Currently Longing For Yuzuya Inspired Fics

Opening the door, you heard skin slapping and the distinct whines of Katsuki when he's overstimulated. You drop your bag and jacket, loving the sound of your heels on the hardwood as you make your way up to your boys. Your clit throbbed at the sight in front of you when you made it to the doorway. Eijiro had Katsuki tied up, his head buried in Katsuki's neck while Katsuki's fucked out face tried to burrow into Eijiro's. Katsuki was sobbing out whimpers and moans, occasionally gasping for air.

Eijiro caught you looking at them and smiled at you. "Look baby", he grabbed Katsuki by his hair eliciting a whine, pulling him to look at the doorway, "mommy's home."

"Mo-mmm-momm-y", fat tears fell off his cheeks.

"Aww baby", you coo walking to the bed. Taking his face in your palms, Eijiro moved his hands to Bakugo's hips to keep fucking him. "Were you a bad boy?", he whimpered in response. You licked the tears falling down his face. "I think he wanted this, what do you think, Daddy?", Katsuki shook his head, eyes wide. You turn to smirk at Kirishima who was already smirking at you, "I think so, mommy. Just a bratty little baby." He gave three rough thrusts to exaggerate his insult and got the exact response he wanted, Katsuki clenching harder around his cock with his own jumping for attention. Eijiro groaning with Katsuki's moan.

"Look at you", you coo with a frown turning your attention back to Bakugo, "poor thing." You take off your button down, unzip your skirt and remove your heels before crawling in front of him. Both men stopped for a moment to just admire you crawling onto the bed and placing yourself center stage. Eijiro thinking it should be illegal for you to walk around nude under your clothes. You look at Katsuki's chest and see his cum painting the canvas. "Hmmm", you muse, scooping a bit in your finger and sucking it off with a moan.

Both men groan at the sight before Eijiro goes back to pounding into Katsuki. You started to clean Katsuki with your tongue occasionally leaving a hickey for later, eliciting more pretty whines and moans.

"So pretty", you hummed, working your way up, "how many?" You looked up into his crimson eyes, more bloodshot now.

"Mommy asked you a question, Katsuki. How many times did you cum?" Kirishima stopped his movements, his chest rising and falling with his deep breaths. Katsuki's hands figited against the ropes like he was trying to get out but you two knew better. He's exactly where he wants to be.

Kirishima's hand snaked from Katsuki's chest grazing his sensitive nipples to right above his overstimulated cock. "Ungh hah", Katsuki swallowed, his mind going a million miles an hour. "Come on, baby", Kirishima grinned against Bakugo's shoulder, "you talked so big earlier. Where'd the bite go, hmm?"

"F-f-fooouuur", Katsuki whined out. You get a sparkle in your eyes as you cup Katsuki's face again, "four times!? Baby! You're doing so good!" His hips thrusted forward at the praise, both men moaning.

"Fuck baby, don't move like that", Kirishima breathlessly bit Katsuki's shoulder. You giggled and kissed Katsuki which he urgently reciprocated, whining at the fact he couldn't touch you. Moving to lay down, you separated your lips and grabbed Katsuki's cock to line up with your entrance.

"Huh uh", Katsuki whined, "too it's too it's too—hah it's too much." His cock jumped in your hold, pushing past your lips. He groaned when you bottomed out on him. Katsuki saw white and fell onto you, burying his face in your neck, sobbing harder. You kissed the side of his face, "just one more baby, I promise." He whimpered when Eijiro started to move again, his cock going in and out of Katsuki while Katsuki's moved in tandem inside of you.

"Ah fuck", you moaned, "h-has daddy cum yet?"

"You cleaned it off—shit—our little boy—hah—earlier."

That admission caused Katsuki to moan in your ear. "Baby likes being used like that", Kirishima taunted. You giggled causing inadvertent squeezing of Katsuki's cock. "Hnnngh", he grunted as his cock tried to cum, but the poor thing was shooting blanks.

"Did he just cum without permission?", Eijiro asked with a quirked eyebrow.

You grabbed Katsuki's cheeks and moved him to look at you, "he didn't mean to, did you baby? Mommy's pussy is just too perfect."

"Hah ah m-mmmommy."

"I think you fucked him dumb, daddy", you cooed to Bakugo, "are you our dumb toy?" He nodded his head against your neck.

"Make it up to mama", Eijiro grabbed Katsuki's hair and pulled him up against his chest again, "dinner time." Kirishima kissed Katsuki's cheek before signaling to you to move up the bed and pushed his face into your pussy. Katsuki took the hint and ate you out like it was his last meal.

Kirishima grunted out, "fuckfuckfuck", before stilling as far as he could up Katsuki's ass and cumming. Katsuki's moans causing vibrations against your clit eliciting your own which only made him more determined to make you cum. Kirishima pulled out of Kat with a hiss and stayed back to watch his cum ooze out.

He spread Katsuki's cheeks to get a better view before eating his cum out. This caused Katsuki to drop onto the bed fully, his bones more like jelly now. When Eijiro finished his dessert, he kissed his way up Katsuki's back until he was face to face with you and finally gave you a kiss.

You moaned at the taste of both of your boys, Katsuki's slurps in the background. Kirishima moved to the side and wrapped his mouth around your tit to suck and nibble. For a moment, he removed himself from the two of you and went into the attached bathroom.

So, you focused on Katsuki. Giving him praise for being so good for the two of you and making you feel amazing. Your hands found the roots of his hair and tugged him closer, noticing the slight grind of his hips. Eijiro came back, hard again, and ready. You smiled up at him as he settled beside you, "Katsuki is hard again", Kat whimpered in response.

Kirishima hummed and moved to grab Katsuki by the ropes wrapped around him. Your arousal dripping from his chin, Eijiro licked around Katsuki's lips before pulling him in for a deep kiss. Mid kiss, he moves Katsuki to be beside you. "Stay here baby", he murmured against his lips.

Bakugo mindlessly tried to follow Kirishima's warmth before falling back against the pillows with a whine. He had moved between your legs and leaned down to kiss you, "on your side mama." You follow orders and he puts one of your legs up on his shoulder. Lining himself up, he pushes into you with little resistance thanks to Katsuki.

"Fuuuuuuuuuuck—", he moaned as he bottomed out, "you feel amazing."

You whined at the stretch and looked to Bakugo who you were now facing. Reaching down, you encircle his cock in your hand. Slowly, you start moving your hand up and down keeping your pace even though he tried to buck his hips. Eijiro's cock twitched inside of you as you jerked off Katsuki, who came way too fast for his liking even though it was painful.

You then turned to look at Eijiro, who decided to start moving, slowly at first. He kissed your calf up to your knee before caging you in with his arms on either side of your head. He proceeded to ruthlessly pound into you, biting your shoulder cause the pleasure was too much. Combined with his hand rubbing your clit cause you to cum, squirting all over his bottom half. The convulsions leading to his finish, which oozed out of you like it had with Katsuki.

He decided to clean you up the same, even though you pushed his head because of the overstimulation. When he finished his fill, he sat back on his knees and looked at his two favorite people fucked out because of him. He started to remove the ropes from around Katsuki, rubbing the area to try and soothe any pain. Once freed, he immediately cuddled up to you with a kiss to your neck.

"I think it's bath time", Eijiro smiled. Bakugo grumbled something about his cock hurting before Eijiro slapped his ass, hopped off the bed and went into the bathroom to start up a shower completely ignoring the firey gaze from his blond boyfriend. Katsuki put his face back in your neck with a huff causing you to giggle. He smirked against your skin.

"What happened?", you asked with your hand scratching his scalp. "Just needed to let go. Rough week", he sighed out. You hummed in acknowledgment.

"How was work?"

You took in a deep breath, "Kyoco is being a bitch again and pushing her work onto me, but the boss said the board liked my presentation."

"I wish you would let us take care of you", he mumbled, "then you wouldn't have to deal with these extras."

"I know, but I like working, gives me something I can do."

Katsuki breathed in like he was about to speak when Eijiro came out of the bathroom, "Shower is ready."

"You may have to carry the baby", you giggle as you look at Katsuki. Eijiro smirked and grabbed Katsuki's ankle to pull him towards the end of the bed. Kat retaliated by hugging onto your waist tight, "what happened to relaxing?"

"We can relax when we are clean, come on."

Warm sunlight filtered through the curtains, illuminating sections of the sheets with golden panels.

“Go back to sleep,” he replied, brushing a strand of hair away from her face gently.

Her skin was warm against his own as she moved her legs from where they were tangled with his and the sheets.

She hummed softly, tucking herself against his chest with her ear right above his heartbeat.

He wrapped an arm around her waist, tracing small circles against her bare skin.

“You’re safe,” he murmured against her hair.

She sighed contentedly and Xaden’s insides melted.

His arms banded tighter around her, not wanting to let go just yet.

Most people had the luxury of saying that they had eternity to spend with their lovers, but it pained Xaden to admit that he didn’t know how much time he had left with her.

After they both graduated and were deployed with the slim to none chance that they would be stationed at the same outpost, the suffocating shadow of Malek would follow them until they both retired from service.

And as much as Xaden hated to admit it, he wasn’t invincible and she wasn’t either.

She shifted against him again, bringing him back to the present.

“Hey,” she murmured, tilting her head back to look up at him. “Is everything alright?”

That was always her first instinct, Xaden grew to realize. She always tried to fix everything, to make everything okay.

It was the healer in her, and he admired her efforts so much it made his heart ache. But there were some things no one could fix.

“You’re here,” he replied. “How could anything not be?”

The cutest little smile graced her lips. “How are you real?”

“Would you rather I wasn’t?” Xaden asked as he glided his knuckles up and down her spine.

“No. It just feels like I’m dreaming. This is all that I’ve ever wanted and now that I have it I guess I’m waiting for someone to just… take it from me.”

She must have rifled through his heart after he’d given it to her because there was no way she’d just summed up all of his jumbled, colourful, messy, vulnerable, absolute feelings about her in a couple of sentences.

“No one’s ever taking me from you,” Xaden said. “I promise.”

Looking down at this— at his beautiful woman, at his future she held in her eyes, he knew that he’d rather die than live without her because life wasn’t only not worth living without her, life didn’t have worth without her.

The best version of himself lived with her, and all versions of himself loved her.

She is warmth, light, laughter and the heavens. Xaden refused to believe that there was life after her, because there was no him after her.

He pressed a soft kiss at the top of her head to seal it.

It had been two months.

Two months since the apostasy went into flames.

Two months since he was forbidden to go outside on a specific day for reasons no one would tell, but he understood anyway.

Two months of nightmares so vivid that he felt the scars on his back, that have long since healed, throb with white-hot pain as if they were fresh.

Do you understand? The voice of Lilith Sorrengail echoed long after he woke up, brow drenched with sweat.

He’d nodded, though both him and the general knew that there was a difference between understanding and agreeing.

But he had no choice but to comply, because in the end, his friend’s lives and all of the others his father died protecting was worth more than temporary pain, a heavy responsibility and a wedding band he couldn’t escape from.

The terms of the agreement was clear:

He would be beat 107 times for every life he had agreed to shoulder

The separatist children would be conscripted into the Rider’s Quadrant instead of being sentenced to death

If Xaden were to step out of line, the 107 lives he was now responsible for would pay the price

He would marry Y/N L/N, a girl second in line to the duchy of Morraine when they were both of age

And from what Xaden understood, the last rule was their failsafe, just in case he actually survived his doom.

He heard the geers, the laughter saying that he wouldn’t survive his first year in the infamous war college.

Determination and spite swirled in his gut as he kept his mouth shut and chin high.

He was going to survive the quadrant and show each and every one of those fuckers how strong he really was. It was the only path he allowed.

He was going to show all of the people who fucked his life over that he wasn’t going to let a school and an arranged marriage deter him. He had to.

Xaden wondered what General Sorrengail wanted with him after a month of silence.

All of the muscles in his body were tight as his footsteps and two others from the guards on either side of him filled the silence.

The message was clear: Try to run and you’ll be sorry.

He’d caught glimpses of the Rider’s Quadrant through windows in the hall.

Although he couldn’t see it very well since it was separated from the rest of campus by a deep gorge, he tried to subtly gain as much information as he could.

Eventually, the guards stopped him in front of a large wooden door and one of them knocked.

“Come in,” a voice said from the other side and the hinges creaked slightly as the guards escorted Xaden into the general’s office.

“You ordered to see me?” Xaden asked, not bothering to sugarcoat the truth because they both knew that if it was a request, he wouldn’t be there.

“Sit down, Riorson.” No time for pleasantries for her either, apparently.

He reluctantly sat in the chair opposite her large desk — no doubt flooded with updates about the dark wielders she’s so scared to face.

“I’m relocating you,” Sorrengail said without looking up from her paper. “Effictive immediately.”

Xaden schooled his expression as he thought quickly.

This news could have easily been sent by a missive, saving both of them valuable time.

So why tell him in person?

“Where?” He asked, knowing that that piece of information would probably be the punchline of the summons.

“The Morraine Estate,” General Sorrengail finally raised her gaze so it met his own. “I think it’s about time you met your fiancé.”

Ah, so this was a reminder.

Though subtle, Xaden would give her that, she was asserting dominance. Holding over his head just how easily she could turn his life upside down and just how well she did.

Also, he thinks, just as a reminder that he had a fiancé.

Whenever Xaden pictured his bride-to-be, all he could picture was an innocent little girl no older than sixteen reading romance books in a garden.

Growing up in aristocracy, he knew how sheltered some heirs could be, especially those who weren’t first in line for the title.

Xaden imagined a naïve heiress who would bat her eyelashes at him and hang off of every word he said.

He heard the rumors about the current husband of the Duchess of Morraine and his sexist view on women and Xaden was sure that those views had an influence in the household’s education.

The thought made Xaden’s stomach recoil.

Men and women were born with the same capacity for potential no matter what circumstance — and seeing a woman use her wit and intelligence to learn and grow to push back against her boundaries? That had always been his type.

Xaden was never one for pliant, submissive women.

He liked a challenge, someone who wasn’t afraid to defy him — not constant fawning and compliance.

“And why are you telling me this now?” Xaden asked, crossing his arms in front of his chest. “When I’ve already been fostered at the Lewellen Estate?”

Lilith set her papers down and folded her arms on her desk. “I thought I’d give you some time to adjust to the last chapter closing before the next one would open.”

“And I’m supposed to thank you?” Xaden asked incredulously. After everything she’d done to him?

The scars on his back throbbed faintly as if reminding him of their presence — like he’d actually forget.

“Believe it or not, Xaden, I do carry some empathy towards you.” 

He didn’t, he concluded immediately. A general with empathy was like a poet with conformity. 

“I’ve ordered Lewellen to pack your things and send them to Morraine. You’re to travel there immediately.”

What, without saying goodbye to Liam? Fuck empathy.

But what was he gonna do? Argue? He knew that he was balancing on a precarious wire and one wrong move and he would be pushed over the side and into the abyss.

“Anything else?” Xaden asked, pretending like the news didn’t affect him, not for his sake’s but Liam’s — if he revealed how much he didn’t want to be relocated then Sorrengail would soon find out that it was Liam and not Lewellen that made Xaden want to stay. And he couldn’t put a target on Liam’s back like that.

“That is all,” General Sorrengail said. “I’ll see you back on campus in… three years?”

“Two years,” Xaden corrected her.

“Forgive me, I thought you were still seventeen.”

“I am. I turn eighteen this year.”

Sorrengail nodded. “Two years then. Dismissed.”

Xaden immediately got out of his chair and was met again with the two guards who escorted him outside to a carriage with the crest of Morraine, a falcon with its wings flared wide like a phoenix’s.

Xaden’s steps didn’t falter as he climbed into the carriage and shut the door behind him.

The interior was nice, with velvet lined seat cushions and gold accented details on the walls.

But Xaden knew just how tricky appearances could be, so he sat back, relaxed and waited until the journey was over and he would finally meet the girl he would be shackled to for the rest of both of their lives.

“The lady is in the sage room.”

That was it. No hello, no inquiries about his travels — just a once over, a nod and an escort through the airy halls of the Morraine Estate by a butler who looked well past the age of retirement.

The home was a lot lighter than Xaden expected.

With large windows and the curtains drawn all the way back to let the light in, it gave the manor a much more cheerful and welcoming aura compared to Riorson House’s stone walls, although admittedly it only made Xaden more homesick.

There were many plants of various species potted as decoration along the walls, like the lord or lady of the house and was determined to eternalize spring within the manor.

The butler led Xaden down a main hall lined with even more open windows.

Little marble statues placed beside the windows caught his eye as he passed them.

They depicted the regular and standard folklore — a wistful poet with their pen drawn like a sword, a hunter who had a swan instead of a hound for a companion, the infamous Heartless King and his Queen of Hearts locking lips while they clutched at the same bleeding organ, blood dripping in rivulets between their fingers.

Did his fiancé like myths? Xaden found himself wondering. Or were the statues just illusions to make the household seem more insightful than they really were?

Eventually the butler stopped in front of a pair of double doors and knocked lightly before opening one of the doors.

“My lady?” He said to the person inside. “Xaden Riorson is here.”

“Send him in,” replied a melodic voice that Xaden didn’t recognize.

“Of course,” the butler stepped out of the doorway and gestured for Xaden to enter.

“Thank you,” he said before stepping through the threshold.

With tall windows and vines hanging from the walls, the sitting room was like most of what he’d seen of the house: well decorated and well lit.

Unlit candles and lanterns took up space on wall sconces and tables and in the centre of the room was a setup of two couches and a couple of armchairs — and atop one of those armchairs with her nose buried in a book, was a girl.

She was about Xaden’s age from what he could tell. Her boots were discarded next to the chair and her stockinged feet were tucked back onto the seat cushion.

Her hair was unbound, which surprised Xaden. It was unlike most ladies of the court, although it made her look less coiffed like a doll, so Xaden decided he preferred it.

The girl looked up and the sunlight from the open window hit her face, illuminating her eyes.

The sunlight highlighted the swirls of colour in her irises and the different strands of colour in her hair.

“Hello,” she closed the book and placed it on the table, standing up from her chair and extending a hand. “I’m Y/N.”

Xaden took her hand and shook it. Her grip felt warm and comforting, like they’d done this multiple times. “Xaden,” he introduced himself.

He was one hundred percent sure that Y/N had heard of him as he’d heard of her, yet he liked how fresh they’d started. No rumors, no judgement. Just two souls trying to navigate the storm fate had sent their way.

“It’s nice to meet you, Xaden,” she smiled and gestured to the couch behind him. “Please sit.”

She took her own seat back in the armchair as Xaden sat on the couch cushions.

His eyes strayed to the book she had been reading and his entire body stilled.

Tyrrendor: A Complete History was printed in bright gold in the centre of the black cover.

She’d been researching his home province.

Xaden didn’t know how he felt about it, but it put him on edge.

“Did you find anything useful?” He asked, reaching for the tome and flicking through the pages.

It was thorough, going over the duchy of Tyrrendor over the past hundred of years right until the reign of his father.

There were recounts of sieges, cold wars, political deadlock and more.

If Y/N wanted to learn things about his lineage, she’d certainly got it.

“History is always useful,” her voice was calm and sure.

“And what did you learn?” Xaden snapped the book shut with a thud, leaning forwards and resting his forearms on his knees. “This book stops right before the interesting part.”

The answers were there, Xaden could see them simmering in her eyes. But she was holding back — out of apprehension, he guessed, of offending him perhaps. But this wasn’t about his past, it was about their future and how long he would have to wait for his future partner to catch up.

“I’m not surprised that Tyrrendor tried to separate,” she’d replied after some thought. “I don’t think Navarre was either — they were just waiting for someone brave enough to actually do it.”

Her eyes scanned his face before flicking back down to the book.

Not a lot of waiting, it turned out.

“Thank you,” he said, setting the book back down on the table and leaning back in his seat, “for being honest.”

She slipped her boots back on, retying the laces.

“I think honesty is the best way to get to know each other,” she said. “Considering how… close we’re going to be.”

Although the terms of the arrangement had stated that both he and she must be of age before they were married, that didn’t defeat the purpose of the arrangement to begin with.

The point was to condemn his future, for him to be denied the simple freedom of love and to be cursed with the burden of an unwanted wife.

Xaden had started feeling sympathetic towards the girl he now started realizing was more a woman for being tied to him in a matrimony she hadn’t agreed to either.

“I’m not expecting you to love me,” she said, breaking through his thoughts. “I’m not expecting you to be faithful or to sleep in the same bed with me at night.” Her voice was quiet, gentle, and with the kind of resolve that made Xaden think that she’d thought about this before. “But I’d like it if we could at least respect each other.”

Those were terms Xaden could certainly agree with.

He’d seen the couples of arranged marriages, they were all tight-lipped and awkward — the subtle prison he’d been punished to.

So to have a relationship like this, this kind that wouldn’t be uncomfortable like a shoe a size too small, it seemed like rebelling in its own way, and Xaden relished in the small freedom.

“I’ll admit, this isn’t what I was expecting when I was relocated,” he said, a small grin tugging at his lips. “You’re a lot stronger than I anticipated.”

A little secretive grin of her own graced her lips. “I’m a lot stronger than you think, Your Grace.”

Oh this arrangement was going to be much more fun than he’d thought. Perhaps being tied to this woman wouldn’t be as bad as the general spun it to be.

“I don’t doubt it, Duchess.”

Balls were never Xaden’s scene.

Growing up, he’d usually stick to the sides, have a dance or two and swipe a piece of chocolate cake before leaving early.

His father would find him in a secluded corner or hallway and instead of dragging him back to the party, would plop down onto the floor next to him and steal a bite of cake.

Xaden’s heart twinged at the memory as he straightened his cuffs in the mirror.

He’d never had all of his father, Fen was more than a parent, he was a duke, a leader in the whole sense of the word, but Xaden still ached for him and the absence of his father left a gaping hole in his chest that felt impossible to fill.

Traitorously, his hands started shaking. It was a slight tremor, but it threw him off all the same.

His father was gone. No matter how long Xaden would wait on top of that roof, he wouldn’t come back. There was no more boisterous laughter or the glint of pride in those dark eyes that had matched his own so much that Xaden couldn’t look in the mirror without seeing traces of his father.

Frustration and sorrow bubbled up in his chest and Xaden tried slamming it back down but it was no use.

He gave up on trying to button his cuffs, his sleeves falling uselessly as he tried to grapple his thoughts.

He couldn’t have this, not now. Not with hundreds of courtiers waiting to see him downstairs, all waiting to see just how long it took before he cracked and broke.

Weakness was not something he could afford, not ever.

A firm knock on his door broke him out of his thoughts.

“Xaden?” A familiar voice laced with concern that told him this wasn’t the first knock was muffled through the door. “Can I come in?” 

To anyone else, he would’ve said no, he would’ve turned them away without a second thought.

But this wasn’t just anyone, this was Y/N.

The woman he’d grown to befriend and appreciate over the last couple of months.

It felt that now in the untrusting world that seemed pitted against him, she was the only one who was completely unfiltered with him. She smiled without hesitation, answered any of his questions with her signature bright grin and honest answer and didn’t make him feel alone in his unique situation because they were in this together.

Xaden was glad that all the people he was tied to, it was her, because she actually understood, and when she didn’t, she tried to with open honesty and patience.

“Yeah,” he said, stealing a glance in the mirror and wishing to smash the glass before turning away. “Come in.”

The door slowly eased open and Y/N walked in.

She looked… etherial.

Dressed in an exquisite black ballgown with delicate gold details, she shined under the candlelight.

Her hair was in a glorious updo with stray curls kissing her shoulders and collarbones.

She looked like royalty. She looked like… a duchess.

Fierce and cunning and seductive in all of the bone-melting ways that could have legions of men bowing at her feet in reverence.

Gods above, if Amari herself had designed a woman with the sole intent of unraveling Xaden down to his very core, gods help him, that woman would look like her.

“You look…” Xaden paused, trying to think of a word that could sum up everything he felt. He drew up blank. “Breathtaking,” he decided, although it still felt insufficient.

“Thank you,” she replied, closing the door softly as she walked deeper into the room and sat down on one of the many chairs in his room.

“You also look amazing,” she said, observing him from where he was standing in front of his large mirror. “Remind me to dress you up black more often.”

Xaden chuckled and his eyes strayed to the gold brocaded jacket draped over his desk chair. One that matched her dress exactly.

Although the Duchess of Morraine hadn’t said it directly, she’d implied that tonight would be a test.

Since he had lost his title as the next Duke of Tyrrendor, all of Xaden’s political and social power would come from this marriage.

Show me you are worthy of my title, the words practically vibrated in his head. Show me you are worthy of my daughter.

Xaden didn’t respond well to commands, although anyone would find it difficult to deny the Duchess — a trait her second child had inherited and wielded well.

He sighed in frustration before attempting to button his shirt cuffs again and succeeding, adjusting his sleeves slightly before reaching over and taking the jacket.

It was heavy in his hands, the fabric hard and coarse under his fingers.

He slipped the jacket on, pushing his arms through the sleeves before glancing back at the mirror.

The garment fit snugly on his body, resting on his broad chest and fitting his arms which began to expand with muscle as he trained at any opportunity he could.

Basgiath was a looming shadow draping across his future and Xaden refused to die and have everything his father fought for — died for, be in vain.

Light footsteps sounded behind him before Y/N’s reflection appeared beside his own.

They looked powerful together, both of them exuding a sort of confidence that dared anyone to step in their path.

But on the inside? They were both mourners, grieving their futures as well as his past.

Xaden had told Y/N stories of his childhood, however short and insignificant, and she’d listened until she no longer knew Fen Riorson as the Great Betrayer, but as a father and as a person.

Collectively, they were both grieving the lives lost in the apostasy. His own closure, his own rebellion.

“Are you ready to go?” She asked, tearing her eyes from their reflection to gaze up at him.

He smiled slightly, but he couldn’t bring himself to make it look sincere. “No,” he answered truthfully, looking down at her and wishing they could spend the night reading together or having soft conversations like most nights.

She gave a small smile that mirrored his own. “Me neither.”

But they had to go, unfortunately, since the ball was thrown in their honour.

Wordlessly, she slipped her arm around his and he led them outside the sanctuary of his room down to the rabble below.

The entire room was golden. Golden light, golden walls, gold flakes in the champagne that technically Xaden wasn’t allowed to drink yet, but did he care? No he did not.

The ball had been exactly what he’d expected. All sparkles, glitter, fake smiles and tight and awkward conversation.

He’d felt eyes on him all night — analysing, observing with a blatant scrutiny that made Xaden seethe, albeit silently.

Other members of the gentry asked him questions, some overt, others crude, all answered in five words or less.

Ladies and gentlemen asked him to dance to which he declined immediately. He didn’t have the patience for that tonight.

He’d kept Y/N in his sights at all times, glancing in her direction from time to time to make sure she was all right.

He didn’t care if others saw. He was pretty sure that all they did was swoon, convinced that they were utterly and completely in love with each other.

She flitted around groups of nobles, ever the gracious hostess, she shared polite smiles and engaged in what looked to be the most dull small talk.

The gentry are as interesting as spoons, she’d said to him once. Holding a conversation with them is like trying to have a riveting conversation with a duck.

Xaden couldn’t help but agree.

Finally, it was time for the first dance, which was led by the hosts of the ball.

Xaden and Y/N met at the centre of the dance floor as other couples paired up beside them.

Although no words passed between them, they both came to an understanding — they were escaping this as soon as possible.

They assumed the starting position and waited for the music to start.

Xaden’s hand tightened on her bodice in impatience, the gold stitching scratching lightly against his palm.

The small orchestra started playing and he began to take the lead.

It was easier to dance with a partner who could keep up, he decided as Xaden led Y/N through the familiar steps of the waltz.

Their movements were fluid and precise, gliding across the dance floor like figurines atop a music box.

Her eyes never left his own as he guided her back, then to the right, then forward and to the left.

Gods, he could get willingly lost in her endless eyes, they’ve captivated him since they met.

The skirts of her dress brushed against his leg as they twirled round and round.

Her hand tightened in his, a gentle reassurance and familiarity in the midst of strangers.

“People are staring, Duchess,” he murmured, stepping back to let her spin.

The golden light from the chandelier caught and shone against the gold detailing on her dress, making her look like a wishing star.

When she came back, she had the same little grin as the day they met.

“I don’t mind, Your Grace, do you?” She asked, gazing up at him with a mix of devotion and trouble.

He cruckled. Gods she was brash.

She was brash and stubborn and loyal and honest and a marvel.

Xaden could practically feel his stomach plummet and the wind whistle in his ears as he realized one startling, heart stopping, true fact.

He was falling for her.

And it didn’t feel wrong or traitorous. It felt liberating. It felt right.

“No,” he replied, his heart hammering in his chest like it recognised who it was beating for now. “I don’t.”

The first thing Xaden recognised was the smell.

Gods it smelled like her. It smelled like home.

He turned in the sheets, feeling the cool morning air nip at his bare skin where the blanket had slipped past his chest.

The curtains were still closed, but they let enough light filter in to illuminate her silhouette beside him.

She looked angelic in the morning atmosphere — her features softened by sleep and her mouth turned up in a little peaceful smile from whatever dream she was having.

It was like time was frozen into this little pocket of stillness and quiet.

Xaden treasured it, treasured this period of peace while it lasted.

He propped himself up on one elbow so he could see her clearer.

His heart almost burst, like it did any time he laid eyes on her lately.

She was all of the good in his life right now. The only beacon of light leading him through his training and work.

He was going to survive Basgiath, but not for spite or revenge anymore, but for her.

He’d be honed as a weapon, sharpened at Basgiath, used in the battlefield, just so that he can make it back to this woman, his woman.

Because his future doesn’t exist unless she’s in it.

There was no him without her.

All of the good, all of his happiness and love and calm exists because of her.

He pressed a kiss to her shoulder, then one at the back of her neck, then one on her cheek.

She stirred, a little sleepy smile stretching across her face.

“Happy birthday, Duchess,” he murmured against her ear before kissing just behind it.

“Mmm,” she hummed, turning around to face him, looking up at him with those hypnotising, sleep-fogged eyes of hers. “Is it?”

He chuckled, leaning down to press a soft kiss to her lips, treasuring the feeling over her smiling against his mouth. “It is,” he breathed when he pulled away. “And I have a gift.”

Her hands trailed up his bare chest and Xaden could’ve purred like a cat. “Oh?”

“Mhm,” Xaden wrapped an arm around her midsection and pulled her towards him.

Naked skin pressed against each other as he brushed a piece of hair from her face.

“I cleared your schedule for today, so it’s just you, me and this bed.”

Excitement lit up her face. “Seriously?”

You’re becoming anxious. Your clothes are sticking to your skin. Your head throbs in time with your pulse, and your lungs feel like they’re on fire. 

You’re lagging behind, you know you are. But you tell yourself that you’re fine. You just have to keep walking. 

Ahead of you, Minho glances back for what feels like the hundredth time. He’s been doing that—counting heads, making sure everyone keeps up. You don’t blame him, though. Your group had already lost so much, he couldn’t bear to lose any more. 

As soon as he notices you falling behind a bit, he frowns. 

“You’re dragging,” he calls out over his shoulder without slowing. “Pick it up, shank.”

You roll your eyes, forcing your legs to pick up the pace. “I’m literally right behind you. We can’t all be as fast as you, slinthead.”

“Yeah, and five minutes ago you were literally right behind me. As in you’re now further behind,” he snaps. “What’s your point?”

“My point,” you say breathlessly. “Is that you don’t need to babysit me.”

Minho decides to glance back, eyes narrowing as they land on you. “I’m not babysitting,” he says. “I’m trying to keep you alive.”

“Wow, dramatic.”

“You almost passed out an hour ago.”

“I tripped.”

“You stopped answering me.”

“I was ignoring you.”

That earned a sharp laugh from him, one that held no humor and was laced with frustration. “You’re unbelievable.”

“And you’re bossy,” you shot back.

“You’re overheating.”

“I’m fine.”

“You’re stubborn.”

“You love it, though.”

Minho nearly stumbles at that, and if looks could kill, the one he was shooting at you right now would’ve had you dead instantly. “Don’t flatter yourself.”

He slows his pace anyway, falling back enough to walk beside you. His eyes scan over you, taking in your appearance. Your flushed skin, sweat soaking through your clothes, the way your breathing seems alarmingly fast.

“You drink your water?” he asks. 

“Yeah.”

“How much?”

You hesitate for a split second, and he catches it instantly. “Give it to me.”

“No.”

“That wasn’t a suggestion.”

“I’m not a kid, Minho.”

“And I’m really not in the mood to watch something happen to you,” he snaps. “Hand it over.”

You scoff, shoving your canteen into his chest. “Happy now?”

He shakes it once. It feels way too full. Immediately, he glares at you. “You barely drank any.”

“I was trying to be conservative.”

“Seriously?” he fires back. “Y/N, drink the damn water. Don’t be a stubborn shank.”

You sigh dramatically as he shoves it back into your hands. You take a chug anyway, although it’s probably not enough to matter at this point, but you do it just to appease him. It does alleviate the feeling of sandpaper in your mouth though, even if just for a moment. 

Everyone keeps trekking forward. Your feet are dragging through the sand, pulse racing. 

Suddenly, the ground tilts. The world lurches sideways, your vision darkening around the edges in little specks of black. 

You panic, heart skipping a beat. You stop abruptly for a moment to regain control of your senses, arms out in front of you to steady yourself. 

Of course, Minho’s right there. His hand shoots out, gripping your upper arm.

“Don’t,” you warn as you shake off his grip, still stubborn as ever. “I’m fine.”

“You’re not. You’re shaking.”

“It’s hot.”

“You’re not even steady on your feet!”

“I’m tired.”

“You’re lying.”

That makes you snap, irritation surging through your veins. “I am NOT–”

The world tilts again, more violently this time. You close your eyes, inhaling deeply, trying to get the feeling to stop. Your stomach lurches, nausea clawing its way from your stomach up your throat.

“Hey! Look at me,” he says sharply, not asking you but telling you.

You try to, you really do. But the second you look at his face, it swims in and out. Everything is too bright and too far away all at once. There’s a distant ringing in your ears, quiet at first, but it progressively gets louder. Your limbs feel like they’re filled with lead, too heavy and weighing you down. 

“I just need a sec,” you mumble. The desert spins, like a roller coaster you can’t get off of. 

Your knees buckle. 

“Shit!” Minho swears, loud and sharp. Suddenly you’re falling forward, the ground rushing up way too quickly. You can’t even brace for impact, your body moving like a ragdoll. Thankfully, you never hit it.

His arms catch you, strong and immediate, pulling you against his chest. Momentum from your sudden dead weight pulls both of you down, Minho dropping to his knees in the scorching sand. 

“Hey, hey! No, no, no—" his voice is right in your ear, panicked, a stark contrast to the fiery banter he was just having with you minutes ago. “Don’t do this right now. Stay with me.”

He cradles your head against his chest. Everything feels distant, like you’re underwater and can’t resurface. The noise of the others fades, replaced by the thud of his heartbeat under your cheek. 

You hear him say your name once. Then again, louder. You try to answer, but your mouth doesn’t cooperate. Your tongue feels thick and useless, like it doesn’t belong in your mouth. Your eyelids flutter, refusing to stay open. 

Minho shifts, one hand sliding up to cradle the back of your neck. Hands shaking, he brings the other up, placing two fingers under your jaw to check for your pulse. It’s there, albeit fast and weak. 

“C’mon,” he pleads, voice cracking. “Open your eyes. Please.” 

You manage a weak sound, something between a sigh and a whimper. It’s all your body will allow. For him, though, it’s enough. 

“That’s it,” he says quickly, heart pounding against his rib cage. “Yeah. Yeah, I’ve got you.”

He removes his fingers from below your jaw, brushing them across your cheek before placing the back of his hand on your forehead. Despite the heat, your skin is cool. 

Newt crouches beside you, expression grim. “Heat exhaustion, probably. She’s dehydrated, her body can’t–”

“I should’ve stopped her sooner,” Minho cuts him off, barely even hearing him. He pulls you closer, forehead dropping against yours. Even half conscious, you can feel him shaking. “Damnit, Y/N. Why do you have to be so stubborn?”

The world keeps dimming, the edges of your vision swimming in darkness. You hear him again, softer this time. Terrified, even. 

“Shit. You’re not allowed to leave me, you hear me? You don’t get to win the argument like this.”

You force your eyes to crack open. His face is right there, cheeks streaked with dirt, eyes wide. Fear is etched into every line of his face. He looks like he’s barely holding it together, something you’ve never seen in your time knowing him. 

“Minho,” you breathe, using every ounce of energy to get a single word out. 

Relief hits him so hard it’s violent. He sucks in a breath, pressing his forehead back to yours. 

“There you are,” he whispers, closing his eyes for a moment. “Don’t scare me like that.”

Your body sags, the side of your face pressing against his chest. “‘M tired,” you mumble. 

“I know,” his voice softens. “I know. But you gotta stay awake for me, alright? Just a little bit longer.”

You nod, or at least you think you do. Your eyes flutter shut again, the darkness trying its hardest to pull you in. 

“Nope.” His grip tightens. “Hey. Eyes open.”

You force them open, blinking against the blinding sun. 

“That’s it,” he murmurs, smoothing your hair away from your face. His touch is gentle despite his rough hands, treating you like the most fragile thing on the planet. “I’ve got you. Not letting you go.”

Someone says his name—Thomas, probably—but Minho doesn’t take his eyes off of you for a second. “I’m not putting her down,” he snaps without looking. “I’ve got her.”

He adjusts you in his arms, shifting you so your head rests against his shoulder. One arm secures itself under your knees, the other wrapped tightly around your back. 

Your consciousness drifts in and out, but every time it starts to slip, his voice pulls you back. He’s murmuring encouraging words, but you’re honestly not sure if they’re meant for you or for him to make himself feel better. Regardless, you force your ears to listen, focusing on the vibrations of his chest when he speaks to keep yourself awake. 

Because in all honesty, you’re just as scared as he is. 

You faintly hear them talking about finding shelter. Minho and someone else argue back and forth about something, but you tune it out. You just listen to his voice when he speaks, letting it lull you into a state of calmness.

Eventually, some kind of commotion brings you back to reality. You don’t know how long it's been, but you were still half out of it. Someone shouts “there!” and suddenly Minho is moving quicker. 

They find something just in time. It’s a half collapsed concrete structure, barely even standing, and they have no idea what could be lurking inside. It isn’t much, but it’s shade, and right now that feels like salvation.

Inside, the air is cooler. Not by much, but you aren’t taking a beating from the sun anymore, so it’s something. 

Minho wastes no time, lowering himself to the ground with you still cradled in his arms. He moves slowly, like he’s afraid you’ll break if there’s any sudden movements. Refusing to let you go, he shifts so your back is to his chest. His legs are on either side of yours, arms locked around you like a barrier. 

Your head lolls forward, and one of his hands shoots out to bring it back towards his body. 

“Easy,” he murmurs, guiding your head to rest against the crook of his neck. “I’ve got you.” His hand is pressed against your forehead as he does, and he can feel the sweat still beading on your face. Your skin is cool and clammy, your body still actively fighting to cool you down. 

He swears, fumbling around for his canteen. His hands are shaking so badly that he almost drops it, but he manages to raise it to your lips.

“Small sips,” he says. “Don’t rush.” 

You barely swallow but manage to get some down, wearing half of it down your chin and on your shirt while the rest trickles down your throat. You know you need to drink and rehydrate, but the exhaustion is reeling you back in. Your eyes start to flutter shut again.

“No, hey–” he mutters, jostling you a little bit to get your eyes back open. “No sleeping yet.” Your breath hitches, like you want to argue but don’t have the strength. He leans his head against yours, eyes squeezed shut. He grabs one of your hands, thumb brushing over your knuckles in small, soothing circles. It anchors you in the moment, something your mind can hold onto when your body is too tired. “I’m right here,” he whispers, as if he knows what you’re thinking. 

He watches the rise and fall of your chest as a reminder that you’re still with him. “You scare the hell out of me, you know that?” He doesn’t get a response as expected, but you’re breathing, and that’s all that matters.

Time has passed and the worst of it is over. You’re not sure exactly how long it’s been, but long enough that you’re no longer in and out of consciousness. 

You’re sitting against the wall now, letting the coolness of the concrete behind you seep through your skin. You’re stripped of your jacket, boots and scarf in an effort to keep you from overheating. Thankfully, you stopped sweating a while ago. Now you're just exhausted, and feel gross, but at least you feel human again. 

Minho never strayed far. He sits next to you, shoulder pressed up against yours like he’s afraid that if he isn’t touching you, you’ll slip away again. 

He picks up the canteen, nudging it into your hands without looking at you. “Drink,” he says quietly. 

You lift it up to your lips, hands still trembling as you do. You chug it like you haven’t had water in days, which is exactly what it feels like. When you’re done, he takes it back and screws the cap on, setting it down next to him. 

He doesn’t say anything else, just sits there quietly. 

You turn your head to glance at him. His eyes are fixed on the ground, jaw tight, hands clasped together on his lap. 

“I’m sorry,” you say softly. It’s the first thing you’ve said since everything first took place. Your voice is hoarse, and you have to cough to alleviate the dryness in your throat.

Minho reacts instantly, and his head snaps up. “Don’t.”

You blink. “Min—“

“I said don’t,” he repeats, his voice low. “You’re not apologizing for something you can’t control.” 

That shuts you up, your next words dying on your tongue. He exhales, dragging a hand down his face. He’s stressed, that much is obvious. 

“I thought I lost you,” he admits quietly, battling with his words like he’s not quite sure how to say it. “You should’ve seen yourself. I didn’t think you were coming back from that.” His voice cracks at the end, and your heart squeezes in your chest. You reach out without thinking, your hand brushing his. 

He stills for a moment, then grabs your hand and grips it like it’s a lifeline. “I should’ve stopped you sooner,” he continues, staring at your joined hands. “Should’ve made you rest. I knew something was wrong. I just—“ He swallows. “I can’t lose you. I won’t.” 

You squeeze his hand weakly, your strength still not one hundred percent. “I’m still here.” You offer, because that’s all you can say. And that’s all that matters. 

He closes his eyes. When he opens them again, they’re wet and red-rimmed. “Yeah. You are,” he says softly. 

He doesn’t let go of your hand for the rest of the night. Even when exhaustion pulls at him, he doesn’t rest. He just watches you as you sleep curled up against him, listening for the sound of your breathing.

Just in case. 

"The hell does that mean?" Bakugo mutters, his voice low and raspy. 

"Exactly what it means." You chew on the inside of your cheek, trying to not let your disappointment show. Sometimes you feel stupid, rambling excitedly about something you're interested in, only for Bakugo to respond with a grunt or two, neither indulging nor responding to your excitement. You know Bakugo likes to keep his sentences short but it still hurts quite a fair bit when he doesn't even say a single word to you. "You don't listen to whatever I say."

"Yes I do." Bakugo bites back with a growl before he falls silent at seeing the disappointment lingering on your face. "I'm always listening." 

"What was I talking about just now then?" You challenge, tightening your grip around the strap of your school bag. Bakugo exhales through his nose, staring at you like you've just posed the easiest question in the world. 

"You were talking about school club you want to join." Bakugo replies, keeping his voice steady as he inches towards you. You blink, surprised, because you were absolutely certain Bakugo had zoned out of the entire conversation about the school club considering the strangely serious look on his face. "You were debating between an academic club or a musical club. I was thinking about which one might be better for you." 

You open your mouth slowly, stunned at the minute details spilling from Bakugo's mouth serving as evidence that he really was listening to whatever you were rambling about. "What about the topic before that?" 

"What, the maths homework you're struggling with?" Bakugo slips his hand into yours and grasp it lightly, gazing down at you. "Or the essay for world history that we're supposed to read up on? I was going to say we can do it later in my room, but you were rambling a lot and I didn't want to interrupt you." 

Your cheeks flush red out of embarrassment as you think about how much you've been rambling. You finally realise that it isn't the case of Bakugo not wanting to respond verbally but rather, he just doesn't want to interrupt you and you've never really given him a chance to speak. 

"You were really listening." You mumble, the shame of brazenly accusing Bakugo for something he didn't do eating you up alive. 

"I'm always listening to you, cupcake." Bakugo snorts lightly as he tucks a loose strand of hair behind your ear. 

"Cupcake?" You echo, stifling a laugh at that pet name that Bakugo has never used on you before. 

"Mhmm." Bakugo smirks to himself, leaning in towards you. "You said you like it when I call you sweets, so I thought cupcake might have the same effect." 

"It's cute." You giggle shyly before you raise your head, smiling softly at Bakugo. "Sorry for doubting you, Kats. I just thought you never listened since you never really replied with words." 

"Don't worry about it." Bakugo returns your soft smile, patting your head lightly. "I am always listening because I want to know everything about you." 

Your heart flips, breath hitching in your throat as Bakugo gently sweeps your hair back, the close proximity doing wonders to your short-circuited brain. 

"I happen to know that forehead kisses are your absolute favourite too." Bakugo murmurs right by your ear, his low voice sending a blazing jolt down your spine before he gently plants a soft kiss on your forehead. 

Katsuki and Eijirou listened intently during those late-night talks by the fire. Katsuki would grunt, arms crossed, pretending not to care, while Eijirou's eyes sparkled with curiosity, his draconic tail thumping the ground. "Sounds dumb," Katsuki had muttered once, but you caught him scribbling notes on a scrap of parchment later.

The day arrived with the sun peeking over the misty mountains. You woke in your shared tent to the smell of something sweet—unfamiliar yet tantalizing. Eijirou's grinning face hovered over you, his sharp teeth glinting as he pulled you up. "Happy birthday, Traveler! We've got surprises!"

Katsuki was outside, fussing over a makeshift table he'd hammered together from fallen logs. On it sat a lopsided... cake? It was a dense, honey-glazed loaf baked in a cast-iron pan over the fire, topped with what looked like enchanted berries that shimmered like tiny fireworks. Frosting? Well, they'd improvised with whipped cream from a milkweed sprite's gift and drizzled it haphazardly. "Tch, don't stare like that," Katsuki barked, his cheeks faintly pink under his war paint. "You said cake's essential. This is the best damn cake in Eldoria."

Eijirou laughed, slinging an arm around your waist and pulling you close. His scales were warm against your skin, a comforting rumble in his chest. "We asked the village baker for tips, but Katsuki insisted on doing it himself. He wants it to be extra special!”

"Shut up, you shitty lizard!" Katsuki snapped, but there was no real heat in it. He thrust a wrapped bundle into your hands—rough cloth tied with vine. Inside was a dagger, forged in his own style: a blade etched with runes for protection, the hilt wrapped in leather from a beast they'd slain together. "For when we're not around to save your ass," he grumbled, avoiding your eyes.

Eijirou's gift came next: a necklace of dragon scales he'd shed himself, strung with glowing crystals that pulsed like a heartbeat. "To remind you you're part of our hoard," he said softly, fastening it around your neck. His lips brushed your ear, sending shivers down your spine. "You're our treasure, y'know?"

They'd even decorated the clearing—strings of glowing fungi hung like fairy lights, and Eijirou had convinced a flock of pixies to release colorful sparks that mimicked balloons floating skyward. No piñata, but Katsuki had set up a "training dummy" stuffed with sweets pilfered from a merchant caravan. "Hit it till stuff falls out," he explained, smirking as you laughed and took a swing with your new dagger.

---

As the sun dipped low, they sat you down and attempted the song. Eijirou's voice was enthusiastic but tuneless, belting "Happy birth-day to youuu!" while Katsuki mumbled through it, his explosions punctuating the chorus like accidental fireworks. You couldn't stop giggling, tears pricking your eyes from the sheer joy of it all.

"Was it... like your stories?" Eijirou asked later, as the three of you lounged by the fire. You were sandwiched between them—Katsuki's arm possessively around your shoulders, Eijirou's tail curled over your lap.

"Better," you whispered, leaning into Katsuki's warmth while threading fingers through Eijirou's hair. "Because it's with you two."

Katsuki huffed, but his grip tightened. "Damn right. Next year, it'll be even bigger.”

Written by: @kab-OO-m

†This blog and all associated content may not be copied, claimed, uploaded, modified, etc without permission from the author.†

Bakugo, on the other hand, runs impossibly hot. Solid muscle, heat radiating off him like he’s made of fire, and even half-asleep, he’s unbearably warm to touch. 

You’re never quite sure if it’s because of his quirk or just him, but either way, you and Izuku both relish every second of it, pressing closer, letting the warmth soak into your chilled bones. 

Which is why you’re now sprinting like a mad woman.

Because if Izuku gets there first, he’ll probably hog all of Katsuki’s heat, leaving you shivering (he actually won’t—he loves you too much and would never—but still, the point stands).

You burst through the dorm doors, nearly colliding with a couple of first-years, and skid down the hall toward your shared room, heart pounding harder with every step.

Then you hear it.

Fast footsteps behind you. 

“Don’t you dare!” you gasp, already knowing.

There’s a sudden rush of air, the unmistakable hum of power, and Izuku flashes past you in a green blur, laughing breathlessly as he lands ahead of you with unfair grace.

“I’m sorry,” he calls over his shoulder, voice bright and infuriatingly sincere, “but I’m really cold and Kacchan said it was fine last night—”

“That was yesterday!” you scream, scrambling to keep up as he rockets forward, boots pounding. “You don’t get to cheat the system with One For All!”

He glances back, smirk barely there. “It’s… not cheating if it’s just, uh, smart?”

“Smart? You’re literally flying past me! That’s cheating, nerd!”

He just grins, shrugging as if that ends the argument.

You chase him the rest of the way, lungs burning, fingers aching, until the dorm room door finally comes into view.

You lunge the moment he skids around the corner, and just as he’s about to reach Katsuki first, you throw yourself in front of the door and slam it shut with both palms. 

Got him.

“You little—!” you pant, pointing at him with every ounce of righteous indignation you can muster. “This is my turn!”

Izuku glances at you, freckled skin flushed pink, lips trembling as he murmurs, “I love you, sweetheart. I’m sorry.” Before you can react, he presses a quick quirk-assisted kiss to your lips. 

The moment snaps your brain into static—you stumble, barely keeping your balance as his One For All surge pushes you back slightly.

The little shit kissed you to distract you. What an asshole!

The door bursts open as he lunges forward with another quirk boost, swinging it wide in one smooth motion. You curse, flailing to catch yourself, heart hammering. “Cheater!”

And there, sitting on the bed like the calm eye of a storm, is Bakugo, shirt half-off, hair a mess, radiating heat like a human furnace as he squints up at the two of you barreling toward him.

He groans, voice rough. “What the hell are you damn idiots—”

Izuku launches himself forward.

You dive at the same time.

The bed jolts, blankets tangle, and Katsuki lets out a sharp, startled sound as both of you grab onto him at once, clinging like your lives depend on it.

“Mine,” you say immediately, pressing your frozen hands against his side with a sigh of relief.

“But I’ve been freezing since the morning,” Izuku argues softly.

Katsuki groans, pinching the bridge of his nose. “I swear to fuckin’ god, I’m not a damn space heater—”

You whine, tugging at the edge of the blanket and nuzzling closer despite his words. “‘suki, come on! why do you always have to hog all the heat?”

Bakugo groans, flopping his head back into the pillow in exasperation, but he doesn’t push either of you away. “You two! you’re actin’ like you’re entitled to my entire chest! I’m not your personal fuckin’ furnace!”

You giggle, voice teasing, and inch a little closer anyway, wrapping an arm around his waist. “Yeah, sure, sure.”

Izuku mumbles indignantly, hiding his grin. “Oh Kacchan… don’t act like you don’t loooove it when we cuddle you.”

“Shut up, nerd! I’m not here for your complaints, brat, or you either!—”

You press closer, whining, “But, I’m so cold.”

“—ugh, fine! Just… whatever, get it over with.”

Eventually, with an exaggerated sigh, Katsuki shifts, lying comfortably on his back and finally letting you rest on one side and Izuku on the other. His hands settle loosely over both your waists, the edges of his irritation softening into surrender.

You and Izuku exchange a glance, a tiny flicker of guilt passing between you. Neither of you speak, but the look says it all: sorry for squabbling, but… he’s just too warm to resist.

Izuku’s voice breaks the silence, low and sincere. “I love you.”

You tilt your head, your breath hitching as you glance at him. “Me… or ‘Suki?”

He smirks, mischievous even in the cozy warmth, and murmurs, “You and Kacchan,” his eyes sparkling with that mix of teasing and affection.

Bakugo snorts, resting his head against the pillow and letting himself be held. “Stupid nerds,” he mutters, but there’s no bite in it. 

You nuzzle into him, Izuku doing the same on the other side, and for a moment, Bakugo is all warmth, hands tightening slightly, soft and pliable between you.

And then—suddenly—Bakugo’s head snaps up. “AH!” he yells, practically leaping in the middle of the blanket. “Deku you fuckin’ ice block! Move your cold toes off me, nerd!”

“Has anyone seen YN?”

Brennan appeared in the doorway to the filled kitchen, eyes jumping from one friend to the other, a brow cocked in question. Commotion eased at his words.

“I haven’t seen her since breakfast,” Violet was the first to speak. “Me neither. I saw her leaving for the training grounds—the new appointees for the guard are supposed to have their first evaluation—and I believe YNN wanted to fly the patrol afterwards,” Xaden added, a plate with perfectly stacked chocolate brownies in one hand and the other already grasping for one square.

Brennan watched him with eagle eyes. “You do know she baked those for after dinner. For everyone. Not just you.” Xaden shrugged nonchalantly while chewing on the baked goods. “Perks of being her best friend,” was all he said, a smirk trying to take over his face when Violet grabbed the plate with a gasp and put it out of reach. “You are unbelievable!”

The redhead chuckled softly at the picture of these two, but looked questioning toward Garrick and Mira, who both either shrugged a pair of shoulders or shook a head. “She actually forgot about me. We were meant to meet at the leather workshop to go over the design of our new flight leathers and armor,” Mira added with a pout, and Brennan hummed in thought.

It was unlike her to forget an appointment—or a promise to one of her friends.

Worry tried to etch its way into his heart, but the Sorrengail pushed it away with a forceful shove. She wasn’t in any danger—he would’ve felt it through the bond of their dragons.

“Marbh?”

A low, tired growl echoed in his mind as a noncommittal response, and Brennan sighed deeply, turning on the spot without so much as an explanation and leaving Riorson House because now he knew where his fiancée might be.

The warm early summer breeze flowed across the grassy clearing, wildflowers swaying, and the soft rustling sound of the trees not far from him added to the idyllic atmosphere. A low, deep grumble of something massive reverberated through the blossom-scented air, echoing in his chest when Brennan climbed the gentle sloping hills, eyes wandering across the field.

Rays of pure sunlight hit the familiar orange scales of Marbh, letting them glitter and shine like liquid gold, and the rider knew how he must relish in the feeling. Sometimes he suspected his dragon to have the temper of a cat—until he eviscerated an enemy so thoroughly, the thought vanished immediately.

The dragon’s large body moved in slumber and let black scales be seen from his vantage point, his gaze instantly softening. It wasn’t a rare sight for him to see these two giant creatures together, not since they’ve bonded, and still, it always filled him with such soft feelings that he tried to hide it from Marbh. He still remembered the scoff when his dragon had heard his thoughts for the first time.

Wildflowers parted for him with every step, eyes settled on the alcove both dragons had created with their bodies wrapped around a patch of land littered with blood-red poppies, protecting something—or someone from unwanted attention. And Brennan knew who it was, because he knew her better than himself, better than those two dragons.

Because in the middle of them, tucked next to the black dragon’s head, lay YN, still clad in her flight leathers, littered with intricate gold and blue details—an homage to both their dragons. Brennan still remembered her giddiness when she had first shown him the requested piece after it had arrived in a box he wasn’t allowed to open on his own. He still remembered how his gaze had softened even further, how he had cupped her face and kissed her as softly as he could’ve mustered.

That same expression settled onto his face now when he saw her exhale with a sigh, face tilting ever so slightly in his direction, a half smile grazing her lips in sleep.

She is the most beautiful woman gracing this earth.

The thought wasn’t new or rare because, by the gods, Brennan was constantly mesmerized by her. Every little or minor thing she did, he was awestruck; every little smile, every sigh, every laugh, every glance thrown into the world, Brennan Sorrengail would sink to his knees in front of her if he could. Whatever he did in a past life must have made him worthy enough to be loved by this woman in this existence.

While he had crept closer and closer, Mór woke to the sound of his steps, one glowing, menacing eye opening and instantly narrowing on his very being, a threatening growl escaping the Black Daggertail. Brennan slowly raised both hands in surrender, leveling his gaze with hers. “It’s just me, Mór,” he spoke quietly, making her huff in annoyance before her large body wrapped closer around Marbh and YN, leaving only a small opening for him between their menacing tails. “Do not dare to wake her, human, or I will have to reconsider incinerating you.”

At least he didn’t have to climb over their massive bodies.

The man stepped closer, watching his fiancée, exhaustion evident on her face, but her body as relaxed as it could be, one hand resting on her stomach, the other next to her face in the soft grass, fingers gracing her dragon’s head. And Mór didn’t mind it at all, not fooling anyone when he watched the massive beast nudging her rider’s fingers as if she were a puppy or kitten desperate for some pets, only to be reassured of her rider’s living form when YN let her fingers rub across the black scales with that distinct blue sheen whenever the sun hit it just right. The she-dragon huffed a puff of smoke out in the open, eyes closing again when Brennan stepped around the two tails, one of his hands gently caressing Marbh’s warmed scales, making him growl a warning in his rider’s mind.

“Everyone is mad at me today? Good to know,” was all he thought, and his dragon finally opened an eye, watching him with barely concealed annoyance. The Sorrengail knew again why he and the black dragon were such a well-suited match. “You disturb our deserved rest. Be quiet and join or leave us at once.”

It was clear that everyone had joined his fiancée’s side, and Brennan would be the last one to hold a grudge against them—he wasn’t any better when it came to siding with his soon-to-be wife.

With a deep sigh, Brennan claimed his spot at YN’s side, the soft grass tickling his skin, head propped on one hand, elbow resting on the ground, and his other hand itched to feel her soft skin under his fingertips. So, without another thought or moment wasted, the man reached out and exhaled a breath he didn’t know he had held when his fingers made contact with the sun-warmed skin of her cheek, lovingly caressing its softness with the knuckles of his fingers. As if she knew he was there, YN started to stir, head rolling in his direction, and lips he knew were as soft as the brush of the poppy petals around them, slightly parting.

He had never claimed to be a strong-willed man, so bending low to steal a desperately needed kiss was as easy as breathing.

Just like everything with her.

“I think Mór is planning your demise just about now.”

A sleepy mumble floated through the warm air, and Brennan chuckled softly, pressing a kiss to her forehead.

“If leaving this life means being put to the flames with your kiss still on my lips? It would be worth it,” Brennan grinned down at her blinking eyes, feeling a tired hand lightly hitting his shoulder. “Stop talking, you romantic fool,” was all he got before YN scooted closer, grasping for his arm to move it in order to use it as her pillow.

“You insult me, but I am still good enough to function as your pillow? How very flattering.”

“If you don’t stop annoying everyone, I’ll let Mór do whatever she so much as pleases.”

“Oh, so very feisty today, aren’t we?”

Brennan laughed out loud when YN grumbling hit his shoulder a couple of times before his arms wrapped around her tightly, pulling her smaller body right against his chest and holding her there with a warm smile on his lips and a small peck to the tip of her nose.

“Be happy that I love you,” the woman grumbled with that adorable pout on her lips, which he just had to kiss away, which Brennan succeeded in masterfully. “Well… I do feel like the luckiest man alive, so…” He smiled when his eyes watched her cheeks warm under his touch, his heart racing at the prospect that, even after all these years, he still was capable of making her turn all bashful on him with just a couple of words, a single long-lingering glance, a whisper of a touch.

He sure was the luckiest man alive.

“You sound like a… what do you humans call it? A lovesick fool*?*”

Marbh’s voice growled in his mind, and Brennan couldn’t stop himself from rolling his eyes, grinning at the sound of YN’s giggle, pulling her closer to savor the sound with his lips. Her soft sigh made his skin tingle and his heart race, and only reluctantly, the Sorrengail parted from her to pull her head against his chest.

Rolling onto his back, the man pulled her atop him, face tucked into the crook of his neck, arms wrapped around her shoulders and waist, hand gripping her hips, one splayed across her back. He started to draw shapes and forms onto the leather covering her, humming in contentment when he felt one of her legs tangling with his to feel him even closer, one hand sliding into the nape of his neck, fingers softly playing with the short hair there.

“We could go back and nap in a comfortable bed,” Brennan suggested in a low voice, kissing the crown of her head. The deep breaths of their dragons almost lulled him into sleep himself. “No. Want to stay here for a while longer.”

And who was he to deny his woman anything when she pressed feather-like kisses to his neck and jaw before snuggling closer to his skin, breathing him in deeply.

So all Brennan did was let his hand wander into her hair and brush through her locks in slow, measured movements until her breath evened out again, lulling him to sleep as well.

“Oh, you’re back,” Xaden greeted the couple with a brownie square in hand and crumbs around his mouth. Violet only shook her head helplessly, but shock quickly settled onto her face when YN walked wordlessly into the kitchen, grabbed the plate with brownies straight from under his nose, and turned on the spot to vanish down the hallway, Brennan hot on her heels.

Indignation filled the kitchen.

“Hey! Those were my brownies!”

“In your dreams, Riorson—bake some yourself!”

Brennan’s chuckle echoed through the hall, leaving a dumbstruck Xaden in their wake, who now turned to Violet. “Vi?” The youngest Sorrengail only laughed and patted his cheek. “You heard the woman, love.”

And in that moment, Xaden felt utterly betrayed by everyone in his life—his best friend leading the troop of traitors who now shared the baked goods with her soon-to-be husband while they sat in comfortable silence on the balcony overlooking Aretia, him working on paperwork, her reading a book.

Yes, she could easily picture her life being this content and loved.

the restaurant is too warm, all dark wood and soft lighting and the low hum of other parties leaking through the walls. someone’s perfume catches in your throat. laughter rises from the main table where most of class a already sits. shoto is at the head, expression mild, eyes softer than they used to be, a faint contentment curling around his features while midoriya excitedly gestures beside him.

you slip into the room and immediately get swallowed by noise.

“holy crap, number three in the flesh.” kaminari throws an arm around your shoulders. “i told everyone i know you. nobody believed me. please please sign my chest.”

“denki, get off,” jiro mutters, tugging him back by his collar.

mina grabs your hands, spins you in a circle, squealing about your costume upgrades. kirishima hugs you so hard your chest complains. you do your rounds, grinning and breathless, answering a dozen questions about your agency.

you can feel one missing weight in the room. like a habit your body still has. your gaze scans automatically for ash blond hair and a scowl, but he isn’t here yet, and you find yourself pretending that neither the relief nor the disappointment matters.

eventually, between the champagne and shoto’s very literal speech about “appreciating statistical growth,” you excuse yourself for the bathroom.

the hallway outside the private room is quiet. dimmer. your shoes make noise on polished floor as you walk. in the mirror, under the softer lighting of the bathroom, you get a good look at yourself. more lines at the corners of your eyes. stronger shoulders. the faint, familiar tension that never leaves your jaw anymore.

you take a breath, press your fingers to your temples, adjust the fall of your clothes. “you’re fine,” you murmur to your reflection. “it’s just a class reunion with nicer food.”

you step back into the hallway, distracted, trying to fish your phone from your pocket when you round the corner.

you hit something solid.

no, not something. someone.

you make a soft “oof” as you run right into a broad chest. your balance tips. before you can eat floor, a hand snaps out and catches your elbow, another bracing at your waist. you feel the heat of palm through fabric, the reflexive strength in his grip.

“watch where you’re going, idiot.”

you know that voice before your brain even finishes processing the words.

you look up.

bakugo is staring down at you, eyes wide in that split second before he remembers how to wear his usual scowl. he looks different and exactly the same. hair still wild, still like he just walked out of a blast zone. jaw sharper, shoulders broader—like BROADDD. jacket sitting nice over a chest that has absolutely no business being that solid.

he smells faintly of smoke and cologne that costs more than your first apartment.

“katsuki…” you breathe, helplessly.

his fingers flex at your waist like he wasn’t expecting you to say his name like that. then, like a switch flipping, he clicks his tongue and lets go, hands darting back to his pockets.

“you nearly leveled me in a hallway,” he says. “still graceful as ever.”

“you walked into me.” you smooth your clothes out even though they don’t need it. “some things never change, huh?”

his lips twitch, just a little. “some things do.”

you stand there, half blocking the corridor, the sounds of the party muffled behind the door. you can feel the distance of years in the place where the air hangs between you. it feels stupid and weird and heavy, like you’re both stuck at 18 and 25 at the same time.

“heard you’ve been busy,” he says finally, like the words have rocks tied to them. “number three. a big shot. took you long enough.”

you huff a laugh, trying to move, but it gets tangled in your chest on the way out. “someone had to give you a decent rival ranking. you were getting bored being the only one in the top ten with a working brain cell.”

“ha?” he bristles on instinct. “what the hell is that supposed to mean?”

“means you missed me,” you say, because if you don’t push him he will never say it himself.

his ears go pink. it’s faint, but you know what to look for. “who said that? don’t put words in my mouth.”

“fine.” you shrug, a little smile tugging at your lips. “i’ll put something else in it. like food, since apparently you’re very passionate about that.”

he gives you a look. “you’re still mouthy.”

“you’re still annoying,” you shoot back, softer this time.

the hallway quiet wraps around it.

he looks away first, gaze drifting past you for a heartbeat, like he’s making sure no one is watching. when he looks back, there’s a restless energy under his skin. the same kind he gets before a big fight. his hands come out of his pockets, then go back in, then out again like he can’t decide what to do with them.

“tch.” he exhales sharply, like he is annoyed with himself. “this is stupid.”

“wow,” you say lightly. “reunion going great so far.”

“shut up.” he hesitates, then jerks his chin down at you. “gimme your phone.”

you blink. “for what purpose?”

“i said shut up.” his hand is out now, palm open, fingers tapping once in impatience. “your phone. give it.”

curiosity wins. you pull it out and place it in his palm. his hand practically eats the thing, fingers curling around it with that careful, explosive strength you remember from training. he unlocks the screen with an ease that makes you freeze. (that was a bar i fear.)

“you know my code?”

“you’ve had the same stupid four numbers since we were sixteen,” he says, thumbs already moving. “you are terrifying on the battlefield and tragically shit in civilian life.”

“you remembered.” you say, still struck and it slips out before you can catch it.

his shoulders tense. he doesn’t look up from your phone. “didn’t forget,” he mutters. “there’s a difference.”

he taps his number in, saves a contact, then presses call. a muffled ringtone goes off inside his pocket. he ends the call, shoves your phone back into your hand, and if his fingers brush yours a second longer than necessary, you don’t comment on it.

“there.” he clears his throat. “that’s my new number. you never… you never texted the old one anyway. but it’s dead.”

“katsuki,” you say, staring at the new contact: GREAT EXPLOSION MUDER GOD DYNAMIGHT 

you look up at him, eyebrow raised. “really?”

he bristles. “what, you got a problem with the name?”

“you put it in yourself.”

“of course i did, i don’t trust you to put some dumb shit like ‘explosion boy’. i have standards.”

“i was just gonna put your name as bakugo. it’s—”

“well you never know.” he rolls his eyes

you laugh softly, trying to swallow down the sudden warmth in your chest. “so. what, you’ve been lurking in hallways outside bathrooms just to put your number in girls’ phones now? this your new courting method, dynamight?”

he goes scarlet this time, the color blooming across his cheeks and up to the tips of his ears. he looks away, jaw flexing.

“i wasn’t lurking,” he grinds out. “i was… i saw you head out and…” he trails off, bites the inside of his cheek, then exhales like he is about to headbutt fate itself. “i wanted to talk to you before the nerds swarmed you again, alright?”

your heart does a weird, traitorous little lurch.

“so… you wanted my number…” you say, voice quiet, threading humor through it to keep it from shaking. “big deal.”

“yeah.” he meets your gaze head on now. his eyes are sharp as ever, bright and hot. “i did.”

you open your mouth to say something, anything, but your brain scrambles for once. all the clever comebacks scatter. you are acutely aware of how close you are to him, how the hallway feels suddenly too small, how the sound of your classmates talking and laughing from inside the room feels like it is happening in another world.

he watches your face like a tv. like art on the wall. his fingers drum once against his thigh.

“i’m not losing touch this time,” he mutters, almost to himself. “you’re not just disappearing to go build more shit without me knowing where you are.”

you swallow. “so what, you’re going to text me every day now, dynamight? get clingy on me?”

“i’m already behind,” he says bluntly, picking his phone out of his pocket. “so yeah. i’m gonna catch up.” he smashes the keyboard.

your phone buzzes in your hand. you glance down.

very obviously bakugo: oi. it’s me. don’t ghost. i’ll blow up your office.

you huff out a laugh that feels a little like breathing for the first time in a long while.

“threats already?” you tease. “...so nostalgic.”

“yeah, well.” he shifts his weight, then jerks his head toward the door where the others are. “come sit next to me when we go back in.”

you hum as you both fall into step and ignore him. he rolls his eyes, but there is a small, unmistakable smile tugging at the corner of his mouth now. he reaches past you to push the door open, warm palm brushing the small of your back as he does, the low roar of your old friends spilling into the hallway as light floods over the two of you.

you sit next to him. it’s like the years apart were just a really long lunch break and you both finally wandered back to homeroom.

the table shifts for you without anyone asking. mina scoots over, shoto glances up with the tiniest hint of a knowing look, midoriya brightens like someone turned the lights up a notch. katsuki pulls your chair in with his foot, casual, but his hand comes up behind you for a second, fingers brushing the back of your chair as you settle.

you are halfway through unfolding your napkin when it happens. mineta says something greasy and whiny, and you just smile and go, “mineta, i promise you, if i ever wake up and want the opinion of a man shaped like a bitch, you’ll be the first to know.”

the table goes silent for half a second, everyone caught mid drink, mid bite. then mina snorts. kaminari chokes on his water. even shoto’s shoulders twitch.

“what!” mineta sputters. “i was just—i mean. we all know she was not exactly approachable in school.”

“yeah,” jiro cuts in, brow arched. “because she was busy saving your life every time you got punted into a wall during training.”

“and she was nice to you!” kaminari adds helpfully. “which is more than you deserved if we’re being honest.”

“you tried to steal her hero costume once,” mina says, pointing a breadstick at him like a microphone. “you cried when she caught you.”

“i did not cry!” mineta protests.

kirishima leans forward, eyes shining. “bro. you farted and asked her not to tell us but we heard you anyways. then you grabbed her leg when she laughed at you. it was a lot.”

laughter spills over the table, big and warm and stupid. you find your shoulders loosening. katsuki beside you is quiet, but you can feel the faint heat rolling off him, that simmering annoyance that always shows up whenever someone disrespects you in a five mile radius.

you bump your knee against his under the table. it is like nudging a guard dog to let him know its fine.

“leave him,” you say lightly, picking up your drink. “he’s providing valuable comedic relief. unpaid, even. very generous of you, mineta.”

the class breaks again. even midoriya laughs, cheeks flushed, mumbling something about how you always had the best timing with your comebacks.

the conversation drifts, as it always does, into stories. one memory turning into three, turning into ten. someone drops the word “fireworks” and suddenly you are all seventeen again.

“remember when we snuck out that summer night,” mina says, eyes going dreamy. “the big fireworks festival. we were all grounded for some reason.”

“for breaking school rules, ” aizawa’s voice echoes in your collective trauma, even though he’s nowhere near the restaurant.

“oi. that was not all of us,” katsuki mutters. “some of us were just guilty by association.”

“so all of us then,” kaminari grins.

you cover your mouth as you laugh, remembering. the cramped dorm hallway, the whispered plans, the way you had used your quirk to gently shift the air pressure so the floorboards did not creak when you stepped. mina in borrowed sandals. tokoyami trying to act like he wasn’t excited about fireworks. katsuki grumbling the whole time and still coming.

“we almost got away with it too,” you say. “we made it like what, halfway down the hill?”

momo nods. “four hundred and thirty two meters from the front gate,” she says. “approximately.”

“of course you know the distance,”  

kirishima is already cracking up, hands on his chest. “guys. your faces when aizawa’s scarf grabbed you. all in a row. like fish on a freakin’ line.”

you can feel it. the phantom tug around your torso, that dry voice cutting through the night. you thought i would not notice an entire class trying to escape the premises. what am i, stupid?

“we were literally a train,” mina wheezes. “aizawa express. you were at the front,” she points at you, “like the head car.”

“and you,” you point back at katsuki, eyes watering from laughter, “were at the very end trying to blast out of it and just spinning like a busted fireworks wheel.”

“shut up,” he growls, but his lips curl despite himself. “if you had just floated us, we would have been out of there.”

“first off i cannot float twenty freaking people in one go.” you correct

“and you really think i’d try to fight against mr. aizawa.” you shake your head. “absolutely not. that is how we die.”

“romantic,” jiro says dryly.

from there someone mentions third year, which can only mean one thing.

“ok, ok,” kaminari says, clapping his hands. “shiketsu prank. i think about that at least once a week.”

“of course you do,” tokoyami murmurs. “it was the only time you managed effective stealth.”

you lean your elbow on the table, grin stretching slow and dangerous. “we spent three months planning that.”

“you spent three months planning it,” katsuki corrects. “we all just followed orders.”

“teamwork,” you sing. “everyone had a role.”

third year. the peace treaty event with shiketsu high. official/faux lectures and boring diplomacy and this smug little undertone of rivalry the whole time.

you had gone to the administrators with a perfectly reasonable proposition about “joint morale exercises and harmless bonding.” they had signed off on it, blissfully unaware that your definition of harmless was flexible at best.

“i still cannot believe you got the principal to pay for it,” mina giggles.

“it was educational,” you protest. “we tested response time, spatial awareness, teamwork, and stress resilience.”

mineta shudders. “i still see it in my nightmares.”

the prank had been simple in theory, unhinged in execution. pressure pockets seeded throughout shiketsu’s dorm grounds. every time someone walked a certain path, stepped on a certain stone, opened a certain door, you released one.

confetti bombs. glitter bombs. fake dramatic smoke. little pressure pops that overturned harmless buckets of slime. their alarms going off all night with increasingly unhinged reports.

“the slime waterfall in the common room was overkill,” midoriya says, covering his mouth as he laughs. “inasa slipped.”

“character development,” you say. “he needed to get used to unpredictable terrain.”

“the best part was the message in the sky,” kirishima grins, pointing at you. “whole night, all of shiketsu looking up at their training field, giant glowing letters.”

jiro slaps the table. “what did it say again?”

you lean back in your chair, basking. “congratulations on your reoccuring 2nd place to my class. love, aizawa”

“and you signed aizawa’s name,” mina hiccups, wiping tears from her eyes.

“he yelled for twenty straight minutes,” you sigh fondly. “i have never felt so alive.”

the server drops more food. drinks clink. the story shifts again, someone bringing up the annual ua festival and then, inevitably, the pageant.

“speaking of glory days,” mina sing songs. “miss ua.”

you groan. “we are not doing this.”

“we are absolutely doing this,” kaminari counters. “2 years straight. even the general course had a meltdown.”

“you killed it,” kirishima beams. “first year, talent show with the pressure dance thing. second year, full hero costume catwalk. the crowd loved you.”

“she had fan signs,” sero adds. “actual printed banners, like a boy band concert.”

you blow on your drink so the ice swirls, trying to act unaffected. “i will admit my speech was pretty fire.”

shoto tilts his head. “you said, and i quote, ‘a true hero is not just capable of saving lives, but capable of holding them gently.’”

the table quiets for a second, a soft little silence settling. kirishima’s smile goes a bit misty.

“yeah,” he says. “that one.”

“that was the year bakugo lost his mind,” mina says very casually, which means she is about to cause problems. “remember?”

you blink. “what?”

kaminari perks up. “oh my god, yes. tell it. for shits ‘n gigs.”

you feel katsuki tense beside you. just a little. the kind of stillness that comes before a detonation.

“mina,” he warns, voice low. “no.”

she ignores him with the suicidally brave cheer of an old friend who knows he’s all bark at this range.

“so,” she launches in, leaning forward like a conspiratorial gremlin. “second year? third year? i’m not even sure anymore. miss ua results come in. she wins! we all go nuts, right? class a is freakin’ screaming. kirishima almost dislocates his shoulder trying to wave a banner. bakugo is at the front of the crowd, yelling about how of course she won, she is not an extra, everyone else is blind.”

you stare. “he said that?”

“oh, he said more,” sero grins. “but the best part was later.”

kirishima slaps the table like he couldn’t hold it in anymore. “dude. your dorm room.”

“shut it, shitty hair,” katsuki hisses, already red.

“he had your picture as his background for like, a month,” kirishima barrels on, delighted. “full lock screen. midoriya saw by accident and choked on air. i thought he was going to pass out.”

heat rushes up your neck so fast it makes you dizzy. you whip around to look at katsuki.

his face is on fire. not literally, but close. his ears are red, the bridge of his nose tinged pink. if you put a kettle on his head it would boil.

“you what—” you say, breathless.

“i am going to kill you,” katsuki tells kirishima, ignoring you entirely as tiny sparks crackle at his fingertips. “you are dead. fuckin’ dead.”

“oi, no quirks in the restaurant,” mina hisses, grabbing his wrist. “for the love of god, there is a chandelier. todoroki went all out!”

a few embers spit against his palm, heat shimmering in the air. the nearest water glasses tremble. midoriya’s eyes are bright and panicked in a very familiar way.

“kacchan,” he stage whispers. “kacchan, please, structural damage, collateral, think about the insurance.”

“you had. my picture. as your background?” you repeat, mind stuck, looping.

“it was from the pageant,” kirishima offers helpfully. “she was in the dress with the long train. remember. hair all done up. you took like twenty photos.”

“twenty six…” midoriya murmurs under his breath. then freezes when katsuki swivels on him.

“you want to die together, nerd?” katsuki snarls.

you reach out blindly and curl your fingers around his sleeve. the fabric is warm under your hand, his arm solid. he stops trying to explode things, mostly because his attention yanks to you like metal to a magnet.

“katsuki,” you say, and your voice comes out a little softer than you plan. “you never told me that.”

he clenches his jaw, eyes cutting away.

“wasn’t a big deal,” he mutters. “shitty phones needed something on the screen. your picture wasn’t ugly. that’s all.”

mina makes a high pitched noise that is one octave away from a shriek. jiro kicks her under the table.

your heart does a slow, stupid flip. you do not know what to do with it, so you default to teasing, like you always have.

“not ugly?” you repeat, biting back a smile. “wow. stop, you’re making me blush.”

“you already are,” he fires back before he can stop himself.

you blink.

he realizes what he has said about one second after you do. his eyes widen, then narrow, like he wants to physically catch the words and stuff them back into his mouth. sparks flare once in his palm, and he slams his hand flat on the table to smother them.

the whole group goes quiet for a heartbeat.

then kaminari screams into his napkin like an opera singer. mina just slides out of her chair and onto the floor, kicking her feet silently. kirishima looks like his soul has left his body from secondhand delight.

“oh my god,” jiro whispers. “we live in this timeline.”

you should say something snappy. something light. instead, you put your hand over his on the table.

his fingers twitch under yours.

“you were my background too, you know,” you say, not looking at him, eyes fixed on the candle in the center of the table. it flickers as if your heartbeat messed with the air.

midoriya gasps. mina shrieks forreal this time. shoto actually smiles with his teeth, small and pleased, like a cat that has finally watched two dumb birds figure out what mating is.

katsuki goes very, very still. you can almost hear the whirring in his head as he replays every interaction you ever had in school with this new information.

“you’re lying,” he says eventually, voice hoarse.

“class trip to the training camp,” you say softly. “that picture where you were yelling at the camera because kaminari called you ‘kacchan’ too many times. you had ash on your face. hair all over the place.”

“that was a terrible picture,” he mutters.

“i liked it,” you shrug. “looked like you.”

his hand turns under yours so your palms meet. his fingers curl, rough skin against yours, holding on. only a little. 

around you, the conversation bubbles back up. the others dive into another story, someone pulling up old photos on their phone, aizawa’s scarf train captured in grainy lightning and flailing limbs. the hum of voices wraps around you both, the clatter of plates, the clink of glasses.

katsuki leans in, just enough that his shoulder brushes yours, his voice dropping so only you can hear.

“send me that picture,” he says.

“which one?” you murmur, somehow still breathing.

“the one you had. from the camp.” his eyes flick to your mouth, then back up. “if it was your background, i want it.”

you smile, slow and helpless.

“you asking for more pictures of yourself, dynamight?”

“no,” he says. “i’m asking for proof you were as obsessed with me as i was with you.”

your laugh gets stuck somewhere behind your teeth. you take a sip of your drink instead, trying to cool the heat in your face.

“fine,” you say. “i’ll send it tonight.”

“good.” his thumb strokes once along your knuckles. “and tomorrow. we are not waiting another five damn years to see each other again.”

you glance sideways at him. “oh. are we making plans now?”

“hell yeah we are,” he says. “you are not getting rid of me this time.”

you look at him for a long moment, the world at the table blurring into warm color and sound. katsuki, close enough that you can count his lashes, close enough that you can feel the quiet promise humming under his words.

“ok,” you say finally, soft. 

your phones vibrate almost at the same time. mina has sent a flurry of old ua photos into the group chat. one of them pops up on your screen. a younger you in a dress and crown, glitter on your shoulders. and just behind you, slightly out of focus, katsuki, in the crowd, yelling louder than anyone else, eyes on you like there is no one else in the frame.

you glance at his phone. it’s the same photo. his thumb hovers over it, jaw tight

you save it anyway.

the night spills out into the street in pieces. laughter first, then chairs scraping, then bodies squeezing through the restaurant doorway in a loose, messy stream. someone is arguing about the bill, mina is trying to take a group selfie and only getting half of people’s faces

you stand up with the others, shrugging into your coat. by the time you turn around, katsuki is already there, like your orbit snapped him into place.

“come on,” he mutters, like you’re already in the middle of a conversation, not at the end of dinner with a billion sets of eyes on you. “i’ll walk you out.”

you blink. “oh. ok.”

it’s automatic, the way you fall in beside him. shoulder to shoulder. his hand brushes the small of your back as you pass one of the servers. completely casual. completely not casual. every nerve in your spine notices.

you file out with everyone else, the private room door swinging shut behind you. the hallway blurs, the restaurant foyer, the clatter of cutlery and distant chatter. the air outside is cooler than you expect when you push through the front doors. city lights, the low hum of traffic, the smell of street food clinging faint in the distance.

katsuki sticks to your side like gravity. like the rest of the world is background noise and you are the only fixed point on the map.

your classmates spill onto the sidewalk, grouping up in familiar clusters. mina and jiro are already planning an afterparty, tokoyami is pretending not to listen. shoto is politely taking a call from his sister, midoriya is half talking to ochaco and iida, half tripping over the curb.

“ok,” kaminari says, clapping his hands together. “alright, bakugo, uber time, but free, cause we’re best bros.”

you hear it in stereo. kaminari, kirishima, midoriya.

“oi, bakugo.”

.

“bro, you’re our ride.”

.

“kacchan, the parking lot closes at midnight, we need to go get the car, remember…”

you glance back automatically.

but bakugo doesn’t. he’s busy reaching for your elbow, guiding you gently around a puddle in the pavement. his head is angled down, mouth moving as he grumbles about how your agency’s neighborhood has terrible street lighting and if they don’t fix it he is going to send a curse ridden email. or a grenade if he was feeling kind.

he doesn’t even know where your agency is located at. that’s how you know he’s full of shit and fueled by his high school crush

his hand finds yours without even looking…?!

your fingers slot together, palm to palm, warm and solid. his thumb drags an absent line over your knuckles as he talks. he doesn’t even seem aware he’s doing it.

“bakugo!” kaminari yells, louder this time.

“katsuki, bro—” kirishima adds, scandalized. “our ride.”

midoriya is hovering by the curb, phone in hand, eyes ping ponging between the parking garage and you two like he’s watching a nature documentary

“kacchan, your car is over here…”

you squeeze katsuki’s hand.

“they’re calling you,” you say, amused.

“they can wait,” he fires back, not missing a beat. “they’ve got two feet. two legs. aizawa has one.”

you snort. “oh come on now, that was uncalled for. he’s not even here to defend himself. and plus he has a prosthe—”

“mmh, semantics.” bakugo cuts you off, 

you make it halfway down the block before reality finally tackles him.

“wait,” midoriya whispers dramatically behind you, the sound carrying on the cool air. “is he… walking her to her car first…?”

that’s all it takes.

the noise that erupts from your friends is ridiculous. there are actual hoots. hollers, even. mina lets out a shrill “oooooooohh ok husband” that echoes between the buildings. kaminari starts slow clapping. someone wolf whistles, you’re pretty sure it’s sero. kirishima laughs so hard he has to bend over, hands on his knees.

“no way,” kaminari crows. “this man ditched his own car. new car— mind you.”

“whipped,” jiro announces, wiping her ears away. “immediately. one dinner.”

“i give it three days before he’s carrying her bag and proposing to her,” mina adds, delighted.

katsuki jerks around.

you feel his hand jolt in yours, fingers tightening like he’s bracing for impact. his shoulders snap up, muscles under his shirt pulling taut. his jaw clenches.

“oh. my. god,” he mutters, low and vicious. “shut up. all of you.”

“but i didn’t even say—” 

“todoroki.” 

he hasn’t let go of you.

you can see it happen in real time, the realization hitting him. the way his eyes flick down to your joined hands, then up to the peanut gallery behind you, then away like he’s trying not to explode the entire block out of sheer embarrassed rage.

kaminari hollers. “look at him! look at him! he’s gone, he is finished.”

“bakugo, the heel turn into devoted boyfriend is crazy,” sero cackles. “five years no contact and now he is like ‘sorry guys, gotta walk my girl to her car like a gentlemen.’”

kirishima straightens enough to throw an arm around midoriya’s shoulders, wheezing. “he is so gone, dude. i respect it.”

you would feel bad for katsuki if you weren’t having so much fun.

his cheeks are a deep, furious color. a few sparks flicker harmlessly against his palm, heat licking between your fingers. you squeeze tighter, steady, and the sparks die down.

“ignore them,” you murmur.

he clicks his tongue, eyes still darting everywhere except your face. “hard to do that when they’re screaming in my ear.”

“they have always screamed in your ear,” you remind him. “and you have always ignored them when you actually wanted something.”

and right now, you can feel exactly what he wants. the way his hand is holding on, even as his pride is having a meltdown in the middle of the sidewalk.

you lean closer, shoulder bumping his. your voice drops, just for him.

“it’s sweet, you know. you walking me to my car.”

his eyes finally snap to yours. you watch his bravado falter for a heartbeat, something softer bleeding through.

“yeah, well,” he mutters. “someone’s gotta make sure you don’t get jumped by a stray fan or some shit.”

“oh, is that what this is?” you tease. “security detail?”

“shut up,” he says again, but it has lost all its bite. “if i wanted to be smooth about it, i wouldn’t be doing it in front of these extras.”

behind you, mina cups her hands around her mouth. “sorry, what was that, bakugo? couldn’t hear you over the sound of you being in loooove.”

you almost choke.

bakugo whips around so fast the air stirs.

“you wanna get blasted, pinky?” he hollers, all dignity gone. “keep talking.”

“public romance arc, for the mighty dynamight” kaminari sings. “i am witnessing history.”

“look,” kirishima calls out, pointing blatantly at your hands. “he’s not even letting go.”

you laugh, the sound bubbling out of you helpless and bright. your fingers tighten around katsuki’s, deliberately now.

“they’re going to do this all night,” you say. “you know that, right?”

“they can choke,” he mutters.

“but,” you add, tipping your head so he catches your smile, “i’ll call you when i get home.”

he stops walking. just for a second.

the noise from the others blurs, softens. the streetlight overhead paints everything in a hazy gold.  “you better,” he says quietly.

the embarrassment seems to bleed out of him all at once, like you pulled the pin and let it vent. his shoulders loosen, the line of his mouth easing back from a scowl into something closer to a smirk. the hooting behind you becomes background static again.

“see,” you murmur. “not so bad.”

“tch, ” he rolls his eyes, but there’s the hint of a grin tugging at the corner of his mouth now. “they can scream all they want. if you’re calling, they can sit their asses on the curb and wait.”

“wow,” you say. “claiming your schedule, i see.”

“damn right.” he shrugs, looking away like it is obvious. “you said you’d call. that’s my priority.”

your car comes into view in the side lot, sitting under a dim lamp. the night is a little quieter here, the noise from the restaurant fading. you can still hear mina faintly in the distance, doing color commentary, but it feels far away.

you stop by the driver’s side, turning to face him fully. you are still holding hands. neither of you seems in any rush to change that.

“thank you for walking me,” you say.

“basic manners,” katsuki replies. his eyes are on you though, and they are warm, a little too intense, like he is trying to remember this, exactly how you look with the city light catching on your face.

you lift your joined hands, give his a small, soft squeeze. something like a promise, something like see you later instead of goodbye.

“i’ll text when i’m home,” you repeat.

“call,” he corrects. “i wanna hear your voice.”

you feel heat crawl up your neck.

“oh,” you say, trying to play it cool and probably failing. “soo demanding.”

“yeah.” he leans in just a fraction, enough that his breath fans across your cheek. “you got a problem with that?”

you don’t. not even a little.

you unlock your car and the headlights blink, soft. he finally lets your hand go, fingers trailing from yours like he’s reluctant to lose the contact, like it’s an ending.

katsuki glances over his shoulder, middle finger twitching like it is begging to be used, then looks back at you instead, jaw set, eyes steady.

“drive safe,” he says.

“text me if your fan club gives you too much shit,” you shoot back.

“they will,” he snorts. “but it’s fine. i got something better to do.”

you arch a brow. “oh yeah. what’s that?”

he smirks, slow, a little crooked.

“waiting on your call.”

next chapter: firsts! first kiss, first date, first proposal!?

his finger tips turn icy cold in a way that only icyhot would be able to manage and nose falls victim to the biting night breeze. katsuki walks and walks, to clear his head and soothe the voice in his mind until he’s in the middle of a tiny square. a little park somehow still open at this late hour.  a single bench illuminated by golden street light calls to him for respite and a bit of quiet. 

the sky is dark, cushioned by clouds as he stares up at it — missing the steady steps of someone approaching the bench. 

“i’m not too fond of the fireworks,” your voice pierces the cool night as you take residence on the other side of the bench — katsuki just barely sparring a glance all day. you look tired, like the world has pulled down all the best parts of you. your uniform looks itchy underneath the coat that you wear, somewhere in retail he thinks. wherever you work, it’s been open late. “the only thing i was looking forward to was a new years kiss.” 

still, katsuki says nothing. 

more so because he’s translating in his head - its been a while since he’s had to navigate entire conversation in english alone.

“a joke,” your lips spread into a bewitching grin. “i’m just here to watch the fireworks somewhere quiet.” 

for some reason, the pro hero feels drawn to how lost you are. like him, you’ve come out here to avoid the loneliness of New Year’s Eve and answer the questions you’re leaving behind in the year before. creating the goals you’ll hopefully take into the next.

“i can kiss you.” he suggests plainly. voice gruff from going unused. you catch a hint of his accent, he’s not from here. though he sounds familiar, like a celebrity from overseas.

you dismiss the thought, deciding you’ll bite anyways.

“a stranger?”

“dunno what kind of good luck could come of it.” bakugou parrots his mother because something in the moment feels right — like this could be the very thing he went searching for tonight.

“you’re right, i guess that’s what these things are for?” you laugh and scoot closer to him on the bench, the blonde’s knee now pressing warmly into the heat of your thigh. “a kiss for a stranger then?”

“a kiss for a stranger.” 

he rises first from the bench and you follow suit.

the two of you stand opposite one another on the wet park path, under the yellow glow of a street lamp that flickers intermittently. as you exhale, strings of your breath curl into the night air like smoke, a sign of the cold that ticks on with the time. katsuki keeps his hands in his pockets, deep into the winter coat that he hates, even when you step closer.

midnight nears, a minute to go and people start to dance down the once vacant streets, children bundled up in scarves and bobble hats with their parents not too far behind as they chase a better view for the fireworks about to go off. bakugou’s gaze wanders after them but you don’t let him get too far. 

with cold hands that make him flinch, you cup his cheeks and bring his gaze back to you whilst a compensatory heat quickly rises to the surface in the form of a blush. “not long to go now, stranger…”

“mhm…” katsuki makes a non-committal noise but he doesn’t seem able to breathe. caught up in the glitter that lights your eyes and the way you seem to lean up on your tippy toes because he’s too tall for your lips to reach. you’re so pretty, yet he knows nothing about you. not your name or your story. he finds himself sick with intrigue. so, instinctively, his head dips down and his mouth hovers merely inches away from yours as the countdown begins. “don’t back out now.” 

five. four.

your fingers trail down to the lapels of his jacket, fiddling with it as if you’ve put something there. “i could say the same for you.” 

three. two. 

“you’re a snarky one, ain’t ya.” the blonde nudges your nose with his, gauging the level of intimacy to put into this simple kiss. when you lean into him, a strangled sort of sigh builds up in his throat — like he wants this. needs this. his large palms roll downward to secure you to him by the waist.

tugging him down by his coat you say. “that’s what the guys love about me.” 

one. 

fireworks erupt in two places as the clock strikes twelve. amongst the clouds in the sky and between two complete and utter strangers who just so happen to be wandering the same streets of london that night. katsuki presses his mouth to yours first, soft as they meet one another perfectly. yet, it’s you who deepens the kiss, prying his lips apart with your curious tongue and licking over the slight chap to them. you tilt your head and he follows your direction, squeezing your hips to stop you from escaping the kiss he doesn’t want to end. 

tongues meet one another for the first time, yet it doesn’t feel unfamiliar. it feels right. has bakugou’s heart racing like it wasn’t blown to pieces nearly a decade before. he wonders if you can feel the erratic tune of his pulse, the sweat that gathers in his hands as he touches you like you’ll break. if you do notice, you like it or you feel exactly the same — your fingers tugging the sandy roots to his hair whilst you mewl softly into his mouth without shame.

this kiss tastes like ash and clotted cream fudge, the kind that tourists in london will buy as a gift for those back home or as a sweet treat. it’s addictive and you know that you’ll miss it, when it’s time to pull apart and time to go home. your lungs flare like the dazzling fireworks bursting around you, and your heart beats for him in this singular moment. the way he gasps into you, pours this strange.. comforting want into you. you never want this to end even as air becomes scarce and you feel a bit light headed.

when you break away, katsuki still has his eyes closed and a minute or two has surely passed. you stay there, mere inches from his face and lips — the ghost of a smile tattooed against yours. “happy new years, stranger,” you murmur like you’ve lost your voice to kissing him and stand on your tip toes to press one last smooch against his cherry-swollen lips.

“happy new year to you too, stranger,” he responds, giddy. maybe this was the good luck his mother has been talking about. katsuki smiles as he gathers his bearings, baby blonde eyelashes fluttering whilst he slowly starts to open his eyes. “hey, let me get your—” 

name.

then he realises, you’re gone. didn’t  even say goodbye, didn’t even hear the click of your heels as you left. you’d probably escaped under the guise of the fireworks. 

just when all hope is lost and bakugou feels like a fucking loser for opening himself up to someone he doesn’t know — a little note on a napkin falls from the inside of his jacket where it had been tucked. 

‘leaving you this in case i don’t have the courage to talk to someone as pretty as you. here’s my number: xx xxxxxx xx !! call me or text me, if you get the chance stranger! <3’

you’ve signed your name, must have written it while standing beside him in silence — before you decided to be brave and kiss him. katsuki whips his phone out faster than he can say his entire hero name and dials your number like it’s a life line.

“fancy some more good luck this year, stranger?” bakugou says eagerly before you even have time to speak, picking up after the first ring. “with me?”

and by the sound of your sweet laughter on the other end, ad-libbed by the booming thunder of fireworks — it seems like you’re down for the 2026 ride with him after all. 

end.