THE KIDS ARE GONNA BE ALRIGHT â AIZAWA SHOUTA
synopsis: teachers are like bridges, there to facilitate students on their ungainly journey through life. add a war, a new subject, a gaggle of traumatised children and a handsome coworker with an apparent sleeping disorder â see where the bridge leads.
tags: GN reader (called 'Sensei'), coworkers to lovers, reader is a UA teacher (quirk science), single parent aizawa (adopted eri), some workplace shenanigans, meddling kids (class 2A + B), mutual pining, fluff + angst, learning difficulties, mental health (alluded PTSD), getting together, post war arc (heavily implied spoilers ahead), first kisses + making out, suggestive content + heavy themes, HAPPY + HOPEFUL END
wc: 19K
From:
[email protected]Â
To:
[email protected]Â
Subject: Welcome to UA!
Message:Â
Good morning!Â
It is my pleasure to welcome you to UA â we are very excited to have you aboard! The files attached to this email are as follows: Â
A map of the campus
The UA handbook and Emergency guideline
The Teachers Code of ConductÂ
Please refer back to these regularly to familiarise yourself with everything. As we discussed in our prior phone call a place has been prepared in the teachers dormitory in preparation for your move. Your key and security badge are at the reception desk. Please bring identification to collect them. Do let me know if you require a reserved spot in the parking area.Â
One last thing to note:Â
The staff lounge and kitchen is located in the west wing of the first floor heroics building. It is regularly restocked with snacks and beverages. The coffee machine is also available to you at any time. Feel free to help yourself!
If you have any further questions you can email me or call me. I will get back to you as soon as possible.Â
Kind regards,
Nedzu
Principal of UA High SchoolÂ
ă123-4567 ĹikuyĹ, Shizuoka, Musutafu.Â
Go Beyond, Plus Ultra!
Your new world is bordered by a large imposing wall.Â
It towers above your head, reinforced concrete and steel reaching for the heavens, housing weapons you could only imagine. Gone is the classic archway that once welcomed students with open arms. The public walkway leading uphill to the school is cordoned off.Â
Even alongside global assistance progress was slow. A large chunk of Musutafu had remained levelledâ debris and dust, unrecognisable. After the battle ended, rebuilding the country came first. Hospitals and emergency services were given priority; more shelters followed close behind, and once given the go ahead, individuals confined to UA were able to slowly integrate back into their own communities.Â
One step at a time. Life stops for nothing, that is clearer than ever.Â
You qualified as a quirk specialist, mainly working with college students, teaching science, history and philosophy of quirks. Principal Nedzu was an old acquaintance. You crossed paths at a conference or two, and you saw his name in citations of papers you read from time to time, but it never grew beyond professional respect. Thus, having him reach out to you through your private number had come as a big surprise.Â
After the war a number of the current studentâs quirks had evolved at an unprecedented rate, largely due to the trauma and strain they endured. He expressed his wish to include quirk study in the new curriculum and reasoned that having someone with your credentials on staff would not only ease the anxiety of the teenagers, but also that of the remaining teachers, who were inexperienced in dealing with stress manifestation.Â
The call ended an hour later with a sixty three page contract in your inbox and a new job. You covered a broad range of subjects but your field of study was an elective, therefore smaller than you are used to. Even so it was your territory now. You tried to own it. The desks have been rearranged into a U shape, charts with interactive pieces affixed to the surface, and you decorated the space with Nedzuâs express permission in hopes of making it inviting.Â
Over a month into the term and you canât yet say you regret taking up his offer.
âPhyletic gradualism and punctuated equilibrium are the two extremes in a continuous model of evolution. The first kind is a far more uniform and gradual accumulation of changes that subsequently generate new speciesâŚâ
Your mouth keeps moving as you scan the classroom for the fifth time, words muffled by the brief loss of focus. The students donât notice the lapse; most eyes are still on you, some clouded and others intent on listening. Itâs a true miracle that nobody has fallen asleepâthough Kaminari is always a close call. Beneath it all is the soft, frantic scratch of Midoriyaâs pen to paper and his low mutter, holding the attention of a bone weary Bakugo.Â
ââŚComparatively, punctuated equilibrium proposes that once a species appears, it becomes stable, showing little evolutionary change until an event triggers a rapid speciation processâ.
Yaoyorozuâs hand flies up and startles Shinsou to attention. Her enthusiasm brings a slight smile to your lips. You point to her, âYes, Yaoyorozu?â
âIn that case, Sensei, would that mean that quirks are an example of punctuated equilibrium?â she asks.Â
âThat is the most agreed upon theory amongst the quirk science community,â you reply, directing the answer toward the entire class. Thereâs a scarce mix of Class A, B, and support students. Monoma straightens under your gaze. Heâs flanked by Kouda, who returns a mousy smile, fingers idly petting Yuwai-chan, his pet rabbit.Â
âQuirks are our realityâthat much is undeniable. But with that comes a myriad of unknowns. How, why, and when did this happen to us?â Striding toward the board you uncap a blue marker with your teeth and write the phrase âtheoriesâ down in large, neat penmanship. You cast a passing glance to the clock. Any minute now.Â
âThere is still no definitive answer. So for your next assignment Iâm going to ask that you research and write an essay on a specific theory about the dawn of quirks,â you are helpless to the wicked grin that pulls across your mouth at their collective groan. âItâs due next Friday. Thatâs ten whole days to complete it! So generous, aren't I?âÂ
Overhead, a bell blares out an incessant ring to indicate the lessons end, and in a moment of synchronicity each student rouses from their chair. Bakugo shoves his hands into his pockets and makes a beeline for the door and ignores Midoriyaâs aborted squawk as he shoves his notes into his backpack.Â
âThank you Sensei,â he stammers, rushing after the boy. âWait for me, Kacchan!âÂ
Nobody calls attention to the seemingly tumultuous relationship. The 2A kids in particular watch their interactions with a trepid fondness. Theyâre always like thatâor so Shinsou told you, once, barely audible over Bakugoâs incendiary growls as he hauled his childhood friend into a headlock. You understood it a little when you heard Midoriyaâs bubbly laughter for the first time. And you let them be.Â
The others file out slowly, lost in conversation or waiting on a friend. Iida stops at your desk and bows before leaving, bidding you an effusive goodbye, a habit he has steadfastly maintained no matter how much you assure him otherwise. In stark contrast the two subdued support students, Toma and Nakao, throw a simple salute with startling synchrony.
Just when you think you have some peace, a shadow crosses your peripheral vision. âYo, Sensei,â Kaminari chirped. Thereâs an edge to his voice that draws your attention. Shinsou lingers nearby feigning disinterest as Kaminari fidgets with his blazer button. âAbout theâuh. About the essayâŚâ
Blinking away your initial confusion you sit up in realisation. âOh! Thatâs right,â Kaminari tenses as you lean across the desk, flicking through your copious bits of stationery. You peel off a cloud shaped sticky note and write down a date and time before handing it to the boy.Â
âI scheduled a one to one so we can go over everything youâve done before the deadline,â you explain gently. Kaminari takes the note between his fingers, grip delicate either end as though afraid it might tear. âDonât worry if you lose that. Iâm going to send the details to your student email, and Iâll remind you again on the day. That sound good?â
Had you been any younger your eyes mightâve stung at the clear wonder unfolding on his face; surprised and happy to be accommodated without interrogation. Now there is only a dull ache beneath your skull and resentment in your heart. His reaction spoke to the copious rejection he faced before UA.Â
Youâve come to learn that children are only ever as brilliant as you allow them to be.Â
âYâyeah. Thatâs amazing, thanks Sensei,â Kaminari steadily brightens. His fist hits his chest with a quiet thump, âI wonât letâcha down!âÂ
âIâm sure you wonât. And please donât forget to bring your overlays,â you call to them as they amble out into the hallway. Shinsou holds the door, nodding shortly in acknowledgement. The savoury smell of curry has already distracted Kaminari enough to have him forget your discussion.Â
You sigh, hearing their laughter grow quiet in the distance. Another muted pang echoes through your skull. Expression contorted, you wince and gather your things, thoughts latched onto the lacquered bento box that awaits in the teachers lounge to distract from the pain.Â
Once a stream of bustling students is now a mere trickle, stragglers hanging by the bathrooms, others cross legged in front of their lockers, grouped tightly together without causing obstruction. They appear wilted. An overarching air of despondency; grey against the brightly painted corridor.Â
The muscles in your face twinge. You resolve to greet them all, offering a smile as sincere as you can muster despite the heaviness in your heart. For many of these kids, if not all, life would never be the same. So young, grappling with such unprecedented loss.Â
You come to a halt. Lofty double doors loom. Your fingers curl into the recessed handle and you slide them open. Though the walls are bare, the windows are large, and into the staff lounge beams intrepid light.Â
Youâre met with a chorus of sluggish murmurs, few heads lifting to see who has entered. Of the faces present there are two youâre most familiar withâclass 2Aâs heroics mentor and their homeroom teacher.Â
Yagi is hunched at his computer desk. A cardigan too large for his frame is draped across his shoulders and pools around his wrists. Cradled in one hand is a thermos covered in stickers. Steam pours from the open top, wispy tendrils curling into the air. You inhale and recognise the weak scent of bone broth.Â
Those sunken eyes flicker as you approach, striking blue roving over your form. Whatever he sees must be cause for concern. âAre you feeling unwell?â
You had felt an immediate fondness for Toshinori Yagi when you first met him. The presence of All Might hung tangibly in the air, a stifling ode to his service that still unnerved those who did not know him, but you were different. Like his colleagues, you looked back and saw a well meaning, sweet but bumbling older man.Â
âNo, no,â you demurred. âItâs just a headacheâ.Â
Yagi grimaces sympathetically, furrow etched into his brow. Hips slumped low on the staff sofa, garish yellow sleeping bag at his feet, Aizawa hums a low amused sound that draws your attention. Youâre surprised heâs awake. âMy kids will do that to you,â he murmurs.Â
The Erasure heroâs head is tipped to bare his throat, jawline shadowed by stubble. Dark curtains of hair fall across his shoulders. Aizawa is handsome. This you cannot deny. Before you met youâd heard him described as quite the opposite. Yet here you are, magnetised to him; to his callous humour, and the rough, rare instances of laughter; to the sturdy body hidden beneath baggy clothing and the deep, blasĂŠ manner in which he speaks.Â
You swallow the sight thickly and pinch the bridge of your nose with a self deprecating laugh. Itâs just a silly crush. âNothing like that,â you assure him. The chair creaks slightly beneath your thighs as you recline. âI donât think I slept well last nightâ.Â
Admitting it invites a sudden wave of fatigue. Aizawa is no stranger to exhaustion. You think he could probably sleep anywhereâhell, youâve seen him sleep standing up. He regards you thoughtfully, and the longer he stares the warmer your collar becomes. You feel his scrutiny even as you avert your eyes.Â
Incognisant to the tension, Yagi continues to fret. âAh, thatâs no good. Let me make you some coffee,â he insists, brushing off his pants as he stands. Yagi sheds the feeble slope from his shoulders and you blink at the burst of energy.Â
âAlright. Thank you, Yagi-san,â you reply, voice dwindling as he ducks into the modest kitchen connected to the lounge. Aizawa clicks his tongue.Â
âYouâll regret that,â he breathes, ensuring the other man would not hear. âUnless youâre a fan of drinking tarâ.Â
âDonât be mean. Iâm sure itâs not that bad,â your trembling lips press firmly together, not wanting to to give him the satisfaction of making you laugh. He exhales and shrugs as if to say âitâs your funeralâ.Â
Yagi soon returns holding a cup of coffee and your bento box. âHere. I thought you might want to eat,â he gives a signature toothy grin. You say nothing of the shake in his hands as he sets them down on your desk and bring the hot drink to your mouth.Â
The coffee is awful. You hold your breath and smother the urge to cough, swallowing it down with feigned enthusiasm. The astringent taste lingers. A shudder runs throughout your body and you inhale sharply. âThatâwill definitely wake me up. Thank you, Yagi-san,â you rasp, trying to smile. Yagi looks rather pleased and gives a thumbs up.Â
Next you look, Aizawa has shucked the sleeping bag up to his midsection and burrowed into his capture weapon, leaving only bloodshot eyes visible above the fabric. Theyâre crinkled at the edges and full of mirthâyou interlock and he lifts his chin to mouth, âTold youâ.Â
That shouldnât be so attractive, you think.
On the next mouthful of your rice you subtly uncurl your middle finger from beneath your chopsticks and pointedly flip it at Aizawa. He snorts, amused.Â
âGesundheit,â Yagi chimed between sips, enjoying the warm broth in his thermos flask. From what you understood he had to follow a strict liquid only diet. He could hardly stomach solids anymore. âAre you getting sick too, Aizawa-kun?âÂ
Aizawa sighs at the obliviousness, though you think heâs a little glad for it.Â
The conversation tapers and the lunch hour crawls on. Your mind drifts to the students as you idly chew, grains ground to mush, vision blurring out of focus. Thankfully it appeared to be one of their better days. Shinsou remained awake for the entire period. Yaoyarozu participated confidently. The shadows under Bakugoâs eyes hadnât been as severe. Iidaâs legs had not restlessly bounced under the table. Midoriya kept his hands to himself and felt no need to feel for his friend's heartbeat.Â
However one of your more boisterous spirits, Monoma, had been noticeably withdrawn. Koudaâs rabbitâtrained to detect and assist with anxietyâscrambled into his arms on numerous occasions.Â
Your skin prickles, alerted to the weight of someoneâs gaze on your back. Not a second later you hear the low call of your name. Aizawa slips into the chair opposite, disconcertingly silent in his approach, and leans his chin against his fist.Â
âIf you keep thinking so hard, All Might really is going to give himself a hernia,â he mutters.Â
Yagiâs lighthearted chuckle devolves into a harsh spluttering cough. âBlunt as always, Aizawa-kun,â he jokes, voice muffled by his hand.Â
âIâm not sure he could even get a herniaâŚâ you muse, offering him a tissue. Yagi nods in thanks as he wipes the blood from his mouth. âI was thinking about the kids, that's allâ.Â
Aizawa tilts his head. The sun settles at her highest point and golden pleats stretch across his face. These are the rare instances that his artificial eye becomes observable. Light refracts in the iris, glittering crimson through graphene layers.Â
âTheyâve really taken a shine to you,â he says, and it comes like an accusation, softened by the slight jut to his lips. You smirk, shutting your bento box and setting it aside. How wonderfully petty.Â
âCurious?âÂ
âMidoriya burst into class last week and asked Tokoyami if he had a twin that he ate in the womb,â he drawls, brow twitching. Yagi splutters. âSo yes, Iâm curious what it is youâre teaching my studentsâ.Â
A fleeting sense of exasperation comes over you. Trust Midoriya to abandon delicacy in his eagerness. âI assume itâs because we covered the genetics of chimerism and how it relates to quirk inheritance,â you say, bemused. Hopefully Tokoyami was not offended. Itâs a wonder he didnât ask Todoroki.
âAnd how does it?â Yagi blink owlishly as you turn to him in surprise. âIâm curious!â he defends.Â
âOh. Well, genetic chimerism is when an organism has multiple sets of DNA often originating from the fusion of different zygotes,â you recite. Instinctively, your posture straightens as though you were back in the classroom. âThis can happen with twin embryos. One absorbs the other and as a result, they have two sets of DNAâ.Â
âOâohâŚ?â
âSo,â you continue, fingers wrung together in your lap, turning to give him your full attention. Colour drains from the retired heroâs cheeks. âThe question I presented was this: would it then be possible for the surviving twin to inherit an additional quirk?â
âI see,â Yagi swallows and his grin strains at the edges as he realises you are waiting for a genuine answer. âAh, Iâm notââ
The lunch bell abruptly begins to ring. You both startle in your seats. Unperturbed, Aizawa pushes to his feet. His hair falls forward as he sways in place and meets your gaze. âAs interesting as this is, we need to get to gym gamma for basic heroics,â he says, tone laced with monotony.Â
Yagi jumps at the chance to escape. You try not to laugh. He continues to nervously glance over his shoulder, worried that you might be disheartened, but you wave them off happily.Â
Coworkers come and go throughout the afternoon. Kurose keeps you company during their free period, later joined by Yamada, who insisted on quizzing you about western rock music. With no classes left to teach you spend the remainder of your day planning quirk counselling sessions, printing worksheets and sending routine emails, headache persisting.Â
ââââââââââââââââââââââââ
Good afternoon,
Please see the two files I have attached to this email. One has a highlighted version of the essay brief, and another detailing how to structure an essay.Â
As I mentioned, I have booked a one to one session for us to go over your draft and any concerns next week on [x] September 13:00 â 14:00. However do not hesitate to email me with any questions you have before this date.Â
Take care!
ââââââââââââââââââââââââ
After the final bell rings you linger a while, not wanting to be swept away in throngs of students making their way to the dorms. There are no stragglers as you leave and your footsteps reverberate unsettlingly throughout the main building.Â
The sky bleeds into early dusk with disquieting rays of light. Gentle enough that you can look directly into the sun and see the canvas it paints. Standing in the middle of the walkway, balefully watching the far off horizon, the early autumn air makes you shiver.Â
Living on campus was a big change. Even so you had little to complain about. The staff dormitories are larger and much more private. Youâd been given a studio on the second floor, neighbour to Ishiyama, the rather withdrawn cement hero. While there is a bathroom and kitchenette in each apartment you usually preferred to cook in the shared kitchen, conjoined to an open plan common room.Â
Another familiar face greets you as you enter. Powerloader is seated at the dining table, mulling over a mess of blueprints. Quirk science and quirk support often went hand in hand thus you had collaborated before, albeit very rarely.Â
He lifts his head at your entrance, face obscured by long, spiked copper hair. Seeing him free of his big excavator helmetâmuch like with Kurose without their space suitâis still quite strange. âHey, Maijima-san,â you skim over what looks to be a box buckle belt. âWorking on anything interesting?â
âIâm designing an MMF induction system for Tetsutetsu in 2B,â he explained, sifting through the papers to show another preliminary sketch. You notice the ink stain on the heel of his hand. âIâm hoping with the belt and armbands acting as coils we could turn him into an electromagnet of sortsâ.Â
âWow. Thatâs actually pretty cool. There are so many things he could do with that,â you mumbled. Flash bangs. Emergency power. Assisting in triage. The possibilities were endless. Awed, you lean forward to scrutinise the chicken scrawl dotted around the drawings, some characters smudged beyond your comprehension. âHow do you plan to measure his tolerance toâ?â
âMochi?!â a small, giddy voice interrupts.Â
ââŚMochi?â you repeat, bewildered. You look toward the source, gaze falling upon two silvery pigtails. Eri rocks on her heels and excitedly holds out a curved plate full of rice cakes. The height draws her sweater sleeves down her thin, scarred forearms. She makes a droning noise to stress that you take one.Â
Aizawa strolls out from the kitchen behind her. A dull clink accompanies his footsteps, slanted to one side. You immediately note the various colourful clips pinning his hair away from his face, tied into a similar pigtail style, though tousled and loose.
âEri,â he rumbles. âItâs impolite to interrupt private conversationsâ.Â
The little girl wilts a fraction as her expression pinches in worry. She lowers the plate, but before it is out of reach, Maijima stretches across the table to snatch one up. Eri brightens at the exaggerated happy sound he makes as he chews, âThis is some good mochi, Eri-chan. Iâll forgive you this onceâ.Â
âThank you, Maijiji,â she chimes. At that Maijimaâs jaw unhinges mid-chew, the corners of his mouth twitching in quiet shock. Aizawaâs nostrils flare. He turns his head from the scene. Similarly, you tuck your chin to conceal your smirk and pluck up a mochi for yourself.Â
âThese look delicious,â you tell her, diverting the topic from Maijimaâwho, in your periphery, is mouthing âold man?!â toward Aizawa with some incredulity. Eriâs focus remains on your face. She watches intently as the sticky dough yields under your thumbs.Â
You tear a piece away to eat. Softer, smoother on the inside. It begins to melt on your tongue. The red bean paste is sweet with earthy undertones. âWow!â the exclamation comes warbled, muffled. Eri tugs at the hem of her pink knit sweater, her smile stretching wider. âYouâre very kind for sharing these, Eriâ.Â
âMhm. Sâbecause Yama-san teached me a quote in English today,â she effuses proudly, âHe said sharing is caringâ. The foreign enunciation doesnât quite fit, like the words are choppy in her mouth, but they fall easily from her lips as if she has practised them a hundred times.
âTaught,â Aizawa corrected, bending into view to take the plate from her hands and set it on the table. She blinks at him curiously, and he explains, âYou should say âYama-san taught meâ, not teachedâ.Â
âOh,â she says. You watch fondly as he licks his thumb to wipe away a smear of bean paste on her chin. Her face scrunches up, lips pursed and air in her cheeks.Â
âAnd now youâve been taught a new word,â you add, pulling off a bigger piece of mochi. Eri bounces in place as you offer it to her and she shoves it into her mouth. âThank you for the treat, Eri. I think Iâll enjoy this in my roomâ.Â
âYwor leaâwinâ?âÂ
Aizawa sighs and concedes defeat to her poor manners. He cradles the crown of her head with his palm, stroking her hair. âIâm a little tired so I really want to take a shower and get in my pyjamas,â you say, hoping to placate her with a smile. âBut Iâm sure Iâll see you again sometime tomorrow, okay?â
Eri concedes rather reluctantly. Her fondness for you, once a stranger from the yawning unknown, is warming. Though her dejection is short-lived, soon distracted by the late arrival of Yagi and Yamada.Â
The soft hair on your neck prickles. Sensing his stare you meet Aizawaâs gaze, heavy enough to feel like touch. It stirs a fleeting sort of hope in your chest. He looks gentle, frame wrapped up in the gauzy evening lustre. You clear your throat, âDid heroics go well in the end?âÂ
His brow twitches and you get the distinct feeling that youâre being laughed at. âNo broken bones. So I would say so,â he deadpanned.Â
âIf it were anyone else saying that Iâd be concerned,â you smiled, knowing class 2A in particular was well renowned for incurring injuries in training. âIt was their first one since⌠everything, right? Iâm glad theyâre doing okayâ.Â
He hums, eyes sliding toward his daughter when her laughter breaks the delicate quiet. You shift awkwardly where you stand, overly conscious of Maijima seated nearby, now engrossed in his work. Aizawa levelled his voice, âHowâs the headache?âÂ
âPersistent,â you murmur. Acknowledging it invites another dull pang inside your skull. âHonestly I canât wait to get in bedâ.Â
âHear hear,â he breathes. The corner of his mouth curls as he looks at you and gravity vaults around your stomach, rendering you momentarily weightless. Just a crush, you think, half hysterical. âGet some rest. If you plan on missing dinner then take a jelly pouch or an energy bar with youâ.Â
Touched by his concern you sway toward the kitchen. Your teeth sink into your cheek, biting down a grin where he cannot see it. âYeah, okay,â you laugh under your breath. Louder then, âBut Iâm going to take your favourite flavourâ.Â
âDonât push your luck,â he dared.Â
You retire to your apartment with a green jelly packet in hand and a clunky wave. Energy seeps out of you like water through a sieve as soon as your door shuts. Fatigue creeps in; the body needing rest yet the mind restless.Â
The shower does little to shake you awake. Dragging your feet to your bedroom, pouch uncapped and held between your lips. Tepid air sticks to still damp skin. Your bed yields, thoughts slowing. You crawl across the mattress, cheeks hollow as you lazily suck the jelly until the foil wrinkles.Â
Cocooned in plush fleece and linen, you tilt your head and let it loll against the pillow; exhaustion sweeps through you, consciousness waning. The ache behind your eyes lessens as they close. You sleep.Â
ââââââââââââââââââââââââ
Hi hi
The worksheets really helped!!! Youâre the best, Sensei!
I was talking to Mido and he said some ppl think quirks are a genetic mutation from a disease spread by rats?? ? (â-â;) super freaky. Can I make that my essay topic?Â
Thnx!
Kaminari Denki
AKA âĄď¸ CHARGEBOLT
ââââââââââââââââââââââââ
Sorry to email so late! Or early haha⌠I found some articles while I was researching that I think will be helpful to my essay but the journal is not open access. Is there any way that I cannnnnnnnvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvccccccccccccccvvvvvvccccccccccccccccvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvv
Sent from my ePhoneÂ
ââââââââââââââââââââââââ
Morning comes abruptly. The sound of your alarm cuts out as you stretch across the bed to hit snooze, limbless and heavy handed. You rise with a crick in your neck. Barely cognisant, the floor rises to meet you, cool against the soles of your feet.Â
A mottle of pale blue and white blended into a grey low lit morning, flooding the common area. Itâs no surprise to you that people are already awake. Snipe is seated on the couch meticulously cleaning his pistol while Kurose is clad in their gym wear, jogging in place where they wait for Yagi to zip up his jacket.Â
Upright, he beams at the sight of you, âGood morning! You look much better todayâ.Â
You do not feel much better.Â
âMorning,â you return lightly, rubbing the sleep from your eyes. Snipe tips his hat in your direction with a quiet grunt. âAre the others still asleep?âÂ
The drooping blonde hair that frameâs Yagiâs face sway as he shakes his head. âNot everyone. I believe Yamada-kun is at his radio station. Ectoplasm is out walking the perimeter with Hound Dog. Though Aizawa-kun may be sleepingâŚâ
âHe got back from night patrol a few hours ago,â Kurose adds. They wave both hands at you, spacetime wielding fingers wiggling as though to entice you, âThat aside, would you like to join us on our morning run?âÂ
Your expression immediately shifts, exhibiting strong disinclination. âI appreciate the invite, but Iâd rather return to a horizontal position until my work hours startâ.Â
Kurose laughs warmly. Yagi, however, insists on reciting the benefits to early exercise while he ties and reties his shoes. You send them off, holding the door open to breathe in the morning dew, and spend a minute feeling the cool air prickle your cheeks.Â
The day crawls on. You get to your classroom before the first period and review the lesson plans. The third years stagger to their seats. You can sympathise with their dead eyed staresâtwo hours of quirk regulation law is not exactly the most riveting topicâand take no offense to their spiritless attitudes.Â
Third period is spent fostering discussion about politics with the business students. By the time lunch hour comes and goes you have barely left your classroom. Your next set is composed of first year hero students. This academic year both class 1A and B had been mixed into the same group. Hardly six months after a war steeped in blood and sacrifice, Japanâs citizens were not so eager to hand their children over to a hero school. Thus there were few applicants. Nevertheless, Principal Nedzu remained optimistic about their potential.Â
Straight away you understood his judgement. In covering the quirk history module you saw first hand their iron willed determination to learn from the past and change the system. Hands are thrown high in the airâeager despite your intention to wind downâas you inquire their thoughts about the quirk classification system.Â
âThe whole thing is bullâbrainless!â one of your more headstrong students, Higuchi, calls out. You can picture the lurid glare behind his blacked out glasses. His classmates murmur in agreement.Â
âHeâs right, Sensei,â Kaneko, 1B class president, adds quietly. The air distorts around her when she speaks and your jaw clenches, withholding a flinch as your ear pops. âWhy are there only three categories? It makes no senseâ.Â
âI agree. The classification system is simplistic and outdated. Which is what leads me into my final questionâŚâ you hold out your hands in mock surrender, brows pointedly arched, and they settle down. In that instant, the door slides open and disrupts the peace. Every head turns to watch Eraserhead slip brazenly into the classroom, and after a pregnant pause, gesture for you to continue.Â
Heat rises to the high point of your cheeks. His expression is soft in the artificial light, fixed on you with intent and sincere intrigue. Your tongue feels thick in your mouth. âAhâWhat was I saying?â you joked nervously. Sensing your embarrassment the kids begin to laugh under their breath. âThatâs right. My question is, if possible, what are some of the categories you would introduce to improve the quirk database? Brainstorm for me. There are no wrong answers!âÂ
Those eyes nag at you for the remainder of the hour. With another teacher present, heralded as a war hero no less, the motivation to impress increases tenfold. You bullet point their answers on the class board, prompting further explanation or examples and suggesting your own. Itâs a welcome distractionâ
And the outcome is far more comprehensive than you expected:
Generation describes quirks that allow the individual to create something from their body. Example: Creati.Â
Manipulation refers to quirks that control what is pre existing. Example: Poltergeist.Â
Users with a Transmutation quirk can change or alter the function of things around them. Example: Mudman.
Augmentation quirks allow the individual to improve their own body in some way. Example: Mount Lady.Â
Information quirks classify those that can detect, understand and apply information. Example: Nighteye.
You watch them rush to scribble the list down. Murmurings carry through the classroom as they turn to one another, listing more examples, giving thought to how each quirk should be designated. Pride swells in your chest.Â
âI have a questionâ.
Aizawa remained hunched in the corner, one hand deep in his pocket. The other is raised lazily above his head. This elicits some anticipation from your students. You motion for him to continue, âYes, Aizawa-sensei?â
âErasure is listed as âEmitterâ in the quirk database. This means I share a category with quirks which are fundamentally different, such as Hellflame,â he speaks with a calm, assertive cadence that holds the kids' attention. His gaze sweeps across the class and they squirm. âTell me, what would you categorise my quirk as to draw that distinction?â
The long silence is contemplative rather than daunting. Higuchi fakes a cough. He lifts his fist, fingers unfurling as his wrist then falls limp, feigning indifference. It was made no secret that he admired Eraserhead, given their shared ocular abilities. Allure was a powerful quirk. Persuaded with a single glance, inhibited only by the specialised lenses in his glasses.Â
Thus you recognise the attitude change for what it isâa preemptive measure in the case that he slips in front of the man he admires. âHiguchi,â you warmly addressed. Aizawa centres his attention on the boy. âDo you have a suggestion for Aizawa-sensei?â
âYâyeah,â he says. âI thought we could add something like âConditionâ to the listâŚ?â
âCan you elaborate on that?â you try to encourage. Aizawaâs posture shifts, his interest piqued.Â
âI was just thinking, Erasure doesnât fit any of the shiâstuff we thought up,â Higuchi continues, his fingers knotted tight on the desk, knuckles white. âCondition would cover people whose quirks enforce a condition on others. Like an infatuation quirk orâor my own quirkâ.
Everybody is seemingly waiting with bated breath. You glance back at Aizawa, now carefully regarding Higuchi. You know that look. âNot bad, kid,â he nods, quietly pleased. Higuchi grins.Â
Smiling, you move to add âConditionâ to the list.Â
Youâre on edge after the bell rings. Aizawaâs presence brushes you like a breath of balmy air, biding his time while you send off your class, grunting in response to those who bow in his direction. When you finally turn his half lidded gaze is mellowed.Â
âSo,â you begin clumsily. âIs there any particular reason why you interrupted my lesson?âÂ
Aizawa hums. A sound so deep, so supple you want to lean into it. âI have a favour to ask. Is the rest of your afternoon free?âÂ
âThe Eraserhead asking me a favour?â you tease, needlessly lining up your stationary before collecting your things. âIâve got no more classes to teach, if thatâs what you mean. Why?â
âAll Might canât assist supervising heroics training this afternoon,â he mutters, examining your display boards with absentminded curiosity.Â
âYou need to give me more than that, Aizawaâ.Â
He exhales, mouth pressed thin, ducking into his capture weapon. You see a shift in expression, the skin of his cheeks drawing up to crinkle around his eyes. The petulance brings a smirk to your lips. Aizawa had been mildly avoidant and emotionally reserved from the moment you met him, but for someone so motivated by logic he seemed to expect you to read his mind lately.Â
âTwo people are required to oversee the classâ
âAnd you want that second person to be me?â
âIf youâre going to be difficult I can ask Thirteen,â he replies dryly. The tip of his tongue wets his bottom lip, tempting your gaze. You feel yourself consciously resisting.Â
The empty threat hangs lightly in the room. Your smirk gentles into a smile. He tracks your movement, standing aside while you tuck in the desk chair. âNo, no. Iâll come,â you demurred. âI want to help. Letâs goâ.Â
ââââââââââââââââââââââââ
Hisorrywoulditbepossibletogetanextensiononmyessay?Myspacebarisbroken.Â
Shinsou Hitoshi
ââââââââââââââââââââââââ
From blue rafters to monochrome stone, the arched structure of Gym Gamma comes into view. Towers over you as you approach. Aizawaâs footsteps are purposeful and his legs carry him forward with a lumbering gait. Youâve changed into shoes befitting the outdoorsâa pair of boots that hug your calves tight and keep your ankles warm as the afternoon wanes toward an inevitable cold evening.Â
âThe students participating today have been previously cleared for training in a controlled environment by their psychiatrist,â Aizawa says, breathing slightly visible in the autumn chill. His hands are buried deep in his capture weapon. âFirst theyâll start by sparring without quirks to warm up. If I see no risk they can then move on to using quirksâ.
Allowing the kids to train again had been a sensitive matter. Not a single hero student came out the war unscathed; the first years especially, given the proximity to AFO, were dealt extensive physical and psychological traumaâa handful even undergoing forced quirk awakening. Throwing them back into a battle environment, controlled or otherwise, needed to be handled with care.Â
Aizawa did just that, and to your knowledge he always had. He exercised caution with his students. Even if it came across as harsh. Even if the chances of danger were nil. He was staunchly protective of his brood. You understood that to be the reason why their parents trusted him to lead them forwardâ
And you hoped it meant he would be open to your advice throughout the training.Â
Your head bobs, nodding in acknowledgment. âDuring the latter half of the session, if I see signs of a student in distressâ?â
âInform me,â he cuts in firmly. A flash of crimson pools into his irises, gone between blinks, and youâre left to wonder if it was just a trick of the light. âIâll erase their quirks and stop the spar before it escalatesâ.Â
You ponder that as Aizawa shields his eyes and scans the beyond when a chorus of voices reaches your ears. An amalgamation of 2A and 2B are waiting by the gym doors, with the few that recognise you excitedly waving their arms and calling your name.Â
âUnderstood,â a small smile pulls at your lips. You wave toward the group, donned in their UA tracksuits. âYouâre the bossâ.Â
Iida graciously bids you both welcome, his hand chopping through the air as he speaks over the others and attempts to assuage them. Questions of All Mightâs whereabouts are few and far, instead entirely focused on your unexpected presenceâall the more surprising that Midoriya visibly brightens, unaffected by his mentorâs absence.Â
You allow Aizawa to take the wheel while he makes introductions, rocking idly on your feet, nodding along when prompted. âIâm sure some of you are well acquainted, whether it be through individual quirk consultations or taking quirk science as your chosen electiveâŚâ
Yaoyorozu is poised beside a fellow student, Jirou, arms crossed over her midriff. Fingers wiggle by the crook of her elbow in another subtle wave, smile gracing her lips. Bakugo catches the movement and his eyes flicker in your direction. He acknowledges you with a short nod.
âToday is not about analysing the progression of your quirks. We will be observing how you apply them,â he continues. Thereâs a fleeting emphasis to his voice. It carries an underlying warning, the same way a parent might quietly reprimand a child. The class visibly stands straighter and Midoriya raises his hand.Â
Aizawa exhales, a fond sort of exasperation shining through, ââŚMidoriyaâ.
âWill we receive individual feedback?â Midoriya eagerly questioned. âAnd can we get Senseiâs opinion on our own ideas? Becauseâ!â
âKid,â Aizawa drawls. Colour paints Midoriyaâs face pink but he seems bashful rather than ashamed. âOnce we move onto sparring with quirks, yes, you will be notified of anything we deem significant. After classâ.Â
Bakugo, Monoma, Shinsou, Tetsutetsu and Midoriya appear particularly motivated by this. You clear your throat, gaze sliding to Aizawa as you add, âAnd anyone seeking my opinion or reassurance is free to email me. We can set up a meeting. Thatâs what Iâm here for, after allâ. Â
The hour wore on. Aizawa was happy to watch in comfortable silence, offering up any thoughts and observations as they passed. Thereâs a clear sense of pride about him. A softness. Comfortable showing it now heâs a distance from the prying eyes of his students.
Hand-to-hand warm ups progress to quirk use. Some have formed small battle royale type groups while the others chose to pair up. You scan the gym with a keen eye. The quick streak of Midoriyaâs red sneakers as his left foot pivots on the mats catches your attention. His opponent, Todoroki, falls into a balanced stance.Â
You watch their fight unfold. The intensity swells. Dread prickles down your spine. âAizawaâŚâ you cautioned.Â
Green lightning pulses. One For All activates. A metallic taste sticks to the roof of your mouth. Midoriyaâs body twists, and with it his right foot swings up in a singular, upward path. It cleaves through the air, a slice more than it is a swing, and the force lands squarely on the side of Todorokiâs skullâor it would have, if he hadnât blocked it with his arm, encased in ice.Â
Thereâs a split second in which everything stops. An immense, charged force bore down on your lungs. Your vision blurred. As quick as it came the lightning died out and a deluge of shattered ice fell to the ground.Â
âOuch,â Todoroki says, cradling his wrist. You think that probably doesnât even begin to cover it.
Aizawa sprinted across the room without ceremony, his hair hung high in suspension and ready to step in. Todoroki interjects first. Presumably to defend his friend and assure them both that heâs fine. While Aizawa scans his forearm for any sign of major injury you watch Midoriya return to himself. Colour drains from his face. Chest heaving. Thereâs a violent tremor in his legs. Between rapid blinks you hear the crack in his mumbled apologies.Â
Aizawa settles a gentle hand on his shoulder. The rest of the students return to their matches, save for a select few who spare Midoriya a concerned glanceânevertheless, nobody is truly surprised. You can only wonder how often this happens.Â
Midoriya broke himself for the sake of others more times than you could stomach, and youâve been witness to how uniquely adept he is at hiding those splintered parts first hand. With the wound still so fresh, people needed the courageous, forthright, spirited version of him, the one with the beaming smile and the promise of safety. At only sixteen years old that is already his delegated role in life.Â
There are not enough words to depict just how catastrophic the war had been. You suffered heart-wounds of your own but in facing the sacrifice these children gave you felt a contrite, shameful hole in your consciousness. This is victory; the only one on the table, and it is painful.
While Aizawa calms Midoriya, your focus returns to the rest of the class. Tetsutetsu is holding his own against Iida. Kuroiro is half steeped in shadow, reflexively sinking into his quirk as he wards off Bakugoâs punches. You note that Kaminari is unsteady on his feet, having already discharged too much electricity.Â
Something about Monomaâs hesitance also holds your attention. Of the abilities heâs used there has only been four. Odd, given his ability to hold five at a time, and the plethora of quirks surrounding him.Â
You chew your lip and it occurs to you that he must be keeping one on reserve from prior to the lesson. The next thought comes unbidden, inhaling sharply as a sudden, cold sort of clarity slides through you.Â
The only quirk you imagine Monoma could still be intentionally holding onto is the one he took during the fight against AFO. Erasure.Â
âWhatâre you thinking?â
You shake out of your stupor and find Aizawa closer than expected. Somewhere in between he had tied his hair up. He tucks a wayward strand behind his ear, eyes squinted and wrinkling the scar tissue high on his cheek. âWhat?â you ask dumbly.Â
âYou went somewhere,â he clarifies. You feel his knuckles lightly knock your temple. âWhat are you thinking about?âÂ
âAh,â you smile, abashed, and rub the spot of skin he touched. âJust making mental notes. I wish I had brought something to write withâ.
âWell?â Aizawa says, as though his silence was enough of an invitation. âTell me about themâ.Â
âItâs obvious the studentâs have made incredible progress when compared to their first year quirk assessments. But there are some minor adjustments that I think will help considerablyâŚâ
You go on to list ideas for development and support tech. Things like regularly involving parkour into all their training routines. Or having Iida request smaller engines along the front legs of his costume for faster braking, or sharper turns. Or experimenting with Minaâs quirk, testing how precise her control is over her acidâs viscosity and if she could potentially create gaseous forms.
Your awareness wanes periodically, pausing open mouthed to discern the skill of each group, weighing your thoughts. To his credit Aizawa does listen to you ramble, mellowing the longer you speak. Tension seeps from his shoulders as though pulled down by gravity and that look of contentment returns.Â
âIn terms of wielding their quirk the one Iâm most concerned about is probably Kaminari,â you hesitate, chewing your lip as your voice lowers. âI believe he still views his quirk as a final moveâ.
Aizawa leans forward, attentive to your opinion, and hums. The dulcet melody is warm by your earâ
You become conscious of his proximity. The air retains his heat, the indistinct woodsy notes that always clung to his clothes.Â
âand your throat constricts as you swallow.
âBecause of that he immediately jumps from zero to one hundred. Iâve seen his files. It results in mild cranial nerve lesions which then induces temporary impairment mid battle,â you continue soberly, staring ahead with lips stretched into strained assurance as some of the students begin to notice your proximity.Â
Monoma strikes the back of Tetsutetsuâs leg as he makes a suggestive gesture, making him collapse on one knee. You close your eyes as embarrassment floods your body, âI have to wonder if he ever worked with a quirk counsellor in the first placeâ.Â
Aizawa signals his agreement and moves back a fraction. His expression remained unchanged. He is by no means an unfeeling man, but you canât help being jealous about how unshaken he is. All the while you probably look like a spring bouquet.Â
âSo, how do you suggest we help him?âÂ
His genuine countenance tempered your short lived frustration, and the word âweâ echoed in your mind. You knew what he meant, but it still brought a pleasant flutter to your chest. âI think we should start by having support give him a multimeter,â you reply. âAtleast that way we can discern the point that he begins to lose cognition and work upwards from thereâ.Â
âAlright. Iâll ask Maijima-san once weâre done here,â he nods. There is a tentative pause. âAnything else you think needs to be addressed?âÂ
âThere isâŚMonoma,â you add. His head turns in your peripheral vision, visibly taken aback.Â
âMonoma?â he repeated.Â
âThis is just speculation on my part,â you grimace, sparing a glance toward the students. As the session winds down theyâve gathered in the centre of the mats, talking to one another. âBut I have a hunch that he might still be holding onto your quirkâ.
Aizawaâs face becomes pinched. The apparent frustration grows as his expression shifts. Mouth twisting, jaw moving with gritted teeth. âI shouldâve noticed,â he mutters.Â
âMonoma is primarily in Kan-sanâs care, not yours. If anything he should be the one to notice,â you say, subtly detailing his side profile as he continues to observe his class. âBetween the media circus, your physiotherapy, teaching and being a fatherâyou can hardly blame yourselfâ.Â
The bridge of his nose wrinkles at that. âShit, sorry. Did I overstep?â you fret.Â
Aizawaâs expression smooths out, reluctantly. He exhales. âNo. Iâm just not used to the idea of being a parent, I supposeâ.Â
âGuardian, then,â you amended with a flippant wave, hoping to lighten the sullen atmosphere. âThough I guess teaching is like a sub-branch of parenting in itselfâ.Â
âHow so?â
âGood or bad, a teacher plays a big part in shaping a child, right?â For a strange, short moment, youâre hyper aware of how closely he watches you as you speak, and you deal with it by finding great interest in the gym floor. âYâknow. Their self confidence, beliefs and ambitions⌠didnât you have anyone like that?âÂ
That gives him pause, and while he thinks you drink in the line of his jaw, angular and shadowed by stubble, the wispy strands framing his face as his haphazard ponytail slowly loosens, and the faint crease formed across the bridge of his nose after grimacing so frequently.Â
Aizawaâs brow arches. Caught, you quickly cast your gaze to the gym floor. âWell. There is the man that made me realise I wanted to go underground,â he says, graciously ignoring your ogling. âHis purple highnessâ.
âHis purple highness?!â you echo, voice clamouring through the now quieted din, diverting the students attention from their post training stretches. âFuck, sorry. Of all the heroes I wasnât expecting you to say himâ.Â
Nakaoji Tenma, now retired hero âHis purple highnessâ, was the polar opposite of Aizawa. Widely renowned for flamboyance and theatrics, his notorious vibrant two piece suit and frilly open chested jacket sporting vibrant epaulettes on each shoulder was particularly unforgettable.Â
âYou wouldnât be the first. I thought Nemuri was absurd for recommending Oboro and I during her work study,â he reminisced.Â
âSurely it wasnât that badâ.
Aizawa cracks a rueful grin. âHis highness quickly recognised that I would have poor media presence and tried to teach me âhow to smileâ properly. As you can see, it didnât work outâ.
You werenât so sure. Aizawaâs amusement always started behind his eyes, a mirth that flashed across a grey midwinter and trickled into his chest to create a brief, reserved huff of laughter; though you sense underlying melancholy as he recounts his internship and lost loved ones, his smile still curled sincerely at the edges.Â
âI donât know. I like your smile. Even if it can be a littleâŚâ
âDisturbing?âÂ
âDisarming,â you return, nudging his side. Without intention your fingers brushed against the rough skin of his knuckles, fine hairs pricklingâand then a sudden, shrill whistle cuts suggestively through the mood, shattering it.Â
Kaminari stands proud a few feet ahead of his snickering classmates, lips closed around his middle fingers. Aizawa rolls his neck with an indignant sigh. The joint clicks. He raises his voice and impassively announces, âFor that you can all do ten lapsâ.
A chorus of objections fills the gym. One by one, the students drag their feet toward the outer edge and break into a jog. You bite back a smile, âYouâre awfulâ.Â
âNever claimed not to be,â he tells you. âAll Might has another hospital appointment at the end of next week, if you want to join us againâ.Â
A nascent fondness unfurls in your chest. âSure,â you murmur. âIâd like thatâ.Â
ââââââââââââââââââââââââ
Our resident quirk scientist has advised us to provide Kaminari Denki [ID: 16XXXX] with a multimeter to assist in his training. Do we have one on campus or am I going to have to do more paperwork?
Aizawa Shouta
2A Homeroom Teacher, UA High School
Private number: +81 (03) 1234-5678
Do not call unless you are dying.Â
ââââââââââââââââââââââââ
My friend,
Young Midoriya informed me that you took my place alongside Eraserhead in training this afternoon. He found your input very impressive, and even expressed the desire to have you look over his notebooks. That is quite the privilege! Ah, but please donât tell him I told you thatâŚ!!!
Thank you for your hard work today. I will see you at dinner.
Yagi Toshinori
Heroics Department, UA High School
âďźâ
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ââââââââââââââââââââââââ
Something indiscernible has since shifted.Â
The work week is long, and when you crawl your way out of the mire of trepidation that decidedly hung over you, the source becomes clearer.Â
The kids are being weird.Â
Heroes in training, absolutely, but masters in subtlety they are not. Less than innocent, mischievous whispers would reach your ears, and silhouettes duck behind the nearest corner whenever you look back. Above all else theyâve taken to closely observing your interactions with Aizawaâsometimes going as far as forcing them. Kaminari even deems it appropriate to be nosey about your love lifeâor rather, your lack thereofâduring your supplementary one-to-one.Â
âThat is not your business nor is it relevant to your essay,â you told him, tapping the end of your marker against the desk. The gentle reprimand did nothing to placate him. Scratching his cheek, Kaminari simply laughed and returned to reading the annotations youâd left on his work.Â
Aizawa doesnât bat an eye to any of it. While he presented himself as an extremely private man with clear boundaries drawn between home and work, it was obvious to you that that line had been trampled. He was accustomed to their harmless meddling.Â
âBelieve me. Itâs worse if you tell them to stop,â he said, as if they were toddlers and would eventually tire themselves out. Â
You have the pleasure of teaching their final class that Friday. If youâre lucky, come Monday theyâll have forgotten whatever it is theyâre hatching.
Their focus wanes with the hour, your lesson structure a little looser to lead them into the weekend. Eri had joined unexpectedly, hidden behind Midoriyaâs legs and teetering on her tiptoes to peek around the room. Kouda letâs Yuwai-chan rest in her arms as she sits on her very own chair beside Shinsou, mumbling small delights.Â
âFocus, guys. We all have something called a Plus Alpha Mechanism in our DNAâŚâ
Your pen glides along the board. The quiet repetitive sound of Bakugoâs tangle fidget matches your meridian rhythm, and you could almost forget the nonsense that has shadowed you since the training session.Â
ââŚHere. The simplest way to think of it is like this,â following along with a finger, you read the written equation. âFor example, if somebody has a tailââ
âLike Ojiro-kun!â Midoriya chirps. Bakugo gives him a sidelong glare, and his cheeks fill with air.Â
âCorrect, Midoriya,â you smile at his sheepishness. Your finger moves along to the latter half of the equation, âBut the mechanism to move and wield his tail comes from the Plus Alpha. Added together, this forms the Quirk Factorâ.Â
âSensei, is it then possible that quirklessness can occur when the Plus Alpha gene expression is not activated?â Iida inquires. Midoriyaâs pencil stutters.Â
âThatâs right,â you flash him an encouraging smile, wider as he preens. Bakugoâs hands, too, have notably faltered, the tangle fidget balled up into a knot. âItâs a popular explanation amongst fourth gen members of the medical community. Older generations tend to prefer the whole archaic toe joint theoryâbut I donât have time to cover that todayâ.Â
Midoriya and Bakugo exhale in tandem. Monoma observes their behaviour closely, chin cupped in his palm. He seems well rested which alleviates the heaviness in your chest a fraction. You hope Aizawa has had the chance to speak with him.Â
âAny other questions before I start to wrap up?â
Shinsou goes to raise his hand, stopping midway. Your brow arches and he indicates to wait. You watch on as he leans down to whisper something to Eri. Her doe-eyed gaze snaps from Yuwai-chan to his face, meeting an expression apologetically soft. And whatever it is he says, she pats his cheek in response.Â
Sufficiently reassured, Shinsou once again raises his hand above his head. And as he relays his question a sober atmosphere befalls the class.Â
In a roundabout mannerâand refusing to name himâShinsou asks about the Quirk erasing bullets used in the Shie Hassaikai case. You, like him, immediately seek Eriâs permission to speak on it. She gathers Yuwai-chan closer and nods.Â
âDespite the name, the quirk erasing bullets did not technically erase any individuals quirk genes. They were engineered to directly attack the Plus Alpha,â the tip of your pen squeaks as you write out the words below the previous equation, underlining them twice. âTherefore the quirk could no longer be activated, making them functionally quirklessâ.Â
Shinsou accepts this, cheek sunken where he chews the flesh. Between blinks the pensive downturn to his mouth begins to curl into a faint smirk. âWhat about Aizawa-senseiâs quirk?â he asks, feigning innocence.
Your benevolence tapers as the class titters. Eri giggles, muffled by Yuwai-chanâs fur, and her shoulders hunch to hide in the little neck she has.Â
âWhile I understand why you might conflate the two, Aizawa-senseiâs ocular quirk, Erasure, deactivates the Plus Alpha temporarily,â you answer at the end of a short sigh, taking a step back to lean against the wall. You skim the room with a pointed look, âAs Iâm sure you have all experienced first handâ.Â
A few shudder at that. The whiplash of having the connection to your quirk severed must be alarming. You imagine itâs not something one can ever get used to.Â
âOc-u-lar?â Eri repeats. You feel your expression gentle as you meet her curious gaze.Â
âOcular means itâs connected to his eyes,â you explain simply, pointing to your own. âThat is why his left eye glows red when he uses his quirk. Cool, right?âÂ
Accepting this, Eriâs cheeks swell with her smile and she chirps in agreement, âI like his eyes. Theyâre prettyâ.Â
âShe likes his eyes,â Kaminari repeats with a faux-solemn nod. âDo you think so too, Sensei?âÂ
Iida sits ramrod straight in his seat. The abrupt jolt knocks his glasses halfway down his nose, âThat is hardly appropriate for the classroom!âÂ
The electric blonde waves in surrender, âItâs just an innocent question, Prez! Not like I asked if he was United States of smaââ
âKaminari-kun!â
Something snaps. Yuwai-chan yips. A litany of orange curved pieces spray across the table. Bakugo slumps, wearing a scowl dark enough to silence the chaos, debris from the broken fidget between his fingers. âWho gives a fuââ he spares Eri a quick glance and releases a long, deliberate exhale. âWho cares. Bunchâa nosey losersâ Â
Worry paints Momoâs features. Somewhat uncharacteristic of her, she readily rolls up her sleeve to offer the creation of another tangle. âBakugo-kun, do you need me toâŚ?â
âDonât worry, Yaoyorozu-san!â Midoriya interrupts with a sunny complexion. He lumbers his backpack into his lap, zips it open and pulls out an identical fidget. âKacchan breaks them a lotâ.
You stifle the urge to groan into your hands, or gather them all into an uncomfortably strong hug, or both. For as much as you could tease Aizawa for allowing the students to bulldoze through his work-life boundaries it is becoming clear you're just as guilty.Â
Bakugo lingers after the bell rings. The others file out, some with apologetic smiles, and neither of you speak until the classroom is empty. âIs everything okay, Bakugo?â you ask lightly.Â
He itches his neck. Shoulder jerking as he shrugs, giving a stiff nod. Looking a little frayed around the edges, Bakugo mutters, âSorry about the mess. Mâstaying to pick it upâ.Â
âThatâs not necessary,â you objected. A slight pout works its way onto his lips. You know well enough that for all his posturing, Bakugo respects the word of his teachers. âI assure you itâs fine, Bakugo. But I really appreciate the sentimentâ.
âWhatever,â he says, barely above a mumble. He shoves his hands into his pants pockets and motions to leave. âSee ya Monday, Senseiâ.
âTake care, Bakugo,â you call after him. Your ears latch onto the leaden echoing of footsteps until they disappear down the hallway. Silence creeps in while you pick up the small curved pieces. The little moment of peace you had sought all week does not arrive. There are still emails to attend to, assignments to mark and future lessons to structureâ
Your stomach rumbles and interrupts that thought. Again, evermore persistent while you attempt to ignore it. Eventually you dump the collected orange pieces into your desk drawer and make for the staff lounge, switching off the lights as you go.Â
All Might and Present Mic are the only two in the room. Yamada spots you first. Heâs yet to remove his costume, and the leather sleeves cream as he lifts his arms, waving loosely. Yagi spins on his axis for the source of the fuss. Thereâs a spoon in his mouth, and his lips stretch into a smile around it.Â
A smile that dims as soon as you land in your chair with a heavy sigh. âI feel that,â Yamada says. His comically tall hair reaches high over your computer monitor, green eyes peering over the frame. âKiddos run you ragged today?âÂ
âI donât know how they do it. Itâs not like weâre sparring,â you snort lightly and rest your chin against your hand. The muted scent of Yagiâs greek yoghurt lingers in the air. You wrinkle your nose, âHave either of you noticed them behavingâŚoddly? I feel like theyâve been schemingâ.Â
Yagi pauses mid scoop, bewildered. He looks from you to Yamada, who appears infuriatingly in the know. âOdd?â he asks. The shadows around his eyes darken in concern. âIs there anything we should be looking out for?âÂ
âI wonder,â Yamada titters, tapping a finger against his nose. Green eyes smile at you over the top of his tinted lenses. âCould it have anything to do with Mina asking me about your blood type?â
âBlood type? Whatever for?âÂ
Covering his mouth, Yamada bends and covers his mouth, amplifying his cryptic whisper, âRomantic compatibilityâ.
Chewing your inner cheek, you shake your head and insist, âItâs just a popular theory about personality types from the pre quirk eraâ. Yagiâs expression clears. He accepts the explanation easily. You wished it were that simple. âIâm sure itâs nothingâŚâ your attention wavers as you notice movement out the window.Â
A distant black figure grows larger the closer it gets. Eraserhead is coming back from his afternoon patrol. He sweeps up onto the roof of a nearby building and dashes along the eaves before leaping off again. His capture weapon lassos the adjacent dormitory building and he swings in a perfect arc that vaults him upwards. The movements flow into one another naturally, without thought, nimble as he twists through the air. You canât take your eyes off him.Â
âNo, youâre right. Itâs definitely nothing,â Yamada quips lightly, his voice drawing you to the present. The implication behind his tone rings loud and clear and it shakes you from your reverie.Â
Embarrassment sours your expression; it feels like youâve swallowed the sun. âItâs not like that,â you insist, laughing nervously. Your gaze settles on a heart sticker Eri pasted on the desk. An old coffee stain has blurred the colour, cheap ink smeared into the wood. Your fingers come away stained pink.Â
âYoung love is exciting! Thereâs no shame in it. You can be honest with us. With me,â Yagiâs large hand comes down on your shoulder to give a reassuring pat. âI may be old but Iâm not that dense. I thinkâ.Â
âYouâre hardly old, Yagi-san. Youâre only fiftyâ.
Yagi chuckles in that signature All Might fashion, a blush glowing bright on his cheekbones. âThank you. But that is beside the point,â he says. The laughter mellows into a contemplative hum and you fidget while he watches you closely, warmly, ââŚItâs just, Aizawa seems a bit more alive when youâre aroundâ.Â
Yamada leans forward to rest his chin in his palms, held open like a flower in bloom, and murmurs his agreement.Â
âWhatâŚdo you mean exactly?â you ask.Â
Yagi exhales, wringing battle worn hands in his lap. âHe has been through a lot,â he begins. âOf course we all have but as Iâm sure young Yamada here can attest, Aizawa shoulders more responsibility than he needs toâ.Â
âLotta unnecessary blame, too,â Yamada nods. A bittersweet tone pervades the air. âAlways has, ever since we were kids. Reckon thatâs why he doesnât sleepâ.
âSee, thereâs the kind of exhaustion that usually just requires a good nightâs sleep,â Yagiâs face is sallow, and his gaze flickers to Aizawaâs empty desk. âBut there is also another kind that asks much moreâand I see that in Aizawa. Like heâs wearing a heavy coat that became heavy bonesâ.
Despite the clumsy metaphor you feel his words weighing on your heart; notably shared in a way that makes you think that he, too, wore a similar heavy coat of blame. And you thought: such is grief.Â
âBut!â Yagi suddenly blurts, restoring his former enthusiasm. âSince you started here itâs likeâŚâ he gesticulates with his hands then, searching for the right thing to say, stalling as seemingly he does not find it. âAll that is to say Aizawa has a fondness for you and I think you should go for it!â
Self conscious, you pick at the skin around your thumb. Yagiâs encouragement was appreciated. With the quintessential All Might optimism unintentionally bleeding through it almost felt like you could do anything. But your head shakes and you laugh breathlessly at the thought, âYouâre actually quite a gossip, arenât you, Yagi-san?â
Yamadaâs cackle reverberates around the lounge as Yagi splutters his shock into a tissue. You pat his shoulder. Pressing your lips thin you try not to smirk.Â
âWhat are you doing?âÂ
Simultaneously, the three of you freeze, voices converging the instant you three blurt, âNothing!âÂ
Aizawa frowns, displeasure framed by windswept hair tousled in all directions. He loiters in the open doorway a moment longer and his scrutiny pervades the air. You tightly cross your ankles under the legs of your chair and maintain an innocent look.Â
Feigning obliviousness Yagi attempts to redirect the subject, âDid anything interesting happen on patrol, Aizawa-kun?â
Ultimately, Aizawa let it go. He shut the door behind him and the tension slipped from his shoulders as he shrugged and accepted the deflection. âNothing significant. A bit busier than usual,â he replies. âSeems like the commercial district has finished being rebuiltâ.
Your heart beats and blood rushes to the tips of your fingersâdark eyes do not leave you as Aizawa slinks past to the kitchenette, taking with him a brush of cool fresh air. Yamada ducks between the computer monitors. Mouth puckered, he begins making an exaggerated kissing face at you. Oscillating between flustered and irritated, you reach for the nearest thing and throw it. A pencil bounces off his forehead, clattering to the floor, and he yelps.Â
Aizawa returns holding two nutritional jelly pouches. âI donât doubt you deserved that,â he comments, blasĂŠ as he passes you one of the colourful packets unprompted. It takes great effort not to gawk at his fingerless gloves, the once buttery leather now weathered.Â
âWow. Whereâd my best friend go?â Yamada laments. He makes a dramatic show of the betrayal, long limbs sagging across his desk. âAnd no jelly for me, either. For shame! What happened to brothers before lovers?âÂ
Twisting off the cap to the pouch with his teeth, Aizawa sucks out the gelatinous innards until the plastic flattens. A smile plays on his lips as you stifle your amusement. âHizashi, you know I flunked English,â he deadpans.Â
The voice hero deflates. He turns to wave the previously thrown pencil at you, âHere. You left this knife in my backâ.Â
âYouâre ridiculousâ.Â
âEt tu, Brute?â
The interaction does nothing to ruffle Aizawa. Like water to a duck's back. He merely saunters over to his desk, discards the empty pouch in the small bin beside his chair, and scoops up a thick binder of papers. Â
âAnd now he flees,â Yamada pouts, holding the pencil between his top lip and his nose.Â
âNo, I need to wash up,â he dismisses Yamada and indicates toward his prosthesis, then dryly adding, âAnd Iâm not sticking around to listen to you recite Shakespeareâs Julius Caesar simply because I didnât bring you a jelly pouchâ.
âAw. Thatâs cold, Shoâ.Â
You bask in their back and forth. A friendship built on open hearts and feet that bleed. They share jabs, opinions and hardships without worry because thereâs unequivocal trust there. Watching them together unearths a fraction of envy; stuck between wanting someone like that at your side, to wanting it to be him.Â
Aizawa leaves not long after. He casts you a sidelong glance that you canât read. One job to another, the work is patently endless, though you canât help but to notice that it is self imposedâbeing stagnant is never in the cards.Â
You exhale a breath you hadnât known you were holding. Yagi clears his throat in the prolonged pause. âSo. What is your blood type?â he asks with little tact, avoiding your look of betrayal. âIf I had to guess, Aizawa-kun must be type B. He is quite honest and unconventionalâŚâ
Yamada cackles again.Â
You put your head in your hands. This is hell. And it is largely populated by the UA heroics department.
The three day weekend couldn't come any quicker.
ââââââââââââââââââââââââ
HEEEEEY đ
[HYPERLINK: myquirkyintrovert.jp//11-introvert-friendly-activities-perfect-for-a-first-date/]
Figured you might need this. ROTFL !
(Rooting for you)
Yamada Hizashi
English Department, UA High School
Put Your Hands Up Radio 81.3FM
QOTD: If music be the food of love, play on đľÂ
ââââââââââââââââââââââââ
The morning spills over your senses like a heady fog. It obscures your vision, sleep-sand still tucked into the corners of your eyes. Dust fairies dance in the spotlight cast through the room and you turn into your pillow, away from the performance.Â
Youâre caught in a webâlinens tangled around your ankles, anchored to the bed, suffering through cottonmouth and haze. According to the time you slept plenty. According to your body, however.Â
The floor is cold against your feet. You yawn, joints clicking as your limbs stretch. Meander through the typical morning routine without a second thought, or a third. Only when your face is washed and youâre significantly more awake do you wander out of your apartment.
Cushioned by a set of fluffy, foam soled slippers, you stumble into the common area, welcomed to a languid, warm atmosphere. Surprisingly, a few people are already there. Yamada is dressed in his civilian clothing, waist length hair pulled back into a braided ponytail that mimics a mohawk. Eri is seated on one of the kitchen stools, squirming as his fingers work through her hair in gentle twists, styling it to match his own. Â
Sheâs wearing a denim overall dress dotted with embroidered cats over a long sleeved shirt, matching the subtle pattern on her white tights. Her legs kick happily under the island. A smile pulled at your mouth as you watched the homely scene.Â
A familiar sleep-worn voice murmurs your name and you try to look more alert than you feel.
The smell of percolating coffee reaches your senses. You retreat from the stinging heat that brushes your knuckles as Aizawa nudges a freshly poured mug toward you. âOh, shit. Thanks,â you mumble. The surroundings are still gossamer soft and blurred at the edges; youâre impassive when your fingers slip through the curved handle and overlap his.Â
Faint, coarse hair on his knuckles. Dull nails. Rough skin. You take the mug and bring it to your face. Steam kisses each cheek, billowing as you blow across the tawny surface. Aizawaâs throat bobs. Your stare lingers over the rim longer than appropriate, dragging down his body to take in the rare casual appearance.Â
âYou look niceâ.Â
His jaw ticks, eyes fixed on the button of his loose knit cardigan as he rolls it between his thumb and finger. Black, like most of the articles in his wardrobe, but stylish. The hem falls below the hip, hung over a pair of dark slacks. Itâs flattering on his frame despite being oversized.
âContrary to popular belief I can actually dress myself,â he says.Â
âColour me surprised,â you sip the hot coffee in a poor effort to conceal your grin. Even as the remaining dregs of sleep subside you canât find it within yourself to be embarrassed. âAre you guys going somewhere?â
Before he can respond Eri is bounding over. She crashes into your legs, chin above your knees as she looks up and chimes, âGood morning!â
âGood morning sweetheart,â you say, holding your hot coffee out to the side. Eriâs eyes squint with the force of her smile and sunlight pools through tall standing windows, highlighting the glittery clips in her faux mohawk braid. âYour hair looks beautifulâ.
âThank you,â she delicately pats the top of her head. âI wanted it to look pretty today. Weâre going to the com-mer-cial disâŚâ
âDistrict?â
âDistrict,â she nods excitedly. âHave you ever been to a district? Deku said there are lots of fun things for us to do. Will you come with us?â Then looking to her father for permission, she clutches her dress and asks, âPlease?â
You blink. The coffee mug begins to sting the skin of your palms. âWe can always use an extra chaperone,â Aizawa offers slowly, eyes sliding over you from head to toe, making you all too aware of the ratty old pyjamas youâre still wearing. âYou can accompany us if you want toâ.
The next words leave you in an instant. âDo you want me to?â you asked. Theyâre clumsy and your voice fractures, bringing with it a flood of warm embarrassment. âSorry. I thinkâIâm still half asleepâ.Â
Shouta suddenly appears to have swallowed a lemon.Â
âOf course he wants you to,â Yamada strides over. The absentminded tapping of his phoneâs keyboard echoes amidst the awkwardness. A smarmy grin plays on his lips and he tucks his chin to peer at Eri over the rim of his yellow tinted glasses, âAinât that right, Eri-chan?â
Eri nods insistently. Aizawa settles his hand atop her crown, careful not to disturb the braid, and stops the bobble head movement. âI donât need you to speak for me,â He sighs, and the sound is fond more than anything else. âWeâre meeting the students by the bus in thirty minutes,â He meets your gaze. A red-gold hue catches the light against the dark limbal ring around his iris. âYou should comeâ.
Your chest flutters and you put his tone down to imagination. âIâd love to,â you reply, patting down your pyjama shirt. âLet me just get readyâ.Â
Quiet bickering follows you upstairs. You rummage through your wardrobe at a frenetic pace. Thereâs really no time to spare to worry about what you should wear. Once dressed you cram a water bottle, a lightweight fleece, sun protection, recovery gummiesâ
You pause, eyeing the unnecessary bulk in your rucksack. No doubt the kids were old enough to bring their own bags. Your tongue smooths over the teeth marks inside your cheek and you set the thought aside. No harm in being prepared.Â
The clock on your phone screen blinks. Five minutes to go. You slip it into your pocket and hurry out the door, bag strap drawn over your shoulder. Kurose looks up from the couch as you stumble through the common area, navy hair flattened to one side, a few stray golden strands upright and reminding you of an antenna.Â
âHi Kurose-san,â you huff, jogging past and giving a quick wave. âBye Kurose-sanâ.Â
âHave fun out there,â they cheered. âDonât do anything I wouldnât do!â
âThat really doesnât narrow it down by much,â you call back from the genkan, slipping into your shoes. Laughter bleeds through at the faux wounded look Kurose sends your way before you leave.Â
The crisp morning air bloats your lungs on a deep inhale. Not a cloud to be seen, the sky a pleasant blue canvas. You descend the steps and follow the path toward the staff car park. Ushered into a single file line, a modest flock of hero students wait beside the minibus. You canât help noticing how much younger they seem without their uniforms.Â
Eri locks onto you instantaneously. Her lips move, and you think she mustâve called for you, but her voice was too small. Still it beckons the attention of the teenagers around her. One by one they shout your name, their clamouring coming together in an ill practised chorus.
Yamada ducks out from the minibus. âYeaaah!â he beams, leaning against the folded door. âRight on time, my friend. We were just discussing the buddy systemâ.Â
That reminder elicits a quiet groan from the class. Yamada laughs good naturedly, âI know, I know. But safety comes first, kiddos. Have you picked who youâre stuck with today?â
There are various nods and shrugs. Numerous heads turn to Bakugo, including both Midoriya and Todoroki, and he appears indubitably unimpressed that heâs spoiled for choice. Yamadaâs focus lands on Eri. âWhat about you, mini me?â he pokes at the swell of her cheek. âGonna be my buddy today?âÂ
Her anxious eyes flicker between you and him. Youâre admittedly flattered that sheâs torn. But the doubt is short lived, decided by an inconspicuous wink from Yamada. A toothy grin brightens her face. âOkay,â Eri chirps, holding out her hand for him to take.Â
âWe get to be passenger princesses today,â the voice hero whispers excitedly. You do well to restrain the coo building in your throat as his palm dwarfs her fist and her lips form an âoâ.Â
Suitably organised, the kids begin to climb onto the bus in their pairs. Iida and Todoroki sit in the spaces in front of Shinsou and Bakugo. Thereâs a soft pout to Midoriyaâs lip but he happily joins Kouda, fingers moving in graceless strokes as they sign to one another. Yaoyorozu joins Jirou, taking the window seat. Tokoyami listens along to Kaminariâs aimless rambling; Sero, Mina and Kirishima behind them at the very back.Â
Aizawa is already aboard the bus discussing safety policy, capture weapon draped around his shoulders. He pauses conversation with the driver and smiles as Yamada ushers Eri into seats positioned at the very front. Languid, his focus slides to you, the very last to enter. Heartbeat quickening. Thereâs something there, you feel it existing on the fringes.Â
âEnough. Settle down,â he says, voice rough and commanding authority. The commotion dwindles. You nod before shuffling through the aisle to the remaining spaces. âIâm sure I donât need to remind you that this trip is a privilege. I am trusting you to behave, follow instructions and stick together. Understood?â
âYes, Senseiâ.Â
âDo you all have your phone notifications on?â
Yamada throws up a peace sign and jumps in, âYes, Senseiâ.Â
Aizawa rolls his eyes but doesnât comment. With the polite incline of his head to the driver the bus doors whirred on their hinges and began to shut. He tucks a curtain of hair behind his ear, adding, âAny questions before we leave?âÂ
Shinsou clears his throat. His elbows rest on the back of Midoriyaâs chair. He lazily points towards Aizawa and drawls, âDoes Aizawa-sensei have a buddy?âÂ
You immediately become conscious of a tangible weight. Their stares fall to you, his included. Dark eyes like flint to your very core. You grin and bear itâgrimace through the tension and hope his sharp intellect does not extend toÂ
Aizawa pressed his lips thin, âAny actual questions?âÂ
The figures in your periphery all shake their heads, biting back amusement in the face of their teachers' chagrin. The pressure does not dissipate when Aizawa takes the spot next to you, nor when the engine sputters to life and the looming barrier bordering the school entrance lifts to allow passage.Â
The destination isnât far. A fifteen minute drive at best. Still, as the journey progresses the air grows notably sombre. While much of the city has been restored, ghosts will remain. Skeletons of buildings sit on the landscape. Once a sprawling metropolis now made a uneven scar tissue terrain.Â
That twinge of concern has you looking over your shoulder and scanning the bus in a less than subtle way. Everyone seems fine. Kaminari waves when you catch his eye. The only student that gives you pause is Bakugo, who has taken to staring hard out the window, discomfort etched into his features.
Or perhaps itâs your overactive imagination. The frown smooths into contentment and you realise heâs sharing a split earphone jack with Shinsouâmaybe it was a song he didnât like.Â
You try to shake off the trepidation hanging over your mood. Aizawa notices but doesnât pry and you find yourself grateful.Â
Your concerns become minor the moment the minibus pulls into the commercial district. Standing prominent against the skyline, the building is sun drenched and unsettlingly clean. Inside, light pours through the high domed ceiling and reflects on the shiny tiled floor. There are three upper levels visible on spiralled balconies, each dedicated to different departments.Â
Ground level is rather miscellaneous. Record stores, hobby crafts, tech booths and things of the like. Soothing music plays in the background, gentle melodic notes. Being somewhere that brought a sense of normalcy boosted the students morale. Youâre warmed by contagious excitementâAizawa too, lacking his usual force and a smile in his tone as he tells them. âRemember, youâre not to leave this building. If something happens you contact one of usâ.Â
They split off in opposite directions with the promise to meet at the food court in two hours. Eri and Yamada linger a few minutes longer. She tugs at her fathers sleeve and when crouched to her height she plants a short kiss on his stubbled cheek.Â
You are then gifted a sparkly clip for keepsake, as though she were giving part of herself to take with you. âThank you sweetheart,â touched, you attach it to your bag strap. âIâll keep it safeâ.
Satisfied, Eri thrusts her hand up for Yamada to take, and she comically leads him to march in the direction of a childrenâs store. The crowds are unexpectedly thin. Though you supposed a majority of the general public did not yet have the confidence nor the funds to make leisure trips to the mall. Youâre only thankful they are respectfully giving your class a wide berth.Â
Aizawa puffs an indignant breath, ââŚI think weâve finally been set upâ.Â
Fondness surges deep in your chest and you bite back a grin. Thereâs urgency to it that you canât satisfy. âGlad Iâm not imagining things,â you wet your lips, moving to match his stride. âDoes it not bother you?âÂ
âWhich part?â he asks. Heâs looking anywhere but you. Thereâs a playful lilt in his tone that equally settles and ignites your nerves. You would search his face for answers if the lower half were not obscured by his scarf.Â
âThe âclearly trying to get us to dateâ partâ.Â
âThere are worse people to be lumped withâ.Â
Aizawaâs profession rarely left time for indulgence. Youâve heard him discuss it before. He never thought it sensible to involve another person in what he had presupposed would be a tumultuous relationship. For that reason, you wonder if he has much experience in romance at all.
âEver the charmer, Aizawaâ.Â
âShouta,â he says. You blink, narrowly caught in a stupor. The erasure hero sinks to burrow deeper into his capture weapon. Warmth rises to the tips of his ears in spite of his efforts. âJust call me Shoutaâ.Â
Very eloquently, your response is, âOhâ.Â
âOr donât,â he grunted.Â
Thereâs a wealth of unspoken confessions behind a single name. Your heart feels full, stuttering in a way it hasnât in a long while. âSo. What should I tell my friends?â you pick up speed, giddiness spurring your pace and taking you a few steps ahead. ââThis is Shouta. We work together. He has twenty-something kids and our first date was spent patrolling the Musutafu mallâ?â
âI have one kidââ Shouta falters, though fleeting, as if he hadnât realised heâd begun to walk the perimeter. He arches an unimpressed brow, any scorn decidedly betrayed by the mirth in his eyes. âDid you have somewhere in mind?â
An hour rolls into another. You meander various stores together, occasionally bumping into the students and ignoring their suggestive looks. He buys some things for Eriâor so he claims, now in possession of three different cat gel pensâand you pick out new books to keep in your classroom.Â
And in the grand scheme of things itâs a paltry affair. Youâre looking around a newly built mall with a man youâve known for close to two months. Simple, comfortable, as most things are with Shouta; yet it feels like a path youâve walked more times than you can count. Fastened by mattress stitch seams, shoulder to shoulder, you share conversation written in passing glances, so many possibilities etched into a handsome crooked smirkâ
Three message alerts come loud and in quick succession. That alone is enough to shatter the atmosphere. They feel frantic, and Shoutaâs expression is explanatory enough.Â
âItâs Shinsou. Something happened with Bakugo,â he mutters. In one fell swoop he is dashing ahead and you are not long behind. He turns a corner. Your kids are bunched together, seemingly bickering and distraught. Midoriyaâs frantic voice can be heard above them all. Civilians have parted, tucking themselves against walls and waiting at securityâs instruction. Youâre comforted by the fact that they are not rushing out in droves.Â
Bakugo is absent. The air smells like smoke but thereâs no notable damage. Shouta flashes his hero license and steps into the shoes of a guardian so naturally you wonder if he ever takes them off. The officers standing nearby offer sympathetic smiles, allowing you through, too, after seeing your UA badge.Â
While Shinsou is relaying what happened to Shouta you approach the others. A chill spikes the air, colder as the distance lessens, and you realise it must be Todorokiâs quirk. Heâs standing at Midoriyaâs side, exhaling visible breaths, laying a cold hand on his friend's neck to allay the panic.Â
âHey guys,â you greet gently. âAizawa-Sensei is just clearing things with Shinsou. Do you know what happened?â
Midoriya snaps to attention, âSenseiâKacchan, heâsâ!â
Kaminari closes in, careful as he drapes his arm across Midoriyaâs back. âItâs alright, man,â he murmurs. Todoroki nods. Thereâs a helplessness in his expression. âKacchanâs okay. He just needed to blow off some steam. Or smoke, I guessâ.Â
A repetitive sound loops above your heads. You realise then that thereâs a jumbo multi screen hovering in the centre of the ceiling. Clips depicting Gigatomanchia's rampage fade one into a title card, the words âtwenty city rampageâ highlighted across a sepia backdrop. Your stomach churns at the sight, inhaling sharp between your teeth.Â
âItâs that new bullshit documentary,â Jirou interjects. She fiddles anxiously with the jack hung from her earlobe. âTheyâuh. There were pictures ofâŚâ
âI understand. Thank you, Jirou,â you say. They neednât relive it againâbut they had. They will. Bakugo simply raised his head and saw his worst experiences pilfered for television.Â
You exhale, taking with it the abrupt anger and frustration. Theyâre looking to you for reassurance. âI promise weâre going to find Bakugo,â you tell them. âIâm sorry that any of you had to see those images again. Like Kaminari said, I imagine he got overwhelmed and needed some spaceâ.Â
Midoriya swallows thickly and he nods. The motion is unsettlingly lifeless. His blank stare passes over your shoulder, and a silhouette of bodyheat settles behind you.Â
âShinsou explained everything,â Aizawa says. His presence visibly untangles the knots in their posture. âSecurity informed me Bakugo is still in the building. I need you all to wait here for Yamada-senseiââ he holds his hands out in a placating gesture as Todoroki begins to interrupt ââyou will wait here while we look for himâ.Â
âIâll start heading that way,â you point where the wide walkway narrows towards the southern exit and hard turns left, not wanting to remain still for longer than necessary. Aizawa regards you with a meaningful look and nods.Â
You take off. The air retains a faint smokey smell. It grows thicker, more prominent as you pass the various hero merch stores, meeting the eyes of a Edgeshot cardboard cutout. Acrid nausea rises unforgiving in your stomach.Â
It guides you to a fire door slightly ajar. Through the door is a dreary stairwell, presumably to be used by customers on the upper floors during an emergency. Bakugoâs hunched figure can be seen through the crack. Heâs sitting on one of the steps, head cradled in crossed arms.Â
You quickly text Shouta to let him know, and ask that he give you two a little space. Youâre hardly expecting him to talk. But where Aizawa-sensei goes his ducklings will follow, and you have a feeling Bakugo is not yet in the mindset for company.Â
The door creaks on its hinges as you enter. âLeave me alone,â the Bakugo shaped lump growled. An emotional hurricane in the body of a boy. Your throat swells. It threatens to drag you in. You can feel the sharp winds clipping at your resolve as you lower to sit on the step beside him and he bristles, furiously spitting, âI said fuck off!âÂ
Another, someone more volatile and disciplinarian, could be tempted to jump in. A person such as yourself, lenient and with less experience, might find it easier to flee; to let the gale propograte northward and weaken on its own. Before being employed at UA your students had always been older, plausibly wiserâbut, you suppose, children still. You are honest enough to inwardly admit that you donât know how to make this better. But you are determined to try.Â
So you see your body relax and let your voice flow out calmly, âIâm not going anywhereâ.Â
Bakugo laughs humorlessly and snaps, âWhat, you gonna lecture me now?â His hands are wrung tight to stop the tremors. Blood surfaces beneath the pressure and seeps into his nail beds. âGonna tell me some bullshit about how heroism isnât defined by success and things will get better if I stick it out?âÂ
âNo. I didnât come here to lecture you,â you say. He eyes you with suspicion. âI just wanted to make sure youâre okay. We can sit here as long as you needâ.Â
What follows is a long, thick silence. The lives of people can be heard muffled through the stairwell walls. Unawares, and in a way, unintentionally mocking. Bakugoâs laboured gasps toll louder in your ears. You donât speak. You monitor the rise and fall of his chest, gradually slowing until the defensive vitriol clears away.Â
âI hate losing control likeââ Bakugoâs expression twisted uncomfortably then, as though the confession tasted bitter, and you patiently held your breath. "Fuck. How can I call myself a hero whenâŚ" his voice loses strength, reminiscent of an echo.Â
He rubs harshly at the spot where his heart rests. You take the young hero by the wrist. You envelop his split knuckles wearing a thin smile, admittedly strained, and squeeze around those shaking fingers while the moment simmers, a gentility not in the absence of violence, but despite it all.Â
Bakugo blinks up at you. The movement knocks a tear free, careening down the side of a flushed cheek. The sight lodges something in your throat, thick and hard to swallow; all the words you donât know how to say. You would never understand what it means to reside in his bodyâto think of yourself as the scene of a crime.Â
Family members, strangers, had visited his hospital room to mournfully listen to that pulse one last time, and Bakugo told them to come by whenever as though he were a living effigy of their lost son. You saw the disconnect he felt from himself. That lifelong debate of what makes a person a person.Â
Heâs just a kid.Â
âBet youâve heard hundreds of âIâm sorryâsâ at this point, huh?â you murmur. Bakugo snorts.Â
âTry thousands,â he rasps. Clicks his tongue to his teeth to save face. âNever know what theyâre really apologising for. Rubs me the wrong wayâ.Â
And after being witness to how Bakugoâs mind works you understand what that means. Atleast, you think you might. Teenagers hold enough shame without the weight of another person's life in their arms. You only imagine he hears their regret, guilt, disappointmentâhears âsorry it was you, kidâ and âsorry it wasnât himâ.Â
âItâs okay to be angry, you know,â you vowed solemnly. âThereâs so much pressure to channel what happened to you into something positive. To make it your strength. And maybe you will, eventually. But youâre allowed to step back and say âI went through something scary and traumatic and that changed me foreverââ.Â
Bakugo grunts. He scrubs under his nose with the back of his hand. âDonât need you to tell me that,â he says, tone lighter than before. It sounds a lot like âthank youâ.Â
âIâm glad,â you nudge his side and return your hands to your lap. âIn that case we should talk about something elseâ.Â
âLike what?âÂ
âYour assignment,â Bakugo snorts, rolling his eyes. âHey. Iâm serious. Most of the others have come to me with their topics but yours is still a mysteryâ.Â
ââCause those losers need help and I donât,â he says. Thereâs no malice in it. His cadence is lighter, the burden he carries now far more loose fitting. You watch him pick at the rips in his jeans. ââŚMineâs about mythological figures. Some cult wackos out there believe the old Gods had quirks. Hence the animal heads and shitâ.Â
âThatâs a brilliant choice, Bakugo,â his answer brings a sincere smile to your lips. âGives you a lot more to explore in your discussion. I canât wait to read itâ.
The muscles in Bakugoâs face twitch. Mouth deliberately downturned. A flustered yet pleased blush paints the tips of his ears and the simple praise breathes him to life like a technicolour Oz. It eases the anxiety simmering under your skin. You prompt him to talk further, pleasantly surprised to find that his curiosity extends further than Japanâs own mythology.Â
Eventually you need to update Shouta again. Leaving it too long would only worry him further. Bakugoâs eyes track your thumbs movement across the keyboard as you type. âAre you texting Eyebags?âÂ
âIâm texting Aizawa-sensei,â you correct blithely as a text bubble appears on the bottom left of the screen. âI thought Shinsou was âEyebagsââ.Â
âTheyâre interchangeable,â he rebuts. You huff a laugh, screen going dark with a quiet click. Bakugoâs reflection looks back at you where heâs peeking over your shoulder.Â
âYou two a thing or somethinâ?â he asks, not even attempting to hide his interest.Â
âWe arenât âa thingâ,â your fingers form quotation marks around the words. And itâs true. You arenât. Yet. âI donât know why you all came to that conclusionâ.Â
âProbably âcause you look at him all googly eyed. And he always shares that shitty jelly with you. Basically his alternative to a proposal,â he smirked. Shouta is still typingâ
Your phone vibrates. The message comes through.
âA thumbs up emoji.Â
Bakugo laughs. His eyes crinkle. A crease deepens on the bridge of his nose. The brief flash of a toothy grin. No longer a hero-too-soon on two tired feet but instead a teenage boy, poking light fun at his teacher.Â
âThe hell. He texts like my old manâ.
You hum in amusement. âSome people do better face to face,â the âlike youâ remains unspoken. Shadows pleat across the stairwell as clouds shift, disturbing the dim stream of light. You become conscious of the hour. And it seems so does he.Â
âHow do you feel about heading back?âÂ
Bakugoâs stare fixed itself onto his hands. You notice the crescent shaped marks, the skin around his nails fraying, picking at his body like a seam. âI can go back,â he grunts.Â
âYou can, but do you want to?â you ask, blindly feeling up the strap drawn over your shoulder. The small, glittery claw clip is still there. âHumour me for a sec,â you unclip it and Bakugo frowns as you proffer it to him, rolling in the centre of your palm. âLet it bite youâ.Â
âLet it bite me?â he repeats dryly.Â
âClip it around your fingers or pinch your hand with itâyeah, like that,â you grin as he blindly follows the instruction. The little claw clip bites into a swathe of the skin from the back of his hand. âBetter, right?âÂ
Lip jutted into a pout, Bakugo eyes the clip dubiously; no longer focused on the anxiety, and you take it as a big win. âI guess. Thanks Sensei,â you tense in surprise as he gets to his feet, dusting off his jeans. âI want to go back,â he says, nothing short of a demand.Â
Thereâs certainly no love lost between you and the cold step under your thighs. You stretch as you stand, shucking the backpack higher up your shoulder. âAlright. Then letâs get you backâ.Â
Bakugo doesnât protest when you remain at his side, keeping pace. His finger and thumb work at the clips hinge while he walks, absentmindedly opening, closing, running the teeth over his knuckles. Youâre sure Eri would gladly let him keep it.Â
Tears are all dried up which Bakugo appears grateful for. The class doesn't immediately rush him, though you can see that they want to. Rather they wait for him to come to them, parting like arms and coaxing him into the centre.Â
You branch off to where Shouta is standing watch with Yamada. Eri stands behind his leg, clutching at his pant leg. Her eyes are glassy and wide as she looks up at you. âBakugo is alright now,â you tell them. âBut you know what?â
Eri instinctively pushes up onto the balls of her feet, as though climbing higher to hear a big secret. Lowered into a conspiratorial hush, you say, âI bet he would feel even better if you gave him a hugâ.
Shoutaâs hand crowns her head. He carefully pats the side of her braid, giving silent permission. Expression tight in a determined pinch Eri ducks between his legs and toddles toward the group.Â
âHe really doinâ okay?â Yamada quietly asked.Â
You murmur an affirmative, shifting in place as you turn to watch the scene unfold. Eri pats Bakugoâs hip. He seems vaguely nervous as he rests on his haunches and allows her to tangle herself around him.Â
Shoutaâs knuckles knock your own. His fingers twitch, unfurling as though to reach out and then thinking better of it. âDo you think I should talk to him?âÂ
When you look at him heâs already looking right back. Eyes soft like the sun had made them warm. You mind the small gap and stretch your pinky, brushing the outer curve of his palm and retracting again. âBakugo respects you. He feels safe with you,â you assure him. âI think itâd be good if you talkedâ.
âMaybe some extra sessions with Hound Dog, too,â Yamada adds. Your heart staggers, having near forgotten he was there. âFor all of themâ.Â
âIâll see if he can do another class session during their independent study period,â Shouta says, attention returning to Eriâs anticsâsheâs now walking Bakugo over, hand in hand, subsequently bringing the other students with her.Â
Shouta exhales, clicking his neck. Thereâs a finality to it. You see the internal headcount he does in their approach, and how the preparation to jump back into action recedes at the confirmation that all his kids are present.Â
âWeâve got two options now,â he announces. âIâm sure none of us want to stick around longer than we need to. So either we go up to the food court and eat, or we can head back to campusâ.Â
Mutterings break out amongst the group. Iida diligently attempts to organise a sensible vote and asks for a show of hands, but his effort is squashed the instant that Kaminari suggests WcDonalds.Â
Eri keeps hold of Bakugo's hand the entire way back, and insists on sitting with him. Yamada switches buddyâs without complaint, wiggling himself into the window seat beside Shinsou, happy to pull out his headphones and collect music suggestions from his beloved students.Â
Shouta remains at your side. You hear unfettered laughter and think you might be close to tearsâthe tender kind. Softly, you mumble, âIâm glad I took this jobâ. Â
He exhales slowly, and the loss of tension has him leaning into you ever so slightly. Your shoulders touch. âMe too,â he says.Â
ââââââââââââââââââââââââ
Good evening,
Attached is my account of the incident that occurred at Musutafu Shopping District on Saturday, [x] September 11:34am.Â
Hound Dog and I have also brainstormed a few suggested classroom additions for students coping with anxiety.Â
Take care!
ââââââââââââââââââââââââ
Sleeplessness is an open invitation to overthinking.Â
Everyone has since retired to their apartments and it is long past the hour for Eri to be in bed. Time slips through your fingers. You count the dust bunnies behind your eyes but nothing works.Â
Clarity shrikes through you with small cuts. The day wears on your body like a bruise that you cannot ignore now the adrenaline has subsided. Youâre processing the fleeting touches, the purposeful looks, the whiplash of panic, the heartache that comes with being helplessâ
Your mind is a spinning top with no hands to stop it, not even the clocks. Though it falters at a single thought passing overhead.
There is one man you can trust to be awake at this hour.Â
You kick off the sheets, unsteady as you nudge each foot into the wrong slipper. The dormitory is cast in shadow. Your eyes are slow to adjust, shapes and lines sharpening around you.Â
Shouta is seated at the kitchen island, dark space doused in the low lighting from the stovetop hood, warm across the contours of his face. Papers are laid out before him in organised piles.Â
âBurning the midnight oil?âÂ
A pen spins around his thumb. He peeks through dark hair curtaining his vision and hums. Your gait is heavy, like wading through waist high water. The quiet clink of melting ice draws your attention to his glass. âI didnât take you for a gin and tonic kinda guy,â you murmur, leaning your elbows onto the counter. âRegular old sake, maybeâ.
The corner of his mouth twitches and he takes a pointed swig of his drink. He smacks his lips. âGin and tonic keeps me awake,â he explains dryly, nudging the glass in your direction. You fold to his soft suggestion and bring it to your nose. The smell alone is enough to make you shiver.Â
Shouta laughs at your grimace. At that point you sense in your gut that maybe, maybe you should have stayed in bed. Youâre warm, pleasantly sleepy, and your tongue feels dangerously loose.Â
Seeking distraction, your gaze drops to the papers stacked before him. You set down the gin, beaded condensation wet around your fingers, and lean in for a closer look. The grade written at the top is worryingly low. âThatâs⌠not looking so good,â you prompted.Â
âThis is Todorokiâs,â Shouta clarifies, brow pinched. He gives an empathetic nod to your wide eyed stare. From reading their files you knew Todoroki consistently ranked top five in class A. âItâs not just him. Theyâre all struggling in different areas. And I was never expecting things to go back to normal but itâsâŚâÂ
âYouâre doing what you can,â you say.Â
Shouta clicks his tongue, âBut is that enough?âÂ
You cover his hand without thought, thumb outlining the rough dips and peaks of his knuckles as you insist, âYes. I believe itâs enoughâ. Somewhere in the spaces between seconds Shouta overturns his wrist, and your fingers are intertwined, and youâre squeezing until your palms kiss.Â
You think of that heavy coat Yagi referenced. Of a man wearing his failures as self imposed repentance. âYou arenât the only one here helping them. Weâre going to get them across this bridge, and then the next, and the nextââ Shouta turns a cheek to hide his amusement as your rambling becomes more exaggerated.Â
âYouâll never be rid of them. Not even after they graduateâ. You smile softly, âThe kids are gonna be alright, Aizawaâ.Â
Dark eyes smile back, ââŚYou did good today, you knowâ.
Hundreds of butterflies hatch inside your stomach. âIâI did?â
He huffs at that, wetting his lips. âYouâre impossibleâ.
Something unspoken weaves into the atmosphereâthe attraction between you becomes a tangible thread before either of you speak another word. Heâs much closer. Every movement he has made youâve mirrored without meaning to.Â
âImpossible?â you repeat, hushed.
He pitches his voice low and says, âI thought I told you to call me Shoutaâ.Â
At what point had you settled into the cradle of his thighs? Your breath catches. Two hands are on your hips, soft flesh yielding under his thumbs as they massage shapes from memory. You clutch at broad shoulders and exhale, settling into the hold and surrendering yourself.
âShouta,â you echo, charmingly dumbfounded.Â
Gentle, Shouta takes your chin and turns you toward him. A large, rough palm cups your cheek. He brings your forehead against his, close enough to hear his breath falter. The air is clammy. Taut, primed to break with another tilt of your head, and he must sense it. Thereâs trepidationâhesitance to handle something as tender as this when the things he knows best are animosity and bloodshed.
You offer mercy in taking the lead. Your hands slip from his shoulders to his jaw. Shouta lets himself be guided into your magnetism, a contented hum rippling in his throat like the water of a wellspring.Â
He kisses you deeply and it feels four weeks too late. It feels like muscle memory. It feels like something youâve done a thousand times over. Those hands circle around your waist, splayed at the lower back, heat radiating through your shirt. Lips part at the light swipe of his tongue. You taste the faint notes of citrus and juniper, coaxing him into your mouth, swallowing a soft groan.Â
Heat flashes through you. Familiar want is coiling low in your belly, so stark that you shake with it. Hands wander. Lips too. Shouta kisses across your cheeks, nipping the delicate line of your jaw. Stubble tickles your throat. He mouths at your pulse and pulls you impossibly close, a desperate edge to it as though he were making up for all the times he wanted to but couldnât. He outlines a topographical map of your figure, fingers walking the bumps, curves and dimples, tentatively slipping up your shirt to reach your soft stomach.Â
The hair along your arms stands on end. Fingertips climb higher toward your chest, and a heart that threatens to leap right out through your ribs. âAizawa, we canâtââ
âShouta,â he mutters, continuing his path down your collar. You shudder and his fingers flex, sensing the aftershocks of his touch.Â
âShouta,â you amend breathlessly. âWe canât have sex in the common areaâ.Â
A rare clemency follows. Shouta stops, and your hands come to thread through his hair. Dull stubble tickles the dip of your collarbone. You feel his lips stretch thin into a smirk.Â
He leans back to look up and doesnât take his eyes off you. Half lidded and soft, wrapping you in a gauzy roseate veil that hems the whole world pink. Something about the surety of his desire stunned you. To be wanted by a man who always seemed above such thingsâit makes your chest pound and your face warm, exhilaration spreading to the very tips of your fingers, restless with the urge to touch him.Â
âWho said anything about sex?â he asks, tenor low and deeply amused. It seems any mercy from him ended there.Â
âSo now you can play dumb?â you mumble, an indignant exhale puffing through your nose. You feel him twitch, heat seeping through the thin fabric. âAs if you were going to stop thereâ.
Shouta merely gives you a crooked grin. The scar tissue around his eye wrinkles. You find him unfairly, preternaturally handsome. You like him so much youâre dizzy with it.Â
All at once you are torn apart. Shouta has pushed you into the adjacent seat and turned back to his papers. An ephemeral dread rushes through youâimmediately washed away by the sound of a door opening. Two familiar voices follow.Â
âI bet heâs somewhere down here,â Yagi whispers. He turns the corner into the kitchen, awkwardly bent to hold a small hand. Swimming in her sleep shirt, Eri shuffled in beside him barefoot and rubbing the sleep from her eye.Â
âLook, see. And evenâŚâ Yagiâs eyes widened as he spoke your name. They flickered over your dishevelled state and then to Shouta, who is equally unkempt. Luckily for him that is nothing suspicious. You, howeverâ
âIâm here Eri-bug,â Shouta says. His clothes have been smoothed out, hair tucked back over his ears, expression soft and unruffled as he crouched to her height. She stops short of him, laying her palm over his outstretched hand.Â
âDid you have a bad dream?â he quietly asks. Eri shifts in place and nods. You look away from their vulnerable moment with instantaneous regret. Yagi meets your gaze, freezing mid step as he backs out, brows arched high on his forehead. Thereâs a slight blush around his ears. You grimace. He absolutely knows.Â
Something small clutches at your shirt sleeve and tugs. The yellow ochre of light dances in Eriâs big red eyes as she studies you from the security of her fatherâs arms. âHi there Eri,â you murmur gently. âAre you okay?âÂ
Her grip doesnât loosen. She blinks long and slow, âDid you have a bad dream too?âÂ
Shouta adjusts her on his hip but says nothing. Behind the nonchalant veil lies fond amusement and warmth. ââŚNot a bad dream,â you tell her. âI couldnât sleep because I was worrying a lot. But Iâm feeling better nowâ.
A sleepy smile stretches across her lips. Eri is seemingly satisfied by your answer but not by the distance. Without ceremony she leans away from her fatherâs embrace into your own. You make a short noise of surprise as she wraps her legs around your middle.Â
The weight is oddly comforting. You run a hand down her back, âEriâŚ?âÂ
âBed now,â she slurs, rubbing the swell of her cheek against your shoulder. âSleep safeâ.
Shouta moves closer. Thereâs something in his gaze that makes your throat dry. Youâre not sure what heâs seeing. What it is he has been seeing in you all this timeâ
âYou heard her,â he pressed a kiss to Eriâs hair, then turned to kiss your temple. He lingers, and each word leaves another. âLetâs go to bed. Weâre alright nowâ.Â
âYou can only assume, like for you, it is everything.Â
ââââââââââââââââââââââââ
I heard the news and thought it important that youâre reminded of UAâs relationship policies:
There are none! Ha ha! Did you panic?
Much happiness to you both. It is always a pleasure to see love blossom.
Kind regards,
Nedzu
Principal of UA High SchoolÂ
ă123-4567 ĹikuyĹ, Shizuoka, Musutafu.Â
Go Beyond, Plus Ultra!
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IF TIDES COULD SPEAK (THEYâD CALL YOU HOME) â BAKUGO KATSUKI
synopsis: an unlikely hero comes in the form of a barbarian. your stolen pelt is returned by his handâ but for a selkie that is more than simple kindness. it is a proposal.
tags: AFAB reader (referred to as 'wife' + 'baby' a few times), fantasy au, barbarian bakugo (+ the squad), selkie reader, brief non graphic suicide attempt, minor injuries, previous forced marriage + captivity, strangers to friends to lovers, accidental marriage + bond, magic elements, bathing together, sharing a bed, miscommunication, love as a choice, getting together, shapeshifters, angst + fluff, eventual smut, bakugo carries reader (heâs strong!!), oral + fingering (reader receiving), unprotected vaginal sex
wc: 25K+
âł for the mermay collab hosted by the teahouse server â°
The battle rages on behind as your bare feet carry you frantically toward the cliff side, incognisant to the uneven earth and jagged rocks cutting under your heels.Â
A magnificent orange glow is cast across the land. Blistering heat radiates at your back and seeps through the thin robes pulled across your shoulders. Fire eats away at the canopy above, at the dry grass in the gardens, at the place you deign to call home.Â
It is a sight you wish you had more time to savour. A draconic clan hailing from the north had descended upon the land and sought to reap the riches for themselves. The anguished screams of your once wretched husband still echo in your heart, dancing through its chambers like wind through chimes.Â
You fled with only one destination in mind.Â
Many, many moons ago, you had been stolen away by greed. A man that called himself king yet acted anything but kingly. Lord only in name. He speared your pod mate and took you, dirty calloused fingers sinking into your flesh, violently tearing the pelt from your back. Nausea churns in your stomach as you recall his grin, eyeing you greedily, desiring servitude that was not his to have.Â
âYou are to be my wife,â he said, drunk on tales of rare creatures who would keep a hearth burning and bear his children if only he stole their hide. âNow you belong to meâ.Â
Your pelt remained locked away in an armoured vault along with his other opulent treasuresâ goods that would now be burning, turned to ash. He had finally taken from the wrong people and must reap the consequences.Â
You are so relieved to be free of his clutches that there is no time to grieve the loss. This is your chance. With or without your pelt you are a selkie, and the ocean always welcomes her children home.Â
Guided by the tides' tumultuous song you sprint through the woods, treeline funnelling out on a plateau to reveal the edge of the cliff. You take a staggered breath, wincing at the pain in your chest. Now your momentum has slowed to a stop, the fatigue catches up with you. An ache seeps through your legs and your knees threaten to buckle as you shiver.Â
This is it, you think. You watch the waves below roll like dark ribbon. Steeling your resolve you spread your arms as far as they go, until the sinew holding your back pulls taut. Something acrid sinks in your gut and you feel distinctly ill. It takes all of your willpower to deny the fear pounding in your body as you step forward.Â
The wind billowed around you, swaying your human form towards the edge. Faux wings spread and a roar pushed to the limits of your small voice, sound whipped from your mouth and cast far asea. Eyes squeezed shut, you tip into the oncoming depths trusting your mother will catch you.Â
The sound is cacophonous. Not even your pulse can be heard over the waves; elemental fingers apply sharp pressure to the north and south of your body, shaping flesh until you're nothing but a pebble caught in gravity's path.
If you should concentrate youâd hear a frantic shout through the white noise. And between the milliseconds left before bone collides with the tide, a large clawed foot encircles your forearm. A rush of air swells in your lungs as you try to scream, the abrupt disruption of your freefall forcing your shoulder from its socket, talons tearing through capillaries as if your skin were wet paper.Â
Suddenly, youâre a sail without a mast, rippling over the open ocean. Dark and cloudless, not a speck on the surface. The spray is icy against your ankles, a million papercut kisses. In the mirage, you can see fleeting reflections. The silhouette of a dragon mid-flight.Â
Youâve no memory of hitting the sand or being carried along the shoreline. Your consciousness dips and peaks. The few times you come to are when your body is being jostled, a blurred figure looming above and unrecognisable. In one breath they are washing your wounds with water poured from a wineskin, the next you are flinching away from salve covered fingers as they poke and prod to stem the bleeding.
Warmth is the first thing on your mind as you wake. With a sudden gasp for air, all the exhilaration and adrenaline hits you as if your soul had been caught, suspended in that moment. Phantom touches skim the length of your spine and all at once you are overwhelmingly aware of your body.Â
The sharp noise startles a figure in your periphery.Â
âBack in the land of the living, huh?âÂ
A broad, bare chested man sits at your bedside with his arms crossed tight and pillowed in his lap. Thereâs a single delicate braid by his ear, longer than his short-spiked hair and dangled loosely beneath his jaw. Youâd find him beautiful if not for the searing glare.Â
âThat was a fucking stupid thing you did back there,â he snarls. Brusque and overfamiliar. When you donât respond he continues, âWhatâve you got to say for yourself?â
You shrink back.Â
Thereâs an awful pinch in his brow. Concern seems to be superseding what was a show of honest anger. Dimly lit by a few oil lamps, from what you can ascertain there is no one else in the room but you two. Inhaling the residuals of healing magic you find that your throat is unbearably dry, tongue stuck to the back of your teeth. How long have you been asleep?
You couldnât find a voice to ask, exhaling a pathetic whine. The silence provides a window of opportunity for him to further scold you yet he doesnât take it, fuming as he recedes into his chair. âDonât need to act so fucking skittish. Mânot here to hurt you,â he exhales hard through his nose, reaches out and leaves his hand upturned on the edge of the bed. âAlright?âÂ
Something draws you to this stranger. Inexorable, like the pull of the tide. You accept his proffered palm and it feels unsettlingly familiar. The skin is rough, battle worn and hot. Slowly, your fingers intertwine, and you see fair hair on the back of his knuckles.Â
Disorientation, loss and anxiety err on the edge of your consciousness. The lamp above his head gives him a warm hued crown, highlighting strands of gold. You can feel sleep weighing on your eyelids but you donât yet want to look away. âWhatever,â his mouth sets into a frown. âGet some more rest or Iâll knock you out myselfâ.
When you come to the sun has risen and filters into the room in thin streams of light. Dust fairies dance around the bed. You squint as your vision sharpens, a dull throb reverberating through your skull.Â
You look at your body first, arm well bandaged and the rest of you bruised tender like an old peach. The wounds throb in time with your pulse when you shift, reminding you that theyâre there as your thin clothing brushes against them with little movement. All you can remember is falling. How the waves had careened up the cliff side to catch you, only to have you snatched out of reach once again.Â
Wherever you are now it is obviously far from your Lordâs grasp. He has never bothered to take you to a healer. You are in a private office, tucked into a bed with soft blue sheets. The shelves are stocked with various medicines, salves, and analgesics. Herbs and chopped petals are stuffed in glass jars labelled with messy penmanship you canât decipher. A metronome sits on the nearby wooden desk, ticking back and forth, filling the silence until the door is pushed open.Â
Whoever enters is trying to be careful. You can tell by how slowly they turn the handle and pause at every little complaint the hinges give. Their hair is green, richer than the later weeks in spring, with loose waves that bounce as they move. You watch wearily while they move through the space, humming under their breath and picking up a notebook from one of the desk drawers.Â
The healer, you presume, pinches the end ball on the metronome and brings it to a stand still. He hushes it as though it were an unruly child before turning on his heels toward youâ
And immediately screeching as your eyes meet.Â
Loud enough for the entire country to hear, his abrupt shout seems to alert others in the building, causing a gaggle of people to burst their way into the room. A metallic tang fills your senses; magic ready, the man that sat brutish yet kind at your bedside wields explosive sparks in the palm of his hands, adorning chains with carved talons and beads and asymmetrical armour strapped to his left bicep beneath a red fur lined cloak.Â
âWhat is it, Deku?!âÂ
You offer wordless gratitude to the final dregs of sedatives in your system. You barely flinch at the hostility in his voice, time seemingly slowed as your gaze drags to the companions at his back. First a woman doused in pink. And like the sun, her face glows the rich ochre of dawn, framed by silky salmon toned curls. There are horns protruding from the top of her head, bending like the junction of a tree branch.Â
Beside her is a large man. Red, red, red. Bright eyes split with a reptilian slitted pupil. Crimson hair styled into sharp spikes. Heâs built like a warrior, tall enough to swallow most of the doorway, yet you feel no true fear when you look at him. Something innate in your gut tells you this is a kindred spirit. Energies aligned, you think he must be a shifter of some kind too. He locks onto you first, his alarmed expression smoothing into a wide toothed grin.Â
Last are two men who have managed to tumble to the floor amidst their rush to get into the room. Distinct gold bangs with a symbol of lightning, pale faced, an undercurrent of electricity thrumming below his skin. Dark shoulder length hair, white spools of rope wrapped around the crook of his elbow, grappling hook in hand and ready to strike.Â
âSorry, Kacchan!â the healer, Deku, spluttered. He holds his hands up in surrender, shaking them in a placating motion. âNothing, itâs nothing! All of you please calm down!âÂ
Deku is quite the unfortunate name, you think. At his insistence the group lower their defenses and slump forward, relieved. All but âKacchanâ, who only raises his hackles further.Â
âDonât fuckinâ scream like that if itâs nothing,â his upper lip curls to bear his teeth, moving fluidly as his group slinks past him to stand by your bed. âI damn near blew up the buildingâ.Â
Distantly, âI couldnât help itâŚ!â
The frame jostles, mattress dipping as it takes on the weight of another. Head turned into the pillow you blink dazedly at the sharp toothed shifter. Propping his chin in his hand, his elbows are braced next to your thigh. âHi. Iâm Kirishima,â he chirped, unmoving as his friends wrapped themselves around him to get a look at you, all repeating his jovial greeting with introductions of their own.Â
ââŚHello,â you rasp. The word grates the inside of your throat and tears well in your eyes as you fight the urge to cough. âWhere amâŚ?â
âBack up, losers,â âKacchanâ forces his way to your bedside, shoving the group aside. Thereâs that odd sensation again as you stare up at him. Strong jaw clenched with eyes narrowed and blazing; sliding to where you lay, waning briefly. âHave some mannersâ.Â
âSince when have you cared about manners,â the pink woman, Mina, bemoans.Â
âShut it!âÂ
Dekuâs nervous disposition dissipates quickly and he ambles to the opposite side of your bed, his notebook flipped open to a page covered in incomprehensible scrawl. While the others squabble he leans forward and flashes a trembly smile.Â
âHi! Iâm Midoriya Izuku, the one that fixed you up,â Midoriyaânot Dekuâlowers his voice into a more soothing tone. âItâs good to see you awake. Do you think you could tell me your name?â
You remember your name. Yours. The one given to you before human hands stole your hide. Midroiyaâs pen scratches at the parchment as you recite it, his lips silently repeating it. âGreat! Thank you. Now can I ask, how are you feeling?â he asks, eyes darting across your face, your body, scanning the bandages wrapped around your arm. âAny pain? Nausea? Loss of vision? Numbness in your limbs? Hallucinations?â
âSlow down, nerd,â Bakugo grunts.Â
Midoriya immediately appears sheepish, âIâm sorryâ.Â
âItâs okay,â you say. âMy mouth is dry and my arm hurts but Iâmâ okay, I thinkâ.Â
âThatâs my bad,â Kirishima speaks up from his place next to Bakugo, lifting a hand. Despite their difference in stature it was clear who led the charge and who fell in line. âI was rushing so I wasnât very careful when I caught youâ.Â
Your first thought is that he must have been the dragon. Your second thought is, ah, right. You had tried to fling yourself off the cliff.Â
As though heâd read your mind, Bakugo scoffs. âNot much choice when youâre saving someone thatâs trying to kill themselvesâ.Â
Overlapping objections ring loud in your ears. âBro, not cool,â Kirishima groans, similar sentiments sent loud and fast from the rest of his group.Â
âI wasnât trying toââ your half lie is halted by the seething look Bakugo turns to you. Same as before, beneath it all is worry and confusion, unblinking as though you might disappear between the seconds. âI just wanted to go home,â you confess weakly, tethered by the restless twisting of your fingers into the linen.Â
âHome?â the electric blonde, Kaminari, murmurs.Â
Tension returns to your limbs, instinctively bracing for the greed you have learned to expect. You may get away with evading questions now, but the healerâif heâs worth his saltâwould already know what you are.Â
âIâm a selkie,â hesitance bleeds into your tone, the confession coming quiet and small. Your chin dips as you swallow, canines sinking into your inner cheek. âThe Lord whose castle you raided stole my pelt and kept me hostage for months. I figured it was long gone, so as soon as the attack gave me an opening I ranâ.
The atmosphere is stifling. Silence befalls the group, equally stunned. Midoriya is the only one that does not react, kind eyes closely observing you.
A litany of emotions weave through Bakugoâs face as you speak. Disbelief, anger, regret. âSick bastards,â he mutters heatedly from behind gritted teeth.Â
A head of pink hair rests by your knee. Youâre taken aback by how informally they all behave towards you. âYou still would have died though,â she says, bottom lip jutted, sadness colouring her features.Â
âI would have become seafoam,â you rectify passively. âIt doesnât mean death, not to my kind. Itâs a sort of rebirth. My pelt is with the ashes now. I thought⌠it was my only optionâ.Â
âWait. It got burned up in the fire?!â Kirishima straightens worriedly, eyes wide and apologetic. His fingers twitch as though he wanted to reach for you but thinks the better of it.Â
âSurely. I mean, I assume it was,â your mouth thins into a strained, rueful smile. âHe kept it in the vault with all his other treasures. I watched his quarters go up in flamesâ.Â
Recognition passes over Bakugoâs expression but Midoriya is already stepping forward with his outstretched hands waving dismissively. âOkay, guys! No more stressing my, uh⌠patient,â he says, allowing some strength into his instruction. âGive us some space. You can ask more questions later. Please?â
Your new guests surrender with a chorus of groans. Bakugo squints pointedly at you over his shoulder as Sero ushers him out into the hallway. You feel rooted by its significance somehow. An unspoken instruction that you canât decipher.Â
âAre you really feeling okay? No wooziness?â
Drawn to the gentle cadence your gaze meets Midoriyaâs. He has set the notebook back onto his desk and rolled up his cuffs. âIâm okay,â you reply after a moment of consideration. âThank you. You fixed me up, right?âÂ
Rubbing at his nape, Midoriya shoots you a sheepish grin. âTo the best of my ability, yeah,â he says. âIâm just a researcher and I donât have an affinity for healing magic, but Kacchan insisted that I helpâ.Â
âYouâre not a healer?â itâs then that you notice how untraditional his dress is for a doctor. A bishop sleeved shirt, six buttoned green waistcoat and dark pants. Thereâs a belt strapped tight around his hips, small satchels hooked into the leather, and an empty waist sheath clearly meant for a sword. âAh. You really arenât a healer,â you repeat blithely.Â
Midoriya giggles, nervous. âNoâ I mean, this is my office! And I guess I am an apothecary of sorts, but thatâs only a small part of what I do,â he explains, gesturing to his various shelves and cabinets. âKacchan couldâve taken you to the next town over on Kirishimaâs back but I think he was panickingâ oh, please donât tell him I said that. He just doesnât trust other people much. So you got shafted with meâ.Â
When he leans down to untuck your bedsheets you bend your unharmed arm, propping your upper body onto your elbow and working in sync with him as he fluffs the pillows behind your back. Sat upright you hold your bandages out to him. âThank you,â he mumbles, delicate as he slides his hand around your forearm, patting around his belt and satchels with the other.Â
Finding a small pair of scissors he tucks it beneath the top of the bandage and carefully cuts down the length of your arm. Your chest constricts as the inflamed skin is slowly revealed to the tepid air. There are ribbons of sutures running from your inner elbow to your wrist, puckered but thin and largely healed, sinew clumsily fused together.Â
âSorry about my poor suturing,â Midoriya says as he overturns your arm in his palm, checking from root to stem. âEverything looks good, though. No infection or fever,â he continues muttering, thumb pressed to the shadow beneath his lip. âYour immune response was pretty quick. I wonder if it has something to do with your selkie bloodâŚâ
You barely register his apology, stuck on the jagged scar tissue decorating his own hand. The cautious call of your name breaks your reverie. Midoriyaâs brow is furrowed, eyes wide in genuine concern that wanes when you try to smile at him. âGot lost in my head there, sorryâ.Â
âI get it,â he breathes, glancing over to the largest cabinet in the room. Reaching the ceiling, stained dark wood, and looks slightly out of place alongside his other furniture. Misaligned, you realise. It is on four small wheels and placed an inch away from the wall. Odd.Â
You watch Midoriya stroll over with a bounce in his step. His biceps strain under the pale sleeve fabric as he grabs either side of his cabinet and pulls. The wheels squeak and it rolls away with some exertion to uncover a hidden door. Dust cascades through the air; he coughs into his shoulder, shaking out his hair.Â
âIâve got a private washroom through here if youâd like to use it,â he explains after catching your questioning frown. The room is barely bigger than a closet. Thereâs a toilet, a tiny sink, and a tub that, given the width and depth, would require you to sit with your knees beneath your chin. A mere speck compared to home. If you closed your eyes and concentrated, maybe you could pretend you were resting in a tide pool along the shallows of a beach.Â
You stand for the first time in who knows how long. An uncomfortable prickling sensation crawls the length of your legs as the phantom turns solid and blood rushes to your toes. You grip at your bare thighs where the hem of your robe falls, flesh bursting through the gaps between your fingers, and you gasp through the pain. Itâs as if youâre growing a new limb all together.Â
âCareful,â Midoriya murmurs kindly, hovering at your side in case you need assistance. You hobble over to the washroom, each step like treading on seaglass. He moves away once he is happy with your progress.Â
âItâll take a while to warm up,â he warns. âBut there are various medicinal soaps and salts under the sink that Iâve made, so youâre free to use themâ.Â
The door is closed behind you.Â
Left to your own devices the first thing you do is fill the tub with water. You find that the bathroom has no lamp, illuminated only by the cool light flooding in from the main room. His warning had not been exaggeration â fingertips touching the bottom of the basin, the water comes slowly and remains cold up until your second knuckle. Then it warms, warmer than the sea, and with no salt at all.Â
Bare knees against the floor and skin pimpling under the thin robes, your breaths come quick, stumbling over the erratic jumping of your diaphragm. Indentations between each tile press uncomfortably into your skin, the initial pain dulling into numbness as you sit back on your heels. Beneath the sink behind you are the medicinal soaps and salts. You delicately take a small pot, squinting to decipher the handwritten labels in the dark.Â
Pulling back one of the lids youâre overwhelmed by an unfamiliar floral aroma. Inside are rocksâ tiny, tiny pink rocks, with dried white petals. You pinch some with your already damp fingers, feeling as they immediately dissolve in the moisture, and sprinkle them into your bathwater.Â
Once full enough, you strip yourself of the robe and fold it neatly, left by the closed doorway. The cold air prickles, your nipples pebbling and the soft hair across your body standing on end, but the water is hot.Â
You dip your foot in and breathe a sigh of relief as the temperature suffused through your skin, swaddling you in warmth. You submerge yourself completely. As suspected the space is remarkably cramped. Your legs are bent, tucked against your chest with knees below your chin, arms folded around your shins to keep yourself together.Â
Enclosed in four walls again, shrouded in little to no light, you feel lonely. The type of quiet that makes you whisper. Your mind drifts to the stranger that had saved you, wondering where you mightâve met him before. You smile ruefully, cupping the scented water between your hands. Heâs strong for a human. Imposing, you muse, staring back at the reflection held in your palms. Not only in his stature, but even his presence is difficult to ignore.Â
You bathe, scrub away the blood and grime until youâre a flesh wound. The temperature is cold by the time youâve turned focus to your fingernails, neurotically picking away the flecks of blood dried beneath them. Drain the murky water, refill, repeat. No matter how harshly you pinch and pull, the feeling of being dirty does not go away, but you stay in the water at least until you feel like yourself again.
The towel you find is coarse to the touch. Sitting in the heated water has tended well to the knots in your muscles. Ungainly as you re-enter Midoriyaâs empty office, you flop back onto the freshly made sheets with little guilt. You sit there for a while and let the air dry your body.Â
There is a pile of spare clothes on the end of the bed; neatly folded shirts, tunics, skirts and pants. You throw on a sleeved shirt and come across a simple beige kirtle as you parse through, the skirt falling just above the ankle, delicately sewn buttons lining the back. The fabric is very soft, though fitting and naturally cutting at the waist.Â
After putting on some thick knitted socks and a pair of hardy brown boots left by the desk you run both hands down your sides and spin on your heel, causing the free flowing skirt to plume. Satisfied, you slip out the door and creep toward the gathering voices at the far end of the hall. Phantom fingertips walk the length of your spine. Odd, but you put it down to the apprehension churning in your stomach. Gradually you are able to make out what theyâre saying.Â
âGet your filthy hands off it,â Bakugo growls venomously.Â
âI just wanna feel,â another whines. You recognise it to be Kaminari. âWhy is Kacchan the only one allowed to touch it?â
âStop calling me that, fucker!â
You round the corner and the bickering halts with a harsh shushing sound. Theyâre all in the centre of a cramped lobby, few chairs lining the walls, woven tapestry hung from the ceilings. Kirishima stands in front of you wearing a pleased grin, comically large. The armoured plates on his naked shoulders clink as he moves. âHey! You clean up nice,â he tells you. âFeeling better?âÂ
âMuch better,â you affirm, perking up at his sincerity. âIâm grateful to you all for watching over meâ.Â
âOur Bakugo did most of the work, really. Got a little protective,â Mina, the one kissed by dusk, leans into your space with her plump mouth curled into a smile. The thin gold jewellery hung from her lobe to ear cuff glints in the late afternoon light. âBarely let us in the roomâ.Â
âCause you idiots are too loud,â Bakugo grumbles, stepping forward holding a shiny garb. The fond undertones belied his annoyance, and everyone heard it loud and clear. Your skin prickled as he drags his eyes over your clothed body, evoking a sense of insecurity that is foreign to you. You arenât sure what, but you wanted him to see something in you worth coveting.Â
Then your gaze falls to the fabrics folded over his forearm. Your heartbeat ricochets through your ribcage. A tide of emotion wells at the base of your throat. He handles the pelt with purposeful care. Shivers break out across your skin as he smooths a hand over it. Holding it out, he says your name as if it was the simplest thing in the world.Â
âHere,â he thrusts the pelt into your arms. You scramble and clutch it to your front. Something deep inside you shifts. âThis is yours, right? We took it during the raidâ.Â
Youâre frozen to the spot, mouth gaping around words that wonât come. Bakugo frowns, the group members behind him glancing at each other and shrugging when they find no answer to your silence.Â
âWell?â he demands, embarrassment staining his ears pink.Â
âYes,â you choke, bringing the hide up to your face and rubbing your cheek against it. So warm and alive. Brine fills your senses, overwhelmed by the smell of home. The relief is short lived. âThank you for returning it, butâŚâ
Losing strength, you try to convince yourself that he neednât knowâ that the old ritual would not be binding if done with a human. If the Gods were merciful there would be no condition that tied you together for the rest of your lives. Yet you felt it the moment your pelt was handed back to you. Youâve been feeling his touch all this time, even before the bond had solidified. Heat rose to your cheeks at the realisation; such an intimate act, and it had been accidental.Â
From one prison to another. Maybe things wouldnât be so bad. Bakugo seemed good, in his own rugged way, and he was handsome even by faerie standards.Â
You wet your lips, breath shaken. âBakugo. Do you understand the significance of what you just did?âÂ
Bakugoâs expression darkens and he becomes rigid. You get the impression he hates being left in the dark. âWhat is it?âÂ
âToâŚâ your nails sink into the short velvety fur. âTo a selkie their pelt is like an extension of their soul. In our culture, to find and return it is viewed as aâŚmarriage proposalâ.Â
Sero catches Kaminari and Mina as they grapple one another in a dramatic fashion, swaying on their feet. Kirishima puts a hesitant hand on his friendâs shoulder, eyes flickering between the barbarian and your slouched form. âBro⌠donât do anything hasty,â he faltered.Â
âBakugo is married now?â Mina shrilled, promptly shut up by the hand covering her mouth. Sero sends you an apologetic grimace.Â
âLike hell I amâ.Â
Hackles raised, voice sharp and commanding, Bakugo is staring you down like an enemy. Your knees threaten to buckle but you stand your ground, shielding your body with your thick hide. His hands remain by his hips, sparking as the tang of magic bleeds into the air. Despite making no move to attack you still feel his rejection strike you.Â
âBreak whatever vow I just made,â he demanded. âNowâ.Â
âI canât,â you admit helplessly. âItâs more than a legal contract or a declaration of love. Weâveâ it binds us togetherâ.
The barbarian starts forward, upper lip curled into a beastly snarl, held back by the dragon shifterâs grip. Stumbling as you dodge, two familiar scarred arms catch you before your fall. âKacchan, what are youâ?!â Bakugo darts out to grab you and Midoriya immediately pushes you behind his back, shielding you with his body. âStop it!âÂ
âMidoriya,â Kaminari wheezes, tears beading along his lash line. âKacchan accidentally got married. Can you believe it?âÂ
Midoriya observes their exchange with a look of confusion. In the seconds that follow you see his eyes fall to the pelt folded against your chest, eyes brightening in understanding. Incognisant to this, Bakugo continues his verbal barrage. âOi, Deku. Youâve got brain cells. Figure out a way to fix thisâ.Â
Mouth gaping like a fish out of water, Midoriya pins Bakugo with a pleading look. âKacchan. Please tell me you didnât personally give back the selkie peltâ.Â
âYou knew and didnât think to say anything?!â
âWhy would I?â Midoriya returns, equally irritated. You press your face into the space between his shoulder blades, feeling the vibrations of his voice as they argue. âItâs common folklore!â
âYou know I donât listen to fucking fairytales, Izukuâ.Â
Midoriya reaches back to brush your wrist and offer a comforting touch. You knock your knuckles to his own, grateful for his consideration but unneeding of it. While Bakugoâs furious refusal hurts, and his volume is harsh on the ears, you arenât truly scared of him. More than anything your body remembers those warm palmsâ how he had held your hand, even as a stranger, and how he meticulously groomed your hide only knowing that it was of importance to you.Â
âThereâs nothing I can do to fix this,â lowering his tone into something more apologetic, Midoriyaâs shoulders slump in defeat. You step to the side, coming into view. Head bowed, weight shifting between each foot. You refuse to be subservient any longer but cannot ignore the guilt that churns in your stomach.Â
Bakugo sees you. Something flickers in his features; a brief glance, a rough exhale, it flies across his face like the shadow of an albatross and disappears, equally fleeting. Never taking his vermilion eyes off you he argued, âWhat about cheeks?âÂ
The golden hour spreads her hands all over the room, air cooling when his spitting frustration dwindles to uncertainty.Â
âUraraka?â Midoriya mused aloud. His softer countenance tempers your anxiety. âItâs possible she could do something⌠Let me go see if I have her recent coordinates written somewhereâŚâ
Midoriya scurries back down the hallway, leaving you defenseless. Without thinking you ask the group, âUh. Whoâs Uraraka?âÂ
Everyoneâs attention falls to you and you resist the reflexive urge to cower. âSheâs a witch,â Kaminari supplies happily, arms wrapped around Seroâs neck like a scarf. âAn old friend of ours, but sheâs pretty hard to find now. I heard her place is always movingâ.Â
A building that could move with magic. The human world never ceased to be fascinating.Â
Mina nudges her elbow into his side and a shock of electricity sparks from his crown. âThatâs outdated, dummy! Youâre supposed to say occultistâ.Â
Kaminari whines, rubbing at his ribs. âTo-may-toe, to-mah-toe,â he enunciated, pouting. âSame thingâ.Â
Bakugo growls, ignoring their exchange in favour of pacing the room. Your pelt is a comforting weight as you follow the back and forth motions, taking the chance to really look at him. The fur lined cloak across his shoulders billows obnoxiously as he turns, jewels and talons strung around his neck knocking against his clavicle. Doused in sunlight, the markings painted across his bare chest are highlighted, and you notice the uneven skin beneath themâ more scars.Â
He combs his fingers aggressively through his hair and his arm bulges beneath the armour strapped to his bicep. Kirishima tires of watching and cuts into his path, hands open in surrender.Â
âStressing wonât do you any good, man,â the shifter reasoned. âWeâve all got your back. Iâm sure Uraraka will know what to doâ.Â
Bakugo huffs. You think there should be steam coming out of his nose. âI know, shithead. I just,â he takes a quick look at where you are awkwardly standing. âI donât like thisâ.Â
Thereâs an abrupt yelp in the distance. Midoriyaâs cry is followed by a crash, the sound of books tumbling from shelves onto the wooden floor. He stumbles out into the hallway slightly dishevelled, patting off the dust on his waistcoat and proffering a sheet of paper. Tucked under his arm is a rolled up map.Â
âKacchan,â comes his breathless chime. âHereâs where she was last. But I remembered that she was planning on taking a short trip to the valleys near the coast to find more idiran leaves since theyâre in season now. I mapped out all the areas where they usually grow, in case youââ
Bakugo snatches the coordinates and the map without ceremony. âThanks,â he grunts, turning on his heel and making for the exit. âCome on, losers. We only got a few hours until itâs too dark to flyâ.Â
The group works in perfect synchrony. Sero reaches under one of the nearby chairs and drags out a large bag, hoisting it over his shoulder. Mina does the same, pulling back the draping tapestry by the doorway and taking back a concealed sack. You watch as they walk leisurely behind Bakugo, in no real rush despite his demands, Kaminari lamenting how little they trusted him with their cargo.Â
Kirishima lingers behind, clapping Midoriya soundly on the back. âThanks for everything as usual, man. We appreciate it,â he emphasised his gratitude with a strong squeeze.Â
âIâm always happy to see you,â youâre impressed by Midoriyaâs reaction; a smile from ear to ear, sturdy and unaffected by Kirishimaâs obvious force, his smaller frame belying his strength. âJust promise not to shift too close to the building. I donât have time to re-thatch my roofâ.Â
âI promise!â Kirishima traces a cross over his heart with his fingers. Their focus turns to you. You tense, feeling entirely out of place. âSure youâre feeling alright? Have you ever flown before?â
âNo,â you admit, needlessly smoothing the fabric of your kirtle down. âIâve probably never been this far inland, nevermind flyingâ.Â
Midoriyaâs eyes widened, though not unkindly. Theyâre sparkling, as if he were excited on your behalf. âThen youâre in for a real treat,â he beams, the intensity dimming within the next breath, sadness hemming his smile. âJust know youâre in good hands. Kacchan is a little abrasive but he means wellâ.Â
âAnd I swear Iâll fly carefully,â Kirishima interjects. Itâs funny, a man so large exuding such gentility. âIâm a dragon shifter, if you hadnât already guessedâ.Â
You had sensed it immediately. Shifter energies were palpable and animated things. They hung in the air like a humid fog. Despite your similarities you are still so uniquely different. While you were tied to the pelt in your arms, Kirishima had no such restriction. You envied his freedom.Â
âYou caught meâŚ?â you say. He nods at your words. âThank you, then. Againâ.Â
âThat was all Bakubro. He saw you before anyone else did,â as though on cue, Bakugoâs voice penetrated impatiently through the walls, demanding that you both get outside. Kirishimaâs lips uptick affectionately.Â
âIf I donât get to see you again, wellâŚâ Midoriya begins to corral the pair of you to the door as he speaks. âI hope you make it home. And Iâm really happy I could meet youâ.Â
Surrounding Midoriyaâs residence is a dense forest. The trees are tall, older than any youâve seen, their branches reaching out and intertwining with one another to conceal your group under a canopy shrouded in gold. Further ahead it thins out onto a winding road. Built on a steep hill it dips in the distance, opening up to the many plots of land below.Â
The earth is soft under your boots. There are wildflowers at your feet. You try to step around each one carefully while Kirishima advances forward to the group with vigour.Â
Bakugo is saying something but you barely hear it, lost in your thoughts, besotted by the vast canvas around you; a sense of harmony as the pigments blend together. It is like a dream in which you canât tell one side of the veil from the other, and nothing like the dreary castle you were once stowed away in.Â
Your moment in lucidity is soon interrupted. You instinctively pull the pelt closer to your chest before realising who had approached. âYou listening or what?â Bakugo calls quietly, an attempt at being reposeful. Amidst your daydreaming Kirishima has disappeared into the overgrowth and the others are watching your interaction with poorly veiled interest.Â
âUh, sure,â you blurt uselessly. He raises a brow and you feel ridiculous.Â
âKirishima said itâs your first time,â he pauses and you nod in affirmation. A hand comes to rest on your back, breath caught in your throat, pressure pulling you close to his side. âThen youâll sit up front with meâ.Â
Your head bobs again, unrolling the pelt and knotting it tight to your waist, skin prickling under his close scrutiny. Bakugo brings his fingers to his lips and whistles, âRed!â
âRedâ answered the call with a low room and a rustle of wings. The dragonâs head lifts, towering above the treeline, his body following as he steps out into the open. Amber eyes gleamed in the early evening light as he bobbed his head on a serpentine neck. His deep red scales shimmered with a faint golden sheen as he flashed his teeth in greeting.Â
You err on the side of reticence while Mina and Kaminari sprint toward the dragon whooping excitedly. Various lines of thick rope trails behind them and Sero picks up the slack, looping it thrice through their bags. He spins the cut end, undulating as the momentum builds, and throws it over Kirishimaâs back to be caught by Kaminari and pulled taut.Â
âCâmon,â Bakugo leads you forward. He is surprisingly patient with you now. Youâve faced young whales and sharks yet still you feel dwarfed by the sheer size of the dragon, heart all pitter patter behind your ribs. It is the prey animal in you.Â
Kirishima snorts, lowering to the ground. The earth trembles, a gust of wind dancing through the grass. Another rope is flung around his neck, threaded through the horns protruding from his skull like a set of reins, dropping in front of you.Â
The hand by your hip slides further at your abrupt flinch, arm securing around your waist. âOn three I want you to climb,â he commands, giving you no time to think. âOne⌠twoâŚâ
Bakugo takes the weight like itâs nothing, lifting you higher so you can grab the rope. Molten heat. You pull yourself up, scrambling to straddle Kirishimaâs upper back. The others are further down his spine, playing around at the base of his tail without a care in the world, as though they were not about to be thousands of feet in the air. Kirishimaâs lungs expand for breath and you cling to a spike protruding from the dragonâs nape, grip flexing at the warmth that settles behind you.Â
Bakugo frames your body with his thighs, thick by the skirt bunching above your knees, and pulls the rest of the rope up to wrap it around your pelt. In an instant you are all too conscious of him as a man, the proximity plucking at your centre of gravity, a cold sensation spreading throughout your chest. âSorry,â he mutters unprompted, so quiet you arenât sure you were meant to hear it. You get the impression he doesnât say it often. âFor dragging you into more shitâ.Â
You mull the words over as you relax into his hold. With that one sentence you think you understand him a little more than before.
Seroâs voice travels through the silence, âGood to go!â
Fastening his arm across your middle, solid and steady, Bakugo brings his boot hard down onto Kirishimaâs shoulder. âGet moving, Red!â he roars.Â
The dragonâs movements are heavy, slow. Aligned with the winding road, he builds up speed. As though heâd shaken off his own mass Kirishima is suddenly quick on his feet and breaking into a run; forced back in the momentum your stomach swoops, upheld by inertia as your body follows the broad bounding movements.Â
Leathery wings snap open into the clearing. Your hands clutch at Bakugoâs forearm and he digs his fingers in harder, his lips warm against your temple. âIâve got you,â he whispered, but all you can hear is the thundering wind and the blood rushing in your ears. You watch the steep edge approach and take a reflexive breath as it abruptly disappears.Â
Air pours into your lungs and then out again in a ragged, exhilarated gasp. The ground fallsâand then you are gliding. Â
The cool air whips against your cheeks. Smooth and steady as a horseâs canter, Kirishima soars through the open skies, his magnificent wingspan bearing the weight of five riders. Below, the fields coalesce into one land. Towns and villages become an inscrutable speck. Incredulous laughter bursts from your throat, nerves evolving into excitement in the climb towards the clouds.Â
Bakugo mellows by the second, tension ironed down by gravity. Thereâs a particular satisfaction to his expression, contentment youâve only ever experienced in the oceanâs depths, and yet, as he squeezes around you intermittently to remind you he is there, you can feel it too.Â
âYou with me?â he shouts. âNot scared?â
You lock eyes and try to show him a tremulous smile, answering at the top of your lungs, âIâm goodâ.Â
Then he bares his teeth, grinning proudly. Over you comes the sense of being praised. Your smile widens.
Time moves differently in the skies. Closer to the sun, you thought perhaps things naturally moved slower. Change is always less apparent when you are walking alongside it. Instead, you measure the hour by the shadows cast chasing Kirishimaâs tail, and eventually the skies darken.Â
Lowering his head, tilting a wing to swing out in a broad arc, Kirishima angles toward the earth. Bakugo raises up a battle worn hand, the lineaments of his face irradiated by streams of dim light threading through his fingers. He makes a specific gesture, signalling to the others of the incoming descent. Like the sun, you canât look away from his raw brilliance.Â
Kirishima lands at the base of a mountain valley. It sends a gust of wind across the clearing. Through the dark you make out a familiar reflection of light in the distance. The lake is hardly an ocean, but youâre extremely comforted to be by a body of water.Â
Chest pressed flat to your back Bakugoâs natural heat spreads through your shirt. Helped down much in the same way you were boosted up, he seems determined to keep you near. You canât say you mind itâ a quiet attraction comes and goes as he steadies you on your feet. He clicks his tongue, muttering clipped insults that he doesnât mean.Â
Itâs decided youâll remain there for the night. âYou can bet your ass weâre having an early start,â Bakugo says, pointing at each of you with stubborn intent, squinted glare lingering on the less than enthusiastic members. Kaminari slumps forward dramatically and you worry his knees might buckle.Â
Kirishima leaves again, briefly, to circle the area in his full form while Bakugo starts on the pit. Itâs lit by a whisper of fire from the returning dragonâs mouth, setting the tinder ablaze over the nest of branches; the dry, withered pine slowly releases years of energy soaked up from the sun, the air, and the ground, keeping the camp brightly lit.Â
Smoke swirls above and dissipates into the atmosphere. You are far enough from any large human settlement that you see the night sky in all its clarity. Around you now are the soft voices of acquaintances filtered between conversations; none you could hear properly, but the sounds were still soothing, coming in hushed tones that add to the intimate atmosphere.Â
Flames dance on their cheeks, illuminating the prominent parts of their faces. Youâre sitting beside the waterâs edge with your pelt strewn across your lap, close enough to feel the warmth as it crackles and spits, watching the way they love each other.Â
Kaminari has fished out a big bottle from his bag, dramatically popping the cork, and is steadily passing it around. Alcohol, you guessed. Sero took a heavy swig without flinching. Mina had tried to do the same and now has her head pillowed by Kirishimaâs thigh, thick and sturdy as a human, and his fingers stroked through the curly by her temple aimlessly as he lost himself in discussion. Sensing your gaze, she meets your eyes and smiles dazedly, lids fluttering.Â
You look away, take a breath and notice the air tastes like sake and smoke. Darkness covers the lake. Under the waxing moon your face stares back at you, swimming among minnows and echoes of stars. It ripples where you dip your fingertips, mind empty, anaesthetised by the chill. Â
âYou idiots never pace yourselves,â Bakugoâs voice rumbled over the flames and rolled over your skin. He is sitting closest to you, legs loosely crossed in the dirt . âIf you throw up on Red tomorrow Iâm not cleaning it upâ.Â
Kaminari shakes the bottle in his direction. The bubbles fizz upward, some spilling out. âSuch a stick in the mud, Kacchan. We gotta celebrate your marriage somehow!âÂ
Sero cackles as the other two chime in agreement. You stroke your pelt, restless at the mention of your union, and it soaks up the water from your fingers. Surprisingly, Bakugo lets it slide, though not before scooping the loose earth into his hand and throwing it at an oncoming Kaminari.Â
Eyes of amber briefly flicker over your form in his approach. Kaminari drops into the empty space beside you and pulls the bottle from his mouth with a resounding pop, leaving behind a wet sheen, and tilts it forward. âYou too,â he grinned. âCongrats. Our boy is quite the catch, yâknowâ.Â
âSo I can see,â you smile, letting the gloom be pulled right out of you, your fingers wrapping around the bottle's neck. They grazing his own and spark static. Neither of you comment on it, his squinted stare fixed curiously on your expression as you bring the finish to your lips.Â
The aroma is rich, sweet like overly ripe bananas. You tip back, feeling it dry and bitter on your tongue. There are hints of vanilla and brown sugar, a sting to your throat that begs you to cough. You hear a quiet laugh.Â
âToo strong?â Sero teases lightheartedly from across the campfire.Â
Your expression twists, âItâs good. But it burns. Is that normal?â
âThatâs why itâs good,â Kaminari snickers. You clear your throat, handing the bottle back, attention drawn back to the lake in a beat of comfortable silence. âOh, hey. I did want to sayâ you can swim if you need to, yâknowâ.Â
âHm?â
âKiri has all sorts of weird urges if he doesnât shift for a while. Gets all restless and snappy,â Kaminari gives a knowing look to the man in question. Kirishima nods at you, his features taut with sincerity. âSo if you want to swim for a while or something we totally get itâ.Â
Youâre flustered by their earnestness, gripping at your pelt, all too aware of it. Slipping into your other form feels far too personal; well meaning as they are, theyâre still strangers to you. âThatâsâ Iâm alright,â you politely decline, âmy needs as a seal arenât really felt while Iâm like thisâ.Â
A surprised noise resonates from Kirishima, Mina unmoving from her place in his lap but watching with rapt curiosity. âYouâre practically human right now, then?â he asks.Â
âPractically,â you give a self conscious shrug. Somehow admitting it felt like stripping yourself. Confessing to a weakness. Unsettled, you deflect the subject back. âDo you keep your dragon traits as a human?â
âNah, not while Iâm in this form. I donât even have my hydrogen glandsâ look,â Kirishima hooks his fingers into his cheeks to spread them wider. You lean in for a closer look. The glow from the campfire illuminates the back of his throatâ barely, and ironically. His tongue wiggles as he tries to lay it flat. Youâre not sure what heâs trying to show you. Youâve never seen a dragonâs maw before, but aside from the shark-like teeth his mouth really does seem the same as any other manâs.Â
âPretty boring, right?â his words come garbled around his fingers and so he pulls them out, wiping the spit on his pants. âBut even though I canât breathe fire right now, I can do this!â
You stare in surprise as the skin along his forearm hardens into tough scales. He holds it out to you in permission to touch; they feel jagged under your fingertips, tough like the bark of an ancient tree. âThatâs amazing. You have your own shield,â you breathe, awed.Â
âDamn right,â Bakugo interjects. Thereâs that unfettered pride again. Kirishimaâs cheeks redden and you sympathise with him. In your short time with them you knew receiving praise from Bakugo felt like standing under the sun. âShouldâve seen him as a kid,â he continues, eyes alight and mirthful. âHad scales like wet paper. Even cried when he first shiftedâ.Â
âDâyou have to bring that up,â Kirishima groans, though not upset by it. He shares in the amusement, uplifted by the sound of his friends' laughter, and pouts playfully in your direction. âIt was scary!âÂ
Mina giggles. Her movements are sluggish and dopey as she waves her arm in Kaminariâs direction, who then stretches around the pit to Sero, who then passes it off to her. She takes a quick sip, free hand pinching Kirishimaâs cheek. âWasn't your first time an accident, too? Thatâs so cuteâ.Â
âHe sneezed actually,â Sero supplies, smirk crooked, foot tapping Kirishimaâs ankle in a preemptive apology. âDestroyed half his houseâ.Â
Kaminari slaps his knee, âMan, you were stumbling around like a newborn foal. It was hilariousâ.Â
Bakugo grinned as the others bickered, a fond, radiant thing that lit up his whole face. Heâs softer like this, drenched in warmth. Cloak tucked behind his shoulders you are given the view of his broad chest. And when he finally looks at you, his half lidded gaze has been softened by his third swig; though he remained considerably sober compared to his companions.Â
âWhatâre you starinâ at?â he mutters.
âNothing,â you answer quickly, then, quieter, âItâs just nice that youâve all been together for so longâ.Â
âSince we were snot-nosed brats. We hail from the same clan. Deku too,â he replies, elbow propped on his knee, chin cupped in his palm. âGetting sick of seeing their faces at every turnâ.Â
âLiar,â you hum amusedly. âWhat do humans call itâŚ? Emotionally constipatedâ.Â
His eyes slide over you, brow quirked. With his friends distracted he is more emboldened giving you attention. âGot some liquor down your neck and suddenly youâre givinâ me cheek?âÂ
âGuess so,â you feel yourself endeared by your not-husband. The pleasant honeyed sensation shrouding your body mustâve loosened your tongue. âAnyone can see theyâre like family to youâ.Â
The barbarian kisses his teeth and shifts himself toward you, an ugly look on his face. You catch his peek at your pelt. âWhat about you?â
âMe?â
Bakugo grunts. âYeah. You got family?âÂ
If not for the alcohol that question mightâve sucked all the joy from the air. You settle on a sad smile, dragging your fingertip through the dirt to draw a vague seal shape. âThatâs hard to answer,â you intoned gently, barely audible over the crackling fire. âMy memories of them are vague. The longer I stay human the more I forgetâ. He frowns, but you continue, unperturbed, âUsually it would be the same thing in reverse, if we werenât bonded I would likely forget all of thisâ.Â
âAnd youâre okay with that?â he says, some edge to his tone. âYouâre okay with being stuck here?âÂ
The âwith meâ goes unspoken but you hear it, and you fall silent. Because you have no answer. Youâd had months to reconcile a pallid futureâ at one point you thought you would never again see the ocean, least of all your family. It was probable that theyâd already moved on without you.Â
âI donât feel stuck,â you admit. His actions and his words, albeit harsh, proved that to be true. Aside from the obvious differences from your previous capture, the biggest is that you are equally in possession of Bakugoâs individual libertyâ youâre married, you mentally amend, not in possession. While it is true you wouldnât be able to stray far from him with the bond established, you held your pelt, independence, control.Â
A near imperceptible tension seeps from him at your answer. âWhat about you?â
He scoffs, stretching out his legs. The soles of his boots drag in the dirt. âDo I look fuckinâ stuck?âÂ
âNo,â you murmur with amusement, turning to gaze at the flickering pyre. âA man that can fly hundreds of miles on dragonback in a single day certainly isnât stuckâ.Â
âNow youâre getting itâ.
The other conversation has worn into soft murmurings. Kirishima drunkenly hands off the last of the alcohol to Bakugo, gesturing to the three whoâve surrounded him and fallen asleep. As the dragon shifter repositions himself to join them, curled together like a pack of seal pups, Bakugo takes a sip.Â
Thereâs probably only a mouthful left and you accept it when he offers. âYou should sleep, tooâ.Â
You heed his instruction and lie down on your side, your pelt pillowed under your head. The smell of home swaddles you. âEarly rise, right?â he nods, leaning back onto his arms. âHow long do you think itâll take to find theâuh, occultist?âÂ
âA week if sheâs where sheâs supposed to be,â he scowls. Youâre not sure what draws the heat to your face; the drink or his voice, now gravelly with fatigue. âThree at mostâ.Â
âOkay,â you exhale, eyes fluttering closed. âThank you, Bakugoâ.Â
A soft breeze dances through the brush. Your skin pebbles, shivers slipping down your spine. Something heavy drapes over you and encases you in a warm cocoon. Fluff tickles at your nose. Your fingers curl into the familiar red fabric of Bakugoâs cloak. He has pointedly angled away from you, ready to ignore any attempt at interrogation. The gruff act of kindness makes your heartbeat faster. Fondness settles in your chest, so big that it aches. His natural scent mixes with yours and itâs like being laid on the shoreline, stitching sea and land together.Â
âDonât fuckinâ thank me yet,â the muscles in his back ripple as he tends to the dwindling fire, declaring with conviction, âJust follow me. Iâll fix this and get you homeâ.Â
You lick your lips, mouth dry from the alcohol. In that very moment you want to tell him that the ocean and the sky are like a two way mirror; that when you were up there with him, strangely, your body thought it was at home.Â
Instead, you close your eyes and watch the embers paint yellow and orange kaleidoscopes behind your eyelids.Â
Instead, you sleep.Â
The weeks that follow are arduous. Uraraka is nowhere to be found, and your group resorted to searching the areas of iridian growth Midoriya circled.Â
You werenât used to hiking up mountainous lands, navigating forests or scaling dragons, not in the beginning. Rising with the sun, enduring unpredictable changes in weather, wincing through the ache that grew in your weaker human muscles, Bakugo found your crankiness amusing and irritating all at once; never missing an opportunity to comment on your lack of stamina, then using it as an excuse to assist where assistance is not truly needed.Â
But you saw through him, and let him. You did not need help climbing, yet your hands weaved together so he could pull you up. Youâre soon practiced in saddling Kirishima, yet you always wait for Bakugo to put his arm around your lower back every ride. Your inner voice sings whenever he brings you foodâ begrudgingly, he throws it into your lap and grunts like the barbarian he isâ or hangs his cloak over your head without a word as though you were a rack. Itâs a little more charged every time you interact, and you found you liked being taken care of in those subtle ways that did not undermine your independence.Â
The others noticed and teased accordingly. They call him a dutiful husband and his aggravated explosions saw you driven out of two small settlements for startling livestock. You become closer to each of them. Their patchwork family makes room for you quicker than you know what to do with. And you enjoy it; learning about the people around you, peeling back the rind of their lives piece by piece with mundane questions, seeing what theyâre made up of.
You learn Kaminari enjoys literature, dramatically reciting love tales in the night, referencing poems youâve never heard. Heâs charming but never with actual intention. It is somehow more endearing that he doesnât know his own allure, finding comfort in the role of a jester. Mina is pure joy wrapped in flesh. Apologetically overbearing and well meaning. Like an older sister she showed you how to securely fashion your peltâover one shoulder, a belt fastened around the waist, keeping it in placeâ and let you use her combs. She speaks fast when sheâs happy, hits hard when she laughs and gossips avidly, picking up new information wherever she goes.Â
Kirishima looked at you with kindness and iron surety in his eyes from the start. Good natured and feelingâ he has a heart so big that he apologises to a flower bed after he steps on it. Thereâs a natural fraternal air about him that sets you at ease and the groupâs clear affection and appreciation for him diminished any worry about your own treatment as a shifter.
But of everyone else in the group you found Sero the most easygoing. Conversation came fluidly and your initial diffidence was thrown by how naturally you were able to fall into place with him. He lends an ear to any questions you have, practised in the art of human interaction; a man capable of adapting to any one person he comes into contact with. As such, he is the member sent to negotiate, collect information, and make arrangements.Â
When you make it to the last destination on the map you are drenched in a time-steeped sunset. Sero trudges back through the brush, returning from the nearby port town. Landing at such a late hour Sero had been tasked with finding the local tavern to buy a few rooms for the night, and the lazy thumbs up he waves from a distance is proof he accomplished his goal.
âThey donât get too many travellers passing through here so I swiped up three rooms,â he huffs, coming to a stop and brushing the dirt off his pants. âTheyâve got a bathhouse, tooâ.Â
Bakugo makes a noise of approval, lifting a bag over his shoulder while Kirishima carries the rest under his arms and flashes a toothy smile. âGlad it went smoothly, manâ.Â
âThank the Gods,â Kaminari cheers, clapping his friend on the back. âYouâre a lifesaver. I canât wait to sleep on an actual bed againâ.Â
âUh huh. Two twin rooms for us lowly minions,â Sero continues, his grin curling into something more sly. You get a sense of foreboding. âAnd of course, a double room for the newlywedsâ.Â
Mina whistles, slipping her hand into yours and tugging. You freeze, heart in your throat, and force yourself to relax, not yet used to how tactile they can be. Sheâs too invested in Bakugoâs response to notice. Your eyes flicker over to find him red faced and incensed, knuckles white with the pressure he has around the drawstrings of his bag.Â
Sharing a room with Bakugo. Alone. Thus far youâd all been together. Either under the stars or in caves, or packed into cramped quarters stuffed with wattle and daub if a villager felt kind enough.Â
âYou've got exactly five seconds to explain why you thought that was a good ideaâ.
Sero quickly put his palms up in surrender. âYou gave me a budget, Bakugo. They offered to lower the price as a wedding gift. I figured it would be okay for one nightâ.Â
Bakugo jerks his head in your direction, his steely glare unmoving. The tips of his ears are pink, too, frustration unfolding across his skin. âYou donât get to decide that,â he chided, tone harsh like a hiss.Â
Suddenly, Sero looks rather ashamed of himself. âShit, Iâm sorry. Shouldâve asked,â he says to you, rubbing at his neck as his head lowers. Itâs unlike him to be so wiltedâ and all because of your potential discomfort.Â
You meet Bakugoâs eyes, gleaming intensely, already trying to scrutinise your reaction. Mina hums quietly. She tightens grip on your hand again in reassurance, the other running along your bicep. âIf you want I can swap with youâ.Â
Bakugo snorts at that, as if the idea was ridiculous, but he doesnât shoot it down despite his clear aversion to sharing with Mina. You understood his disbelief. They behaved much like siblings, squabbling and poking at one another. Itâd rouse suspicion and you didnât fancy being chased out of town for swindling the keepers for a discount.Â
âThank you guys. But itâs alright,â you reassured, mouth lifting into a small smile and reciprocating Minaâs gentle squeeze. âI donât mind sleeping with Bakugoâ.Â
A few beats of silence. You see Bakugoâs expression slip, jaw loose and eyes wide for a brief moment before it twists. He turns away from the group as a chorus of suggestive crowing erupts.Â
Understanding your mistake almost immediately hot mortification comes over you, stifling beneath the pelt on your shoulder. âShut up, you useless fuckinâ perverts,â Bakugo snaps, flustered and wild, swatting at the nearest victim. Kirishima feigns a wounded noise.Â
âHey, I didnât do anything!â
âJust get moving,â the barbarian marches onward, tearing his way through the overgrowth and heading for the tavern. âAnd walk behind me!â
His choleric mutters continue, heard even at a distance. Tucking your chin to your chest, you hide your laughter in your silken pelt as you follow after him, mouth filling with a comforting briney scent. You think Bakugo undeniably cute when heâs embarrassed; a sight youâve had the pleasure of seeing more than once on account of his pod. That feeling from the campfire returns, fills your chest, pulsing through to your fingertips, tempting you to reach out, to touch him.Â
More and more youâre inundated with the need to be close. You quell the urge and tighten your grip on Mina, her cheek squished to your shoulder, loose curls the colour of blossom tickling your throat. âDonât worry. Heâs not really mad,â she tells you furtively, as if it were a big secret.Â
âI know,â gaze lingering on Bakugoâs back, covered by that thick red cloak, you wonder if your scent still clings to it. Contentedly, âIâm getting used to itâ.Â
The town is beautiful. Bursting with flora and fauna, accentuated by the dusk, ocean curling around the village in a way that reminds you of mother. Nature's cradle. You cling protectively to your pelt, scenting the salt in the air and hovering closer to Bakugo. If anybody could identify a selkie skin it would be fishermen. Stray drunken locals stumble by, arm in arm with boisterous cheer. Youâre greeted like a long lost friend, neither person recognising your true identity. Humans really can be hearty and genuine at their core. Life before had been so desolate in comparison, so lacking in love and colour.Â
âOi,â Bakugo beckons you to his side. When you donât fall in line he grabs your wrist, pulling you close. His natural body heat lingers like a brand. âMake sure you call me Katsuki from now on,â he instructs under his breath.Â
You blink at the unexpected request. The muscles in his face are tight, twitching, and his nose flares the longer you stare. Given names are important to humans in this region. Sharing them is an intimate thing, a sign of your close relationship. âAre you sure?âÂ
âWouldnât say it if I wasnât sure,â he punishes your questioning with the fleeting tightening of his grip. You canât help it. Heâs pink again and you like it. âIâm your husband, yeah? So call me by my fuckinâ nameâ.Â
The keeper waits surreptitiously by a sheltered stairwell leading to the inn above her tavern. A small Elven woman, uncloaked, the lantern overhead creating a halo of light to circle her ginger crown. She perks up when Sero hands over a small velvet sack, the drawstrings pulled tight. âFor the rooms,â he emphasises, coins chiming dully against one another as he shakes it. The woman takes it and cradles the payment to her breast, exchanging the gold for three keys.Â
Youâre guided up the stairwell and into the building, presented with a narrow corridor. There are numerous doors, decorative runes carved into the frames, a coloured piece of string hung from each handle corresponding to the colour of the keys. âItâs good to see some youngins pass through. We only ever get the same old geezers around here,â she says, âMakes for a mundane lifeâ.Â
The crows' feet wrinkle by her eyes when she smiles, laughter lines framing her mouth. She hands out the keys to your pod who all rush in childish excitement to see their rooms. At last she turns to where you stand stiffly beside Katsuki.Â
Youâre handed a key. The stem is long and thin and made with copper, the key wards in the bit uniquely shaped to your door. Threaded through the bow is a lavender string. âIt isnât much but I hope you will be comfortable for the night,â with a wink, she adds, âCongratulations to you bothâ.Â
âThank you. We will be in your care,â your reply is tremulous, undecided whether to be pleased with the sincere acknowledgement of your marriage or nervous to be seen through. At your side, the large barbarian grunts.Â
It is uncharacteristic of him; always very respectful of his elders. You lean against him, just a nudge. His attention snaps to you and you smile innocently. âBe polite, Katsukiâ.Â
Like it was meant to be spoken only by you, Katsukiâs name sits right in your mouth, lips shaping around the characters softened by warm intonation. The reaction is instantaneous. His jaw ticks. His faint blush returns. His stoic expression wanes as he looks to the keeper, who is observing the interaction with mirthful eyes. Lowering his head he mutters, âWe appreciate your hospitality, maâamâ.Â
âYouâre quite darlinâ together, arenât you,â she comments heartily, mostly to herself, as if airing her thoughts. âWe got good food and drinks downstairs, do come if youâre hungry! Blessings be upon youâ.Â
On her departure you enter the room. Spangles of light dusted the air. While it clearly isnât lived in, it is homely. You canvas the space. Two square-headed windows facing the street are covered by thin cloth. There is an old, tattered tapestry strung across the wall to cover up a fist sized hole, a patterned glass vase and various other unique tchotchke adorning the shelves. You drag your fingers across the brick fireplace opposite a wide double bed, mattress made of wool but compensated by the many feather pillows and blankets.Â
âThis is good,â you say, âhomelyâ. Though there is an animal hide on the floor, which you find rather⌠untoward. A soothing musky smell with overtones of caramel and vanilla rising through the cracks in the floorboards from the tavern below. You breathe it in deeply.Â
âItâll do,â Katsuki voices his agreement and drops his bag with a conclusive thud. âLet me hide our stuff and we can meet with the others for food downstairs. You havenât eaten in hoursâ.Â
The small consideration makes your heart flutter. âAh. Iâll be there soon,â you tell him. He squints at you, attempting to mentally pry the answers out of you. âIâm okay, Katsuki. I just need a minuteâ.Â
Pausing in the centre of the room, Katsuki scrutinises you. You fidget under his intense appraisal, undecided whether it pleases you or not. It is strange to want something that often leaves you feeling excruciatingly⌠exposed.Â
You wait apprehensively and wonder if heâll comment on your use of his nameâ needless, this time. After all there are no ears or eyes in these walls. Youâre not sure what youâll do if he asks you to stop.Â
âAre you sure?â you nod, mouth strained in a thin smile. Bakugo frowns but ultimately gives you your space. âMake sure you catch up. If youâre not down in ten minutes Iâm coming backâ.Â
âI will,â you land heavily on the edge of the bed, wrinkling the sheets as you unclip your pelt. The collar of your ill-fitted shirt slips forward with the motion to reveal cleavage, and Bakugo immediately averts his gaze.Â
âWhatever,â he rasps, unexpectedly shy. The door slams as he leaves. You right the collar, tugging it back up, lips pressed thin to repress the laughter that bubbles in your chest. Aimless and left to your own devices you take a solitary moment to groom the pelt in your lap, marbled and downy-soft. Brushing through the coat, fingertips trace the rings of black and brown.
Things are so different. Being a person is more overwhelming than you imagined. Being locked away had kept you in a state of inertia, suffocating in numb misery, but now you were left to grapple with the immense spectrum of human emotion. Urges and wants that you had never experienced before meeting Katsuki.Â
You swallow, staring at the spaces between your fingers. Spaces filled with short tan fur. Selkie marriages were simultaneously complicated and simple. Rather, they were so simple that they bore unnecessary complications.Â
A stolen pelt creates a one sided bond but upon return it is consummated. Between two selkies in courting pelts were exchanged, solidifying their promise to one another, deeply unified by their magic. Elder podmates said that it meant they belonged to only one another. Abandoning the tides, in a way.Â
Since being a pup the voice of the sea was a ceaseless whisper you were always aware of. Yet since Katsuki held your seal skin, unknowingly cradled your very being and returned it to you with only sincere intention, that voice had gradually been ebbing away.Â
Would there come a day that you no longer recalled your identity as a selkieâ? No. You quickly smother the thought. The immaterial, chimerical magic that made up your very being could never be forgotten. And deep down, you knew Katsuki would not let you. Indeed, you can only picture his surly retaliation if you ever woke up and could not recall your lineage.Â
With that you get to your feet. Ten minutes would soon pass and his probable wrath was enough motivation. You consider the pelt in your grasp and give a surreptitious glance around the room for somewhere to hide it. Taking it into a tavern full of drunken strangers and mariners seemed like a much worse idea.Â
After rolling it up tight you stuff it behind the pillows at the head of the bed, further pulling over the coverlets. The hallway is quiet when you step out. You lock the door, tensing at the loud click. You can hear muffled laughter rising through the floors.Â
It grows in volume when you step out into the evening air. Slurred conversation and bickering pour through the tavern windows. At front is a large, arched door, overshadowed by a dark blue awning. The wood panels are weatherworn and rustic, covered in rivets. You reach for the brass handle. Itâs heavy in your palm as you turn it, using your full strength to push forward.Â
First, you are met with a crescendo of boisterous cheers. Stepping inside, your eyes are drawn to the green dyed sailcloths hung from the rafters above the bar. The establishment is modestly sized, enough that there is a longtable set up in the centre of the room and a fair few smaller roundtables dotted with stools.Â
Across the far end of the tavern is a line of small booths, separated by wooden screens decorated with mosaic carvings. Oil lamps are hooked on the walls, casting a warm sepia hue that seems to cohesively bring everything together. It felt welcoming, and intimate, like approaching a friend by the fire.Â
You try to seek out a familiar head of blonde hair. The place is busy but nobody bats an eyelid at your entrance, lively enough that you cannot hear clearly above the overlapping voices around you, intermingling with the low playing of music.Â
âLost, stranger?â
You startle.Â
She finds you easily, like sheâd been waiting. Mina curls an arm around your back, pressure light as if she was suddenly worried about being too familiar. It tightens when you lean into her and she smiles with more vigour.Â
âCâmon. Letâs get you something to eatâ.Â
The distance between you and them is barely that of a crevice, but it is daunting, yawning like a trench. Over in the far left booth, both secluded and closest to the bar, is a group of friends. Directly beneath a lantern strung onto a hook, Katsuki is bathed in orange and nursing a drink. The others are tucked away in the booth, cups and plates lining the table top. Their laughter slows as you approach and you battle the urge to recoil from everyoneâs eye. Mina, sensing the discomfort, begins to rub her hand along your back.Â
âAll of you scoot up,â she asserted, wiggling her pointer finger. âMake some space for us!â
They move around on the long, curved seat to make space. You end up on Katsukiâs right, sandwiched in by Sero who smiles, though awkward, earlier remorse persisting as you take your place beside him. âWhatâs the verdict, are you happy with your room? Best I got from Bakugo is a gruntâ.Â
âYeah, I like it. You did good picking this place. Itâs cosy,â you glance over toward Katsuki. âBeats a cave. The fireplace is nice. I wonder if it worksâŚâ
Mina tucks into Kirishimaâs side where he sits across from you. Most of the plates are piled up in front of him, food aplenty to sate his dragon-sized appetite. His chin dimples as his bottom lip juts forward, âYou guys get a fireplace? Thatâs so unfairâ.Â
âCâmon, Kiri. The fireplace is there forâŚââKaminari leans in, suggestively lowering his voice and nudging Katsukiâs left armâââŚambianceâ.Â
You feel a gentle nudge. Katsuki, ignoring his friend's harmless influx of innuendos, slides a glass across the table toward you. âWhat is it?â you ask, bringing it to your lips. The liquid is dark, red like fresh blood, but it smells fruity. Before he can tell you, youâve taken a sip.Â
It is weighty on your tongue, unlike anything youâve tasted before. Cherries and jam and oddly well paired notes of spicy tobacco. The corner of his mouth curls into a barely there smile, pleased at the immediate delighted sound. He brings forward a large opened bottle and presents it to you.Â
âBarmaid gave us this to share,â Katsuki taps at the calligraphy on the label. âItâs wine. Expensive too, usuallyâ.Â
âGuess marriage does have benefits,â Sero gibed, raising a glass of amber liquid you assume to be beer. Expression open in sincere merriment, he declares, âTo the happy couple!âÂ
Six glasses come together, toasting to your accidental bond, alcohol spilling over your hands. Katsukiâs cup is there too, his monotonous voice blending into their hurrahs. A hand slides from the back of the booth to rest upon your shoulders and you lean into it, heat prickling over your skull at the feel of his bare skin. Blood thinning, belly full, inhibitions lost to bliss.Â
Mina brings her hands together in a succinct clap, weaving her fingers. âAnother round!â she beams, and the enthusiasm stirs once more.Â
The evening crawls on. Your modest group barely puts a dent into the chaotic din but it sure can eat. Youâre made to swallow your fill under Katsukiâs directionâwatching you closer than he did anyone elseâand savour the dishes, heady and complimented by your flavoursome wine.Â
Stories pass through loosened lips, new and old. You donât mention it when Kaminari repeats himself twice overâ nobody else does, either. You all sink into the balmy atmosphere, sharing food and conversation, relaxing entirely for what felt like the first time in months.Â
Sero chokes on his drink as Kirishima recounts the story of when he and Katsuki first became friends. How the tiny blonde barbarian would sneak up on him through the bushes, throw rocks at his tender head, and challenge him to battle all in pursuit of friendship.Â
Your shoulders shake, burrowing into Katsukiâs side to sap his warmth. Bare skin pebbles as your fingertips skim his ribs, poking near his armpit. âWould it kill you to communicate like a normal person?â
Trembling mouth pressed firmly together, Katsuki refuses to give anyone the satisfaction of making him laugh. You see through it plain as day. âShut up,â he grumbles. Â
âDidnât even flinch when ma threatened to eat him if I came home with any more teeth missing,â Kirishima continued, sighing happily. âMy bro is so manlyâ.Â
Steadily the energy begins to dwindle into a pleasant hum. Youâre together, drunk on wine and laughter and a sense of harmony. Being with them is startlingly effortless. It feels like family.Â
In the recesses of your mind you think, I donât want to let go.Â
âHey,â Katsuki says, sharper when nobody hears him. âHey, shitheadsâ. You lift your head from where it had come to rest on his shoulder, cheek slightly numb. âThink Iâm going to head upâ.
You hear a chorus of sluggish objections with no real heat behind them. While heâs fighting off their interrogation you simply watch him, awkwardly angled and ignoring the twinge in your neck. The bead in his braid glints in the low light.Â
Sensing your stare, Katsuki looks down at you, dappled by lamp light. The flames dance in his irises, gaze unbearably soft, as it had been that first night by the campfire. You hold your breath when he sets his thumb with his tongue and uses it to wipe a crumb from your cheek. The touch is like a spark to flint. A fleeting sort of hope stirs in your chest, like this is all youâd been waiting for, that the universe was finally making things right for you.Â
Then he snatches his hand back, as though waking up to what he was doing.Â
âIâm going to bed. You idiots better behave,â he groused, returning his focus to the group. You mourn his attention. âIf we get kicked out early Iâll kill youâ.Â
âYou love us too much,â Mina tucks her drunken smirk into the cradle of her palm, arm almost slipping with the weight. Cloudy eyes follow Katsuki as he forces his way out of the booth like a bull. âAdmit it!âÂ
Bending at the waist he meets her stare head on and deadpans, âDieâ. Mina merely laughs and plants a kiss on his forehead that he aggressively rubs away as he leaves.Â
You stay a little longer but find your mood dampening. Katsukiâs absence makes known an ache usually quelled by the weight of your pelt, almost as though his presence had placated that innate yearning for home. The thought leaves you dizzy.Â
âI think Iâm going to go, too,â you announce out of the blue.Â
Expressions fall, concerned. Kaminari tilts into your space. You barely even blink at the proximity now. âEverything alright? Yâdont feel sick or anything, do you?âÂ
âNo, not at allââ he frowns at you, unconvinced, ââI just feel like going for a soak before bed. Sero, you said there was a bathhouse?âÂ
Sero perks up at his name and nods loosely, head barely held by his neck. âYeah! Theyâre around the back, apparently. Just walk beyond the stairwell,â he shoots you a thumbs up. âTheyâre mixed but only guests can use âem, so donât worry about it being crowdedâ.Â
Thatâs comforting to know. If luck was on your side it would be empty. You duck out of the tavern with a final wave and a promise to see them in the morning. Thankfully the boisterous chatter grows dull as you step into the night air, stopping to look up the stairwell. You hope Katsuki can sleep through it.Â
Heeding Seroâs instructions you follow the beaten path around the back of the tavern. There you discover another building, smaller, but with a steeped tile roof and shuttered windows. Curious, you gently lift the green dyed curtain hung in the doorway and enter the earthen-floored threshold.Â
You are led to what you guess is a small changing area. Cabinets left open, again each handle corresponding the key colours. You find a lavender ribbon and peer around the empty space, contemplating getting undressed.Â
Gathering courage you pull the strings in your shirt slack, slipping your arms from the sleeves and pulling it over your head. Tepid air breathes over your skin as you push down your pants, stepping out of them where they pool at your feet. Your clothes are folded and left on the shelf, boots lined neatly by the doorway.Â
Further in is an open space covered in tiles of smooth green. There are low stools and basins with natural running water, washcloths and soaps. While unpracticed you are at least somewhat familiar with bathhouse etiquette. Sitting hesitantly, hissing as your bare thighs meet the cool wood, you dip one of the cloths to soak and begin to scrub at your body.Â
The knots in your muscles become undone with the repetitive motions, again and again until youâre lathered in bubbles. You breathe in, feeling the humidity cling to your lungs, and rinse away the soaps.Â
Eventually you dub yourself clean enough to enter the baths. The seafoam tiles soon taper to stone that borders the baths. You take in the tall ceiling with beautiful carvings along the walls and high placed glass windows allowing the moon to shine in easily. The patterns are comfortingly familiar. Shells, waves, gulls, rock formations and arches. Though the bathhouse is much warmer, hot tendrils of steam rising from the bubbling water.Â
Penumbral light glinted on the water's surface. It held a distinct earthy scent, rolling in from the nearby springs. Again, you are reminded of a tide pool, but deeper. Clear and clean and natural. What immediately seizes your attention is the familiar man sitting close by, a head of wet golden hair still somehow holding its shape, the loose strands that typically make up his braid now tucked behind his ear.Â
Katsuki tips back to rest on the bath's edge. A thin white towel is laid across his face. Your gaze follows the slope of his shoulders, roving over his defined chest, skin pink with the heat. Rivulets run between his pecs to his sternum, lower body distorted below the water but patently bare, same as you. You exhale a breath you hadnât known you were holding and quickly look away from his lap.Â
Time spent with Katsuki taught you that he hated being treated delicately. Tip toeing around this was not an option. You would join him in the baths and behave as normal. Butâ
Humans were fickle about nakedness. Where should you sit? What is an appropriate distance? Straying too far could make him defensive, yet getting too close mightâ
âAre you going to stand there all night?âÂ
Startled, the soles of your feet almost slip on the smoothed stone. âYou knew it was me?âÂ
Katsuki scoffs. The towel remains over his eyes, obstructing his view, that which you were grateful for. Your previous indifference had so abruptly burgeoned into apprehension. Just the thought that he might see you this glaringly bare and skinless, a body without boundaries, made your stomach swoop. It is a peculiar sensation; you wanted him to look and you didnât.Â
âNobody else thinks that loud. Unless youâre Deku,â you can imagine his eyes rolling, the exasperation clear in his voice, though not unkind. The corded muscles in his shoulders shift beautifully as his arm stretches across the bathâs edge, wrist limp to allow his fingertips to breach the surface. He flicks the water in your direction, creating capillary waves. âJustâ fuckinâ get in alreadyâ. Â
âRight,â you laugh quietly under your breath, descending the steps into the baths. The heated water is soothing, climbing the length of your lengths, eventually coming to rest above your hips.Â
You sink near to him and pointedly keep your eyes above his collar. Katsuki neither twitches nor acknowledges your approach. In fact, you arenât sure he is even breathing. It occurs to you that he too could be nervous, tempted to look but refraining. The possibility of being wanted by him brings a sudden sharp sort of awareness that slides through you and heightens your senses.Â
Outstretched fingertips brush featherlight between your shoulder blades where you lean back against the wall. You sit with your knees close to your breast, relieved to be covered. âI thought you were heading to bed,â you comment quietly.Â
âSaw the path and followed it,â he replies, stiff shoulder jerking as he shrugs. âWanted some quietâ.Â
A deep pink flush is spreading across his collarbones, clawing up the column of his throat. Your rational mind knows it is caused by the steam, yet the greedy part of you, the part so distinctly human, wants to know if you affect him as much as he affects you.Â
These feelings had gradually been accumulating since the very beginning. Youâve no idea where to put them. The voice in your hindbrain all but panics at the idea of leaving. Youâve spent a lifetime listening to your instincts and theyâre telling you to keep your place at his side.Â
You inhale until the pressure in your chest is smothered by your lungs and your heart beat slows. Exhale. The water shifts in sync with your subtle movement. Emboldened by the wine in your veins you slide closer. The soft hair on your legs prickles, everything in you gravitating toward him. Katsuki doesnât acknowledge it.Â
âAlways staring,â a flustered growl snaps you back to reality. âYou got something to say to me?âÂ
âNo,â you answer too quickly.Â
âGood,â his upper body sinking lower. After a length of silence it must get to him. Voice pitched low, as though afraid to disturb the atmosphere, he mutters, âEver had a bath this big, back at that shitty castle?âÂ
You snort. He turns at the sound and the surface ripples as you quickly smother it with your wet palm. Itâs easy to picture the searing glare beneath the face towel. âSorry. Itâs just,â your mouth pulls into a tipsy grin. âAll things considered, this place is pretty small to meâ.Â
âDumbass. You know what I meant,â he huffs, not bothering to hide his fond exasperation. âThe sea doesnât countâ.Â
Humans are cute, you concluded. Trying to emulate the ocean in their warm wooden structures. âIt counts,â you insist, moving closer still. Youâre giddy in the water, with him. Like youâre sharing some special part of yourself in a strange way. âHave you been?â
A rough hum, âWhere?âÂ
âThe seaâ.Â
âWhich one?âÂ
The steam must be making you light headed. Youâre tucked to his side again. Thigh to thigh. Skin against skin. You are acutely aware of your shared nakedness. His arm has slipped over the bath's edge to drape around your shoulders. âThe closest, obviously. Or any of them,â you knock your knees together. âItâs not like you to be purposefully obtuseâ.Â
âBig attitude for a little fish,â he mutters, free hand reaching for the towel, sliding it up to his hairline and revealing a crooked grin. Your heart squeezes. âCourse Iâve been in the ocean. Flown over it on Red a few times tooâ.Â
You want to do that, too. To bear witness to the wind driving the currents from above, feel the sea salt spray sharp on your cheeks, touch the unreachable seam where your two worlds become indistinguishable.
âNever bathed in it, though?âÂ
âNo,â he drawled, an impatient edge to his tone. âI donât plan on giving the finfolk an eyeful of my dick anytime soonâ.Â
You laugh, âLike you are now, you mean?â
Katsuki tears off the face towel before youâve any time to process it. The water thrashes. You darenât look away. His stare has a certain ferality, pupils dilated, fair lashes damp from the steam and clumped into little spikes; it pins you in place like prey.Â
The blush across his chest is matched in his cheeks. A droplet slides down the delicate slope of his nose. You feel the surface of the water calm and settle just above your breast. You watch his gaze flicker reflexively to them, then to the ceiling, then clamping shut with a growl. Apprehension pulses through you and your thighs clench.Â
âYouââ he inhales sharply, gathering his thoughts. You track the movement of his tongue as it swipes across his lips. Thickly, Katsuki asks, âWhat are you trying to do here, exactly?âÂ
A sense of dejection comes over you and your immediate response is to feign innocence. âSoak with you,â which is no more than a half truth. You attempt to create some distance and his arm coils around your waist. Any effort to twist away from him proves futile; a snake that constricts the more you struggle. He doesnât allow you to slip away, hand hot at your hip.Â
âYeah?â but thereâs no real bite, no vitriol as he drags you closer. âSoaking, sâthat what you call this? Rubbing up against me, practically climbing into my lap?â
You might feel demeaned if not for the lust hemming his words. His grip is bruising, fingers kneading soft flesh. You can see this for what it isâ a choice, a question. Heâs confused, and wanting. Presenting an opportunity for you to change your mind in the face of his callousness. Katsuki is kind, in his own way.Â
Your palms come to rest over his sternum, pushing with no real effort, an accomplice in whatever cat and mouse game he was trying to play. His breathing picks up, abdomen clenching. You stare where bodies meet, low light reflecting off the wet sheen. Beneath your touch his heartbeat ricochets around his ribs.Â
Katsuki calls you. Your name is barely above a whisper. Peering up through your lashes as his hand comes to cup your nape, the other massages simple shapes into your hip, his fingers splayed across your navel. You exhale shakily as his pinky fits into the crease of your thigh.Â
He cradles your nape, guides you into his magnetism, and then youâre tiltingâ your world with itâ into a careful kiss. Static blankets your thoughts. Katsukiâs lips slot over your own, a gentle press that quickly grows feverish as your tongue traces the seam of his mouth.Â
Exhaling harshly through his nose he drags you over his lap, the bath water splashing onto the stone tiles, holding you to his front in a way that makes it difficult to discern where you end and he begins. You have all of him now. Half hard under you and tense like he was exerting effort not to do anything about it. Hands wandering, mapping out the topography of your body, clutching greedily at your thighs. Smoke fills your throat, a tang of explosive magic lingering in the grooves of your teeth.Â
Minutes passed imperceptibly. You leave it feeling as though all the sinew in your body had unravelled, undone in his embrace like loose skeins of yarn. Katsuki doesnât appear any more composed than you are; staring at you, slack with hunger, jaw relaxed the way a beast would do to taste the air. Palms cupping his cheeks, thumbs moving in idle back and forth motions under his eyes, you smileâ
âKatsuki,â you murmur reverently. For reasons you canât understand, it wakes him up. Snaps him out of his stupor. Panic flits over his features and youâre being pushed away, deposited back into the water. It rocks with the abrupt movement, waves breaking against your chest as he brusquely wades toward the steps with the small towel barely covering his modesty.Â
Echoing louder now, âKatsuki?âÂ
And he was gone.Â
You stare at the entrance to the baths for a long time, willing him to return. You stare until your eyes sting and youâre forced to blink. All thatâs left is the soft sound of the running springs, your shallow breath, and the muffled chanting of a few drunken men.Â
An emptiness makes home in your chest. Bereft, you follow in his steps, exiting the baths and heading to the changing room. You pat yourself down, rough towel absorbing the moisture, and pull on your clothes.Â
A hopeful spark catches when a figure ducks in under the curtain. Snuffed out, then, when Mina greets you cheerily. She seems to have sobered up for the most part, more coherent than youâd last seen her.Â
âYou took a dip too?â she bounces on the balls of her feet as she undoes her shirt buttons, oblivious to your somber disposition. âI saw Bakugo come from this way too. Looked a little constipated if you ask me. I thought hot baths were supposed to relax you, notââ
Finally, she looks at you. Her voice stops as her brows pinch into a frown. You offer a brittle smile and endure the scrutiny. âDid something happen?â she asks worriedly.Â
Your throat closes up. Your teeth sink into your cheek and lower your gaze to the tiled floor, cracks overlapping as your vision blurs. Mina reaches for you. She halts in your periphery, thoughts and actions misaligned. A flash of hesitance, and then determination. She strides across the threshold to pull you into an embrace. Her arms slip around your shoulders, crossing over one another at your nape, tightening.Â
The tension begins to soften. Your body slumps, sinking into her kindhearted warmth as the rigidity weakens with your resolve. Bowing into the crook of her neck, you inhale her gentle scent. A soliflore smell, a flower you donât know the name of, earthy undertones and hints of sakĂŠ.Â
Your eyes are wet. Tears cling to your lashes as you blink. The moths dancing in the lamp light blurs, small specks of white stretching and flickering like pallid butterflies. Breathing shuttered, thereâs a thickness in your throat that squeezes your voice into a frail whisper.Â
âThank youâ.Â
She hums, rubbing a comforting hand along the top of your spine. Her natural heat seeps through the thin fabric of your shirt. Though her arms are muscled they are also supple, like her chest, like her waist. You havenât been held like this since you last saw your podmates.Â
After a few beats she asks, âDo you want to talk about it?âÂ
You shake your head, grasping your bearings, âNoâ. Itâs best left between you and Katsuki.Â
âIf youâre sure,â Mina gives a final crushing hug before releasing you. âIâm bunking with Sero tonight. Knock if you need anythingâ.Â
âI will,â you say on the end of a shuddering exhale. âIâll see you in the morningâ.Â
She hums, watching apprehensively as you make your way through the changing rooms. The retention of her heat clings to your clothing when you step into the cold night air. Your boots rub at the sore skin around your ankles, fitting loose, having foregone tying the laces. They encumber your steps, obtrusively loud and ungainly on your journey up the stairwell.Â
A closed door should not be so daunting. Your hand hovers over the handle, steadily turning it, flinching as the locks click open. Low light floods in from the hallway and your eyes adjust to the darkness between blinks, the shape of a figure under the covers sharpening into view. Katsuki is laid on his back, hand disappearing under the pillow beneath his head where your bunched up pelt resides.Â
Hesitant, you shut the door and kick off your dirty shoes. You tiptoe around the frame and climb into bed. You try to alleviate your weight, balanced between your hands and knees so the mattress wonât dip, yet it is futile. âIâm sorry, Katsuki,â you whisper, feeling fragile as you lower into the linens. Heâs awake, you can tell despite his efforts to appear otherwise, because you feel him stroking your sealskin between his thumb and forefinger.Â
ââŚShouldnât have done that,â his cadence is unsettlingly calm; gently sheathing the sharp words. âWeâve been getting too comfortable, letting shit influence us. It was just the magic talkingâ.Â
What?Â
âItâs notââ
âGo to sleep,â the volume raises in momentary frustration, but as quick as it came, anger dissipating. Dropping his head into the pillows he looks as defeated as you feel. He closes his eyes. âI wonât fuckinâ do anything to you so just. Sleepâ.Â
You try, fitfully. The atmosphere is unbearable, keeping you glued to the far side of the bed lest you accidentally touch one another. Pressing your fingertips to your lips, you remember. You ache. You stare into the shadows and wonder at what point did the intentions become so crossed.Â
Katsuki valued the right to choose above all else. You liked that about him. He respected and surrounded himself with people who steered their own destiny, marching to the beat of his own drum; a rhythm you had fortuitously interrupted. In his mind heâd given into a temptation, and that act of indulgence was somehow the same as losing in battle.Â
Katsuki viewed your relationship as an infliction he needed to fight against.Â
That knowledge hurts you in ways you hadnât expected. The words âweâre getting too comfortableâ reverberated around your skull. Perhaps he was right. Somewhere along the lines you forgot that these truly were temporary circumstances, childishly wishing that maybe heâd come to love you, that you could simply accept this reality and grow into each other like a child into new shoes.Â
You blink. Linens rise and fall with his shallow breath. Katsukiâs mouth is open, the corner of his mouth wet with drool. His lips smack together as he bundles you closer. Unconscious, yet still seeking you out. Heâs devastating even when heâs not trying to be.Â
Sleep feels impossible.Â
Then you wake.Â
Morning spills her dewy light throughout the room. Katsukiâs side of the bed is emptyâ made up and tucked at the corners. Cold. You are suddenly a distance apart and scrambling to make it all better again.
You push up into a sitting position. The bedsheets shift and pool around your hips, creasing the perfect slate Katsuki left. You rummage for the pelt hidden behind the pillows, dragging it out and around your shoulders, ducking your nose into the dark fur for comfort before tying it to your midriff.Â
Judging by the sunâs position you would guess it is still quite early. Sluggish movement can be heard through the thin walls, indicating that others are awake. Knowing Katsuki he would want to set off early to find Uraraka, especially after last night.
Another figure joins you in the hallway. Kaminari remains unaware of your presence as he fiddles clumsily with the key, squawking when it almost slips between his fingers. Heâs dishevelled, shirt half tucked into his belt, cuffs undone and hung off his wrists; thereâs still an impression of his pillow printed on his left cheek.Â
Having finally turned the lock, Kaminari spins on his heel with a happy hum. The tune escalates into a shriek as he notices you standing a few feet away. âHolyâ! Warn a guy, would ya?â he clutches at his chest, exhaling harshly. âI think my heart just stoppedâ.Â
âSorry Kaminari,â amused by his shrill intonation and melodramatics, you smile for the first time that morning. It exaggerates the bags under your eyes. âDid you sleep well?â
âLike a baby,â he falls into step with you, knocking your elbows together on your way out into the stairwell. âI donât think you can say the same, though,â his mouth twists into a smirk, âdid Kacchan keep you up all night?âÂ
Normally the teasing wouldnât bother you. In many ways you saw it as a sign of acceptance into the group. Now you wince like somebody had carelessly pressed a bruise on your body. Kaminari, for all his obliviousness, knows when to drop the masquerade.Â
Your smile tightens uncomfortably as his fingers circle your wrist. In daylight you are left feeling exposed, unable to temper the regret written so plainly across your face. His mouth opens and shuts, searching fruitlessly for the right words, only to be interrupted by a callous shout from below.Â
Katsukiâs voice is incredibly distinct. Heâs yelling, which is nothing new, but now it is with genuine frustration. Kirishima, Mina and Sero are there alongside him, speaking in low tones as you would to an untamed animal.Â
Kaminari tugs at your sleeve and gives you a meaningful glance, gently coaxing you to the bottom of the stairs. He mustâve at least connected Katsukiâs poor mood with your own. âKacchan, my man. It is too early for all this shouting,â he implored, settling back into his jovial self.Â
You collect yourself, trying to retain shape and rationality as Kaminari draws Katsukiâs ire. Those vermillion eyes rove over you, head to toe, before flickering to the man on your right. Fast, like heâs afraid to look too long. Nostrils flare. The warm puff of air from his nose is visible in the cool air.Â
âItâs late enough. What took you so long?â Katsuki snarled, poking a finger harshly between Kaminariâs eyebrows. âThe keep told me cheeks is planning on leaving today, so all of you get movingâ.Â
Kaminari pouts, rubbing at the spot. The pale skin turns slightly pink. Unheeding of the wary scrutiny he is receiving, Katsuki charges onwards in expectation that everyone will follow. Kirishima raises a brow at his shape verbiage but doesnât comment. He takes you under his arm in a half hug, sharing a look of understanding with Mina and the others.Â
Sero recounts their findings. According to the townspeople, Uraraka, the occultist, landed her abode miles outside of their bounds and set up wards in the valley to confuse strangers. It steered them in opposing directions and sent them in circles, practically making her impossible to find. Youâre worried clear up until your group crests the precipice of a steep hill several hours later.
You take in the gentle undulations of earth and fauna. Grass tall enough to brush your shoulders, wildflowers and weeds hugging the barely worn path, sparingly tended nature left to flourish. The magic becomes apparent with proximity. It hangs in the air like humidity, an unnatural sheen muddying your vision. Katsuki continued with brass-bound determination; weaving skilfully through the runes, barrier fracturing under the pressure of his explosive palms.Â
Thereâs a quaint cottage in the middle of the glen, done up with a sweet ivy on the walls, latticed strips of wood around the windows, and a cobbled chimney towering from the pink tiled roof. Each windowsill appeared to have a different unidentifiable herb growing on it. A small, circular stained glass window in the door refracted the afternoon light, a knocker below it. Hanging by the door frame is a wind chime, shells tied to strings producing delicate crisp sounds in the breeze; in the effort to knock, Katsuki shoulders it carelessly, and the tune turns sour.Â
His fist comes down with hard momentum, stopped midway by another. âBe careful,â Kirishima gently chides. Katsuki shoves his hand off, sparing him an incredulous glare, which the shifter subjugates with a pointed reminder: âShe won't help you if you bust her door down, bro. Play niceâ.Â
Katsuki grunted his understanding, jaw clenched. He raps his knuckles on the wood. The sound is dull, and you stare down at your scuffed boots as an unpleasant pang of anxiety knocks around your chest. A voice shouts from inside, somebody scurrying around, then the door is pulled open.Â
âCan IâBakugo?!â
âUraraka,â Katsuki greets bluntly, giving a short nod. It is the first time youâve ever heard him say her name. His hands flex at his sides, restless. Through gritted teeth he adds, âDeku sent me. I need your help with somethingâ.Â
âOh,â Uraraka exhales in disbelief. She steps back, pink slippered feet in your periphery. âCome in, then. I havenât seen you guys in foreverâŚâ
Their voices fade into the background. All at once subconscious acts like breathing and blinking become tiresome. Hearing him let go of his pride felt so final. You fall away, stuck in a cold fog. Your gait is uneven as you remind yourself to put one foot in front of the other, incognisant to the worried looks thrown your way.Â
You remember being seated on a plush feather-pillowed sofa. Hands running over your shoulders, grounding you. You reach for your pelt, sinking fingers into the downy fur, and find no comfort in it. Now youâre here it feels more like a husk, leaden and hollow, ready for you to be stuffed into.Â
âYou married a selkie by accident?â Uraraka blanched, her volume rousing you from your haze. âYou know, Bakugo, for someone so smart your ignorance is truly astoundingâ.Â
âCan you fucking reverse it or not?âÂ
âReverse it. Are you kidding? Youâre not. Gods, Bakugoâbreaking a soul bond isnât common,â Uraraka snaps, rubbing roughly at her eyelids as she loses patience. You feel a pang of guilt, that which worsens as it unearths the hope that perhaps she wouldnât be able to separate you from him. âMost of the methods are based on myth. You realise it will be incredibly painful, and possibly for nothing?â
You take in the surroundings while they continue to bicker. The cottage is modest. A small foyer leads to the living space, rugs of various shapes and colours laid to insulate a path through the house, runes and scrawls carved into the hardwood walls. Logs presumably for fuelling the hearth monopolise much of the space, spilling out from the nook in which theyâre stacked. There is nothing particularly otherworldly, at least not where you can see it. Uraraka obviously lives within her means, a humble and frugal person despite wielding magic of her calibre.Â
âI do have something I can try, â she sighs with a sidelong glance. The skin on her lip breaks between her teeth. Your prolonged silence has likely done nothing to reassure her. You try to feign interest, to smile and express gratitude, but she grimaces.Â
âWhat do we have to do?â
âEssentially I can sever the bond at the stem but not the root,â the group is quiet, tense as they listen. Minaâs grip is bruising, as though making sure you were still there. âThe dissolution of your marriage will only be complete when the selkie returns to the sea. Within a day or two theyâll⌠forget youâ. Â
You sense the atmosphere darken. Katsuki shifts his weight in your periphery. Neither one of you can look at the other. Whether heâs threatened by your feelings or ashamed of them you canât be sure, but what you know is that they are real, sown and tended in the weeks you spent together.Â
Kirishima exhales a shuddered breath. His big body crouches before you, warm hand resting on your knee. Kaminari and Sero linger on either side, watching over the scene, wearing grief plainly on their faces. A broken part of you wants to laugh. They are acting as if this is your wake.Â
âAre you sure about this?â he implores, discreet and unintentionally cruel. If you were to say no, what of you then? Nothing to do but follow them on their journey, dragging along like the hide of some shorn animal. Stuck waiting for Katsuki to resent you over an incredibly frustrating and misplaced presumption that he played a part in fabricating your thoughts and feelings. Â
Urarakaâs method may well cleave the ties created in your accidental matrimony. You trust in her capabilities because Katsuki clearly respects them. Youâll say yes. And after it all, when your soul has been excavated, when youâve gone home crying to your mother, rocked to sleep in her gentle undertow, you will still stubbornly want him.Â
The thought comes unbidden, a sudden clarity that overcomes you. At that point he would have no room to question your will. âIâm sure,â you say, still breathless with the realisation. âYou can go ahead with it, Urarakaâ.Â
Hesitating in her movement, Uraraka considers you for a moment longer before disappearing down the hall. When she returns she pulls seven tear shaped crystals from a velvet satchel. Dread churns in your stomach, sensing the energy emanating from them.Â
She begins to recite machinations beyond your comprehension. Opalescent rays of light burst from within her enclosed fist where it pressed against her mouth, dappling sentient shadows across her face, now taut with concentration. Her features ripple and distort, not unlike a reflection on the ocean's surface, then fades into obscurity as the spell settles into its conduit.Â
Uraraka hands the lustre of the stone to you, knuckles pale as she squeezes the magic out into your cupped palms. As a pup you would try to drink sunlight, specks chased across the seabed as the clouds shifted, caught like a cat to a mouse only to remain empty handed. Light was not made up of solid matterâ it was intangible. To be felt, seen, but not touched.Â
Yet it is swirling in your hands like that lovely warm wine from the night before, slipping through the thin cracks in your fingers. âDrink it,â she coaxes gently.Â
You look at Katsuki. His eyes flicker up to meet your own. Thereâs an awful urgency coursing through your body, frozen like a fawn, something inside willing you to stop. Begging him to speak up. He lowers his gaze, expression pinched and inwardly furious.Â
Heel to chin, you tip your head back as if drinking from a cup. Her magic is entirely flavourless, waning with your own imagination as if it were allowing you to choose the taste yourself. The consistency is like steam; inhaled rather than swallowed, and hot on the roof of your mouth.Â
Elemental magic was external in the way it bursts forth from the user, often causing flesh wounds or dramatic change in the terrain. You think of Katsuki, the calamity at his fingertips, juxtaposed by the tender manner in which he would always touch you, cauterising your fear. Urarakaâs magic is unforgiving and uniquely invasive. It is so much worse than being burned.Â
It spreads through your sinuses like searing wildfire, pressure balloons behind your eye sockets, undoing the seams that make up the very fabric of your being. Waves of nausea engulf you, throat tight and constricted. Breathing laboured and irregular, you fight against the urge to retch it all up.Â
Itâs too much. The incorporeal spell pierces through your mind, tearing at the bond, more overwhelming than anything youâve ever been dealt. Knife-like pain persists after her chanting stops. You wince and cradle your head, weeping as it passes. Left in its wake is a muted soreness throbbing across your brain.Â
âHi,â Uraraka is before you, ducking to examine for any injury. Careful, her fingers encircle your wrists and pry your hands away. âYouâre okay. Can you look at me?â
You squint, reluctant to blink and irritate the soreness around your eyes. âHowâs your vision?â she asked, sotto voce. Her touch is deliberate and gentle, slightly pulling down your bottom eyelids, petting over your jaw and down the nape of your neck, feeling for something. âDoes anything feel wrong, or out of place?â
Wrong? your mind echoes. Out of place? Cold is creeping into your muscles, gritty and dense like wet sand. Youâre unnerved by the veil of apathy that settles around you. âI donât think Iâm injured. The light is more intense. Hurts,â you admit, voice breaking.Â
Everything that remains the same yet is somehow more drab, lacking colour and difficult to look at. Your friends, clinging to each other. Your Katsuki, staring back at you. âBut I can still see everythingâ.Â
âGood,â she breathes, relief entirely palpable. If this is success then you wonder what the worst outcome mightâve been. âThatâs good. If you reach for the bond, is it there?âÂ
Youâre not sure what she means. Seeking connection you clutch your sealskin to your front, kneading at the familiar fur. Itâs minor but itâs backâ the voice belonging to the tide, beckoning you to shift again. âI donât think so,â you reply.Â
âThen thereâs only one thing left to do,â Uraraka smiles and covers your hands with her own. You sense the tips of her fingers ever so slightly across your collar where they brush the pelt bunched in your fists. âYouâre free now. You can go back homeâ.Â
Her soothing countenance might as well be dry grass to your precipitous anger. âRight,â you deadpan, voice entirely devoid of emotion. Best kept that way, lest you release all your bubbling frustrations onto a woman that only wanted to help you; in her eyesâand the restâyou were just another trapped, useless selkie.Â
That anger carries you to your feet. You want to cry but the tears donât come. When you exit the cottage with a curt bow and a âthank youâ you find yourself in the lead for once, marching ahead of the group. They remain a few feet behind, muttering amongst each other. Without the view of Katsukiâs back you feel lonely. Even so you keep your hurried pace, too afraid to turn around and be inundated with questions.Â
The journey back passes in a blur. Hours, surely, because youâre ready to pass out from the exertion. Loose dirt and geosmin clings to your clothes. Shadows stretch across the emptying streets as dark cloud cover canopies the town, sparse instances of light rainfall that stick to your skin. There's a chill in the air now, a bite to it that rattles your bones and quickens your breath. Itâs damp, imbued with the scent of sea salt.Â
You donât stop, not when the desperate calls of your name begin. Further up the dock is lit golden, lanterns lining cobbled roads and emitting a warm orange glow. You trudge through the quieting bustle, workers scurrying to shelter, while enduring a pervasive sense of wrongness.Â
You donât know what to do with this freedom, this precipice, so joyless and empty. Slowing to descend weather-worn steps onto the beach thereâs a presence at your heel. âShit. Would you slowâ!â Katsuki moves to stop you. His fingers flex, start to close around your wrist. Then they hesitate and fall away, clenching at his side until all the blood recedes from his knuckles. âYou donât need to immediately run off into the damn waterâ.Â
âItâs easier this way,â and quicker, you think.Â
âWhat?â
Listening to the sea sings an ancient litany, you let your anger wash away with the oncoming tide. The whiplash is intense. Your lips tremble, pulling into a tearful smile, laughter bubbling up through your chest, choked by the swell in your throat. âI think I understand why youâre always yelling now,â cumulus clouds pass overhead and bring with them a curtain of rain. âBeing human is very melodramaticâ.Â
Katsuki clearly hadnât expected that, of all things. His expression softens in his surprise. The short hairs by his temples are laid flat, braid swinging in the breeze, the fur around his cloak dark and saturated. âThatâs what this is? Babyâs first tantrum?â his tone is mean, and your hackles would rise if he were not visibly deflating. Katsuki reacts to vulnerability like a wounded dog. He laughs despite himself and scratches at his neck, âFuck. I thought youâd be happy, or something close to itâ.Â
Standing a few feet behind him, Kirishima, Sero, Mina and Kaminari are linked together, waiting to approach. They remain in your line of sight as you consider the barbarian in front of you. A cold shock billows through his cloak, a wave crashing onto the shore. He shivers, but remains stubbornly rooted to the steps.Â
âIâm not happy,â you lamented. âIâm going to miss you. You are an impossible man, Katsuki. Impossible to forget. I wish youâd believe thatâ.Â
Katsukiâs mouth opens and shuts. Silence falls once again, and he canât find the words to fill it. Your fingers work at the belt keeping your hide secure, tugging it loose and letting the sealskin unfurl, blanketing the length of your body.Â
Mina takes this as an indication that you are leaving. She rushes ahead, stumbling past a stunned Katsuki, gathering you into her arms. The pelt is trapped between your bodies as you curl into the embrace. You feel yourself warm up, the wet winds rolling off the sea obstructed by three larger figures trailing right behind her, encasing you in a group hug.Â
Constricted from all sides, the arms around your waist tighten. Minaâs nails dig in, and she shakes you gently in an attempt to scold you, âDonât go leaving us without a proper goodbyeâ.Â
Kirishima is at your back. He must be. The height, the rough skin, the hard spikes in his hair poking at your nape where he inhales deeply, memorising your scent. Sero flanks your left, resting his head on the shifter's shoulder as dark eyes watch you. Kaminari bears down his weight, slumping against your right, a sour metallic taste at the back of your throat as the grip on his magic loosens with emotion.Â
It feels wrong without Katsuki. You crane your neck and look for him. The sight of him dithering off to the side, alone and wearing a visage of muted guilt, makes your insides twist. Your hand bursts through a crevice in the huddle, coaxing him over.Â
He comes. Mina drags him into the middle without fanfare, and enclose around you in a last ditch effort to keep you together. âThis is the worst,â Kaminari snivelled. âItâs like my parents are divorcing all over againâ.Â
Katsuki weakens to it. Gives a quiet, choked laugh and it blows warm across your temple. Youâd know his hands anywhere. Hesitant, they rest on your hips. You close your eyes and centre yourself in the present, tilting your head to rest on his collar. The motion drags your lips up to his jugular and you kiss the words against the damp skin, thicker than intended, âIâmâreally, so happy I met you allâ.Â
The briny air greets you when they finally step away. Mina rubs harshly at her eyes as your feet sink into the sand. There are stragglers by the port but nobody along the beach, so they trail after you to the shore, equal parts unwilling to leave and curious about your selkie form. Â
Youâre pointedly aware of their presence as you shake out your fur. You hold it to your face for a moment, blocking out the wind, the light and the rain with how insulated it is, before setting it on the sand. Kaminari coughs, the group spinning on their heels when you begin to undress. Katsuki does not.Â
Kicking off your boots as you fiddle with your shirt strings, you consider the barbarian, impressing his appearance behind your eyes for a final time. âWhat will you do after this?âÂ
Broad shoulders rise and fall as he sighs. Looks up to the sky, frowning, a blush on his cheeks. âGo further inland to one of the bigger cities to find something to pay back Deku, I guess. Circle around, head back, and then homeâ.Â
Shirt discarded, you unbutton your pants, letting them fall down your thighs, and step out of them. âHow long will you be in the city?â
Shrugging, he grunts, âA week at mostâ.Â
Thatâs good. Long enough to wait out the final stages and prove his place in your memory. You nod, spine straightening with determination. âWhen you circle back I want you to stop here again. Just for a dayâ.Â
That half lidded gaze slides over to you, squinting. Pointedly kept above the shoulders. Searching. âWhy?âÂ
The tide crawls further ashore. A wave breaks around your ankles. Your toes wiggle in the sand, sinking as it is displaced, a small smile curling at your lips. You bend to grab the pelt and slide it around your shoulders like a coat. Itâs comforting, familiar. Energy thrums at the surface of your skin, ready to pull. But you wait.Â
âIn a week. Promise me?â you say without explanation.Â
Katsuki swallows. Eyes boring into yours. His jaw shifts. Then he nods, tersely. Reassured by this you hold the coat tighter, chin tucked as you steady your breathing. Consciously, you reach inward, drawing upon the pelt.
And you change. Falling to your knees, cold water biting at your thighs, you crumple in the sand, body shrinking as flesh and fur meld together. Itâs painful after so long, unsettling to be snapped back abruptly into your hindbrain, but the discomfort eases quickly, like stretching a muscle.Â
You lift your upper body, nose flat and wide and twitching, scenting the air. The sand sifts under bootstrapped feet. A human approaches, beautiful and familiar, lowering into a crouch as you freeze. Forearms resting on his knees, he holds out his fingers. Faintly smoky, a mix of spice and earth.Â
The way in which this man appraises your form is uncomfortably solemn. Vacuous expression betrayed by the gentle light in his eyes. He smiles ruefully and readies himself to speak. Alight with a bitterness that is vaguely accusatory in the oncoming darkness he says, âAlready forgot us, didnât you?â
It steals the breath right from your lungs. Recognition strikes through you. Bakugo Katsuki. The thought is alarmingly fleeting, almost evading your grasp. Nostrils flaring, you drag your body forward to wipe the look of self-deprecation from his face. You nudge your snout into his hand, not shying away from the fierce elemental energy radiating from his palms. You unhinge your jaw, canines gently indenting the heel, as if to scold him.Â
He laughs, disbelief bleeding into the sound. It beckons his pod, more humansâ one not so human. âDonât fuckinâ scare them,â Katsuki calls over his shoulder. Not once do his eyes stray from you.Â
A thick tang of draconic magic overwhelms your senses as the largest in the group mirrors Katsuki, making himself impossibly small, aware of his magnitude and the imbalance between your species. âWowâŚâ the shifter, Kirishima, breathes in awe, genuine rather than tainted with greed. âSo cuteâ.Â
More people come closer. Their faces filter through your memories in bits and pieces, stitching together into a patchwork timeline. âYeahâŚâ Mina echoes the sentiment. She gets on her knees, doesnât care when the waves drench her skirt. âYouâre beautiful like this too,â holding her hand an inch away from your skin, she asks, âCan we pet you?âÂ
Five fingers to your scruff, one hard pull and you could be torn from your rudimentary shell. Human hands are dangerous but not these ones. You give a short tonal whine and hope she interprets it as permission. They do, taking turns tracing the marbled fur and clawed flippers, murmuring awe filled words.Â
The tides are high, wrapping around and coaxing you into their arms. You look toward the horizon and the itch grows. A seamless vista of clouded sky. Warm mouths litter the top of your head with kisses, their blunt human teeth behind soft lips, juxtaposed by rough, barely decipherable mutterings of something that sounds mournful.Â
Mina sniffles as Kirishima helps her to her feet and they wade backwards toward the port. Katsuki cups your muzzle in his palms, searing where his thumbs swoop beneath your cheekbones, brushing over the whiskers by your nose. âStay safe out there, yeah? Donât get eaten by a shark or whatever,â he bends, bringing your foreheads together as if to impress his thoughts onto you. âI won't wait around for a weaklingâ.Â
You can only hope he saw the promise held in your eyes as you stare at his retreating back. The swelling waves pull you into the current, submerged until only your head is above the surface. In the distance your pod breaks into cheers. They line up on the beach, jumping high as their legs will allow, waving their long arms in the air.Â
A descending chorus of trills build in your own throat, mellifluous and loud enough to cut through the wind and the waves. Noise becomes muffled as youâre submerged into the dense water. Wrapped up in brine the ambience fills your head. It pushes out rational thought, drawing only instinct to the forefront.Â
Your vision adjusts quickly to the dark the further you swim. Stretch your flippers and sweep them down like a dragon's wing, flying through the depths until you tire. Coming to an ocean shelf, there you rest. Cradled by a moving, ever evolving element. Creatures big and small pass by. Fish with vermillion scales haloing wide faces dart in and out of your dreams, shimmering under weak streams of sunlight.Â
The shifting tide keeps you cognisant. You linger close to the surface to monitor the sun. Days pass and you are unbearably alone. It is harrowing; this unending, sombre ache. You think of Katsuki. Repeat his name until it sounds foreign. You recall his handsome face, the way his eyes always seemed brighter in the early dawn, how his nose would wrinkle if you stared too long, like heâd tasted something bitter. You miss him.Â
Come the weekâs end youâve become something else, something new. Irrevocably changed by loveâs hand. You recognise that you exist in two worlds: as a selkie, tethered to the seabed and embraced by buoyancy, and as a human, struggling against the currents, compelled back to landâ
To Katsuki.Â
You glide through the waves, riding them as they swell and break onto the shore. Undulating your body, the hitching motion pulls you forward, wriggling up into a cluster of rock pools, safe from any onlookers. You wait there, chin propped on the shoulder of a jagged stone to observe the beach.Â
He finds you there beneath an almost oppressive dusk. The approaching footfalls command attention, announcing his arrival. You slink into the shadows for a moment, detailing the subtleties in Katsukiâs expression on his march along the sand, pinching more and more as he casts he searches the beach. The breeze ripples through the notorious red cloak, fur collar tickling his cheeks. Shirtless, wearing his scars proudly. His pants sit low on his hips, adorning various belts and jewels. Warmth curls up in your chest at the sight of him. Giddy. You remember him.Â
You lift your head. His focus immediately latches onto the movement. A croon rumbles in your throat as he approaches. He climbs up onto the rock, towering over you, his body obstructing the evening sun. It halos around his golden hair. The braid by his ear falls forward as his head tilts, squinting to get a good look at you.Â
The laughter lines by his eyes deepen, brow creasing. Almost slipping as he climbs down, Katsuki frowns at the lack of traction on the surface. You laugh and it comes out like a rough snort. The shallow pools splash loudly under his boots upon landing. He curls his upper lip at you, âLaugh at me and Iâll kill youâ.Â
You do so again, more deliberate this time. He senses your sarcasm and flicks water at you. Your whiskers twitch, subtly tasting the air. He slumps hard on one of the flatter ridges and clicks his tongue. âThis better be you and not some random fuckinâ seal Iâm talking to,â he mutters, embarrassed.Â
Unwilling to prolong your reunion any longer, you shed your pelt. Joints slot into place, the sealskin receding, your human form unearthing as it loosens and pools around your naked lap. Katsuki watches the air bite at your skin, nipples pebbling as you shiver.Â
âKatsuki,â you rest your cheek on his thigh, knelt between his legs. You let him take it all in. Satisfied with his assessment of you his fiery eyes meet yours.Â
âAlmost didnât come. Figured you wouldnât be here,â he intoned gruffly, chin dimpling as he juts his bottom lip. âYou were supposed to forget about everythingâ.Â
You nod, mouth curling into a helpless smile. Your fingers flex and you feel the muscles jump underneath, âI knowâ.
Katsuki exhales a long breath, fists clenched tight in his lap with obvious restraint. âWhy didnât you?â his eyes track the movements of your hands. âIt worked, I know it did. Cheeks doesnât do shit halfway. I felt when⌠So what the hell are you doing back here?â
You pause when his words register, suddenly off kilter. There it is again, the displeased wrinkle on the bridge of his nose. You had never considered that he, too, wouldâve experienced the connection. Admittedly a naive oversight on your partâbut he never mentioned it. You figured it was just a selkie thing. Perhaps, all that time, he had been contending with his own feelings as well as yours. Wondering if he could trust himself, if they were true.Â
Vows dissolved, he still chose to come back for you. To bet on that slim chance. Just as you did.Â
The knowledge compels you to touch him more, to reassure, to lean further into the clutch of his thighs. The intrusion forces his legs wider and when you reach to cradle either side of his taut jaw he lowers to close the distance.Â
âI felt it, you know. Before you offered me my pelt I felt you touching it,â you begin, watching how his expression splits open as your eyes meet. âI knew it was safe with youâ.Â
âThatâs stupid,â he utters, though you can hear that he doesnât mean it. Embarrassment slowly stains his cheeks pink. You can feel him twitch, smothering the instinctive urge to snap at whatever made him feel so intensely.Â
âMaybe,â you pull back a hair's breadth to lightly knock your heads together. âMy point is, I was drawn to you before all that, in such a short window. I think⌠I didnât forget you because those feelings grew naturallyâ.Â
The more you speak he progressively gets pinker, flustered and mad about it. It births an odd, primal urge to sink your teeth into something. To bite his cheek white, watch the blood retreat under the skin. Instead, you slide your hand lower to rest on his neck and his own cuff your wrists.Â
âThat first day, you apologised to me because I never had a choice,â thereâs a soft grunt in acknowledgment. His pulse dances under your palm. âIâm making one now of my free will. And youâcan say no, if you want,â you stutter, then, suddenly realising the real possibility of him rejecting your request altogether. âBut I want to be here with youâ.Â
The last rays of sun stretch across the land, cosseted behind soft clouds as it sheaths. Katsuki considers you quietly. Thereâs a soft sort of intent in his eyes, wearing the revelry of dusk. You kneel in the rock pool, literally and figuratively bare, heart pounding in your throat as he readies himself to respond.Â
âBack at the bathhouseâŚâ he hesitates, promptly clears his throat and struggles to look at you.Â
âNothing was influencing me that night. Except maybe the wine,â you admit timidly, abashed at his sudden demurity. âIâm sorryâ.Â
That garners a reaction from him. In true Katsuki fashion his tongue clicks behind gritted teeth and applies pressure to your wrists, pulling you up. âCome here,â he tells you. You uncurl your legs and begin to stand moving with all the grace of a newborn fawn. âOi, donâtâ!â jerking his head to the side, he averts his gaze from your naked lower half, glaring at the shoreline. The sea-scented air prickles your skin, heat gathering where he has you held. âExpose yourself to everyone in the fuckinâ country, wonât you? Come here,â and then heâs hooking behind your knees, making them bend, gathering you into his lap in bridal fashion.Â
âWhatâs the problem?â you mutter. Heat creeps up your neck, feeling defensive and distinctly embarrassed by his behaviour. âI donât see how my nakedness is any different here than it is in the public bathhouseâ.Â
He holds you closer, voice vibrating through his chest as he roughly insists, âItâs differentâ.Â
Your pout softens into a small pleased smile, letting him manhandle you until heâs satisfied with his grip. He bends, incidentally baring his throat stretching for the pelt discarded by the rocks. Tucking your nose to the underside of his jaw you revel in how his arm tightens around your lower back.Â
Katsuki draws the pelt into your lap, covering your modesty. You laugh at how sweet and boyish it seems. âLaughinâ at me again, huh?â two fingers pinch at your cheek, pulling until you whine. âGot a death wish?â
Kneading at the sealskin coat your affections roar into existence once more with an intensity. âYou wouldnât hurt me,â you grin, and he abandons the pinch to stretch his big hand across your face. Thumb on your left cheek, fingers on your right, he squeezes together until your mouth is misshapen and pursed.Â
âSure about that?â he warns, tone steeped in fondness. It is exhilarating to have him touch you again, more freely than he ever had before; it is as close to âI believe youâ as you think youâll get.Â
You smile with your eyes, locked with his. Close enough to count every fine eyelash. Your words come garbled as you say, âYou still havenât given me an answerâ.Â
Katsuki exhales shallowly through his nose. His throat contracts as he swallows. The pressure releases. His hand cups your face, flexing with uncertainty. You shudder when he dips to press your lips together. Youâre kissed without hurry, besotted by his firm but cautious movements. He relaxes as you lean into the rhythm, humming proudly. The soft, wet sounds of your mouths meeting again and again echo over the crawling waves.Â
Katsuki pulls away first, eyes still closed but smiling to himself. He licks his lips and rasps, âI guess you can come along with us,â as though that was all the answer he needed to give.Â
Alight with excitement you squirm in his lap, earning a quick slap to your hip. Katsuki ignored your grumbling and set to covering your body entirely. âHold onto the corners,â he says, draping the hide over your shoulders, comforting warmth enveloping you as you obediently take the corners. âPut your arms around my neck. Do not drop itâ.Â
You do, curtaining both of your bodies with the pelt in the process, fingers interlocking at Katsukiâs nape. Your faces remain a whisper away. It feeds a skin hunger that plagued you for days. Satisfied, he then unties his cloak to slide it over-top, layering the two to keep you covered.Â
Your stomach swoops as Katsuki pushes to his feet, carrying you in his arms with no sign of exertion and much better balance than before. His bicep bulges, fingers flexing under your thighs. âWhere are we going?âÂ
Sand and broken shells crunch under his boots, gait leaden like wading through mud. Mariners whistle suggestively in your direction as he climbs the steps to the dock, making his teeth grind. âTaking you back to our room,â he grunts. Â
You flush with heat at the implication. âYou still have the keyâŚ?âÂ
Without disrupting his pace, Katsukiâs nose nudges along your temple to press a kiss there. âSaid my shitty wife left something behind,â you feel his mouth pull into a smirk, âso they gave me it to go take a lookâ.Â
A pleasant sensation erupts in your stomach. Fluttering like butterflies. âAnd the others?â
Darkness covers you when he ducks into a narrow alley. Katsuki meanders along the winding path with unfettered confidence. âI sent them on ahead. Said Iâd catch up on foot,â he explains, eyes darting over the surroundings, striding back out into a familiar road leading to the tavern. âWanted to be aloneâ.Â
Youâre carried up the stairwell despite the stern assertion that you would be just fine on your feet. In that same vein, Katsuki is clearly just fine taking all of your weightâ proud of it, you think. Unwilling to put you down. Â
He shoulders into the room and kicks the door shut. It is as you remember. Dim and homely, accented by a lamp that casts a soft yellow glow over the bed. Heavy footsteps take you forward, and you are swiftly deposited on the mattress. You bounce a fraction, losing purchase on the pelt and cloak. Both layers peel away, rumpled under your back, leaving you splayed out and bare.Â
Katsuki stands next to the bed, watching the rise and fall of your chest. His features are tender in the light, smoothing his hard edges. It flickers in his irises. Gaze hungry, restless.Â
Your body canât help but react to Katsukiâs silent observation. The ardent stroke of his eyes across every part of you like it were his hands themselves. Heat races through you and coils between your legs. Feeling exposed, you try to close your thighs.Â
Thereâs a hand on your knee, stopping the movement, firm but gentle as he pries them back open. Katsuki moves closer and kicks off his boots. The mattress dips under his weight. One knee on the bed, your legs part further to make space for the intrusion, wrapping around his waist without second thought.Â
âThis okay?â he murmurs, barely above a whisper. You exhale shakily, hands roving along the thick of his arms to clutch at his shoulders. The buckles on his pants bite into the back of your thighs. You can feel his arousal swelling through the fabric.Â
Rocking your hips, your feet cross at his lower back. âYeah. I wantâŚâ his eyes flutter, almost rolling up into his skull, pupils dilated. You chase the phantom feeling of his lips with your tongue and he tracks the movement. âKiss me againâ.Â
âThank fuck,â Katsuki groaned, the sound dwindling into a low chuckle. His forearms settle either side of your head, pressing all his weight down, pinning you to the bed. Taking up your vision until only he is in your orbit. The braid by his ear hangs loosely, the bead cold where it brushes your jaw. You tremble, fingers threading into his hair to scratch gently at his scalp.Â
Your mouths slot together and he kisses you full, nibbling your lips until they part. Pushing deeper, tongues sliding over teeth, stealing the breath from your lungs. He handles you with indecision. Careful kisses followed by rough ones; grabbing at the soft parts of your body a little too hard, smoothing the flesh with his thumb in apology.Â
Itâs overwhelming how much he wants you. And you try to return the fervour, arms sliding around his back to keep him close, undulating your hips to feel the tremors wrack through him.Â
The talons strung around his neck graze over your chest as he descends. Kisses left on the corner of your mouth, cheek, jugular. He takes your pulse between his jaws and you whine, clenching at his waist. Katsuki moves away, laving his tongue along your throat.Â
âWanna touch you,â he says. Goosebumps break out across your skin as he blows cool air over the wet stripe left behind. âSâall I could think about. Youâre fucking distractingâ.Â
âYes. Please,â your eyelids flutter, leaning back to hear your throat. âPleaseâ.Â
âNeedy,â he mumbles, a satisfied lilt to his tone. His hand slides down to your ass, grabbing one cheek and filling his palm with it as he spreads you open. âBeinâ too quiet. I like it when you say my name,â he rasps. âGonna let me hear it?âÂ
Fingertips brush against your sex. Heat flushes under your skin, anticipation and understanding unfurled within you. âKatsuki,â you sigh into his mouth.Â
Katsuki flashes a predatory grin. Pleased, and pink all the way to his ears. Breath puffing over your lips he says, âAgainâ.Â
âKatsukâah,â his thumb circles over your swollen clit, sparks zipping up your spine. Your breath hitches. You chase the touch, his four fingers splayed low on your navel; the other cups the back of your knee to keep you spread as he descends from throat to chest, forging a path of wet kisses, stopping intermittently to softly suck at the flesh and coax blood to the surface.Â
Youâre wet. Wet enough, warm enough, that the still air feels cold on your skin. His lips wrap around your nipple and you arch up into the sensation as he slowly sinks a finger inside of you. You take him to the knuckle, and he waits, gradually pulling out until youâre clenching around a fingertip.Â
Again and again he fucks you on his fingers, adding another, curling them up mid stroke to brush the most sensitive part of you, spreading them to work you open. You mewl, steeped in pleasure as it diffuses through your belly, pooling between your thighs.Â
Katsuki watches you, peering up through heavy eyes, mouth full of your breast. He flicks his tongue over the pert nipple, coming up and switching to the other, lavishing you in attention. You exhale, tremors wracking your body. Cradle the back of his head, grip tightening reflexively when he hits that sweet spot, and the groan rumbling in his throat prickles under your skin.Â
Satisfied, he continues lower. Throws your legs over his broad shoulders, laid flat along the bed. The mattress jerks when he ruts into the sheets, still confined in his pants. You hold his gaze as his cheeks hollow. Saliva pools into his mouth and he tucks his chin, spitting it on your clit, massaging it over with his thumb.Â
You shudder, hips canting. âShit, look at you,â he pants, voice so thick and supple you want to wrap yourself in it. âKeep your eyes on me, yeah?â he litters kisses across your inner thigh, pressing praise into the sensitive skin there. Your heels dig into the thick muscle at his back when he dips to kiss your clit, licking in and around his fingers. âI wanna see your face when you cumâ.
Youâre pulsing around him, frantically chasing the feeling. Itâsâ overwhelming, like you canât breathe through it, and every string in your body has been pulled taut, wavering on the precipice. You reach to grasp his forearm. The muscles flex under your palms, pave unrelenting, and tears begin to sting behind your eyes.Â
âFuck, Katsuki,â you gasp, breathlessness abated by the sudden rush of air to your lungs. âFeels so good, I canât⌠Katsuki I canâtââ
A broken sound reverberates throughout the room the moment he stops, pulling back and leaving you empty. You can barely believe that it came from you, squeezing your eyes shut in shame. But then heâs right there, crowding into your space, caging your body with his own. âOi,â he softly takes your jaw, âWhat did I say? Look at meâ.Â
You squint up at him. You take in his swollen lips, lidded stare, the sheen of sweat on his brow, hair matted to his forehead, arousal and spit coating his chin. For the first time you think you might understand, just a fraction, the greed of those who kept you. Because now you desire to be the one to take. To keep. To stow away his shamelessness and be the only one to see it.Â
âYou hurt?âÂ
âNo,â you whisper, blinking away the haze. Katsuki tucks his knees up higher against your middle, tops of his thighs shelving your splayed legs. You feel yourself clenching around nothing, empty. âIâm sorryâ.Â
âDonât fuckinâ apologise,â he tucks his nose against your temple, indifferent to the sheen of sweat. You inhale his musky scent and slide your arms around his shoulders. âGot too in your head, huh?â
His cock twitches in his pants, still hard and pressed to your thigh. Gathering your bearings you subtly rock your hips into his lap. You shiver at the sharp hiss by your ear, the drag of his soft lips over the shell. He nips at it in warning.Â
âYou want to keep going?âÂ
You nod, playing with the thin hair at his nape. He rumbles and it feels like a purr, pushing up only to pull at the belt buckles around his waist. Impatient, you reach to help, pulling the leather out from the loops, fingers trembling.Â
Katsuki frees his hands and lets you work at the buttons. He wears a small, crooked smile on his face as he watches, chest rising and falling with every anticipatory breath. You pull them down his hips, a trail of light hair leading from his bellybutton to his cock. He shifts, hooking into the waistband and pushing them down his legs, kicking them off the bed.Â
In your impatience your fingers wrap around his length, playing with the soft skin. You circle the blushing tip, smearing pre with your thumb. He throbs, abdomen clenching with a guttural moan that shoots straight to your own.Â
âSo impatient,â he cups your jaw and forcing you to meet his eyes. âGet me nice and wet?â
âYeah,â you rasp, detailing how his pupils expand as you slide his cock through your folds. The corner of his mouth twitches. He grins as he dips to kiss you. It is more chaste than the last, a kiss for the sake of kissing.Â
Then the grip on your jaw tightens. Firm and unyielding. Katsukiâs big hand engulfs yours, squeezing his dick, teasing the tip at your entrance. âGonna make you cum on my cock. But youâve got to listen to me and relax. Okay?âÂ
You desperately want to dig your heels into his lower back, to drag him inside and fill up that awful emptiness, to take him to the hilt and keep him there. Instead you acquiesce, forcing yourself pliant; rewarded with a soft kiss, he presses his forehead to yours.Â
âTake a deep breath for me,â he tells you. You inhale, ribs expanding as your lungs bloat. Slowly, Katsuki pushes his tip past your entrance, and begins to sink his cock into you. His expression shutters, eyes rolling shut as his face scrunches up. Strained, he says, âBreathe out, baby. Slowâ.Â
You exhale, ending on a long moan as skin meets skin. He settles in the cradle of your hips. âGood,â his voice is gravelly, strained. His nails bite at your waist, âAnd inâ.Â
Repeating the motions your muscles clench around him as he pulls out, as though your body couldnât be without him. He huffs through his nose and you feel it hot on your cheek. It continues like that. He fucks you slow and deliberate, pinned to the bed like a butterfly, guiding your breathing. You cannot look away from him. Heâs devastating. Heâs yours. Wild spikes are tousled around a flushed face, mouth kiss-bitten and slack with awe. âKatsuki,â you whisper, each more frantic than the last.Â
The earlier intensity does not return, rather, it accumulates inside of you with every inhale, suffusing through you like a warm, pleasant fog. The pressure has you bursting at the seams, undone by the indelible drag of his cock, how his pelvis pressed so perfectly against your clit, little incantations of your name murmured into your hair.Â
âAh, fuck. Katsuki, Iâmââ your thighs seize either side of his waist, toes curling as the words catch in your throat. âMâgonnaâŚâ
âIâve got you,â he fucks you a little deeper, gritting his teeth. The muscles in his neck flex with exertion. âIn and out, baby. Iâve got youâ.Â
Those practised breaths quickly stagger into uneven whines as youâre tipped over the edge. Ley lines erupt behind your eyelids. You arch back into the sheetsâpelt and cloak rumpled beneathâas the pleasure quakes through you.Â
Katsuki fucks you into your orgasm and then beyond it. You cradle him to your chest when his rhythm stutters, releasing a long groan as he spills into you.Â
Together you collapse back on the mattress, rolling onto your sides. He slides his arm beneath your head and hooks your knee over his hip, keeping himself nestled inside you for a while longer. You lie there until the fog recedes, leaving a sated contentment in its wake.Â
In that instance you can no longer tell where the line of your own body ends and where Katsukiâs begins. You feel warm, comfortable against him. All the fears and hypotheticals that sought to fill the hole in your chest have faded. You realise in those intimate few minutes that home is what you choose it to be. A place, a concept, a person. Home is the ocean, said to cover more than half of the earth, fissuring inland and stretching further than the eye can see; it is a current that will always run in your veins. But humans, too, are made of the sea. Water, minerals and tissue. Home is in the blood that rushes to Katsukiâs cheeks when you kiss him.Â
This is where you belong.Â
Eventually Katsuki decides he needs to get up. Your objections go ignored, silenced when he returns dressed with a damp cloth to wipe you down. Once he's done he pulls up the bed covers and manhandles you under them, declaring that he needs to go downstairs and pay âthat womanâ for the room.Â
âWonât be long. Donât even think about getting up. Iâll need to buy you some clothes tomorrowâŚâ
Grin hidden under the blankets, you call out to him before he goes. He stops in the doorway, softened by the lamp light. Feigning innocence, you jokingly ask, âBefore you go, could you pass me my pelt?âÂ
Your heart races when he reflexively goes to do so, only for him to halt halfway. His eyes narrow, lips thinning into a smirk:
âReal fuckinâ funnyâ.Â
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