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[20] working on it... https://ellywwwduh.carrd.co/#

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yes i watched heated rivalry, yes i thought of him

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chibi AOT school castes

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need him BAD

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ada mogs I fear

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krbk fic rec!!

An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works

yes this is just me promoting my fic, but its based off of orange and features lots of krbk and introspection and angst and slow burn so you should totally check it out trust

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save me white boy save me

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one more time, one more chance ; krbk (orange au)

summary: Bakugou Katsuki, a man who used to live with no regrets, regrets nothing but Kirishima. There's nothing--nothing--he wouldn't do to save Kirishima now that he knows what he knows. But Kirishima is gone, and there's nothing he can do about it. In an attempt to find peace and put Kirishima to rest, Katsuki writes his old self letters detailing how to avoid Kirishima's death. Somewhere ten years in the past, highschooler Bakugou Katsuki recieves a letter from himself. Obviously, he writes it off as some stupid prank. But what happens when a new red haired students transfers to his class and the letters start coming true? (Heavily based off of the manga/anime Orange by Ichigo Takano)

Link for fic: https://archiveofourown.org/works/58378096/chapters/148688599 Sneak peak below!

Katsuki didn’t believe in all of that supernatural bullshit, but looking back on it, receiving a letter from his future self was pretty fucking damning. 

Frowning down at the familiar handwriting adorning the papers, he chewed on the inside of his cheek, bike leaning against his hip as he steadied it with his free hand.

He flipped the papers to the back, finding nothing but more writing. Flipped them forwards again. Frowned some more. Goddammit, this was admittedly a really fucking good forgery. It looked exactly like Katsuki’s handwriting, down to the thickness of the strokes and the harsh press of the pen against the parchment. Even as he skimmed the slanted kanji, he couldn’t find any irregularities.

It was weird as hell that somebody was trying to fuck with Katsuki by writing him a letter from himself (as if he was stupid enough to believe that shit), but he eventually narrowed his eyes at the papers further before shoving them into his school bag and hopping back onto his bike.

He’d deal with that shit later.

The rest of the ride to his school was short, and the walk to class was even shorter since there was only a small smattering of students in the hallways. He always got to school early so he could nap before homeroom started. It was an attempt—read: attempt—to avoid any conversation with his idiot classmates, but of course that rarely fucking deterred them.

Today was no different, and he groaned loudly as Ashido and Kaminari’s voices bounced back and forth next to him, speculating about the school festival coming up next month. Honestly, Katsuki never really got the appeal behind the festivals. Being surrounded by a bunch of sweaty losers, eating mediocre carnival food and looking at other classes’ shitty exhibits? 

Yeah, no thanks.

“Shut the fuck up,” he growled at them, not bothering to look away from the open math book on his desk. He lazily craned his neck a bit, stretching, before he continued. “It’s eight in the fucking morning, how the hell do you already have something to yap about?”

“Rude!” Ashido huffed, leaning down until she was in front of Katsuki’s desk. Pink swarmed his vision and he brought his hand up in irritation, smacking it against her forehead and pushing her away. “Hey! You’re messing up my makeup, Bakugou!”

Katsuki snorted in amusement, using his index finger to jab at her forehead one last time before pulling away, “Makeup isn’t allowed, dipshit. ‘S your fault for wearing it in the first place.”

“C’mon, dude, you’re no fun,” whined Kaminari as he sat on the empty desk adjacent to Katsuki’s. He was sipping away at an apple juice box, swinging his uwabaki clad feet back and forth. What a fucking child.

“And hypocritical!” added Ashido, her curly pink hair falling into her face as she shook her head at him. “You’re not wearing a tie! That’s not allowed.”

“Pretty sure cursing isn’t either,” mused Sero Hanta as he slid into the classroom, tall enough that he was easily spotted above the crowded classroom. He leaned against the wall next to Katsuki’s desk, grinning as he spotted Kaminari and the drink he held in his hand. “Dude, do you have any more of those? I’m thirsty.”

“Nah, sorry man, it was the last one in the vending machine,” Kaminari apologized, holding out the almost-empty juice box. “Want the rest of mine? It’s a little warm, though…”

Katsuki wrinkled his nose in disgust as Sero happily accepted the offer, finishing the juice off with an obnoxiously loud slurp before he crushed it in his hand. Those three were so fucking strange. There was no way in hell he’d ever eat or drink something after them, lest he get some sort of infection or disease from them.

“Hey, why didn’t you offer any of it to me?” Ashido complained, bottom lip pushed out in an obviously overdramatized pout. 

“Because! That’d be weird, dude!” Kaminari spluttered, cheeks going red as he planted his feet on the ground, leaning forwards as his hands gripped the edge of the desk underneath him. “You’re a girl!”

Ashido reached forwards to smack the back of his head with her hand, “Don’t be sexist!”

“I’m not!” The blond explained, looking hurt as he rubbed at his head. “I’m just saying, that’s, like, objectively weirder than Sero drinking after me. Right, Sero? Bakubro?”

Katsuki’s eye twitched as he listened to Ashido and Kaminari. His self-proclaimed friends were starting to give him a headache with their bickering, and if they didn’t stop talking soon, he’d get himself stuck in detention. Relief washed through him as he spotted their teacher walking down the hallway. It was time for class, which meant these fuckers would be forced to leave him alone. 

“Fucking finally,” he grumbled.

His classmates (including his friends, thank fuck) scrambled to get into their seats as Aizawa-sensei walked through the door, carrying a manila folder under his arm and looking slightly more grumpy than usual. The dark purple bags under his eyes were prominent and his frown was etched so deeply into his mouth that Katsuki wondered if it was permanent. Katsuki didn’t think he’d blame Aizawa if it was.

Aizawa stood at the front of the room and glared at the class until their chatter faded. Clearing his throat, his raspy voice broke the silence, “Class 3-A, settle down. I have an announcement to make before I start today’s lesson.”

At this, the class visibly perked up, and Katsuki didn’t have to be able to read minds to know that a majority of the losers were hoping for a free day. Meanwhile, Katsuki didn’t really give a shit about what they did during the day, as long as it went by quickly.

“I’d like to preface this by saying that today is not any different from any other day, nor will it be treated as such,” he droned. He sounded incredibly bored, and Katsuki found himself agreeing with the sentiment, even as the class collectively groaned in disappointment. 

“That being said, we have a new student joining us today.” There’s a long, unamused pause he’s forced to take as everybody (bar Katsuki, obviously) gasped in excitement. Aizawa’s eyes narrowed in frustration as he raised his voice to be heard over the murmuring. “He’s transferring here all the way from Chiba, so he’s probably feeling very overwhelmed, therefore we will at least TRY to be calm until he’s settled in. Understood?”

There are scattered but enthusiastic affirmatives from the students, loud and disruptive.

Aizawa sighed, rubbing a hand over his face in distress as he seemed to fight an inner battle with himself. After a few seconds he resigned himself to his fate and headed back to the door, opening it up and beckoning somebody in.

There’s an awkward scuffling of shoes against the floor as somebody ducked inside, and Katsuki’s first thought was red.

Red eyes, red hair, and red shoes. Even a fucking red omamori knot keychain hung off of the side of his backpack. The boy was covered in it—a garish, tacky vermillion. It’s almost offensive how goddamn saturated it was. The only parts of his body that were spared from the crimson onslaught were his tan, sun-worn skin and their school’s white-and-brown uniform he was donning.

“Hello!” the boy said, and for such a pretty face, his voice was surprisingly rough. Deep, and without the typical squeakiness of a teenage boy’s vocal cords. He smiled out at the class, who were all practically vibrating in their seats at the new kid, eager to meet him and introduce themselves. 

Katsuki caught a flash of white, strangely sharp teeth as the redhead grinned. Hm. 

The boy stood there anxiously, hands gripping the straps of the black backpack on his shoulders as the class studied him. His gaze flitted over to Katsuki’s a few times and Katsuki shifted uncomfortably in his seat at the attention. Did this fucker want something from him?

Aizawa coughed, clearly waiting for the boy to introduce himself, but he never did. Taking matters into his own hands, he lifted his hand to half-heartedly gesture to the new student, “Kirishima Eijirou, this is Class 3-A. Class 3-A, Kirishima. Welcome to our class. If you have any questions with the coursework, feel free to ask Iida or Yaoyorozu for help.”

Yaoyorozu offered a small wave, but Iida rose from his seat to stand and bow his head to Kirishima in introduction. “Iida Tenya, class president! I’d be happy to offer any assistance needed! Welcome to Class 3-A, Kirishima!”

Katsuki snorted at the obnoxious display, and once again, Kirishima caught his gaze.

Kirishima’s eyes widened before he turned to Iida and bowed back, a little deeper than appropriate. When he brought himself back up his face was flushed in embarrassment. “It’s nice to meet all of you!”

Kirishima? Katsuki’s eyebrows furrowed in irritation as he stared at the newbie, the rest of the conversation falling deaf to his ears. Why did that name sound familiar?

Tapping his foot against the ground, Katsuki wracked his mind for an answer. He definitely didn’t know any other Kirishimas, so it couldn’t be that, and he only vaguely remembered a mountain somewhere else in Japan with the same name. Nothing seemed to click.

How did Katsuki know this kid?

“Sit back down, Iida,” Aizawa said, yawning as he reached for a piece of chalk and wrote the name of their lesson on the chalkboard. “Kirishima, you can sit at the desk behind Kaminari. Kaminari, share your books with Kirishima until he gets his own, please.”

As Kirishima cautiously made his way to a welcoming Kaminari, Katsuki rotated his head to track his path. He didn’t look like somebody Katsuki had seen before. There was no way he’d forget that horrible fucking hair, nor the red eyes framed by long, dark lashes. This guy wasn’t forgettable, that was for damn sure.

He glared at the boy before turning his attention to the front of the class as Aizawa instructed them to get out their Japanese literature books. Reaching down into his school bag, he fumbled for his textbook and was met with the sharp sting of a paper cut instead. Normally his bag was organized to a fucking-T, more neat and orderly than Iida’s probably was, so something must’ve been out of place. Katsuki quickly identified the problem as he saw the torn open envelope thrust into his bag. Shit, he’d forgotten about that stupid letter.  Pushing it aside, he yanked the literature textbook out and automatically flipped to the correct page, tapping his foot against the ground as Aizawa began his lesson.

Katsuki found it impossible to pay attention today as their teacher monotonously read from the board. He was continually looking down at the letter, which hadn’t moved from its spot, because fucking obviously . 

The letter sat heavy in his bag, practically beckoning him to read it instead of focus on their lesson. It was nagging at him, and he didn’t know why this suddenly seemed so important. It was fucking irritating. For some reason it seemed connected with their new student, and he was failing to connect the dots.

It was only when Aizawa began reciting a memoir from their text that it dawned on Katsuki. Head snapping towards Kirishima, he glared fervently in suspicion at the unsuspecting boy. When Katsuki had skimmed the letter earlier, in front of the school, there had been two words underlined repeatedly: Kirishima Eijirou.

So it was Kirishima that wrote the letter, then.

What was this fuckers plan? He wanted to get Katsuki’s attention or something? But why would he do that by sending him a letter from himself…? And how the hell would he even know Katsuki?

His foot tapped even faster as he stared the redhead down. The dumbass had just chewed his pen so hard that indigo ink was spilling across his desk and into his mouth. The students who noticed his dilemma giggled as Kirishima coughed loudly, and his ears were a bright red as he wiped at his chin with the back of his hand. Great, he was an idiot.

Again, Katsuki couldn’t help but think that something about the situation was off. Kirishima, even as muscled as he was—not that Katsuki was looking, fuck you—didn’t seem like the type to pick a fight. Even now, he shrunk in on himself under everybody else’s attention. 

Unassuming as the kid was, Katsuki had never let people push him around, and he wasn’t going to start now.

Katsuki barely registered Aizawa announcing that today would indeed be a half-day. The instant the bell that signaled lunch rang and Aizawa left the room, Katsuki shoved himself out of his desk so harshly that his chair slammed to the floor behind him with a loud ‘clang’. Teeth bared and lip curled into a snarl, he stormed forwards and yanked the redhead up by the front of his shirt, “The fuck is your damage, hah? Trying to intimidate me or some shit? I ain’t fuckin’ scared of you!”

“What?” Kirishima exclaimed, eyes as wide as saucers. 

“The letter, fuckwit!” growled Katsuki. His fingers dug into the other boy’s shirt as he shook him roughly, ignoring the disapproving stares of the few that hadn’t yet left the room. 

Hands raised placatingly, the redhead allowed himself to be shaken as his eyebrows furrowed in confusion. While Katsuki wasn’t necessarily an expert on people, the bewildered expression on Kirishima’s face seemed genuine. “Hey, man, I don’t know anything about a letter. I just got here.”

Katsuki scowled as he moved his focus to Kirishima’s desk, searching for any sort of evidence pointing towards him being the culprit. Worn pink eraser, unopened water bottle, Kaminari’s textbook opened to a random page… none of this shit proved anything. 

Kirishima was still talking, some happy-go-lucky nonsense about not wanting to start things off on the wrong foot, but Katsuki was too busy in his search to process any of it.

There. Right there, half hidden by the hardcover of the Japanese literature book, was a loose-leaf paper with writing across it. 

Pushing the redhead away, he grabbed the paper so hard it tore a little at the edges. Katsuki zeroed in on every dot, line, and stroke of the pen, and what he found was both disappointing and relieving—it wasn’t him. There was no fucking way it could be. This loser’s handwriting was barely legible. Based off of the strong indentations on the paper glinting in the light, Kirishima had actually been trying to make his writing neat. Which meant he couldn’t forge anything, even if his life was on the line. 

Fuck.

Ears burning in shame, Katsuki grabbed his bag and stalked out of the room without another word. Distantly, he could hear Ashido, Kaminari, and Sero fervently apologizing to Kirishima for Katsuki’s behavior, but he didn’t give a flying fuck about that right now.

So he’d been wrong. Meaning Katsuki had just picked a fight with the new kid for no reason. Even he could admit to himself that it was an asshole move, especially after Kirishima had been stupidly kind in return.

How could he smile at Katsuki while being threatened? Masochistic motherfucker.

But that was the least of his worries now. Determined to find a safe space to figure shit out, he trudged on. Once Katsuki had found an empty hallway that he deemed suitable enough, he ripped his bag open and pulled the letter out of the bag. Maybe it was time to actually read this stupid thing.

Katsuki Bakugou,

This is you from the future. 

Before you freak the fuck out, I already know you aren’t going to believe me. Hell, I wouldn’t believe me, even now. But it’s the truth. And it’s important that you read this, so get over your damn teenage pride and listen up.

I, or we, have always lived our lives without regret. But now that I know what I know, I regret so fucking much. There’s not a day that goes by that I don’t wish things were different. And unless you want to feel like shit every goddamn day of your life, then you should take this seriously.

On April 6th, 2005, a new student is going to transfer to your class. Kirishima Eijirou . He has the shittiest red hair you’ve ever seen and he’ll be seated directly behind Kaminari. He’s obnoxiously kind to everyone, especially us, even though we didn’t deserve it at the time. Kaminari and Sero take him under their wing, and he’ll be dragged along with the others.

No matter what you do, don’t let him hang out with you after school that day.

That’s it.

That’s it?! The fuck was this, some elaborate fucking prank one of his friends set on him?

Katsuki glared at the paper, his eyes scanning the words over and over, searching for any hidden meaning or hint. He could almost hear Kaminari’s obnoxious laughter in the back of his mind, imagining the blond idiot coming up with such a ridiculous prank.

But it didn't make sense. Kaminari couldn’t forge Katsuki’s handwriting so perfectly, nor would he even know how to start. And why Kirishima? The kid had just shown up.

“This is bullshit,” Katsuki muttered to himself, shoving the letter back into his bag with more force than necessary. His head pounded with frustration as he made his way to the bathroom to cool off, ignoring the chatter of students around him.

An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works

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chapter two is out now!!

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im tired also for some reason I’ve only been drawing bakugou like pls the man should be dead rn…

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y’all should checkout my Twitter @sokkantion… I occasionally post art there! this was todays post

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one more time, one more chance ; krbk (orange au)

summary: Bakugou Katsuki, a man who used to live with no regrets, regrets nothing but Kirishima. There's nothing--nothing--he wouldn't do to save Kirishima now that he knows what he knows. But Kirishima is gone, and there's nothing he can do about it. In an attempt to find peace and put Kirishima to rest, Katsuki writes his old self letters detailing how to avoid Kirishima's death. Somewhere ten years in the past, highschooler Bakugou Katsuki recieves a letter from himself. Obviously, he writes it off as some stupid prank. But what happens when a new red haired students transfers to his class and the letters start coming true? (Heavily based off of the manga/anime Orange by Ichigo Takano)

Link for fic: https://archiveofourown.org/works/58378096/chapters/148688599 Sneak peak below!

Katsuki didn’t believe in all of that supernatural bullshit, but looking back on it, receiving a letter from his future self was pretty fucking damning. 

Frowning down at the familiar handwriting adorning the papers, he chewed on the inside of his cheek, bike leaning against his hip as he steadied it with his free hand.

He flipped the papers to the back, finding nothing but more writing. Flipped them forwards again. Frowned some more. Goddammit, this was admittedly a really fucking good forgery. It looked exactly like Katsuki’s handwriting, down to the thickness of the strokes and the harsh press of the pen against the parchment. Even as he skimmed the slanted kanji, he couldn’t find any irregularities.

It was weird as hell that somebody was trying to fuck with Katsuki by writing him a letter from himself (as if he was stupid enough to believe that shit), but he eventually narrowed his eyes at the papers further before shoving them into his school bag and hopping back onto his bike.

He’d deal with that shit later.

The rest of the ride to his school was short, and the walk to class was even shorter since there was only a small smattering of students in the hallways. He always got to school early so he could nap before homeroom started. It was an attempt—read: attempt—to avoid any conversation with his idiot classmates, but of course that rarely fucking deterred them.

Today was no different, and he groaned loudly as Ashido and Kaminari’s voices bounced back and forth next to him, speculating about the school festival coming up next month. Honestly, Katsuki never really got the appeal behind the festivals. Being surrounded by a bunch of sweaty losers, eating mediocre carnival food and looking at other classes’ shitty exhibits? 

Yeah, no thanks.

“Shut the fuck up,” he growled at them, not bothering to look away from the open math book on his desk. He lazily craned his neck a bit, stretching, before he continued. “It’s eight in the fucking morning, how the hell do you already have something to yap about?”

“Rude!” Ashido huffed, leaning down until she was in front of Katsuki’s desk. Pink swarmed his vision and he brought his hand up in irritation, smacking it against her forehead and pushing her away. “Hey! You’re messing up my makeup, Bakugou!”

Katsuki snorted in amusement, using his index finger to jab at her forehead one last time before pulling away, “Makeup isn’t allowed, dipshit. ‘S your fault for wearing it in the first place.”

“C’mon, dude, you’re no fun,” whined Kaminari as he sat on the empty desk adjacent to Katsuki’s. He was sipping away at an apple juice box, swinging his uwabaki clad feet back and forth. What a fucking child.

“And hypocritical!” added Ashido, her curly pink hair falling into her face as she shook her head at him. “You’re not wearing a tie! That’s not allowed.”

“Pretty sure cursing isn’t either,” mused Sero Hanta as he slid into the classroom, tall enough that he was easily spotted above the crowded classroom. He leaned against the wall next to Katsuki’s desk, grinning as he spotted Kaminari and the drink he held in his hand. “Dude, do you have any more of those? I’m thirsty.”

“Nah, sorry man, it was the last one in the vending machine,” Kaminari apologized, holding out the almost-empty juice box. “Want the rest of mine? It’s a little warm, though…”

Katsuki wrinkled his nose in disgust as Sero happily accepted the offer, finishing the juice off with an obnoxiously loud slurp before he crushed it in his hand. Those three were so fucking strange. There was no way in hell he’d ever eat or drink something after them, lest he get some sort of infection or disease from them.

“Hey, why didn’t you offer any of it to me?” Ashido complained, bottom lip pushed out in an obviously overdramatized pout. 

“Because! That’d be weird, dude!” Kaminari spluttered, cheeks going red as he planted his feet on the ground, leaning forwards as his hands gripped the edge of the desk underneath him. “You’re a girl!”

Ashido reached forwards to smack the back of his head with her hand, “Don’t be sexist!”

“I’m not!” The blond explained, looking hurt as he rubbed at his head. “I’m just saying, that’s, like, objectively weirder than Sero drinking after me. Right, Sero? Bakubro?”

Katsuki’s eye twitched as he listened to Ashido and Kaminari. His self-proclaimed friends were starting to give him a headache with their bickering, and if they didn’t stop talking soon, he’d get himself stuck in detention. Relief washed through him as he spotted their teacher walking down the hallway. It was time for class, which meant these fuckers would be forced to leave him alone. 

“Fucking finally,” he grumbled.

His classmates (including his friends, thank fuck) scrambled to get into their seats as Aizawa-sensei walked through the door, carrying a manila folder under his arm and looking slightly more grumpy than usual. The dark purple bags under his eyes were prominent and his frown was etched so deeply into his mouth that Katsuki wondered if it was permanent. Katsuki didn’t think he’d blame Aizawa if it was.

Aizawa stood at the front of the room and glared at the class until their chatter faded. Clearing his throat, his raspy voice broke the silence, “Class 3-A, settle down. I have an announcement to make before I start today’s lesson.”

At this, the class visibly perked up, and Katsuki didn’t have to be able to read minds to know that a majority of the losers were hoping for a free day. Meanwhile, Katsuki didn’t really give a shit about what they did during the day, as long as it went by quickly.

“I’d like to preface this by saying that today is not any different from any other day, nor will it be treated as such,” he droned. He sounded incredibly bored, and Katsuki found himself agreeing with the sentiment, even as the class collectively groaned in disappointment. 

“That being said, we have a new student joining us today.” There’s a long, unamused pause he’s forced to take as everybody (bar Katsuki, obviously) gasped in excitement. Aizawa’s eyes narrowed in frustration as he raised his voice to be heard over the murmuring. “He’s transferring here all the way from Chiba, so he’s probably feeling very overwhelmed, therefore we will at least TRY to be calm until he’s settled in. Understood?”

There are scattered but enthusiastic affirmatives from the students, loud and disruptive.

Aizawa sighed, rubbing a hand over his face in distress as he seemed to fight an inner battle with himself. After a few seconds he resigned himself to his fate and headed back to the door, opening it up and beckoning somebody in.

There’s an awkward scuffling of shoes against the floor as somebody ducked inside, and Katsuki’s first thought was red.

Red eyes, red hair, and red shoes. Even a fucking red omamori knot keychain hung off of the side of his backpack. The boy was covered in it—a garish, tacky vermillion. It’s almost offensive how goddamn saturated it was. The only parts of his body that were spared from the crimson onslaught were his tan, sun-worn skin and their school’s white-and-brown uniform he was donning.

“Hello!” the boy said, and for such a pretty face, his voice was surprisingly rough. Deep, and without the typical squeakiness of a teenage boy’s vocal cords. He smiled out at the class, who were all practically vibrating in their seats at the new kid, eager to meet him and introduce themselves. 

Katsuki caught a flash of white, strangely sharp teeth as the redhead grinned. Hm. 

The boy stood there anxiously, hands gripping the straps of the black backpack on his shoulders as the class studied him. His gaze flitted over to Katsuki’s a few times and Katsuki shifted uncomfortably in his seat at the attention. Did this fucker want something from him?

Aizawa coughed, clearly waiting for the boy to introduce himself, but he never did. Taking matters into his own hands, he lifted his hand to half-heartedly gesture to the new student, “Kirishima Eijirou, this is Class 3-A. Class 3-A, Kirishima. Welcome to our class. If you have any questions with the coursework, feel free to ask Iida or Yaoyorozu for help.”

Yaoyorozu offered a small wave, but Iida rose from his seat to stand and bow his head to Kirishima in introduction. “Iida Tenya, class president! I’d be happy to offer any assistance needed! Welcome to Class 3-A, Kirishima!”

Katsuki snorted at the obnoxious display, and once again, Kirishima caught his gaze.

Kirishima’s eyes widened before he turned to Iida and bowed back, a little deeper than appropriate. When he brought himself back up his face was flushed in embarrassment. “It’s nice to meet all of you!”

Kirishima? Katsuki’s eyebrows furrowed in irritation as he stared at the newbie, the rest of the conversation falling deaf to his ears. Why did that name sound familiar?

Tapping his foot against the ground, Katsuki wracked his mind for an answer. He definitely didn’t know any other Kirishimas, so it couldn’t be that, and he only vaguely remembered a mountain somewhere else in Japan with the same name. Nothing seemed to click.

How did Katsuki know this kid?

“Sit back down, Iida,” Aizawa said, yawning as he reached for a piece of chalk and wrote the name of their lesson on the chalkboard. “Kirishima, you can sit at the desk behind Kaminari. Kaminari, share your books with Kirishima until he gets his own, please.”

As Kirishima cautiously made his way to a welcoming Kaminari, Katsuki rotated his head to track his path. He didn’t look like somebody Katsuki had seen before. There was no way he’d forget that horrible fucking hair, nor the red eyes framed by long, dark lashes. This guy wasn’t forgettable, that was for damn sure.

He glared at the boy before turning his attention to the front of the class as Aizawa instructed them to get out their Japanese literature books. Reaching down into his school bag, he fumbled for his textbook and was met with the sharp sting of a paper cut instead. Normally his bag was organized to a fucking-T, more neat and orderly than Iida’s probably was, so something must’ve been out of place. Katsuki quickly identified the problem as he saw the torn open envelope thrust into his bag. Shit, he’d forgotten about that stupid letter.  Pushing it aside, he yanked the literature textbook out and automatically flipped to the correct page, tapping his foot against the ground as Aizawa began his lesson.

Katsuki found it impossible to pay attention today as their teacher monotonously read from the board. He was continually looking down at the letter, which hadn’t moved from its spot, because fucking obviously . 

The letter sat heavy in his bag, practically beckoning him to read it instead of focus on their lesson. It was nagging at him, and he didn’t know why this suddenly seemed so important. It was fucking irritating. For some reason it seemed connected with their new student, and he was failing to connect the dots.

It was only when Aizawa began reciting a memoir from their text that it dawned on Katsuki. Head snapping towards Kirishima, he glared fervently in suspicion at the unsuspecting boy. When Katsuki had skimmed the letter earlier, in front of the school, there had been two words underlined repeatedly: Kirishima Eijirou.

So it was Kirishima that wrote the letter, then.

What was this fuckers plan? He wanted to get Katsuki’s attention or something? But why would he do that by sending him a letter from himself…? And how the hell would he even know Katsuki?

His foot tapped even faster as he stared the redhead down. The dumbass had just chewed his pen so hard that indigo ink was spilling across his desk and into his mouth. The students who noticed his dilemma giggled as Kirishima coughed loudly, and his ears were a bright red as he wiped at his chin with the back of his hand. Great, he was an idiot.

Again, Katsuki couldn’t help but think that something about the situation was off. Kirishima, even as muscled as he was—not that Katsuki was looking, fuck you—didn’t seem like the type to pick a fight. Even now, he shrunk in on himself under everybody else’s attention. 

Unassuming as the kid was, Katsuki had never let people push him around, and he wasn’t going to start now.

Katsuki barely registered Aizawa announcing that today would indeed be a half-day. The instant the bell that signaled lunch rang and Aizawa left the room, Katsuki shoved himself out of his desk so harshly that his chair slammed to the floor behind him with a loud ‘clang’. Teeth bared and lip curled into a snarl, he stormed forwards and yanked the redhead up by the front of his shirt, “The fuck is your damage, hah? Trying to intimidate me or some shit? I ain’t fuckin’ scared of you!”

“What?” Kirishima exclaimed, eyes as wide as saucers. 

“The letter, fuckwit!” growled Katsuki. His fingers dug into the other boy’s shirt as he shook him roughly, ignoring the disapproving stares of the few that hadn’t yet left the room. 

Hands raised placatingly, the redhead allowed himself to be shaken as his eyebrows furrowed in confusion. While Katsuki wasn’t necessarily an expert on people, the bewildered expression on Kirishima’s face seemed genuine. “Hey, man, I don’t know anything about a letter. I just got here.”

Katsuki scowled as he moved his focus to Kirishima’s desk, searching for any sort of evidence pointing towards him being the culprit. Worn pink eraser, unopened water bottle, Kaminari’s textbook opened to a random page… none of this shit proved anything. 

Kirishima was still talking, some happy-go-lucky nonsense about not wanting to start things off on the wrong foot, but Katsuki was too busy in his search to process any of it.

There. Right there, half hidden by the hardcover of the Japanese literature book, was a loose-leaf paper with writing across it. 

Pushing the redhead away, he grabbed the paper so hard it tore a little at the edges. Katsuki zeroed in on every dot, line, and stroke of the pen, and what he found was both disappointing and relieving—it wasn’t him. There was no fucking way it could be. This loser’s handwriting was barely legible. Based off of the strong indentations on the paper glinting in the light, Kirishima had actually been trying to make his writing neat. Which meant he couldn’t forge anything, even if his life was on the line. 

Fuck.

Ears burning in shame, Katsuki grabbed his bag and stalked out of the room without another word. Distantly, he could hear Ashido, Kaminari, and Sero fervently apologizing to Kirishima for Katsuki’s behavior, but he didn’t give a flying fuck about that right now.

So he’d been wrong. Meaning Katsuki had just picked a fight with the new kid for no reason. Even he could admit to himself that it was an asshole move, especially after Kirishima had been stupidly kind in return.

How could he smile at Katsuki while being threatened? Masochistic motherfucker.

But that was the least of his worries now. Determined to find a safe space to figure shit out, he trudged on. Once Katsuki had found an empty hallway that he deemed suitable enough, he ripped his bag open and pulled the letter out of the bag. Maybe it was time to actually read this stupid thing.

Katsuki Bakugou,

This is you from the future. 

Before you freak the fuck out, I already know you aren’t going to believe me. Hell, I wouldn’t believe me, even now. But it’s the truth. And it’s important that you read this, so get over your damn teenage pride and listen up.

I, or we, have always lived our lives without regret. But now that I know what I know, I regret so fucking much. There’s not a day that goes by that I don’t wish things were different. And unless you want to feel like shit every goddamn day of your life, then you should take this seriously.

On April 6th, 2005, a new student is going to transfer to your class. Kirishima Eijirou . He has the shittiest red hair you’ve ever seen and he’ll be seated directly behind Kaminari. He’s obnoxiously kind to everyone, especially us, even though we didn’t deserve it at the time. Kaminari and Sero take him under their wing, and he’ll be dragged along with the others.

No matter what you do, don’t let him hang out with you after school that day.

That’s it.

That’s it?! The fuck was this, some elaborate fucking prank one of his friends set on him?

Katsuki glared at the paper, his eyes scanning the words over and over, searching for any hidden meaning or hint. He could almost hear Kaminari’s obnoxious laughter in the back of his mind, imagining the blond idiot coming up with such a ridiculous prank.

But it didn't make sense. Kaminari couldn’t forge Katsuki’s handwriting so perfectly, nor would he even know how to start. And why Kirishima? The kid had just shown up.

“This is bullshit,” Katsuki muttered to himself, shoving the letter back into his bag with more force than necessary. His head pounded with frustration as he made his way to the bathroom to cool off, ignoring the chatter of students around him.

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