groan from his throat.
“fuck… you just got tighter,” he breathed, his pace increasing. “you like that? like when i just take what’s mine and use you?”
“yes… yes, i do like it. please… i’m close again, katsuki, please—ha…” you begged, your head falling back.
katsuki hummed, coaxing you over the edge. “give me another one, my good girl. cum again for your king and i’ll give you a reward.”
that promise, coupled with the overwhelming sensation of being fucked in mid-air by your powerful husband, was too much. a coil tightened deep in your belly, winding to its breaking point.
“shit! i’m—fuck, i’m…!”
“that’s it. let go,” he commanded.
“k-katsuki…” you whine, the sound muffled, as another wave of sensitivity makes you clench around him, where he’s still buried deep inside you.
a low, guttural groan vibrates through his chest and into yours. “fuck,” he rasps, his voice wrecked. one large, calloused hand comes up to cup the back of your head, his fingers tangling in your disheveled hair.
“gonna make you cum again. come on, baby. come undone for me again. you want to, don’t you?”
you nod frantically, a desperate little mewl escaping you as you moved desperately up and down on him.
“say it.”
“yes—cum… gonna cum f’you. only you.”
he smirks, that feral, triumphant curl of his lips while his free hand grips your hip, fingers digging in, helping you find a rolling rhythm even as he holds you locked to him. the sound of your slick skin meeting his, the wet slap of each movement, fills the heavy air of the chamber, mingling with his grunts and your broken cries.
“so good for me.” thrust. “so fuckin’ tight.” thrust. “all mine.” thrust. “gonna keep you full of me.” thrust. “always.” thrust. “breed you so deep you’ll feel it for days.” thrust.
when the next orgasm rips through you, it’s slower, deeper, a molten unspooling that has you sobbing into his mouth, your body seizing around him in rhythmic pulses. he follows you over with a sharp, choked-off roar, his hips jerking up to bury himself to the hilt as he spills hot inside you, his grip on your hair tightening almost painfully.
before you can even form a coherent thought, he’s capturing your mouth again. this kiss is messy, sloppy, all hungry tongue and possessive pressure. it’s wet and it steals the air from your lungs. you can taste yourself on him, salty and sweet.
he pulls his head back just a few inches, his eyes blazing down at you, pupils blown wide with lust. his lips are swollen, his breathing harsh. “look at you,” he growls, the words rough with awe. “my perfect little wife. took me so damn well. fuckin’ gorgeous f’me.”
katsuki nuzzles into your hair, his lips brushing your temple. his voice is a low, satiated rumble. “since you’ve been so good… so obedient… you get your prize.”
prize? oh yeah, he said something about a prize. your hazy mind struggles to comprehend.
you feel him shift beneath you, still intimately connected, as he lifts his gaze from the top of your head to the chamber door.
“ei. get in here.”
your entire body goes rigid. confusion floods you, cutting through the blissful fog. your eyes fly open, wide and bewildered, staring at the carved wood of the door.
eijiro? as in kirishima? now? why? while we’re… we’re like this…!
“katsuki?” your voice is small, trembling. “what are you talking about?”
the door swings open silently. and there he is.
eijiro kirishima fills the doorway, his broad shoulders nearly touching the frame, his chest bare, the hard planes of his abdomen and the dark trail of hair leading downward on full display. his crimson eyes, usually so warm and friendly, are dark, intense, and they lock onto the two of you immediately… onto you, specifically.
was he outside this entire time?
you feel the burn of his gaze like a physical touch, sweeping over katsuki’s hands on your bare skin, over the curve of your spine, over the intimate join of your bodies.
a hot, shameful flush explodes across your face and chest. you try to shrink further into katsuki, but he’s already moving, walking with you still impaled on him, one arm hooked under your thighs. he walks you both towards eijiro, and the casual display of his strength makes your head spin.
“i’m not stupid,” katsuki says, nonchalant as if he wasn’t still buried inside you. he stops a few feet from eijiro. “saw the way he looked at you for weeks. like you were water in a desert. and you…” he glances down at you, his smirk deepening. “you greedy little thing got attached to your friendly dragon babysitter, didn’t you? spoiled princess.”
your heart hammers against your ribs. “i didn’t—i didn’t mean to make you feel—”
katsuki cuts you off with a low chuckle, his free hand stroking a soothing line down your sweat-damp back. “shh-shh. you didn’t do a damn thing wrong, princess. you just… showed me something.” his eyes slide back to eijiro, hungry and possessive. “showed me what turns my blood to fuckin’ fire. the depravity of it. the idea of him,” he thrusts up shallowly, making you gasp, “wanting what’s mine. touching what’s mine.”
he shifts his gaze fully to eijiro. “i’m right, aren’t i?”
eijiro’s eyes haven’t left you. a slow, deep hum resonates in his chest, a sound more beast than man. “i am bound to you, my king,” he says, his voice thicker, rougher than you’ve ever heard it. “my life is yours. my loyalty.” his tongue darts out to wet his lips. “and what is yours… is yours to command.”
katsuki’s grin is all sharp edges and dark promise. he looks down at you again, his expression turning curious. “so? is it okay with you, my greedy baby? if i share you? if he gets to have a taste of what belongs to me?”
the question is so blunt, so shockingly crude, that your mind blanks. but your body betrays you instantly. a violent, involuntary clench around katsuki’s still hard length, a fresh trickle of wetness that has nothing to do with fear.
katsuki grunts, his head throwing back with a sharp hiss. “fuck! see that, shitty hair?” he says, talking about you as if you weren’t clinging to him. “got even tighter just hearing it. her pretty little cunt’s begging for it.”
“seems eager to please,” eijiro murmurs, taking a step closer. the heat radiating from his body rivals katsuki’s.
“she’s a good girl,” katsuki agrees, his voice dropping to a coaxing rumble directly in your ear. “aren’t you? can you be good for me, hm? for us?”
the choice is no choice at all. not with katsuki’s seed still leaking from you, not with eijiro’s hungry eyes devouring you.
“yes, please. i’ll do anything for you.” you nod, eagerly, desperately, a whine caught in your throat.
“good,” katsuki purrs. he gives a single nod to eijiro.
in one smooth motion, katsuki pulls himself from your sensitive flesh, a gasp ripped from your lips at the sudden emptiness and the cool air on your wet skin. then his hands are on your waist, and he’s transferring your weight.
eijiro’s arms come up to catch you, and he is just as hot, just as solid as katsuki. you’re cradled against a chest that feels like carved stone, your bare skin flush against his, and you bury your flaming face in his neck, breathing in his scent of smoke, spice, and something wild.
katsuki strides over to a large ornate chair near the bed and sinks into it, sprawling with kingly indolence. he’s still gloriously naked, his cock hard on his belly. “alright,” he says, his voice a command. “i wanna watch. kirishima… eat her out. clean up my mess. then get her ready for you.”
eijiro lets out another one of those low, rumbling hums. “as my king commands.” he carries you to the bed as if you weigh nothing and lays you down gently on the rumpled silk. your eyes are glued to him as he hooks his thumbs in the waistband of his pants and pushes them down.
your breath hitches at the sight.
he’s… huge. thick and long, already fully erect, the tip flushed and leaking. the sight sends a jolt of pure, dizzying arousal straight to your already throbbing core.
“like what you see, princess?” katsuki asks from his chair, a dark amusement in his tone. he’s lazily stroking himself, his eyes glued to the scene.
“she’s blushing all over,” eijiro notes, his voice softening as he kneels on the bed between your spread legs. his gaze is a physical weight, traveling over every inch of your exposed body; your peaked nipples, the flutter of your stomach, the glistening, well-used flesh between your thighs, dripping with katsuki’s release. he leans over you, caging you with his arms, his face inches from yours. his eyes search yours. “can i kiss you, sweetheart?”
you nod, wordless.
eijiro no longer waits. his mouth immediately captures yours.
it’s nothing like katsuki’s kiss. where katsuki is fire and possessive, eijiro is deep, lingering warmth. it’s sweet, almost reverent at first. a soft press of lips that quickly deepens into something more devouring. his tongue sweeps into your mouth, tasting you slowly, thoroughly. it’s no less possessive, but it’s a different kind of claim.
“good girl,” katsuki grunts from the side. “let him taste you.”
eijiro breaks the kiss with a soft sound, trailing his lips along your jaw, down the column of your neck. “so sweet,” he murmurs against your skin, his hot breath making you shiver. “so perfect.” he moves lower, taking a nipple into his mouth, suckling gently before swirling it with his tongue. he pays equal attention to the other, his hands skimming down your sides as he kisses a path over your trembling stomach.
he doesn’t stop until his face is level with your aching core. the scent of sex and katsuki is thick in the air. eijiro’s eyes lock with yours, holding your gaze with an intensity that pins you to the bed.
“lick her clean, ei,” katsuki orders, his hand moving faster on his own length.
eijiro doesn’t look away from you. “with pleasure,” he rumbles.
his tongue was broad, hot, and surprisingly soft. it drags through your soaked folds in one long, deliberate stripe. he gathers katsuki’s cum and your own on his tongue, his eyes fluttering closed for a second as he savors it. a low groan vibrates from his throat into your flesh.
“fuck yes,” katsuki breathes. “doesn’t she taste so good?”
eijiro opens his eyes again as he hummed in agreement, watching your face as he does it again. and again. each slow, languid lap makes your back arch off the bed, a broken moan tumbling from your lips.
he’s cleaning you with a thoroughness that is obscene, worshipful, and unbearably erotic.
then he zeroes in on your clit.
his mouth closes over the swollen bud and he eats you like a man starved. his tongue flicks and circles, then presses hard and flat against you before spearing deep inside your entrance, fucking you with it, tasting both of you mixed together.
“oh gods—eijiro!” you cry out, one hand fisting in the sheets above your head, the other tangling in his red hair.
the sounds he was making were filthy. wet, sucking noises, his low growls of appreciation, your escalating whines and sobs.
“so good,” eijiro mumbles against your flesh, his words muffled. “taste like heaven. so fucking perfect.” he shifts, his hands sliding under your thighs to hike them over his shoulders, spreading you wider, opening you up for his devouring mouth.
“that’s it,” katsuki praises from his throne, his grunts joining the symphony. “make her cum on your tongue. show me how good my wife tastes.”
you tear your eyes from the ecstasy on eijiro’s face to look at your husband. katsuki is stroking himself in earnest now, his gaze locked on where eijiro’s head is buried between your legs. he looks utterly captivated, a smirk of pure male satisfaction on his lips.
“k-katsuki! eiji—ugh’ngh,” you wail, feeling the coil within you wind impossibly tight.
“cum for him,” katsuki commands, his voice rough. “give him your reward for being so patient.”
eijiro redoubles his efforts, sucking your clit into his mouth while thrusting two thick fingers inside you, curling them to stroke that perfect spot.
the dual assault shatters you. you scream, your body bowing off the bed as a brutal orgasm tears through you, your vision whiting out at the edges as you clamp down around his fingers.
eijiro rides it out with you, drinking every drop, until you collapse back onto the sheets, boneless and trembling. and when he finally lifts his head, his chin glistening.
“that’s it, baby,” katsuki’s voice is a low, approving rumble as you tremble through the last waves of your climax under eijiro’s mouth. “so good for us. but we’re not done.” he stood up from his seat before standing in front of you, his fingers, still tangled in your hair, give a gentle but firm tug, guiding your face up to look at him. his eyes are molten, dark with a possessive heat that makes your insides flutter anew. “up. on your hands and knees for me. show me how well my queen can listen.”
your body, still humming with pleasure, obeys before your mind fully catches up.
you push yourself up, limbs shaky, and maneuver onto your hands and knees in the center of the massive bed. the silk is cool against your flushed skin. you feel exposed, vulnerable, and utterly wanton.
katsuki moves with a predator’s grace. he moved to sit on the bed, positioning himself right in front of you. he shifts to sit up against the carved headboard, his back supported, his legs spread.
he’s the picture of royalty, a king surveying his spoils. and you are on display before him.
a moment later, the bed dips behind you. eijiro’s large, warm hands settle on your waist, his thumbs stroking the dip of your spine. he leans in, pressing a hot, open-mouthed kiss to the small of your back, then another higher up, his breath fanning over your sensitive skin.
a desperate, hungry sound escapes you, a whine that’s almost a sob. you push your hips back instinctively, seeking more of his touch, more of anything.
the refined manners of the emerald kingdom, the years of etiquette lessons, the poised grace of a princess—it’s all gone, incinerated in the scarlet heat of this room, of these men.
you are need and hunger given form.
katsuki watches you, a low chuckle vibrating in his chest as he thought of the same thing. “look at you,” he muses, his voice thick with dark amusement. “where’s my polite little princess now? huh? all those pretty curtsies and soft-spoken words… fucked right out of you.” he leans forward slightly, his gaze searing into you. “good. that girl belonged to them. this?” he gestures at you, trembling and eager on your knees. “this is mine. you’re my wife. my queen. and you’re in the scarlet region now. i could fuck you raw in front of my entire war council and not a single bastard would bat a fucking eye.” the sheer, brutal ownership in his words makes you clench around nothing, a fresh trickle of wetness slicking your inner thighs.
katsuki sees it, his smirk widening. “but i won’t do that. ‘cause this… this filthy, desperate, perfect look on your face… that’s for me. and for him.” he nods toward eijiro behind you. “no one else.”
his attention sharpens, focusing solely on you. his voice drops, softening into a coaxing, dominant croon that’s somehow more overwhelming than his shouts. “c’mere, pretty. closer to me.” you shuffle forward on your knees until you’re between his spread legs, his hard, thick cock standing proudly just inches from your face. the musky, masculine scent of him is overwhelming.
“i know you haven’t done this before,” he says, his tone surprisingly gentle, like he’s instructing you in a sacred rite. “that’s okay. i’m gonna tell you exactly what to do. just be my good girl and follow my words, yeah?”
“i will. m’good girl,” you nod, your eyes wide and fixed on him, on the ruddy tip already beading with pre-cum.
“yes you are,” he praises you. “first… just taste me. use that pretty little tongue.”
leaning forward, you tentatively extend your tongue and lick a slow, careful stripe over the broad head. the taste is salty, uniquely him, and it sends a jolt of pure lust straight to your core.
“fuck,” katsuki hisses, his hips giving a tiny jerk. “just like that. perfect. so fuckin’ obedient for me.” his hand comes to rest on the top of your head, not pushing, just holding. “now… wrap your hand around me. show me how big i am for my queen.”
you reach out, your fingers seeming so small as you wrap them around his girth. you can’t quite close your thumb and forefinger. a soft, awed sound leaves your lips. “… so big.”
katsuki’s chuckle is ragged. “see? you need both hands. go on.”
you bring your other hand up, stacking it over the first, and finally manage to form a loose ring around him. the heat of him is incredible, the skin like velvet over steel. you begin to stroke, up and down, watching in fascination as his expression tightens with pleasure.
“yes… just like that… f-fuck, your hands are so soft,” he groans, his head falling back against the headboard for a moment before he forces it up to watch you. “doing so good. such a fast learner for me.”
meanwhile, eijiro is worshiping your back. his mouth is everywhere, sucking dark marks onto your shoulders, licking a hot path down your spine, biting gently at the swell of your ass. each touch, each possessive mark, makes you whimper and push back into him, your strokes on katsuki becoming less coordinated.
“so eager,” eijiro murmurs against your skin, his voice a gravelly vibration. “so perfect for him. for us.”
emboldened by their praise, by the fire coursing through your veins, you lean in again. this time, you drag your tongue from the very base of katsuki’s shaft all the way to the tip in one long, slow, wet lick.
katsuki’s reaction is instantaneous. a sharp, guttural “hnng!” rips from his throat, and his hand fists in your hair. “shit! where’d that come from, you greedy little thing?” but he’s grinning, all fierce pride.
you don’t answer with words, instead you open your mouth and take the head of his cock inside, sucking gently as you had seen done in erotic book and illustrations.
“oh, fuck yes,” he moans, his fingers tightening on your hair. “just like that… take me deeper now. slow—just like that. good girl…”
you obey, sinking down inch by agonizing inch. he’s so big, stretching your lips wide, filling your mouth until you feel him nudge the back of your throat. your eyes water, but you hold there, breathing harshly through your nose.
“look at that,” katsuki breathes, awe in his tone. he glances over your head, his eyes meeting eijiro’s. “she’s taking me so well… now it’s your turn, ei. fuck her. fill her up while she sucks me off.”
eijiro’s answering growl is pure hunger. you feel the blunt, hot head of his cock nudge against your dripping entrance, still stretched and sensitive from before. “gonna put it in now, sweetheart,” he coos, his voice a rough contrast to his gentle warning. “gonna fill you up just like your husband wants.”
you moan around katsuki’s length, the vibration making him curse and thrust his hips up minutely.
the sensation is overwhelming. the stretch and burn as eijiro slowly pushes inside you from behind, and the heavy fullness in your mouth.
“that’s it… take him,” katsuki groans, his hand guiding your head down a little further, helping you take more of him. “ffuuuck, your mouth… so hot and tight.”
eijiro bottoms out with a deep, satisfied sigh, his hips flush against your ass. “gods… she’s s-so tight,” he rasps.
then he begins to move. slow and deep thrusts that have you seeing stars. each forward drive pushes you further onto katsuki’s cock, making you gag softly. each withdrawal pulls a desperate whine from your throat.
“listen to her,” katsuki pants, his own hips beginning to move in tiny counter-thrusts to eijiro’s rhythm. “listen to those pretty little sounds she makes for us. fuck her harder, shitty hair. make her fucking feel good.”
eijiro obeys, his grip on your hips turning vice-like. his thrusts become harder, faster, the sound of skin slapping against skin filling the room accompanied by his guttural grunts and your muffled cries. “so good… taking us both… our perfect queen.”
katsuki’s control is fraying. his thrusts into your mouth become less measured, more urgent. “gonna cum… fuck, you’re gonna make me cum down your pretty little throat,” he snarls, his voice strained. he fists your hair tightly, holding you in place as his pace turns erratic. “you want that? want me to cum in your mouth?”
you’re eyes stayed on his as you hummed in agreement.
“then earn it, baby. cum for eijiro while you suck me like the good girl you are.” katsuki says.
the challenge, the sheer depravity of it, ignites something frantic in you.
determined to feel that shattering pleasure again, to please him, you bob your head faster, taking him as deep as you can manage, hollowing your cheeks and swirling your tongue around the sensitive head on each upstroke.
katsuki throws his head back with a ragged roar, his entire body tensing. “yes! just like that! fuck, baby! i’m gonna—!”
the first hot, salty pulse hits the back of your throat. he holds you there firmly as he empties himself with sharp, jerking thrusts, groaning your name mixed with filth and praise. “take it all. swallow it… be a good girl for your husband…”
as you struggle to swallow, tears streaming down your cheeks, katsuki cups your jaw with his other hand, his thumb stroking your cheek. his eyes are blazing, demanding. “look at me,” he commands, his voice raw. “give me your eyes while you swallow my cum.”
you force your watery gaze up to meet his. the connection is electric, intimate and degrading all at once. you see the raw possession, the awe, the unadulterated lust as you gulp him down.
“so fucking good… perfect girl,” he whispers, his thumb wiping a stray tear. he glances at eijiro over your shoulder. “now make my wife cum.”
with a look from katsuki, eijiro changes his angle, driving into you with deep, punishing strokes aimed directly at that spot inside you that makes you see white.
you fall forward, your arms giving out, but katsuki is there. you collapse against his chest, your face buried in his neck as eijiro pounds into you from behind. “ah! hngh—f-fuuuck. m’close. so close.”
“that’s it… let go… cum on my cock,” eijiro grunts, his rhythm becoming brutal, relentless. “gonna fill you up… breed you…”
katsuki holds you to him, one arm wrapped around your back, his other hand stroking your hair. his mouth is at your ear, a constant stream of filth and praise. “feel him? feel how deep he’s fucking my cum deeper into you? you’re gonna be dripping with us for days… our perfect, shared little wife… come on… let me see you fall apart.”
“katsuki, eiji!” you scream into katsuki’s skin as an orgasm more intense than any before tears through you, a convulsing, mind-breaking wave that has you clamping down on eijiro so hard he shouts.
“fuck! she’s—!” eijiro’s thrusts become erratic, then he slams home one final time, burying himself to the hilt as he roars his release.
you feel the hot rush of his seed joining katsuki’s inside you, the overwhelming fullness making you sob through the last tremors of your own climax. “ngh… fu—no more. ah…”
katsuki holds you through all of it, whispering praises into your hair. “i got you. just ride it out… that’s my girl, took us both so well…”
slowly, gently, eijiro slips out of you, leaning forward to press a tender kiss between your shoulder blades. “you’re incredible,” he murmurs, his voice reverent.
you are utterly spent, a boneless, trembling mess between them.
katsuki shifts, lying back and pulling you with him so you’re sprawled half on his chest. eijiro settles behind you, his big body curling around yours, one heavy arm draping over your waist to splay possessively on katsuki’s stomach. you are sandwiched in their heat, in their scent, filled with their essence.
the last thing you feel is katsuki’s lips brushing your forehead and his final, drowsy murmur. “ours.” the last thing you hear is eijiro’s low, content hum of agreement against the back of your neck.
then the world dissolves into warm, dark, satiated nothing.
i want yandere bully bakugou but like redemption kinda? like, after becoming a pro hero he tries asking darling out and treats her nicely and stuff, trying to make up for being a bully, but still yandere and kinda toxic???
Normally, it would be strange to ask yourself why you’re someone’s girlfriend. But in your case, given who your boyfriend is, it would be weird not to doubt why.
Part of the answer is that you wouldn’t know how to tell him no.
But… more the question is,
why would he even ask you in the first place?
Try as you might, you couldn’t remember Kachan ever being interested in you in that way. Between calling you a quirkless flat-chested snot-nosed loser extra and telling you how your freckles made you look like you’d been rolling around in shit, he’d not once made you feel as though he was attracted to you in any way.
It had been nearly five years since your high school graduation. The last time you’d seen him. Other than on the news or posters on every corner of the city. Where in that time, he’d gone and made himself a renowned pro-hero. While you…
Well… you’d made your own valid achievements. Though… not nearly amounting to anything as impressive as him.
Which was one of the big reasons why you felt so out of your depth. But not the only reason. And certainly not the main one.
You weren’t convinced it was Kachan when he’d first approached you. Something between meeting a celebrity and a ghost and some other thing you couldn’t quite put your finger on. Something that somewhat reminded you of the feeling of visiting someone in prison, you bet.
Granted, he, no doubt, still looked like Kachan. Though older, stronger, and taller now, he was still that ash-blonde red-eyed boy you used to know.
It was still Kachan. With his signature straightforward thoroughness and, though more refined and with some resemblance of calm now, that same old brashness of his lurking beneath the trained attitude. It didn’t go unnoticed by you, nor did how his eyes demanded your attention, despite your wish to act like you didn’t recognize him.
You had expected him to growl at you, to laugh and mock you for working at a café, no mind to you being the assistant manager, as you were sure such a feat had no sway with someone as important as him. You’d in the least, if not the former, believed him to ignore you with a sneer. But, though he smirked, it wasn’t a smirk you were any used to. In fact, you’d actually go so far as to call it a smile.
He was still Kachan, but he'd become strange. A stranger, actually. A strange stranger who asked you out. Which is what made him so very strange a stranger to begin with.
But not entirely a stranger as you were still, despite having grown up, a little afraid of what he’d do if you turned him down.
You thought he was joking at first. Playing his same old cruel schoolyard pranks despite being a full-grown man, not to mention one of the highest-ranking pro heroes in japan. But, for a mere joke, he sure seemed serious. Holding up the coffee line in wait for your answer, with fans recognizing him and looking at you as though you were insane for not answering and even more hardcore fans looking at him as though he was insane for asking you.
At least a dozen were filming. And the cardboard coffee cup ached more and more in your palm the longer you waited.
You didn’t really have a choice.
Did you?
Your first date was a lot more expensive a taste than what you were used to. In fact, you realized you weren’t really used to being pampered at all.
You felt underdressed even in the leather seats of his car and even more when the gold lighting of the restaurant dawned on you.
Your breath thinned as you found yourself stared at by what felt like absolutely everyone as the two of you were led to your table overlooking the city.
Kachan noticed your flighty gaze and how you shared fluttering looks with the other people surrounding you and the marble floor, though never with him.
“You can’t blame them.” He said. And your doe-eyes finally returned his stare with an adorably puzzled look of your own. “Your own fault for looking like that.”
You paused, first instincts telling you how it in no way was a compliment, before realizing you were being silly before further deciding how it didn’t really matter. “It’s you they’re staring at. They’re just wondering who I am to be here with you.” You dismissed shyly, chewing the inside of your cheek. “And frankly, Kachan… so am I.”
He smiled, and you, without knowing how else you should respond, stilled in suspense until potentially prompted to move.
You were nervous enough around him from before without him acting so strangely, without him giving you those unfamiliar yet somewhat pleasant smiles you hadn’t even seen him use when addressing his fans on TV.
You would even go so far as to say he seemed to be admiring you. Or… you wouldn’t really know what to call it.
A blush of drunkenness rouged his cheeks and sugared his eyes after the third glass of wine, and you wouldn’t be surprised if he’d noticed the same had happened to you.
You were a cute drunk, he thought. While a small quirk played in the corner of his lips on account of the heavy hoods pulled on over your eyes, and how your lips struggled to keep close and instead formed a pout so kissable, he was struggling not to reach over and take the offer.
But, not wanting to scare you away, he exercised restraint. On your behalf, because fuck knows you wouldn’t have done or said anything to stop him. He can see it on you even now. You haven’t got it in you. You never have. And you probably never will.
He asked you about your things. Knowing how you’ve heard about him from the news and every other channel and platform. Acting like your answers somewhat surprised him even though he’s been keeping close tabs on you as the media has on him. Probably even more so.
You’d put on a dress for him. It was nothing special compared to what he’d seen others wear at hero galas, but the thought alone was sweeter and more intoxicating than the wine in his glass.
To think, he could just lift the frill and see you. Touch you. Feel you. He probably would have if he were still your bully, but over the expanse of his hero training, he’d realized he wasn’t any such silly thing as your enemy.
No… Pro-Hero Dynamight may have his admirers and his foes, but as for the man behind the mask.
Bakugou Katsuki,
is your number-one fan.
And he wasn’t embarrassed by it anymore. He wanted you to know it, wanted to smother you with it. He loved you. He wanted you. He needed you.
And he’d make sure no one else would dare even think about taking you from him.
And he’d make sure the thought wouldn’t dare cross your mind either.
He announced your relationship in interviews, had it written on all his platforms, and told every single one of his pining fans. It hadn’t even been a week since you met, and he’d already claimed you before the world, and you…
Well, you didn’t really know what the fuck you were doing.
You’d been ambushed and stormed into surrender before you even knew what was happening. All that was left now was to try and… well… make peace with it.
Kachan was like a new person. You were unsure whether that was a fact or just you trying to convince yourself you don’t feel his old self in how he brazenly puts his hands on you. Having you swallow your own shaky breaths as he wraps his heavy, hefty, muscled arms around your much smaller body.
Or how you fear being bitten, swallowing your heart, when he leans down to kiss you.
Even now, a week into your relationship, you’re still on edge. Awkwardly regarding yourself in his bathroom mirror. The one-week anniversary present he’d gotten for you lying open on the glass counter.
Pretty shades of chiffon were still left inside the expensive box as you’d taken its primary contents and layered your naked self with them.
Dewdrops from your shower disturbed your reflection. Though within the streaks you’d made with your hand, anyone could see how clearly uncomfortable you were. Dressed in the new set of clothes he’d gotten you.
Or…
Clothes was a generous term for it as it was nothing more than silky lingerie.
Rich red lined your skin in sexy floral patterns as the sheer lace perfectly caressed your curves in expensive designer you could never afford and transparent in a way you would never dare buy for yourself even if you could.
And along with the looming disorienting surreal understanding that your childhood bully was no doubt expecting to fuck you tonight, your chest felt tight, and your head was so horridly hot, reeling with memories, flashes in the reflection of the mirror staring back at you. Times you’d cry your eyes out for hours looking at yourself because the boy on the opposite side of the door had you convinced you were the ugliest thing in the entire world.
The dinner you’d shared together earlier must have made you sick since you could taste blood on your tongue, or perhaps it was just the hopeless situation. Nevertheless, you feared that if you left the safety of the bathroom now, you might just vomit from the fever. Or faint-
“You pass out in there?” Came a loud knock on the door, shaking you from your thoughts and reminding you to breathe again. “Come on out, I wanna see you. I don’t care if it’s a little tight.” He ordered, in a voice similar to the schoolyard punk that sometimes still haunts your dreams. Though now belonged to the man he’d grown into, the one waiting for you on his bed just behind the door.
You bit your lip, brows crinkling, a small sigh leaving you in the pitiful form of a whimper before you swallowed a mixture of pride and anxiety. Ripping your gaze from yourself, you made to unlock the door and reveal yourself.
You couldn’t look at him, but looking down at yourself was equally embarrassing, where you stood nearly naked in the nippy air of his bedroom while he, still fully dressed with suit and tie, sat patiently or impatiently waiting for you to come closer.
“Fuck-” He groaned, his tongue gracing the top row of his teeth as his eyes drank in the pretty sight of your perfect body all dressed up for him.
You were too pretty to be this shy. But then again, that was probably his fault.
“Come ‘ere.” He urged, wringing his blazer off and loosening his tie before throwing it to the single chair placed in the corner of the room, keenly watching as you took your small cautious steps until you were just within reach, where his hands hungrily pounced for you.
His hot course fingers touched your skin with greed. Grabbing into your soft flesh, he pulled you to him. Having no reservations about what and how he touched, as his entire hand squeezed your ass like you were playdough.
“Sit.” He ordered while tugging you down on his lap. His thick arm wrapped around your waist as you sat on him like Santa. Fingering the straps of lace at your hip, he stared at your cute nipples through the see-through lace of your bra.
He popped open the first few buttons to his dark burgundy shirt, finding himself getting hotter, and you had to bite your lip at how tight the smooth silk of it was around his muscles and how warm he was against your naked skin.
He hugged you closer against his chest, and your breathing thinned again into a tiny gasp, making him show teeth. “So skittish-” He chuckled, his voice softly amused while kneading your thigh in his toasty and textured palm. “You still afraid I'm gonna push you around like back in middle school?” He asked with a grin, his hot breath fanning against your neck while his lips ghosted the peachfuzz of your cheek.
You fidgeted with your hands on your lap, squeezing your thighs tighter together. Eyes bashfully staring down at the large bruise-knuckled paw petting your knee. Scars littered it like a cutting board.
“Come on…” He drawled as his hand lifted, leaving your thigh cold in its absence, where he made to handle your chin and cheek for you to look at him. “I ain't that shitty anymore, am I?”
You wiggled a bit on account of his raw ruby-red eyes connecting with your shy gaze. Ears on fire since teased by the smooth tone his voice had slipped into, surprised by how it slithered around your pounding heart and pooled in your gut and tickled your cunt where you sat on the bump on his slacks that only hardened the more you squirmed.
“No need to be scared, princess. I don’t bite like I used to. I promise~” He blew against your lips. “I've matured.”
The nickname princess sounded so similar to something else he used to call you. The memory of it taking an equal toll on your body as his touches, further making you shiver on goosebumps while his hand dipped from caressing your face to stroking the soft skin of your neck. Slipping between the valley of your breasts until he settled for cupping one of the two in his hand. Playing with the lace while teasing the visible nipple beneath, smiling once it perked beneath his fingertips.
“You've matured too, huh?” He added, his lips at your ear, ticklish and warm, making your head drum, a tiny squeak leaving you once he flicked your earlobe with his tongue. “You used to look like a little boy before.” He laughed, and you bounced and swallowed thickly as his hand dropped down to your lap again. This time close to your panty, where your thigh was fattest and most sensitive.
The other hand remained at your hip and pulled you even tighter against him while the former stroked the plush chunk of flesh, visibly getting drunk on your softness where his breath had become rugged with restraint.
“I mean, I didn't even think of you as a girl before you started wearing those cute little school skirts.” He reminisced.
Elementary school…
When new uniforms separated boys from girls and you from him.
“You fucked us up with that, y'know?” He scolded, giving you a harder squeeze. “You were one of the guys, and then, boom-” He tsked. “Suddenly, such a tease.”
Your brows furled as your lips pursed into a pout, while your stomach started to fold in all types of uneasy ways by the even darker shift in his tone.
“Too pretty to play in the mud.” He scoffed in a whisper, his nose bumping your temple as you bowed your head even lower, swallowing thickly while suppressing the familiar urge to cry and beg him to stop. Almost expecting him to bite you. “Too pretty for me.”
“Ow-” His hands pinched you just a bit too recklessly, and you popped up from your seat on his lap with a jolt and a wince.
“Sorry.” He offered lazily, keeping his hold on you.
Spreading his thighs, he pulled you between them.
“It’s hard to control myself.” He excused, his hands lowering on your waist as he leveled his head with your belly before crouching forward to cuddle you with his cheek. “You're just so fucking perfect.” He mumbled while giving the pinch mark on your thigh a kiss, his stubble scratching the delicate skin found there.
His words made your head ache, splitting you between contradicting emotions for him, tormenting you to the point that tears pooled in your eyes and slipped down your cheeks, dripping onto his shirt.
“Don’t cry.” He murmured while his warm worn thick fingers snaked about in between your spread legs and dragged heavily up the thin fabric protecting your cunt.
And despite everything, you still moaned out, though a somewhat feeble whine. And he voiced in another rumbling tone soaked with lust he no longer could contain.
“Let me make it up to you.”
You were a second later thrown down on your back with a bounce on the bed, where he undid the intricacies of your lace-up in a matter of split-felt moments like the single beat of your galloping heart.
“I know you don’t trust me.” He added amidst the heat of his actions. “But I love you, princess-” He urged while kneeling near the bed-end, throwing your thighs over his shoulders. “And I’m gonna prove it to you.”
No part of you was ready for him, but at the same time, all of you were too accepting. With the moan that spilled from your chest like overfilled honeycomb and how your hands stilled in surrender at the feel of his hot eager tongue meeting your cunt.
His spikey ashen hair tickled your thighs as the stubble on his chin and cheeks lightly scratched you with every word of worship his lips mouthed into your core. And your chest arched off the bed as you lost your mind to what you’d gotten yourself into.
Torn between fear of him and lust for him, wondering if you had any pride left in you whatsoever or if he’d finally tightened the chokehold and squeezed it free of any life.
His tongue focused on your clit as he raised a hand between you, filling you with one of his thick fingers. Smirking against your heat at the feel of you clenching on him.
He saw you grip the sheets in tiny fists and looked up to see you trying to hide your embarrassment in his pillows. Chuckling, he added another finger and listened to you whimper out a moan with an involuntary buck of your hips.
He began unbuttoning the rest of his shirt with his free hand, bottom to the top, wrestling it off with somewhat of a handicapped struggle. Growing impatient as he moved down to unzip himself, pulling down the restraints before tugging on his own needy arousal. With precum spilling in pearls from his head, the pent-up beast sprung with a surge against his abs as he jerked himself and continuously gorged on you.
He dropped his pants and boxers entirely as he made to crawl on top of you, sloppy kisses laid in wet trails up your body while his fingers slipped from your cunt so both hands could grab into your soft thighs and spread them to each side of his torso until you felt the weight of his throbbing cock bob against your belly.
You looked down to see it blushed red and wet with arousal, swollen into a threat and pumped to attack you. He noticed your stare and how he made you squirm, prompting him to grab your chin and have you look up at him instead.
You were the tiniest thing beneath him. And under the shade of his dark red eyes, you had your heart in your throat as well as a never-ending thrum of whimpers.
“You ready for me, princess?” He asked with a kiss to your lips, smeared wet across your cheek to nip at your neck.
And though you were anything but certain, you still made to tell him what he wanted to hear. But, with his hot mouth softly biting all the weak spots on your throat, you could only hum in return. However, managing to give a slight nod while your hands lifted from the sheets. Caressing the warm toughness topping you, your gentle fingers slid over the toned muscles of his back, tangling themselves into the short ashen locks at his neck while your legs wrapped around his torso.
All in an effort to tell him yes, as you were all but rendered speechless by the delicate way he handled you.
You were as cute and timid with humility as always, he thought, like a breath of fresh air and clear blue skies after breaching the rubble and smoke of battle.
He cupped your breast in one hand, teasing your nipple between his thumb and index, and grabbed himself with the other. Rubbing his cockhead over your pearl and dipping in between your folds.
He pushed inside, and you whined, tensing at the stretch, and he stopped as though worried.
“You okay?” He asked, and your heart leaped while he messaged your hip in encouragement until you relaxed again before continuing.
He dug his hands into your thighs, spreading you wider as he bottomed out inside you. And your toes curled with your moan as you clenched around him, his teeth gritting at the tight fit while groaning right at your ear.
“Fuck-” He sighed, his lips ghosting your cheekbones as his eyes scanned your pretty face. Hugging onto him with your hands, with your legs pulling him closer. Moaning so sweetly, small little mews just for him.
He could never get enough of those sounds.
He was going to wait at least a month. He figured that would be enough time. Enough time to make all the right moves. He was going to date you, breed you, reunite you with his parents, reintroduce himself to yours, have you move in with him, and then endgame.
But with the ring box in the drawer right next to the bed, he thought he might as well…
Cowboy Kiri has been your best friend since the two of you were in middle school, which is the only reason he doesn’t tell you he absolutely hates your boyfriend when y’all are older.
You’ve been dating the jerk for entirely too long in his opinion, and although he hides it well, his patience is waning thin.
He’s tired of hearing your stories about him forgetting a date night or your birthday and then you making an excuse for the piece of shit, when he knows he’d treat you so much better.
He hates the way you giggle whenever someone asks if you’re dating him, as if a relationship with him was just a hilarious idea.
But he’s a patient man. He knows he just has to bide his time and wait for your boyfriend to screw up, right?
And screw up he does, in the form of a pretty pair of panties you’d never wear stuffed in a side pocket of his gym bag. You’re nearly inconsolable for a few weeks, until finally something clicks and he gets you in his bed.
And it’s better than anything he could’ve ever imagined. Better than all those times he fucked his fist to your pictures.
You’re so receptive, as if you haven’t been fucked properly in years, whining so sweetly for him to give you more, tears wetting your lashline as he makes you come undone over and over. And afterwards, everything is perfect. Your pretty little form curled up against him, legs tangled with his as you sleep. After years of waiting, you’re finally all his. No more giggles when someone asks if you’re together, no more biting his tongue about your boyfriends. Everything is just how it should be.
He’s so glad he convinced Bakugou to slip those panties into your ex’s bag last month.
Barbarian!bakugou who’s all brawny and masculine and likes to rage during battle, with a half-elf cleric that’s the healer of the grp and socially awkward from growing up in a sheltered environment.
Barbarian!bakugou who distracts the enemy and protects his half-elf cleric with his life as she’s preparing a complicated spell during a boss fight.
Barbarian!bakugou who likes to sit at the front of the wagon with his half-elf cleric and listen to her gush about new spells she’s learning when traveling between towns.
Barbarian!bakugou who mutters reassurances to his half-elf cleric that’s anxious and fretful over his injuries as she tries to concentrate on healing him.
Barbarian!bakugou who has an extremely high sex drive and his half-elf cleric is secretly freaky so it’s not uncommon for their group to catch them having sex everywhere they go.
Barbarian!bakugou who will stand in the middle of the dance floor twirling and swaying his giggling half-elf cleric after she gets wasted from a single pint.
Barbarian!bakugou who can get a little cheeky and smug because he likes to get a rise out of his half-elf cleric and watch her get frustrated with him.
Barbarian!bakugou who will fantasize about the life he’ll share with his half-elf cleric once the adventures are over and they decide to settle down somewhere.
It rolls off your tongue without a second thought, and you relish the relief of your confession. Katsuki can't control his surprise, and you can read his answer off his face, and for a brief moment, you regret making your move.
The sting of rejection is quickly numbed purely by willpower, and you laugh airily.
"You have a terrible poker face," you tease lightly. You steel yourself for the next part by deeply breathing through your teeth. "You aren't interested in me."
"It's not like that," Katsuki mumbles quietly, his ears turning pink. "I need to focus on my career. We both do."
"Gotcha," you whisper, looking off into space, head turned away from him. "No, you're right." You clear your throat and begin to wrap up your trash from your forgotten lunch.
Katsuki seems to want to stop you, but he's silent as he watches you step out of your seat and make a quick visit to the nearest trash bin.
"Look, we're good," you assure him as you prepare to end this shared meal. "Nothing's changed. We're partners."
Katsuki raises a brow at you, remaining in his seat. "Then how come you're leaving?"
You respond with a dry laugh, fighting down the pit in the back of your throat. "Give a girl a second to wallow, Bakugo," you huff. Shrugging, you awkwardly shift your weight back and forth between your stance. "At least I won't be so distracted during patrols anymore."
It's your weak attempt to lighten the mood. Although, it's hard to commit when trying to come to terms with your rejection. Unfortunately, Katsuki doesn't find it amusing, and his expression remains a combination of surprise and confusion.
"I won't be as weird tomorrow," you brush off sheepishly. "Get home safe." With a single nod, you turn to leave before anything can stop you.
You feel like you can breathe again once you shut your door and feel your car engine rumble to life. Before you can shift gears, a wave of embarrassment and shame washes over you, and you throw your head back against your seat.
Pressing your hands against your face, you let out a sound of anguish, feeling like a fool. Raking your fingers back through your hair, you sigh.
"You just can't shut up sometimes, can you?" Your voice is quiet as it disturbs the otherwise silence in your car. "Brush it off. You're not dying." You shake your head and quickly note where the alcohol in your apartment is for when you get home.
-
Katsuki doesn't notice anything different about your dynamic in the days following your confession. You make eye contact easily and banter with him like nothing has happened. You're civil and, for the most part, stay on task during patrol.
You're the perfect partner, and yet, Katsuki can sense something has shifted.
"You're late," he grumbles, glaring at you as you stride to your desk with a compostable coffee cup in your hands.
"Would you relax," you dismiss him with a flimsy wave of your hand. You drop your bag onto your chair and start peeling off your layers. "We don't start for another ten minutes. I'll be right back."
You disappear to change into your uniform, and Katsuki takes this opportunity to invade your privacy.
"You don't drink coffee," he states skeptically after bringing your cup up to his nose and taking a whiff. The stench from the coffee is strong but not enough to cover up the scent of your lipstick coating the mouthpiece. He didn't even realize you wore makeup.
"Hey, don't drink my drink," you chastise as soon as you return, adjusting the sleeves of your uniform.
"You don't even like coffee," he accuses, setting your cup back on your desk. You respond with an incredulous laugh.
"No, you don't like coffee," you correct him. "I'm perfectly happy drinking coffee."
"Why would you need to drink it anyways? Didn't you get enough sleep?" Katsuki's glare softens as he gives you a quick scan, picking up the exhaustion clouding your eyes and the tentative way you handle your stationery. "Did you at least eat something? I don't need you passing out on me during a fight."
"You almost sound worried," you say with a dry tone, covering it up with a hollow chuckle. "Where's the trust, man?"
"There is none," Katsuki bites back quickly, but the humored glint in your eyes relieves him. "Are you almost ready to head out?"
"Can we ever just start when our shift starts?" You groan with a roll of your eyes as you return your stationery to their respective spots on your desk.
"Being on time is being late," Katsuki reminds you of what feels like the millionth time since he's met you.
He can hear you poorly imitate him behind his back, but when he turns to glare at you, you're inspecting your nails and obviously feigning innocence.
It's all too normal for his liking, and he's unsure why. He should feel grateful that you're not awkward after your confession and that you've moved past it and carried on your professionalism, but he's not. Not entirely, at least.
A little part of him can't stop hearing your confession.
"I'm falling in love with you."
Every time he meets your eyes, there's a brief pause, and Katsuki can't tell if it's imagination. You glow whenever you smile, even if it's not directed at him, and he can't look away from you.
You still grab lunch with him after your shifts, although now there's a thin blanket of tension veiling your conversations. And, outside of work, there's no contact from you.
Katsuki misses the days when you'd message him in the morning before your shifts, asking if he wanted anything from the shop that you stopped by for quick meals. He'd never take you up on your offer, but now he'll see you walk in with a to-go cup and wonder if you forgot to text him. He knows the truth, though.
You're trying to get over him. He can see right through your efforts, no matter how subtle you're trying to be. Katsuki notices the way you freeze up whenever he brushes his hand against your arm or grabs at you to check for injuries.
Every time, without fail, you'll clear your throat and yank yourself away from him, avoiding his accusing glare.
"I'm fine," you grit out, holding your arm that's obviously in pain. "I'll be good. Thanks."
Just let me take care of you, Katsuki will think bitterly to himself, watching you stagger away and doing nothing about it. You never used to be this difficult when he was just trying to do his job.
You'd argue that caring for you wasn't part of the job, and he'd find every fiber of him disagreeing with you.
"What are you doing this Friday?"
You're obviously surprised once you comprehend what Katsuki is asking towards the end of your patrol. You look flustered and waging an internal battle in your head.
"My idiot friends are having their monthly get-together," Katsuki explains, uncharacteristically mumbling. "They asked if you wanted to join."
"What?" You laugh, amusement washing away your nerves. "You're inviting me? What are they holding over you to do this?"
Katsuki glares at you, irritated that you guessed correctly. Mina threatened him to invite you, otherwise, she'd show up unannounced at the agency and introduce herself.
Normally, he'd go unphased by her threats, but ever since your confession, Katsuki's felt a shred of anguish that you'll disappear one day.
Even if he couldn't give you the relationship you hoped for, he wanted to provide for you somehow. And, if he had to expose you to his personal life a little more, then he was okay with that. As long as it meant you'd stay with him.
"They threatened to ambush us during a patrol if I didn't."
You fail to stifle your laugh, and Katsuki hopes to elicit more of that from you.
"I appreciate the offer," you eventually answer, and Katsuki feels elated at your initial positivity. It quickly dissipates when you reject his invitation. "I have plans this Friday, actually. For once." You laugh at your deprecating allusion, but Katsuki maintains his aloof expression.
"Suddenly, you're too good for my friends?" It was meant to be a joke, but his abrasive tone reveals his vulnerable ego.
You visibly hesitate to respond, and Katsuki wonders what you're fighting yourself on. What are you holding back from him?
"I have plans already," you repeat with more force, finalizing your explanation, and Katsuki feels irritation bubbling in his stomach.
You didn't make plans that required you to leave your apartment often – Katsuki knew this. You lived with your best friend, so most of your time outside of work was spent at home. Whenever you managed to come across real plans that involved wearing nicer clothes than sweatpants, you'd normally chat Katsuki's ear off about your anticipation.
"Do you have a date?" He blurts his question out before he can comprehend the thought, and he can feel the tips of his ears get warm with embarrassment.
You can't fight back the surprise from reaching your face, and Katsuki knows the answer before you nod.
You laugh sheepishly at getting caught, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear – a nervous habit Katsuki has caught on to after two years of working with you.
"Yeah, I do," you murmur, looking everywhere but at him. "My roommate set it up with her boyfriend's friend."
How come you didn't tell me, he wants to ask, but he already knows. "Is he nice?"
"Yeah, he's..." He watches your eyes glaze over as you get stuck in your head before clearing your throat. "He's nice. Why?"
Katsuki shrugs, feigning indifference. Inside, he's frustrated, but he knows he shouldn't be.
You're his partner. His work partner.
As long as this random head that's taking you out doesn't distract you during your patrols – when you're with him – then he can't shouldn't complain.
"Will you tell me how it goes?" His question is quiet because he's embarrassed to ask, but he wants to know. He knows not knowing will bother him, and he can't explain to himself why.
"Um, sure," you hesitate to answer, almost questioning yourself.
You keep details of your date private from him after Friday comes and goes. The curiosity eats at Katsuki whenever he catches you glancing at your phone or smiling at yourself at your desk, but he keeps it to himself.
-
Your shift today was harder than usual. A few minor misdemeanors followed up with a villain attack.
You could tell that Katsuki was frustrated throughout the whole time, keeping quiet and growling to himself more often than usual.
After, when you were packing up your things to leave for the day, you noticed Katsuki sitting at his desk with his head hanging low. His arms are relaxed against the chair handles and you think he looks defeated as people walk past him without a glance.
"Trying to get food?" You pipe up, sliding past him to lean back against his desk. You keep your demeanor light, resting your hands against the surface and keeping your chin up. "I'm starving."
"You head out without me," he mumbles, flicking his hand.
"Nah," you hum, smiling at him with encouragement. "Come eat with me."
"Wouldn't that make your boyfriend uncomfortable?"
Boyfriend? You frown at your partner, tilting your head with a curious look.
"My nonexistent boyfriend would probably be more concerned with my obnoxious partner giving me attitude when I'm hungry."
Katsuki finally looks up at you, and you widen your eyes in exaggeration.
"Oh my god, finally," you rasp, holding your hand against your chest. "I was planning on getting you a vest for your birthday to help you with your posture."
"You don't even know when my birthday is," he answers with a sneer, but it doesn't phase you.
"Of course I know when your birthday is, Bakugo," you tell him. "Now, can we please go eat?" You bounce off of his desk and pat his bare shoulder, shortly relishing the satisfying warmth that emits from his body.
Katsuki catches you by surprise when he holds your hand against his arm, squeezing gently.
"Are you okay?" You ask him, knowing what his answer will be but hoping for a rare moment of vulnerability.
"Just tired," he mumbles, not looking at you. You smile softly, understanding where his exhaustion might be coming from, and use your other hand to pat his spiky head.
"You're working hard," you remind him with sympathy. "You did a good job today."
Katsuki doesn't say anything, just responds with a nod.
You start to pull away, but he holds you in place for another moment. Your heart stutters in your chest, and you're hit with a familiar wave of infatuation that you've been desperate to avoid.
"We did a good job today," he finally says. "We're partners."
"I know, Bakugo." As badly as I want to be more, we're just partners. "You're not getting rid of me, unfortunately."
You're forced to yank your hand out of his, avoiding his glare when he turns back to look at you.
"Let's head out already," you plead, creating some distance between you before checking back to see if he's following you.
You can't fight back your smile when you find him out of his seat and pacing over to you.
-
Katsuki hates seeing you in Mina's apartment. It's like his worlds are colliding, and he's still not mentally prepared after a week.
He's grateful you let him pick you up and take you instead of finding your way there. He's also quietly pleased that you're glued to his side because you don't know any of his friends.
"I hope your friend likes this wine," you nervously babble in his ear, and it makes his skin vibrate with how close you are. "How do you not know what alcohol your friends like?"
"Cause I don't care," he bites back, arms crossed over his chest and sending you his normal glare. "And you shouldn't either. Not like they're your friends."
That was obviously not the right thing to say, and Katsuki immediately regrets it when he watches your expression fall.
"Then, why did you invite me?" You sound frustrated and lean away from him slightly. "What am I doing here?"
"Saving me from a night of nuisances."
Katsuki thinks he hears you mumble "Typically," but doesn't respond because Mina and Eijiro approach.
"Hey, Bakubro," Eijiro greets with a wide smile, clapping a hand against Katsuki's arm. "And hello to you too!"
You give them your name with a polite smile and present Mina with your gift. Katsuki has to fight the urge to put his arm around you – to protect you from his friend.
"I didn't know what to bring, but I hope you like this wine."
Mina squeals in delight, taking the bottle from your hands and inspecting it before throwing herself at you. Katsuki's skin prickles at the sight.
"I love wine!" She cries with glee. "You're so considerate! Bakugo never brings me anything."
"When do you ever bring me anything?"
"When do you invite me over?"
The glare Katsuki sends Mina is fatal, but she's unbothered, much to your apparent satisfaction.
"Let's open this right now!" Mina drags you away by the arm, and your panicked expression is enough to bring a soft smile to Katsuki's lips.
"So, she's the partner?" Eijiro takes your spot next to Katsuki and nudges his arm. "Think she's into you?"
The question makes Katsuki scoff, sending his friend a silencing look.
"She is? How'd you find out?"
"She told me," he answers gruffly. "Over a month ago."
Eijiro's eyes almost bug out of his head with how surprised he is.
"Why didn't you say anything? That's awesome, dude."
"Why would that be awesome?"
"Because it's obvious you're into her too?" Eijiro's brows furrow as he looks at Katsuki, who feels a burning fire in his chest light up.
"Excuse me?"
Eijiro sighs, scratching the dark scruff under his jaw. "Come on, man."
"What?"
"You invited her to Mina's shindig," Eijiro points out. "You've been her partner for, what? A few years now, and you're finally bringing her around to meet us?" Katsuki just glares at him.
"Maybe you should mind your business," he tells his friend.
"You're defensive because you know I'm making a good point."
"When have you ever made a good point?"
Eijiro feigns offense when he puckers his bottom lip out in a pout. "I've been known to have good insight occasionally."
"This isn't one of those occasions." Katsuki notices you reappear from the kitchen with Mina, carrying four glasses of wine between you. He clears his throat obnoxiously, successfully silencing Eijiro with a look this time around.
"Hey, here's a glass," you tell him, handing him one from your hand. Katsuki takes it but isn't sure what to do with it.
"I didn't ask for this," he mentions as Mina hands Eijiro his glass.
"He means, 'thank you'," Eijiro answers for him.
"You don't speak for me," Katsuki barks, but your soft laughter kills his irritation.
"Don't worry, I know how he works," you tell his friends as you sip your drink. "He's actually holding my second glass for me."
Mina giggles at your statement, but the smile on your lips tells Katsuki that you aren't joking.
A short while later, after Mina moves on to her other guests and Katsuki has resituated you and him on the couch, you swap glasses with him.
You're invested in a conversation with Sero, angled away from Katsuki, but your legs are curled under you, and the fabric of your socks flick against his legs.
"I'll be back," he mumbles as he rises to his feet, empty wine glass in hand.
He finds himself in Mina's kitchen, a few guests lingering around and chatting. He comes across the wine you brought, empty in an ocean of half-drunk bottles.
Before returning to the couch, he refills your first glass with another wine he finds himself hoping you'll like. You're alone and on your phone by the time he comes back.
"Decide to join in on the fun?" You ask with a beaming smile once you realize he's returned. Katsuki finds himself pleased at the sight of you dropping your phone into your lap without hesitation as he falls into the cushion next to you.
"For you," he says plainly. "For when you finish that glass."
You frown at him playfully, taking another swig from his original glass. "You trying to get me drunk?"
"God, no," he exasperates. "Wanna make sure you're having a good time."
"Good call filling up another glass then," you laugh.
I know how you work too, he finds himself thinking.
"I am having a good time, though," you confess, resting your hand on his leg and giving it a reassuring squeeze. "Thank you for inviting me. I like your friends."
"I think they like you more than they like me."
"Everybody likes me more than they like you. That's how our dynamic works."
Our dynamic. Everything you tell him comes out more meaningful than he assumes you intend. Katsuki doesn't know when that started to happen.
He cherishes the dynamic between you, and for the first time, he's worried that it's in jeopardy. That it's been strained since you confessed to him, and, right now, he's on borrowed time with you.
"Thank you," he tells you. "For coming. You didn't have to."
"I did, though, " you correct him. "Mina tells me she would have shown up unannounced at the agency if you kept me from her any longer."
"Well, she's an idiot."
You give him a knowing smile, leaning against his arm. "Then, you're an idiot by association."
"Shut the hell up."
Your gentle laughter is muffled by the wine glass against your lips. You finish your drink in a single sip and immediately hold the emptied glass to Katsuki. He wordlessly switches your glasses.
He watches intently as you take an experimental sip from the wine he chose for you, and the satisfied hum you release tells him you approve of his choice.
"This is really good. Nice choice," you tell him, holding it out for him. "Did you try it?"
"I'm driving us, remember?" He glares at you for your ridiculous question, but you roll your eyes.
"It's a sip, Katsu-" You stop yourself midway, and Katsuki notices the flush in your cheeks, but not without actively searching for it. "it's just a sip, okay? Try it."
You're shoving the rim of the glass to his lips before he can call you out on your mistake. He reluctantly takes a little sip and his face twists in disgust.
"I don't like wine," he tells you, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand after you spill some against his face.
"Well, that's a shame," you sigh dejectedly, throwing back the remaining wine with a few swigs. Even Katsuki knows wine isn't chugging alcohol. "I'm gonna run to the bathroom."
And when you return a few minutes later, Katsuki notices you curl up in your seat a little further from him.
Imagine one of those lip readers on tik tok lip reads a clip of you talking to bakugou after a big fight. He’s all bloody and dirty and it looks like you’re comforting him but really you’re just asking what he plans to cook for dinner.
─ soak up the sun ✩ (bakugo x fem!reader) at the beach with the bakusquad aka you lose your bikini top while swimming in the ocean. tbh this is just silly for the sake of it. repost from the peachsukii/reichuus archive.
A day at the beach with the bakusquad — just what you needed! The ocean welcomes you with a generous warmth as you wade deeper into the water. Waves are splashing playfully around you, the sun blazing overhead, and everything’s perfect…until you feel a sudden naked freedom.
Straight out of some crazy romcom, your bikini top has vanished. Was it a rogue wave? Happenstance? Did you not tie it tight enough?
You freeze, eyes wide as saucers. Your arms immediately cross over your chest under the surface in a defensive pose while you desperately scan the water like a hawk. No luck, there’s not a single piece of fabric in sight.
“Oi,” comes a familiar voice from behind you.
Oh, great. Of course it’s him.
You turn — well, rotate awkwardly with arms glued to your body — to see Bakugo holding a drenched piece of floral material.
“This yours?” he asks with your top dangling from his fingers, snickering when he watches your cheeks flush.
“Oh my god,” you hiss. “Yes! Gimme!”
You snatch the top from him with one hand, trying to maintain a bizarre one-armed chest cover with the other, attempting to then re-tie the bikini top. Bakugo watches you struggle, trying not to laugh in your face, and failing miserably.
“Jesus, do you want me to—“
“NO.”
He barks out an even more obnoxious laugh, that all too familiar shit-eating grin plastered on his face. “How’re you gonna put it back on with one hand and holdin’ your tits in the other?”
You ignore him, brows scrunched and continuing your futile attempts at getting it back on. When you pull on one strap, the other slaps you in the face and tangles in your wet hair.
“I think it’s winnin’ that fight,” Bakugo comments, crossing his arms over his chest and smirking at your failure. “Lemme help, you look like a fuckin’ idiot.”
“It’s like trying to reassemble furniture blindfolded with one hand…and sharks.”
“There ain’t sharks out here,” he insists, a little too quickly.
“Okay, but I feel like I’m being hunted.”
Bakugo rolls his eyes. “Shut it and turn around. You hold it and lift your arms, I’ll tie it for ya.”
“What, so you can sneak a peek?!” You spit back with a pout on your lips.
“No one wants to see your boobs!” He argues back with a groan, splashing water in your face to mask the heat rising to his cheeks. “Meanin’ I’m doing this strictly for support. M’not some perv, you know that.”
Oh, but he was. And that’s for him to know and you to never find out.
What other choice do you have? Waddling to shore with your forearm barely holding your dignity in place while searching for one of your other friends was out of the question when Bakugo was right here. With a heavy sigh, you hand him the top and spin so your back is facing him. He holds the straps in his hands like he's been asked to diffuse a bomb.
“Okay, tie it. Left over right, then under,” you instruct.
“I know how knots work, idiot!
He fumbles when his gaze catches a glimpse of your squished cleavage, your palms holding the top against your chest in place. You feel a slight tug, then nothing, the fabric going slack and slipping off your shoulders.
“You tied a bow, didn’t you?” You sigh in annoyance.
Bakugo growls, yanking on the material a second time. “I panicked! Shut the fuck up and hold still.”
After two more attempts, it finally holds. You give a victorious little wiggle, your chest swaying under the water and huzzah! The top stays on.
“There,” he says with a huff, turning away from you. “Don’t go losin’ it a second time.”
“Yeah, whatever,” you say with sarcasm. “Maybe I’ll just go topless next time and save us both the trouble.”
Bakugo’s glad his back is to you when his eyes bug out for a split second, able to hide the way his jaw twitches in response.
You start to paddle away, making your way to the shore to join the rest of the squad for lunch. Bakugo hangs back in the water for a beat, trying to calm his racing heart at the thought of you topless under the sun. He shakes the water from his hair, grumbling a curse under his breath.
❥ IN WHICH, Y/N hides her heated desires for her professor behind a mask of academic excellence. When he keeps her after class, his oblivious concern forces her to face the reality between his professionalism and her dirty thoughts.
The lecture hall was filled with the sound of scraping chairs and the mindless chatter of those who had already mentally checked out. To most, the final year of college was a victory lap, but for Y/N, it was a high-stakes performance.
She sat in the second row, her notebook open and her pens aligned with organization. While her classmates whispered about weekend plans or scrolled through their phones under their desks, Y/N remained focused on the front of the room.
The heavy oak doors swung open, and the room immediately went silent. Professor Bakugo stomped in, his black button up shirt straining slightly against his shoulders, along with his signature scowl firmly in place. He didn't offer a greeting; he simply slammed a stack of graded midterms onto the podium.
"Half of you are idiots." He loudly spoke with that familiar, controlled aggression. "If I see one more half-assed citation in a senior-level thesis, I’m failing the whole row. This isn't daycare. If you want to act like children, go find a sandbox and stay out of my lab."
The class shrank back, but Y/N felt a familiar thrill. Where others saw a verbal lashing, Y/N found a clarity she craved. His impossible standards were a mountain she would climb on her hands and knees if only to prove she was worthy of being there.
He began passing back the papers, snapping them onto desks with enough force to make people flinch. When he reached Y/N’s desk the momentum shifted. He didn't slam the paper down—he placed it down softly, his crimson eyes locking onto hers for a simple second that she wouldn't forget.
"Only one in here with a shred of logic." He muttered to her, for her ears only. "You actually listened during the lecture on fluid dynamics. Good. Stay that way."
Y/N felt the heat climb up her neck. A 'good' from Bakugo was worth more than an 'A' from any other professor on campus. She looked down at the top of her paper, where a perfect score was circled in aggressive red ink.
"Thank you, Professor." She replied, meeting his gaze with a sweet, admiring smile.
He gave a sharp, single nod, his gaze lingering on her organized workspace—something that shamed the messy desks around her. "At least someone in here has some damn discipline." He added, before snapping his head up to bark at a student in the back who was wearing headphones.
"Hey! Sparky in the back!" Bakugo’s voice cracked through the room like a whip. He marched towards a guy in the third-to-last row who was slumped in his seat, white earbuds practically glowing against his dark hair.
"I’m here for those who won't be a waste of space in this industry. Lose the headphones or lose the credits. Your choice."
The student scrambled to shove the earbuds into his pocket, his face turning a humiliated shade of red. Bakugo didn’t wait for an apology; he didn't care for them.
He turned his sharp gaze back toward the front of the room, his eyes scanning the rows until they landed directly on Y/N.
"The rest of you, look at the board." He commanded, his voice dropping as he stepped back towards the podium. As he passed Y/N’s desk again, he leaned in just enough that the faint scent of his expensive cologne drifted over her.
"Y/N." His voice was a low, private rasp. "Stay after the bell. I’ve got something to privately discuss with you that doesn't need to be overheard."
She nodded, and he turned back to the stack of remaining papers, snapping them into the air and dropping them onto desks with a renewed, aggressive energy.
Y/N sat frozen in her chair. She stared down at the perfect score on her paper, the red ink blurring as her mind began to spiral. Private?
Usually, Bakugo didn't do 'private'. He was the kind of man who aired things out in front of everyone and handed out praise so rarely, it was practically a myth. The thought of being alone in the lecture hall with him sent a rush of nervousness through her. And excitement.
Was it a special project? A research assistant position that only the top student could handle? Her mind raced through the possibilities, each one more thrilling than the last. Or maybe.. Maybe he had noticed more than just her grades.
She thought back to the way his gaze had lingered on her desk—on her—as if he were trying to figure her out. The way he looked at her was different from the way he looked at the uncaring students in the back.
There was a glimmer of something else there—a mutual understanding, or perhaps, a shared intensity.
She watched the flex of his shoulders under his shirt as he reached for the final set of papers. The idea of the heavy doors locking, the noisy classmates finally filtering out, and being the only focus of his eyes made her stomach flip.
Y/N gripped her pen a little tighter, her eyes fixed on the clock as the minutes ticked down, her imagination running wild with what private information he could possibly have for her once they were finally alone.
"Look at you." He rasped, his voice a low vibration against your ear. His hand was already sliding beneath the hem of her pleated skirt, bunching the fabric up until her skin was exposed to the cool air. "The top of the class. Perfect scores, perfect notes.. Always so damn focused."
He pulled his hand back just enough to deliver a sharp, stinging smack across her ass. The sound echoed in the empty room, making her breath hitch.
"Fuckin' smartest girl I know." He growled, his palm coming down again, harder this time, marking his territory in blooming heat. "And the prettiest—you think I don't see everyone looking at you? Thinking they can touch what's mine?"
Another strike, rhythmic and punishing, causing another whimper from her throat. He didn't let her recover; he reached forward, one hand tangling in her hair to tilt her head back while his other hand guided himself to her soaked cunt.
He didn't tease her anymore. With a grunt of pure, possessive intent, he drove his cock inside, filling her completely in one blunt motion.
Y/N gasped, her hands gripping at the edge of the desk to keep herself steady. Once she felt the first thrust, it was hard to keep quiet.
"Yeah, that’s it." He hissed, his thrusts turning frantic and demanding, matching the aggressive praise he whispered into her skin. "You know how to take me so well.. Show me how good you can be for me."
The desk creaked under the weight of his rhythm, along with his harsh words and the overwhelming fullness of him blurring everything else into static. In this room, there were no grades or rankings—only the heat of him and the way he made sure she knew exactly who you belonged to.
Every thrust was a heavy, rhythmic thud that vibrated through the heavy wood of the desk. It was as if he was trying to leave a permanent mark.
Clatter! Thud! Smash!
The neat stacks of graded assignments slid first, fluttering to the floor. Then went the heavy ceramic pen holder, shattering against the ground with a sharp crack that echoed. A stack of a few textbooks followed lastly.
"Let em' fall." He snarled, his voice a guttural wreck as he lunged forward, his chest slamming against your back with enough force to make your vision swim. "I don’t give a damn about any of it. Just you."
You were pinned between the weight of his body and the edge of the desk, feeling every vibration of his power as he crowded into your space, filling you so deeply it became blinding.
He reached down, his arm sweeping the remaining clutter—the stapler, his phone, the stray loose-leaf papers—off the surface in one violent motion, clearing the space just so he could press you flatter against the grain.
"Focus on me." He commanded as he hit that perfect, devastating spot again and again. "You hear me, pretty?"
The room was a wreck. A graveyard of supplies and shattered ceramic—which he didn't mind cleaning up—he just needed to feel her first, then worry about the mess later.
A sharp gasp hitched in Y/N’s throat as she blinked, the vivid heat of her imagination disappearing. The lecture hall was still humming with students shoving notebooks into bags and the rhythmic thud-thud of the heavy exit doors. She was still sitting at her desk, her knuckles white from gripping her pen, and the perfect score on her paper was still staring back at her.
The private meeting. It hadn't even happened yet.
She shook her head slightly, trying to shake the thoughts away and simply gathered her things. As the last few students left, the silence of the room shifted from expectant to heavy.
Y/N stood and made her way down the stairs, her footsteps echoing in the empty room. When she reached the front, she stopped.
Professor Bakugo wasn't standing at the podium anymore. He had retreated to the desk, slumped into his leather chair. He looked worn out. It was a jarring sight compared to the explosive, sharp-edged man who had been barking orders twenty minutes ago.
His head was thrown back against the headrest, his throat exposed and moving slightly with each deep breath he took. His eyes were shut, and the tension in his jaw was finally eased.
Most notably, the top button of his shirt was undone, and his tie had been tugged loose, hanging lopsided against his chest. He looked utterly drained, the weight of the semester—or perhaps something more—finally caught up to him.
Y/N stood a few feet away, hesitant to break the silence. The sight of him like this, vulnerable and worn out, sent a different kind of feeling through her. This wasn't the untouchable terrifying professor everyone knew; it was just a man who had given everything to the day.
"Professor?" She cleared her throat softly, her voice barely a whisper.
One of his eyes cracked open, the tired crimson finding her. He didn't move his head, but a low hum vibrated in his chest.
"You're still here." He muttered lowly. He slowly leveled his head, his gaze dropping to his loosened tie before he looked up at her. "Right." The request for her to stay behind nearly slipped his mind.
He rubbed a hand over his face, his wedding ring—no, she realized it was just a heavy silver band he wore on his middle finger—catching the overhead light. "Sit down, Y/N. I’m too tired to stand up and play the part right now."
The silence in the room felt twice as heavy now. Y/N slid into the front-row chair, her movements stiff and mechanical. She could feel the heat radiating from her cheeks, that surely gave her away.
He knows, her mind raced. He’s going to tell her to get her head out of the gutter and focus on her finals.
She stared at her lap, bracing for the verbal explosion—the clear reminder of the appropriate boundaries between a professor and his student.
Instead, the sound of his heavy sigh reached her.
Bakugo didn't move from his slumped position, but his voice came out low and serious. "Look, I know I'm a hard-ass. I’m strict with everyone in this building, and I’m probably a grade-A asshole most days. I don't apologize for it because it gets results."
He finally opened both eyes, shifting his gaze toward her. Instead of the piercing gaze she’d imagined, his look was unexpectedly grounded.
"But you’ve got a brain." He continued, gesturing vaguely with one hand. "And I don't want to see it go to waste because you're carrying some weight you can't handle. If there’s something going on.. Something wrong.. you can come to me. Professionally. I'm not here just to shout at you."
Y/N blinked, her mouth falling open slightly. The sheer whiplash of his concern caught her off guard. All the things she expected him to say—a lecture on professionalism, a rejection of her unspoken feelings—an offer of emotional support was the last on the list.
"I.. I’m sorry, Professor?" She stammered, her confusion overriding her nerves. "Why would you think something is wrong?"
Bakugo let out a dry, short huff of a laugh that didn't reach his eyes. He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees, his loosened tie dangling between them.
"Don't play dumb. You're too smart for that." His focus was centered entirely on her. "You’ve been dozing off. Not sleeping—your eyes are open—but you’re gone. You’re still hitting the highest scores, but I can see it from here. Every single one of my classes, you're staring at me or the board, but your head is miles away. Something serious is running through that mind of yours, Y/N."
He narrowed his eyes, studying her face as if it were a complex equation he was determined to solve. "Is it the graduation pressure? Family? Or is someone bothering you?"
"Is it the way I teach?"
Y/N felt a fresh wave of heat hit her face. She couldn't exactly tell him that the 'serious thing' running through her mind involved the very desk he was leaning on and a version of him that was significantly less exhausted.
Y/N swallowed hard, the silence of the empty hall suddenly feeling deafening. She could feel his gaze—heavy, observant, and far too perceptive—tracing the nervous line of her shoulders.
"It’s.. It’s nothing like that, Professor." She managed to speak up, her voice smaller than she intended. She forced herself to meet his eyes, though it felt like she was looking directly into a furnace. "Just the usual end-of-term burnout, I think. My mind just drifts to.. Things I need to get done after graduation. Planning for the future and all that."
His silver ring glinted as he slowly tapped a rhythm against his thigh. He knew. He could see the way her pulse was jumping in her neck, the way she couldn't quite maintain eye contact for more than a second.
He knew she was holding something back, but for the first time since she’d entered his classroom, he didn't bark for the truth.
"Alright." He leaned back into his chair, the leather creaking under his weight. "Burnout. If that’s what you’re calling it."
He didn't demand an explanation. Instead, he reached up and rubbed the back of his neck, his tired features softening just a fraction. "Whatever. Just don't let your head drift so far that your grades follow it. I’m not letting my best student drop her GPA in the final stretch because she’s too stubborn to admit she’s overwhelmed."
"I won't." She promised, finally finding the strength to stand up, clutching her bag to her side. "I'll keep what you said in mind. About coming to you. Thank you, Professor."
Bakugo didn't look up as she walked off, but he gave a sharp, dismissive wave of his hand—his way of telling her the conversation was over.
"Get home safely, Y/N." He muttered out, his eyes closing again as he slumped back into the exhaustion she’d interrupted.
She left him alone in silence, the sound of her own footsteps echoing against the high ceiling. Y/N finally reached the heavy oak doors, her hand trembling slightly as she gripped the cold metal handle.
Once the heavy door clicked shut behind her, their private conversation was finalized.
Her mind kept replaying the sight of him—the undone button, the exhaustion in his posture, and the way he had spoken to her. Although he knew she was lying, he had let her keep her secrets, shielding her from his own sharp tongue for the first time.
As Y/N blended into the group of students heading home, she realized that the good persona he always praised was becoming a mask; she was still the smartest student in his class, but as she looked back at the glowing windows of his classroom, she knew she was no longer the most well-behaved—not when her thoughts were still back in that room, lingering on the shadow of a man who couldn't be anything more than her professor.
