Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Sitting down on the couch, Rosie burrowed beneath a soft fleece blanket, tucking it under her chin as she cradled a half-full glass of wine in one hand. The TV flickered in front of her, something mindless playing—a sitcom rerun maybe—but she wasn’t really watching. The background noise helped her decompress, but it was the quiet that soothed her most. A moment to breathe. A moment alone. Those were rare with three kids constantly bouncing around the house—two wild, messy boys and her sweet, sharp-tongued daughter.

Rosie sighed, stretching her legs across the couch. She yawned, then reached for the remote to turn the TV off, already swapping to her phone for a quick doom-scroll through social media. She had just started mindlessly liking vacation posts and cat videos when she heard the familiar pitter-patter of small feet—quick and excited.

She didn’t even have to look up to know who it was.

Her daughter—her youngest—appeared in the doorway, clutching her own phone like it was a treasure. A wide grin spread across her face, the same mischievous glint in her eyes Rosie had once seen in her own reflection when she was that age.

“Mommy,” the girl sang, practically skipping over to the couch and flopping down beside her.

“If you’re about to ask me to take you shopping, ask your father,” Rosie muttered with a teasing smirk, taking a long sip of her wine.

“Nooo,” her daughter giggled, tucking a pink strand of hair behind her ear. “It has to do with Dad though.”

Rosie raised a brow. “Oh?”

“There’s this trend going viral right now,” she explained, voice full of excitement, “like a TikTok thing. It’s for divorced parents. You call your ex and tell them ‘goodnight.’ That’s it! Just to see how they react.”

Rosie blinked. “You want me to call your father… and tell him goodnight ?”

Her daughter nodded eagerly.

“We’ve been divorced for almost five years, sweetheart,” she said with a quiet frown, glancing at the wineglass like it might save her from this.

“ Please , Mama?” her daughter begged, clasping her hands together with puppy dog eyes far too effective for someone that small.

Rosie groaned softly, unable to resist. She never could resist her baby girl. With a reluctant smile creeping onto her lips, she reached for her phone. The butterfly charm on her case—gifted to her by her daughter for Mother’s Day—clinked gently against her wrist as she opened her contacts and scrolled down.

Katsuki.
Even seeing his name still did something strange to her chest.

She hesitated, finger hovering above the call button. Her daughter was already holding up her phone to record.

“Okay, okay,” Rosie whispered to herself, suddenly feeling giddy— shy , even. Like she was back in middle school about to call a crush. It was ridiculous. She was a grown woman. She had children. And yet… her heart fluttered.

She tapped the call button.

It rang once.

Twice.

Then—“It’s late. Did something happen?”

His voice came through the speaker, rough and low, irritated in that familiar way that somehow never truly faded no matter how many years had passed. But it wasn’t mean . Just tired. Deep. Commanding. And God , it still made her skin prickle with goosebumps. It was like his voice went straight through the speaker and brushed her ear the way it used to when he’d lean in close and murmur just for her.

Her daughter giggled quietly behind the phone camera, already delighted by the reaction she was capturing, but Rosie barely noticed. Her heart was thudding a little too loudly in her chest, her fingers tightening slightly around the stem of her wine glass.

She cleared her throat, trying to sound casual even as heat rose to her cheeks. “No. Just getting ready to go to bed and wanted to tell you goodnight.”

A pause.

A long one.

On the other end of the line, silence crackled like static. It stretched long enough for Rosie to start second-guessing herself, heat creeping up her neck, settling behind her ears. She looked away, hiding behind her glass, but it was no use.

“…The hell is this?” Katsuki’s voice finally rumbled through the speaker, dry and gravelly, suspicious and vaguely amused in that way only he could be.

She lifted a brow, smirking to herself. “Can’t I just call you to tell you goodnight?” she asked, voice smooth with faux innocence. “Or is Dynamight too busy saving the world to talk to little ol’ me?”

There was a beat of silence again—then a low chuckle. One of those rare, genuine laughs that curled through the phone like smoke. It wasn’t loud, but it hit her. Her stomach flipped at the sound of it.

“Doll,” he murmured, voice dropping into that familiar, gravel-rich tone that used to drive her absolutely insane. “You gave me three beautiful kids. There’s nothing more important than you.”

Rosie’s breath caught, lips parting slightly. He still called her that. Doll. Like no time had passed. Like she was still his.

She looked away again, swallowing thickly, trying to keep her voice steady. “Then just let me tell you goodnight.”

Another pause.

“…We’ve been divorced for five years,” Katsuki finally said, quieter now, less sharp. “And not once have you called me just to tell me goodnight.”

Rosie tilted her head, her voice softer but tinged with a smile. “Maybe I’m making up for lost time.”

“That so?” he drawled. “What’s next, you gonna ask me how my day was? Send me cute little emojis before bed?”

“I could,” she teased, “You’d like that. Bet you miss my heart emojis and those weird little stickers I used to send.”

“Tch. You used to send that damn sticker of the waving bear every night for three years.”

“And you never blocked me,” she grinned, eyes twinkling.

“Maybe I liked it.”

That made her blink. Her lips parted again, suddenly at a loss for words.

He kept going, voice low and teasing but laced with something more honest beneath it. “You always said goodnight to me like it meant something. Even when we were fighting.”

Rosie shifted under the blanket, feeling something tighten in her chest. She stared down at her wine, suddenly too warm, too aware.

“Maybe because it did.”

Another beat of silence passed, thick with things unsaid. Then—

“…Goodnight, Rosie.”

Her name in his voice again. Quiet. Steady. Familiar.

Rosie closed her eyes briefly and smiled. “Goodnight, Katsuki.”

Click.

As the call ended, her daughter squealed behind the camera, “ That was better than I imagined! Oh my god, Mom, the way he called you doll —!” Already playing the video back on her phone, giggling to herself.

Rosie sank into the couch, cheeks red, laughing as she covered her face with her hand. “I’m gonna need another glass of wine.” 

“Thank you mama,” she gave her a chaste kiss to her cheek before running out of the living room and taking off up the stairs. 

“God… he still sounds exactly the same,” she murmured, mostly to herself.

Like honey and thunder. And despite the years, despite everything… one goodnight from him still made her feel like she was sixteen again.

Chapter Text

A small five-year-old girl sat in the sandbox, her frilly pink tutu puffed out around her like a flower in bloom. Her ballet flats were already dusted with sand, and her pink hair was tied into two messy pigtails that bounced every time she moved. With a plastic shovel clutched tightly in her hand, Rosie Takahashi hummed a cheerful tune under her breath, her blue eyes sparkling as she searched eagerly through the sand for glittering, colorful marbles.

Akira, the girl sitting beside her, let out a triumphant squeal as she found a bright green one. Rosie giggled and clapped, delighted by her friend’s find, before digging faster, determined to spot a purple one next.

That’s when it happened.

A shadow loomed over the sandbox, and Rosie looked up just as a scowling boy stomped forward. He was bigger than them—lanky and rough-looking, with a scuffed-up backpack and a mean gleam in his eyes.

“ Hey! ” he barked, kicking sand toward Rosie’s side of the box. “ Get out of the way! This sandbox is for real heroes, not dumb girls in stupid skirts!”

Rosie gasped, scooting backward, her little hands instinctively wrapping around the tiny purple marble she’d just found. Akira shrank beside her.

“W-We were here first…” Rosie whispered, but her voice trembled, too soft to make a difference.

The boy sneered and raised his foot, stomping right into their play space. He kicked sand onto them, sneering and snarling.

“ Oi! ”

The voice that cut through the air was sharp. Firm. Confident. And it came from a little blond boy standing a few feet away with his fists clenched at his sides and fire in his eyes.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing, dumbass?” he growled, storming forward.

The bully froze.

The blond boy didn’t wait. He stepped between Rosie and the older kid, his stance wide, small chest puffed out with the kind of confidence only someone truly fearless could pull off.

“Pick on someone your own size!” he snapped.

The other boy hesitated, scowled, then muttered something under his breath before turning and walking away with a grumble. “Whatever. Freaks.”

When he was gone, the blond boy didn’t look back right away. He stood there a moment longer, arms crossed, watching to make sure the jerk didn’t come back.

Then he turned.

Rosie was still sitting in the sand, blinking back tears that had started to fall despite her best efforts. Her lower lip trembled, her pink tutu rumpled, the purple marble clutched tight in her tiny fist.

“Stop crying,” the boy said, frowning a little—but it wasn’t mean. “You don’t gotta cry. That guy was just a loser.”

Rosie sniffled and rubbed her eyes with the back of her hand. “Y-You saved me…”

He shifted awkwardly at that, a faint blush dusting his cheeks. “Tch. Yeah, well. You shouldn’t let people push you around like that. If they’re mean to you, tell ‘em off. Or punch ‘em.”

She blinked up at him, her wide blue eyes glistening with gratitude. “Thank you…”

“Whatever.” He scratched the back of his head, clearly uncomfortable but not moving away.

“What’s your name?” she asked, tilting her head.

He looked at her a moment, then stood a little taller. “Katsuki Bakugou.”

Rosie smiled, soft and sweet. “I’m Rosie Takahashi.”

For a second, Katsuki stared at her. Then he gave the tiniest nod. “…Cool tutu,” he muttered under his breath, almost too quiet to hear.

Rosie giggled. “You think so?”

He huffed, flustered, already turning away. “I didn’t say that!”

But his ears were red the whole time he walked off.

The classroom buzzed with the excited chatter of five-year-olds during afternoon playtime. Paints, crayons, and craft supplies were scattered across little round tables, the air thick with the smell of glue and washable markers. Rosie and Akira sat side by side, sleeves rolled up as they dipped their paintbrushes into jars of bright colors.

Rosie was unusually focused, her tongue sticking out slightly in concentration as she added the final details to her picture. It was full of bold colors—blue skies, a shining yellow sun, and in the center, a tiny pink-haired girl in a tutu standing next to a fierce blond boy with fire exploding from his hands and a big red boom written over his head in sparkly marker. She even gave him a cape.

Akira peeked over and gasped. “That’s Katsuki!”

Rosie grinned proudly, cheeks flushed with excitement. “He’s my hero!”

Once the paint had dried enough, she gently lifted the picture off the table and tiptoed across the room. Katsuki was by himself, stacking blocks into a crooked tower that looked one sneeze away from collapse.

She stopped in front of him, hugging the paper to her chest. “Katsuki,” she said shyly.

He looked up, blinking. “What?”

“I made something.” She held out the painting with both hands.

He grabbed it—roughly at first, like he expected it to be dumb. But as his red eyes scanned the drawing, his usual scowl began to falter. He stared at the little version of himself painted mid-action, arms thrown wide, an explosion behind him, and the smiling tutu-wearing girl standing beside him with sparkles in her hair.

His cheeks slowly turned pink.

“This is me?” he asked, voice tight.

“Uh-huh,” Rosie beamed, rocking on her heels. “You’re my hero. I know you’re gonna be a great hero one day.”

He blinked hard at her, ears flaming red. “Y-You idiot,” he sputtered. “Don’t say dumb stuff like that.”

Rosie just giggled, tilting her head. “It’s not dumb. It’s true.”

Flustered and not sure what to do with the strange warm feeling in his chest, Katsuki rummaged in his pocket and pulled something out. He held out his closed fist to her, then slowly opened it.

Nestled in his palm was a shimmering crimson marble, glinting like a drop of liquid fire.

“Here,” he muttered, thrusting it toward her without meeting her eyes. “You can have it. But don’t cry anymore, okay?”

Rosie’s eyes widened. “Is this for me ?”

He nodded once, quick and sharp, as if he might take it back if she made too big a deal about it.

She grinned and gently took the marble, cradling it like it was the most precious thing in the world. “Thank you, Katsuki!” she sang, her smile brighter than the sun in her painting.

Then, without warning, she turned and ran back to Akira, the crimson marble clenched tightly in her small hand.

Katsuki sat there, still holding the painting. “…Dumb girl,” he mumbled under his breath, staring down at the explosive little hero she believed he’d become—his ears still burning.

Chapter Text

Katsuki stared at her from across the mat, his heart thudding in a way he refused to acknowledge.

Rosie Takahashi.

She stood poised, calm, in the center of the training floor, dressed in the standard U.A. red, white, and blue athletic gear. Her pink hair was tied up in a high ponytail, a few wisps framing her face—her bangs slightly damp from warm-up exercises. Her lips were glossy, shimmering with a faint hint of strawberry pink that caught the light, and her eyelids were brushed with the faintest glint of pink glitter.

He shouldn’t have noticed that. Not in a sparring match.

But he did.

“Begin,” Aizawa said in his usual flat tone, standing to the side with his arms crossed.

Katsuki didn’t hesitate. He lunged forward, no explosions yet—just speed and precision, testing the waters.

Rosie moved like wind across glass.

She ducked, twisted, and pivoted away from his every strike with uncanny fluidity. Her athleticism was natural, practiced—not just strength, but grace. Years of training clearly paid off. Where most hesitated or flinched, she flowed. It was like fighting someone who already knew what you were going to do a second before you did it.

He clicked his tongue, annoyed but impressed.

“Stop dodging and hit me, dammit,” he growled, leaping back before launching a low-intensity explosion to try and knock her off-balance.

Nothing.

The second the sparks ignited in his palm, his quirk fizzled out.

His eyes widened.

Shit.

She didn’t even have to look at him. Her quirk—Aizawa’s quirk, Erasure—had evolved in her. She didn’t need direct eye contact. She just needed to focus on you, and it was like her gaze had a sixth sense. His quirk had vanished the second she zeroed in on him.

“You’re wide open,” she said sweetly.

Then came the scarf.

It was the same reinforced material as her dad’s, and she wielded it like a whip, spinning on her heel as it snapped around his arm, yanking him forward. She dropped, used his momentum, and in the next moment— bam —he was flat on his back, wind punched from his lungs, arms pinned by the scarf wrapped tightly around his wrists and chest.

She knelt over him, one leg braced beside his hip, leaning just slightly forward with a proud, smug grin on her lips. “Pinned,” she said softly, smiling down at him.

Katsuki blinked up at her, panting, stunned. His hands twitched, fingers itching to blow something up, but his quirk was still off.

“I—I didn’t even see you move,” he muttered, fuming, eyes narrowed.

She tilted her head playfully, that same strawberry gloss shimmering when she spoke. “I’m fast.”

He scowled. “Show-off.”

“You’ll get me next time, Dynamight,” she teased, a spark in her eye that wasn’t quite mocking—just excited.

Then she unwrapped the scarf from around him and stood, offering him a hand. He didn’t take it, but he did stare at her just a second longer than he meant to.

“We should spar again sometime,” she added, brushing a strand of hair from her face.

Katsuki sat up slowly, wiping sweat from his brow. His pride ached, but—“Yeah,” he muttered, looking away so she wouldn’t see the slight tint to his ears. “We will.”

And next time, he was going to win.

Katsuki shoved open the door to the men's locker room, towel slung over his shoulders, his still-damp hair spiked messily in every direction. His shirt clung to his skin from the residual heat of training, and the sting of defeat still burned across his ego.

Next time , he swore under his breath.

As he rounded the corner of the hall, his sharp gaze caught sight of her—and everything in his brain short-circuited for a second.

Rosie stood just ahead, now changed into the U.A. school uniform. Her blazer hung open casually over her pristine white blouse, the red ribbon at her collar tied neatly. Her pleated skirt shifted just slightly in the breeze from the open windows. Her hair was down now, long and silky, framing her face like a curtain of pink satin. No sweat, no sparring gear—just soft, girly perfection. She laughed at something Mina said, her hand brushing her bangs from her lashes as her blue eyes sparkled.

Katsuki stopped walking for a second. His jaw clenched.

Goddamnit .

Like a porcelain doll. That was the phrase that popped into his head—like a doll, all delicate and too pretty to touch.

She wasn’t even looking at him. She was just standing there, talking with Mina, Uraraka, and Momo like nothing happened. Like she hadn’t wiped the floor with him ten minutes ago and left him flustered under her stupid smile.

He cursed under his breath and tore his gaze away.

Get your shit together, Bakugou, he growled inwardly. You let her get in your head. You let a pretty face distract you. Like some damn extra.

His fists tightened at his sides.

He’d always hated that—how other guys in class got stupid over girls, tripped over themselves trying to impress them. He wasn’t like that. Wouldn’t be like that. He was going to be the Number One Hero. That meant no distractions. No feelings. No getting thrown off his game because some girl had long lashes and a glossy smile.

And yet… he’d let it happen.

He narrowed his eyes, glancing at her one last time. She tossed her hair over her shoulder mid-laugh, the sunlight catching the pink strands like cherry blossoms in spring.

His heart kicked in his chest.

He ground his teeth and stormed off down the hall.

Next time, Rosie Takahashi, he vowed bitterly, I’m gonna wipe that pretty little smile off your face. No distractions. No weakness. Just victory.

He chanced a look back at her. Just a glance. Just to see if she was still talking. That was all he told himself. But then— damn it —she caught him.

Her blue eyes locked with his, bright and clear as the summer sky. And in the middle of the hallway, surrounded by her friends and the hum of casual conversation, Rosie Takahashi lit up.

Her whole face brightened—cheeks pink, eyes crinkling at the corners, lips stretching into a wide, open, honest smile. She beamed at him like he was the best thing she'd seen all day. Like he hadn’t just been scowling and storming off and cursing her name inside his own head.

It hit him like a sucker punch to the gut.

Katsuki froze.

Shit.

His chest tightened in a way that had nothing to do with post-training exhaustion. His scowl faltered just slightly— just enough that it betrayed him. His hands clenched at his sides, not in anger, but because if he didn’t, he might do something absolutely humiliating. Like wave back. Or smile. Or—God forbid— walk over there .

What the hell is wrong with me?

He tried to look away. He tried . But his eyes refused to move. She was too radiant, too real , like some kind of gravitational force was pulling at him. That smile—it wasn’t fake, it wasn’t polite—it was just for him. Warm and unguarded and sweet like sun-drenched strawberries, and he hated how fast it made his pulse trip.

He could feel the heat creeping up his neck, threatening to betray him further. The worst part? She didn’t even seem to realize what she was doing to him. She just kept smiling, her fingers absentmindedly twirling a strand of her pink hair as she waved— waved, for god’s sake—like they were friends. Like she hadn’t just pinned him to the mat like it was nothing.

Katsuki whipped his head forward and picked up his pace, storming down the hall like it owed him money.

He was screwed.

Absolutely, hopelessly screwed.

Chapter Text

Giggling softly, Rosie adjusted her phone on the coffee table until it was angled just right. She made sure the lighting from the big windows behind the couch cast a soft glow over the living room. Her makeup bag was already open beside her, brushes and palettes ready. She glanced over her shoulder, her smile growing fond as she took in the sight of her boyfriend sprawled on the couch behind her.

Katsuki was comfortably settled, wearing nothing but a pair of gray sweatpants, his muscled chest on full display. One arm rested lazily behind his head while the other clutched a controller. His headset was perched slightly off one ear—his way of half-listening while pretending he wasn’t. She knew better. He always listened when it was her.

With a content little hum, she hit the button to go live.

“Hi, hi, hi!” she beamed at the camera, kicking her legs lightly as the live viewer count climbed quickly. “Okay so—today was super productive. I woke up early for once—miracle, I know,” she laughed, tucking a loose strand of pink hair behind her ear. “Took Maya on her walk, dropped her off at the groomers—she looked so mad at me but she needed it, trust me. Then I went to pilates, got my usual iced brown sugar shaken espresso, and ran to the store before picking Maya back up.”

Katsuki gave a little grunt in the background—whether it was about the game or the coffee order, she didn’t know. Or care. She smirked.

“Came home, made lunch, cleaned the apartment, started dinner, took a quick nap,” she emphasized proudly, “and now I’m here! Multitasking and talking to you all while I do my makeup.” She leaned in conspiratorially, voice lowering to a whisper. “In my boyfriend’s shirt, no less.”

Katsuki didn’t even look up, but the corner of his mouth tugged upward. His pride always swelled when she said boyfriend.

She started applying her primer, humming again. “So, while I wait for more of you to join, here’s a little dilemma I had earlier…”

She paused to check the viewer count. It was climbing fast—three thousand, four—perfect.

“I was talking to Akira earlier about our girls’ trip to America this summer,” she said casually, smoothing in the primer, “and we were debating whether it should be just us girls… or if we should invite our current boyfriends.”

The second the word “current” passed her lips, she felt it—the shift.

Out of the corner of her eye, Katsuki’s back straightened. His hands stopped moving on the controller. She didn’t look directly at him yet. She didn’t need to. She could already feel the weight of his attention turning her way.

Her comments started going wild.

OH IT’S THE TREND

HE HAS NO IDEA

HE’S LISTENINGGGG

PROTECTIVE KATSUKI LOADING…

GIRLS TRIP OR RIOT

Rosie could barely contain her grin. She dabbed blush on her cheeks with soft pink strokes, giving her reflection an innocent expression.

“So I was thinking,” she went on, her voice light as air, “maybe it’d be fun to just go on our own. You know—leave the boys behind, have a girls-only adventure. Spa days, shopping, the beach…” she trailed off as if imagining it dreamily.

She saw the reaction instantly.

Katsuki’s frown appeared like clockwork. His controller hit pause, and he slowly sat up straighter on the couch, squinting at her with narrowed crimson eyes like she’d just spoken another language.

“The hell are you talking about?” he said, not quite loud enough for the mic but definitely clear enough for her viewers to hear.

She finally turned to him, fluttering her lashes. “Oh, I’m just asking my viewers if they think it should be a girls’ trip or if we should invite Akira and I’s current boyfriends.”

His face twisted like she’d slapped him with a fish. “Why the fuck wouldn’t I go? And who the hell are you calling current boyfriend?”

Rosie fought the smile pulling at her lips, dabbing a little extra highlight on her cheek as she said sweetly, “Well… it is a girls’ trip. And technically, you are currently my boyfriend.”

Katsuki’s jaw dropped like she’d just told him she was moving to Mars.

“You’re not going across the damn world without me,” he snapped, practically throwing the controller into the couch cushions like it had personally betrayed him. “You’ve lost your damn mind , doll. Especially if you think you’re getting another boyfriend after me. The fuck are you even talking about?!”

Her chat exploded .

I AM SCREAMING

‘ANOTHER BOYFRIEND’ I’M CRYING

HE’S READY TO FIGHT AIR

BRO IS FOAMING AT THE MOUTH

KATSUKI SAID “ONE AND DONE”

POSSESSIVE BF UNLOCKED

Rosie tried not to choke on her own giggle, turning back to the camera with a wide, mock-innocent smile. “He really hates when he doesn’t know what’s going on.”

Katsuki pointed an accusing finger at her, eyes narrowed, chest rising like he was preparing for war. “This better not be one of those dumbass TikTok things.”

She gave him that saccharine smile—the one that always made him suspicious. “Maybe…”

He reeled like she’d just confessed to burning his All Might poster. “ You’re seriously doing one of those right now?! ”

“Mmhmm.” She patted her cheeks with blush like this was all normal and not the emotional equivalent of pulling the pin on a grenade and waiting to see what happened.

Meanwhile, Katsuki was practically vibrating behind her.

“I train with pro heroes, I fight villains , I’ve been stabbed in the goddamn thigh —but this ?! This trend bullshit?! That’s what’s gonna take me out?!”

Rosie calmly readjusted the camera. “Anyway, I think we’ll be bringing our current boyfriends along after all. Just to be safe.”

“ CURRENT?! ” he barked, tossing a throw pillow across the couch. “Try that shit again. Try it. See what happens. There’s no next boyfriend, you hear me? I dare you to find someone else who’ll put up with your twenty-step skincare routine, your true crime podcasts while you’re cooking dinner, and your weird obsession with folding towels in thirds!”

Her viewers were absolutely feral now.

‘THERE’S NO NEXT BOYFRIEND’ YES SIR 😭

THE TOWEL CALL OUT?? I’M HOWLING

HE IS FIGHTING FOR HIS LIFE

GET YOU A MAN WHO KNOWS YOUR SKINCARE ROUTINE BY HEART

HE’S GONNA START BARKING ANY SECOND

Katsuki practically lunged across the cushions, his arm wrapping around her waist and yanking her into his lap like he was putting a literal stamp on her. “Trip’s over. We’re staying home. I’m booking the damn hotel and the flights and I’m keeping your passport in my drawer.”

“Babe,” Rosie said between fits of laughter, “I’m not actually leaving you—”

“I know that. But I’m making sure they know that too,” he muttered, glaring at the camera like it had insulted his mother. “Fucking extras.”

She giggled so hard her mascara brush slipped, smudging her lower lash line. “That’s it for now, guys,” she said breathlessly, reaching to end the live. “I have to go before he starts growling on camera.”

“Too late,” Katsuki grumbled, jaw clenched, muscles flexing like he was ready to fight the entire male population of America with his bare hands.

As the live ended, he tugged possessively at the hem of his shirt on her frame, burying his face against her neck with a low, gravelly grunt.

“Annoying woman,” he muttered, but his hold didn’t loosen—if anything, it tightened.

Rosie wiped her eyes, still laughing, and leaned into him. “You’re insane.”

“ You’re insane,” he corrected, voice low, lips brushing her ear. “Better stay that way.”

Chapter Text

She had been prepared for this day since she was a child—prepared like one would prepare a lamb for sacrifice. Groomed in etiquette, schooled in the politics of charm and silence, bred to be the perfect daughter who would one day be bartered away to solidify a peace forged in centuries of blood.

Tonight was the price of that peace.

Draped in crimson and black silk that shimmered like spilled wine in the candlelight, Rosie looked every bit the jewel they had promised. Ruby and onyx gems glittered across her bodice and neck, nestled in her hair like tiny drops of blood and shadow. Her gloves were of velvet, ink-dark and delicate against her wrists, hiding the faint tremble that threatened to betray her.

The ballroom pulsed below with life. Guests twirled and glided across the marble floor like phantoms. They wore masks of fantastical creatures—golden lions, silver dragons, birds with jeweled feathers and foxes with clever smirks. The air was thick with perfume, wine, and the hum of orchestral magic. It was beautiful. It was surreal. It was suffocating.

She stood near a towering obsidian column, a half-finished glass of champagne in hand, watching the spectacle unfold. Her wedding day—and yet there had been no ceremony. No vow. No kiss. The union had been sealed with ink, not affection, by emissaries and councilmen too concerned with surviving the tension between their kingdoms.

Not even a name was given to her. Only a title: Prince Katsuki .

She hadn’t met him. Not yet. Not truly. Whispers said he was a warrior. Others that he was a brute. Some called him a hero, others a beast. All she knew was that he had not come for her. And if he was here, hidden behind a mask like the others, he had not made himself known. Perhaps he was drinking in another room. Perhaps he was with a lover-turned-mistress, celebrating in the arms of someone he actually wanted. The thought stung more than she cared to admit.

Finishing her champagne in a single sip, Rosie exhaled and turned, her silk train whispering behind her as she ascended the grand staircase. From there, she could see the ballroom more clearly—see the whirling of gold and silver, the laughter, the careless joy that she herself could not afford to feel.

Then he appeared.

A man in black and crimson—no, not crimson… something deeper. Blood red. Like hers. His mask was forged of scorched gold shaped into a snarling wolf, sharp and regal. His suit fit like armor, tailored to perfection, the fabric catching every flicker of firelight. He was tall, broad-shouldered, and moved with the confident grace of someone who didn’t ask for permission. Only took.

He ascended the steps slowly, his gaze fixed on her through the mask. And when he reached the top, he bowed. Not mockingly, but with a strange, old-world precision that sent a small jolt through her.

“My lady,” his voice was deep, low, and rough with a gravelly warmth that struck her like the first sip of dark wine. “Would you grant me this dance?”

She blinked. Her heart thudded softly.

She should’ve declined. She was in no mood for courtly games or charming strangers. But there was something about him. The way he held himself. The way he looked at her—not like she was a political pawn or a foreign bride. Like she was his equal . Maybe even his challenge.

And he was handsome— painfully so, even with most of his face hidden. His jaw was sharp beneath the edges of his mask, and when he extended his gloved hand, she noticed the calluses on his fingers. This was not a man who lived idly.

Rosie hesitated, then placed her hand in his. “Only one dance.”

His lips twitched—something between a smirk and a smile. “One will be enough.”

The music swelled around them, a haunting waltz echoing off marble and chandeliers. His hand was firm against the small of her back, the other guiding hers effortlessly through the maze of dancers. Rosie moved with practiced grace, her silks flowing like water, but it was the intensity of her partner’s stare that made it difficult to breathe.

He was bold. Close. Too close. His golden wolf mask tilted ever so slightly, as if studying her.

“You dance well,” he murmured, voice rough like worn leather, laced with something unreadable.

She arched a brow. “I was trained for it. Just like I was trained to smile and play nice for strangers.”

He chuckled, low in his throat. “You sound bored.”

“I am,” she replied, lips curving faintly. “But I suppose this is better than sitting alone.”

He twirled her then, sharp and fast, his hand strong around her waist as he pulled her back into him. She nearly collided with his chest, the heat of him seeping through his fine suit. Her eyes widened slightly before narrowing in suspicion.

“You must be the bride,” he said, voice quiet and casual—but deliberate.

Rosie tilted her head, curious. “Oh? What makes you say that?”

He smirked beneath his mask, a crooked, confident thing. “Pale skin like moonlight, hair pink as sakura petals, and those cold, noble blue eyes that say you don’t want to be touched.”

Rosie hummed. “Is that an insult?”

“No,” he said, voice dipping lower. “That’s a compliment.”

They moved in sync, slow but charged. A predator’s waltz. He looked at her like he was trying to read past her mask, and she smiled as though the game amused her. But inside, her mind was racing.

Because she’d heard that voice before.

Once, years ago, in a tense diplomatic meeting when she was no older than thirteen—he hadn’t spoken much then, but his voice had stayed with her. And now, beneath the mask and bravado, she recognized it.

Prince Katsuki Bakugou. Her husband.

A slow smile spread on her lips, coy and lovely as she leaned closer into the turn of their dance. “Tell me, wolf,” she whispered, lashes low. “Do all men from your kingdom speak with such certainty? Or are you just particularly arrogant?”

“I don’t do false modesty, sweetheart,” he drawled, dragging that last word deliberately. “Especially not with women who look like they’ll stab me the second I turn my back.”

“Oh,” Rosie cooed, leaning in as if to whisper into his ear—only to shift her weight, her hand sliding between them with practiced stealth. The glint of steel caught the candlelight for only a second as she pressed a slim, hidden blade just beneath the line of his jaw, her smile untouched, eyes glittering.

“No need to turn your back,” she purred, voice light and dangerous. “You married me, remember?”

His body stilled. His smirk widened. “Ah,” he murmured, pleased and unbothered. “So the little rose has thorns. Knew you’d figure it out.”

“You’re very proud of yourself, aren’t you?” she asked, letting the blade rest just a breath closer to his skin.

“Deadly wife, pretty face, sharp tongue—what’s not to be proud of?” he shot back.

“And yet,” she mused, withdrawing the blade as quickly as it appeared and slipping it back into her glove with a graceful flick of her wrist, “you seem awfully confident for a man who just had a weapon to his throat.”

“Please,” he muttered, cocking his head. “We both know if you were gonna kill me, you’d do it in bed.”

Her brows shot up. “Bold of you to assume you’ll even make it to the bed tonight.”

“We’re not to get intimate,” he echoed her earlier tone with a teasing growl, “until we return to my room. Official orders.”

Rosie scoffed. “And here I thought I married a warrior, not a coward hiding behind rules.”

“I’m trying to be civilized ,” he replied, smirking even wider. “Out of respect for the dress and the guests. But don’t push it, doll. I’ll toss you over my shoulder and carry you out of here.”

“Try it,” she challenged with a glint in her eye.

The music began to wind down, the last notes curling like smoke through the air. Around them, the masquerade twirled on, none the wiser to the spark of war igniting at the center of the dance floor.

Two enemies. Two royals. Two people born and bred to hate. And now, husband and wife.

Katsuki leaned close, so close his breath warmed her cheek. “One dance,” he murmured, voice dark and rough with promise. “But I’m not done with you yet.”

Rosie only smiled, sweet and deadly. “Good. Neither am I.”

The music spun around them like smoke and silk, shadowed by the soft glint of crystal chandeliers and flickering candlelight. Rosie’s steps were flawless, her gaze steady and calculating as she followed his lead, her hand still warm from the touch of steel. They danced close— too close. His hand rested confidently on the curve of her waist, his other hand clasping hers with a gentleness that belied his strength. Every turn of the waltz kept their eyes locked, their banter a game neither of them wanted to end.

“You’re not calling for the guards,” she mused, tilting her head slightly, her tone full of mock innocence. “Strange. You’d think a man with a blade at his throat would cry foul.”

He chuckled, the sound low and indulgent. “Please. I could’ve disarmed you in seconds.”

Rosie snorted, lips twitching. “You couldn’t disarm me even if you begged.”

His smirk widened, eyes gleaming behind his mask. He leaned in, his breath brushing the shell of her ear. “Maybe not the dagger in your glove,” he murmured, voice dipping into something huskier, darker. “But I could make you drop your guard in other ways.”

Her breath caught in her throat. “Excuse me?”

“I could make you scream,” he whispered, slow and wicked. “If you let me.”

Her face flushed—faint but noticeable in the warm lighting—and she immediately leaned back to glower at him, her steps faltering just slightly. “You’re improper. ”

“Glad we’re on the same page,” he said, unbothered, flashing a wolfish grin. “Want me to show you just how improper I can be?”

“ Gods, ” she muttered, cheeks still warm as she forced her expression into something neutral, regal. “Our marriage is for political reasons. Nothing more.”

The music swelled, the crowd around them swaying and spinning in their own world, oblivious to the spark igniting at the heart of the ballroom. Katsuki dipped her suddenly—strong arms steady, their masks only inches apart.

“You say that,” he murmured. “But I didn’t marry you for politics.”

Her brows furrowed as he pulled her upright again, steadying her with a hand that lingered just a little too long. “What?”

“I chose you,” he said, not smirking anymore. “Not because I had to. Not because it would end a war. I chose you because you’re brilliant. Dangerous. Beautiful.”

Her lips parted, stunned by the sincerity cutting through his usual cocky bravado.

“I’ll give you time to play the enemy,” he said, voice quieter now, rougher. “To sharpen your knives and try to pretend you don’t want me.”

Her chest rose and fell in short breaths as they kept dancing, her pulse racing against her ribs.

“But make no mistake, Rosie—” he leaned in, letting his lips almost brush her temple, “—I’m going to make you fall in love with me.”

She glared at him, struggling not to stammer as her heart betrayed her. “You’re arrogant.”

“I’m right,” he whispered.

And with that, the music began to fade. The crowd erupted into polite applause, but Rosie could barely hear it. Her mind was a whirlwind of heat and confusion and fury—and something dangerously close to excitement.

As he led her off the dance floor, his fingers brushing hers, she shot him a sideways glare. “I still think you couldn’t disarm me.”

His smile was slow and lethal. “Oh, doll, ” he murmured, “I already am.”

Chapter Text

The sun had barely dipped below the skyline when the order crackled through their earpieces. “Split into pairs,” came Endeavor’s voice, deep and commanding. “A small gang—low-tier villains—was spotted in Sector C. Don’t let them scatter.”

Rosie gave a sharp nod, already moving, her scarf billowing behind her as she sprinted alongside Katsuki across the rooftops. Shoto and Izuku veered off to the west while she and Katsuki followed a lead east, chasing the fleeing figure of a villain dressed in torn leathers and wielding a gun like he’d just stolen it from a pawn shop.

“I’ll cut him off from the left!” Rosie called out, her boots thudding lightly over the concrete.

Katsuki grunted in acknowledgment, blasting himself upward to get a vantage point. “Don’t get shot, doll. I’m not carrying your ass home.”

Rosie scoffed through a grin, “I don’t need you to carry me!”

But the gun fired. She twisted instinctively, the bullet grazing just over her shoulder—close enough to make her breath hitch. Her foot slipped on the gravelled ledge of the roof. Her heart leapt into her throat.

“ Rosie! ” Katsuki’s voice barked just as she lost her balance and strong arms caught her mid-fall.

The momentum knocked them both down, and they landed in a tangle, Katsuki flat on his back with Rosie sprawled on top of him. Her hair fell forward like a curtain between them. Her wide blue eyes blinked down into his.

Their lips had collided.

Not harshly. Not awkwardly.

Perfectly.

Rosie went still, her entire body heating up with embarrassment as her eyes grew impossibly wide.

Katsuki blinked up at her… and smirked. “Damn,” he drawled, his voice smug in a way that made her want to scream and melt all at once. “Didn’t know you were that into me, princess.”

“W-what?! I wasn’t— That wasn’t—! ” she pushed herself up frantically, cheeks bright red as her scarf fluttered behind her like it was scandalized too. “That was an accident! ”

The earpiece crackled to life. “Rosie? Kacchan? Are you two okay?” Izuku’s worried voice asked.

“We heard a gunshot,” Shoto added calmly.

Katsuki tapped his comm. “We’re fine. Villain’s heading east. You two go on ahead—we’ll catch up.”

“Are you sure— ”

“GO,” Katsuki growled.

The earpiece went silent.

Rosie was still trying to compose herself, her blush refusing to fade. “Y-you didn’t have to be so cocky about it—!”

“Why not?” he said, standing and dusting himself off before glancing at her with that signature half-lidded, sharp-eyed smirk. “You kissed me.”

“I didn’t kiss you—! It was an accident!”

He stepped closer, lowering his voice just enough to make her breath catch again. “Fine. Then how about a real one?”

She blinked. “Wh-what?!”

“To thank me. For catching your clumsy ass before you fell off the roof,” he said with a shrug, cocking his head. “Seems fair.”

“I—I’ll thank you with words!” she stammered, flustered and tugging at her gloves. “Like normal people do!”

He chuckled low, hands in his pockets. “Come on, doll. We both know normal went out the window the second you landed on top of me.”

She covered her face with her hands and groaned. “You’re impossible.”

“And yet you still fell for me.” He winked.

Rosie practically squeaked and turned on her heel, scarf fluttering like a battle flag as she bolted ahead, “I’m going to catch that villain by myself just so I don’t have to look at your stupid face!”

“Don’t trip again!” Katsuki called after her with a laugh, rocketing off after her.

The dull orange glow of the setting sun streaked through the shattered glass of the abandoned warehouse as Rosie and Katsuki finally caught up with Izuku and Shoto.

“All right,” Rosie said, a little breathless but composed, adjusting her gloves and standing tall beside the three boys. All of them were dressed in their respective hero uniforms. “What’s the plan?”

Izuku pointed toward the warehouse, his expression focused. “We’ve confirmed the gang is inside—seven targets, all armed. They’ve been smuggling stolen tech, weapons, and something that looks like a new type of performance-enhancing drug.”

“Stacked crates everywhere,” Shoto added. “Could cause visibility issues, but also gives us cover.”

Katsuki flexed his hands, glancing toward the building with a grin. “So we blow the place up and call it a day?”

Rosie rolled her eyes. “ No, we go in fast and smart. Keep damage minimal unless absolutely necessary.”

She turned to the group, eyes serious. “I’ll go in first. Use my Erasure. If I take out their quirks before they notice me, you guys can follow and mop them up.”

Shoto nodded. “Make it fast. I’ll go high for recon. Midoriya and Bakugou take the flanks.”

“Be careful,” Izuku added.

Rosie grinned and gave them a thumbs up. “Always.”

She was a phantom in motion—silent, swift, and deadly. The moment she stepped into range, her evolved Erasure quirk activated. The subtle shimmer in her eyes pulsed once, and suddenly the villains inside staggered, the sparks from their quirks dying out mid-use.

“NOW!”

Katsuki tore in from the side, blasting a thug into a stack of crates. Izuku followed, zig-zagging between targets with swift, bone-shattering kicks. Shoto launched a wave of ice that sealed off their exit while Rosie dove between crates, disarming and knocking out two men with her scarf.

It was over in minutes. Fast. Efficient. Textbook. But the moment Katsuki slammed the last guy into the floor with a satisfying crack, he landed wrong, twisting his wrist. “Shit—!” he cursed, clutching it with a wince.

Rosie was already by his side. “Sit down. Let me see it.”

Katsuki obeyed begrudgingly, settling down on a crate with a deep scowl, flexing his hand with a wince. “It’s just a sprain,” he grumbled.

Rosie crouched in front of him, focused and calm despite the adrenaline still buzzing in the air from the mission. “Hold still,” she said, reaching for his wrist with both hands. “You always say that. Doesn’t mean I’m not going to fix it.”

“I can take care of myself,” he muttered, avoiding her gaze.

“I know,” she said with a small smile. “But let me take care of you too.” She leaned forward with intent, clearly aiming for his cheek, but at the last second—whether it was timing or instinct—he turned his head.

Their lips met.

Soft. Unintended.

She gasped against his mouth, eyes going wide—but the shock only lasted a second. A deep growl escaped him as he looped his good arm around her waist and yanked her into his lap, his other hand cradling the back of her neck.

“ Katsuki—! ” she squeaked, her voice muffled by the way he kissed her again—hot, deliberate, and full of pent-up tension that had been simmering since they first accidentally kissed that day.

And this time? She kissed him back.

The mission. The earpieces. The chaos around them—all of it blurred into silence. Her hands fisted the collar of his hero uniform, and she melted into him as his tongue brushed hers, teasing and cocky in a way that made her want to both hit and kiss him again. His lips curved mid-kiss, smug at the way she sighed into his mouth.

It wasn’t until they both pulled away, breathless and red-faced, that Rosie realized how tangled together they were. Her legs were straddling his thighs. His good hand still rested possessively on her lower back.

And their earpieces crackled— “Kacchan? Rosie? Are you guys good? We’re wrapping up—”

Rosie practically leapt off his lap in embarrassment.

Katsuki, meanwhile, grinned like the damn Devil himself. “Yeah, we’re good,” he said into the earpiece, voice hoarse. “Go on ahead. We’ll catch up.”

Rosie shoved him lightly in the chest. “Y-You’re unbelievable!”

He stood, brushing off his pants and adjusting his gloves like nothing happened. “What? I just healed. You said it yourself—it needs a kiss.”

“That was supposed to be on the cheek!”

Katsuki shrugged. “You didn’t specify.”

Rosie’s entire face flushed as he leaned in close again, voice low in her ear. “Next time you wanna thank me for saving your life? Let’s skip the accidental part.”

She smacked his arm again—but her lips were twitching.

And his wrist?

Perfectly fine.

Then her brain caught up. Her palm smacked into his shoulder as she pulled away, face burning. “ Katsuki!! ”

“What?” he chuckled, still holding her loosely. “You kissed me back this time.”

“I was caught off-guard!” she snapped, standing quickly and brushing her hair out of her face. “Twice!”

He leaned back, a lazy, satisfied grin on his face. “Not complaining.”

She narrowed her eyes and turned away, flustered. “Idiot.”

Katsuki stood, flexing his now-healed wrist with a cocky little smirk as he followed Rosie out of the warehouse. The tension of the mission was starting to settle, leaving behind a buzz of adrenaline—and something else entirely. “Still counts,” he muttered under his breath with a sideways glance at her. “Two kisses in one day. You’re lucky I didn’t charge you interest.”

Rosie glared at him over her shoulder, her blush spreading fast across her cheeks. “It was for healing purposes! That first one was an accident.”

“Sure,” he said, licking his bottom lip slowly. “Guess it was also an accident when you kissed me back. Make things easy babydoll and just be my girl already.”

She spun on her heel, placing her hands on her hips as she faced him fully, all defiance and flushed cheeks. “You are not asking me to be your girlfriend in the middle of an assignment.”

He cocked a brow and closed the distance between them, a lazy swagger in his step. “Why not?” he said, his voice low and smooth. “I just watched you take down two villains and then heal my ass like a literal angel. That’s hot as hell. What better time than right now?”

Rosie opened her mouth, clearly prepared to launch into a full speech about mission protocols, boundaries, professionalism—

But Katsuki just chuckled and leaned down, cupping her cheek. “I’m serious, doll,” he murmured, voice barely above a whisper. “You’re it. I already act like you’re mine, might as well make it official.”

“I—I don’t think this is the time or place—”

So he kissed her. Firm and warm and full of the kind of promise that made her toes curl. She squeaked into his mouth, but her arms instinctively grabbed at his shoulderslike she didn’t want him to stop. Her head spun, logic crumbling into nothing as his lips moved against hers with gentle insistence.

By the time he pulled away, her brain was thoroughly scrambled. He rested his forehead against hers, grin smug and soft all at once. “You were saying?”

“I… you…” she blinked, still breathless. “You just—”

“That’s a yes, right?”

She paused for half a second—then exhaled through her nose, grinning despite herself. “Fine,” she muttered. “Yes. But I swear to God, if you flirt with me in front of Endeavor—”

“Too late,” he said, turning to walk toward the rendezvous point. “Already planning on it.”

Rosie groaned, trailing after him, hiding her smile with one hand. Being Katsuki Bakugou’s girlfriend was going to be exhausting a nd maybe just a little bit thrilling.

Chapter Text

Being home alone wasn’t anything new for Rosie. She’d practically grown up that way—her Dad worked long nights as a detective, and ever since her mom passed, she’d learned to fill the quiet with her own company. It didn’t bother her anymore. If anything, she liked the peace.

Stepping out of the shower, she wrapped herself in a warm towel, the bathroom mirror foggy with steam. She took her time in her nighttime routine—washing her face, brushing through her hair, and moisturizing her skin with strawberry-scented lotion. Then she slipped into a thin, pastel-pink tank top and her favorite pair of cotton shorts, the ones with the tiny red bows on the hem that always made her feel extra cute and comfy.

She padded barefoot downstairs, scrolling through her phone as she headed for the kitchen. Akira was out on a date again—something about a guy with a motorcycle and an eyebrow piercing—which meant Rosie had the whole house to herself.

Which, to her, meant one thing: horror movie marathon.

She popped open the fridge, grabbed a soda, and set the takeout container from earlier on the coffee table before curling up on the couch with a mountain of pillows and a throw blanket. The lights were off, save for the glow of the TV. The eerie menu music of a classic slasher flick filled the silence as she pressed play and took a bite of cold dumpling.

By the second movie, the house had settled into a perfect, quiet rhythm. Rain had started to patter gently against the windows, and Rosie, cross-legged on the couch and humming softly to herself, was already deep into a movie where a masked killer stalked a group of teens at a lake.

Just as the killer on-screen raised their knife, her phone buzzed.

Rosie jumped, nearly spilling her drink.

She glanced down at the screen: Unknown Caller.

Brows furrowing, she hit pause on the movie, the screen freezing on the blood-soaked figure lunging at the camera. The suspenseful music cut off, leaving only the quiet hiss of the rain.

“Probably spam,” she mumbled, letting it ring.

But then it rang again.

Same number. No name.

She frowned this time, curiosity getting the better of her. She slid her finger across the screen and lifted the phone to her ear. “Hello?”

There was silence for a beat too long. Then a low, rasping voice came through the speaker. “What’s your favorite scary movie?”

Her blood ran cold. The voice was gravelly and theatrical, yet disturbingly playful. A shiver danced down her spine. “Who is this?” she asked, forcing a small laugh. “Akira, if this is you pranking me while you’re on your date, I swear to—”

“Wrong guess, Rosie.”

Her heart stuttered.

He said her name.

The air in the room suddenly felt colder. Her eyes darted to the windows, the drawn curtains unmoving. “How do you know my name?” she asked, standing slowly, her bare feet sinking into the rug.

“I know you’re home alone. Watching those dumb slasher movies. Eating takeout dumplings.”

Her breath caught. She looked around, suddenly hyper-aware of every creak, every flickering shadow. The TV cast just enough light to deepen the darkness everywhere else. “I’m hanging up now.”

“Don’t.” The voice was sharper now. “You hang up, and I’ll make this your last scary movie.”

She froze.

A pause.

Tap. Tap. Tap.

The unmistakable sound against glass made Rosie’s blood freeze. Her eyes snapped toward the sliding door leading to the back porch. The thin white curtain swayed slightly—just enough to make her breath catch. She couldn’t see anything. But her gut screamed at her to run.

Clutching her phone tightly, she took a step back, her heart pounding, breath coming in short bursts. “What do you want?” she whispered.

There was a pause. Then a low, rasping laugh filtered through the speaker—slow, amused, hungry. “I want to see how brave you really are, Rosie.”

She nearly dropped the phone again, her fingers slick with sweat. “I—I’m hanging up,” she said, voice trembling.

“No, you’re not,” the voice replied, dark and silk-smooth. “You hang up, I come inside. And you don’t want that. Do you?”

She swallowed hard, every muscle in her body tight.

“Let’s play a little game,” he purred. “Just you and me. A little trivia.”

“Wh-what kind of trivia?”

“You’ve seen a lot of horror movies tonight. Let’s see how much you were really paying attention.”

She licked her lips, her voice steadier now, if only barely. “I’ll play. Just… just don’t come in.”

“Good girl.” 

The praise made her stomach twist, heat crawling up her neck despite the fear anchoring her in place.

“First question,” he began smoothly. “What’s the name of the killer in the original Friday the 13th ?”

“Jason,” she said quickly.

A click of the tongue. “Wrong. It was his mother, Pamela Voorhees. Jason didn’t show up until the sequel. Tsk-tsk, Rosie.”

Her mouth went dry. “Damn it…”

“Don’t worry,” he said with a low chuckle. “You’re still pretty when you’re wrong.”

She shuddered.

“Next one. Easy. What’s the name of the town in Scream ?”

“Woodsboro.”

“Mmm… very good. Two more.”

The questions continued— Halloween , The Texas Chainsaw Massacre , Psycho . Rosie, surprisingly, got the rest right. Her voice grew steadier with each answer, gripping onto knowledge like a lifeline.

But just as she answered the last one—correctly—

The lights went out. All of them. The hum of electricity died. The TV blinked black. The gentle flicker of light that had kept her company vanished in an instant, leaving Rosie swallowed by the dark. Her breath caught in her throat. The only sound now? The soft rain outside. And the faint rasp of his breath still crackling through the phone.

“Not bad, doll,” he whispered, voice like velvet wrapped around razorwire. “But now it’s time for a new game.”

She pressed the phone tighter to her ear. “What kind of game?”

“Hide and seek.”

She felt her skin prickle with heat—both from fear and the way he said it, low and slow, like he was tasting every word.

“You hide,” he murmured. “And I’ll come find you.”

She took a shaky step toward the hallway, heart hammering. “Why are you doing this?”

His breath shuddered through the speaker. “Because you’re fun, because you’re pretty, and because that soft voice and that dollface of yours makes me want to see how you scream.”

She clutched the phone with both hands, her back pressed against the hallway wall.

“Go on, Rosie,” he purred. “Find yourself a good hiding spot. Make it worth the chase.”

The line clicked dead. She stood frozen for a beat. Then, with her pulse in her throat, she turned and ran deeper into the darkness of the house.

And the game began.

Rosie’s bare feet barely made a sound as she sprinted up the carpeted stairs, heart thundering in her chest like it wanted out. Every shadow seemed deeper now, every creak of the wood beneath her a gunshot in the silence. She reached her bedroom at the end of the hall, slipped inside as quietly as she could, and eased the door shut until it clicked softly into place.

She didn’t bother locking it, she knew locks wouldn’t matter. Dropping to the floor, she scrambled under her bed, pulling the edge of the comforter down just enough to conceal herself in total darkness. Her breath came fast and shallow as she lay still, every inch of her trembling.

Thunk. Thunk. Thunk.

The sound of heavy boots echoed from the first floor.

Her blood ran cold. He was inside. Each step sounded slow, deliberate, as if he wanted her to hear. Like he was savoring it.

She reached for her phone with shaking hands, fumbling to unlock it. She hit her dad’s number, the first on speed dial. Ring… ring… ring… Voicemail.

Her breathing quickened. “Come on,” she whispered, barely audible.

She called Akira next. Ring… ring… Voicemail again.

Rosie almost cried out in frustration.   Then she heard it, a sound that made her go utterly still. Scccrrrrrrkkkk. The unmistakable, skin-crawling drag of metal against drywall.

“Rosie…” His voice slithered through the walls, muffled but close. “Come on, sweetheart…I thought we were having fun.”

He was upstairs. Her mouth went dry. Every part of her screamed to run, to do something , but she couldn’t move. Sccrrrk. That knife dragged again—closer now.

“You’re really good at hiding,” he drawled. “Better than most.”

She could hear him opening doors. Creak . The guest room. Click . The bathroom. Slam . Akira’s room.

“Not in there…” he murmured like he was talking to himself. “Hmm… what about the princess’s room?”

Rosie’s heart felt like it might burst.

But he didn’t come in. Instead, his boots stopped just outside her bedroom door. Then nothing. Silence. Long, stretched, suffocating silence. She clutched her phone, thumb hovering over 9-1-1, about to hit call— When she heard it again.

Sccrrrrk.

The knife along her door this time. Then his voice—closer than before. “Rosie… babydoll didn’t think I’d skip the best room in the house, did you?”

She squeezed her eyes shut, breath catching in her throat, and slowly, the doorknob turned. But the door didn’t open. Instead, she heard the softest chuckle—low, pleased. “You chose a good spot. Let’s see how long you can stay quiet in there.”

Then his footsteps padded away, soft and slow, disappearing down the hall. Rosie didn’t dare move. Because she knew —He wasn’t gone. He was waiting for her.

Chapter Text

The training camp nestled in the forested hills was quiet at night, the usual buzz of energy from Class 1-A dulled to gentle snores and the rustling of sleeping bags. The cabins were dimly lit with emergency night lights, and the air was thick with the warm breath of summer and faint chirps of cicadas in the distance.

Rosie laid in her bunk, eyes wide open, the ceiling above her blurring in the dark. She turned onto her side. Then her back. Then her other side. No use. She could still feel the leftover buzz from today’s sparring sessions in her limbs. Her body was tired, but her mind refused to quiet. There was a tightness in her chest—something restless, like she needed to breathe somewhere open and vast.

Silently, she slipped out of bed and pulled on her light jacket over her skimpy tank top and tight small shorts. Careful not to wake the others, she tiptoed past the rows of beds and out the door.

The moment she stepped outside, the warm night air wrapped around her like a blanket. The moon hung high and bright, spilling silver light across the landscape, and the trees whispered softly in the breeze. She followed the stone path past the edge of the clearing where the cabins sat, veering off the trail once she spotted the shimmering reflection of water through the trees.

The lake. It was glassy and still, bathed in moonlight, with only the occasional ripple from a fish breaking the surface or a frog shifting on a lily pad. Rosie crouched near the edge, dipping her fingers into the water. It was cool, not too cold—refreshing.

No one was around. Just her and the water.

Without much thought, she stripped down to her bra bra and panties and waded in slowly, the water licking at her skin like a silent invitation. A small gasp escaped her lips as she submerged past her waist, the chill biting and invigorating all at once. Once fully in, she let herself float, arms spread, eyes on the star-filled sky above.

It was peaceful. No pressure. No teachers. No expectations. Just silence and stars.

She smiled softly, her hair fanning out around her in the water. It was moments like this that reminded her she was still a person—outside of the trauma, outside of quirks and hero training.

For a while, she swam slowly back and forth across the surface, just enjoying the weightless feeling, the way her mind finally quieted with every soft splash and inhale.

Somewhere behind her, a branch cracked, and Rosie paused, treading water. “…Hello?” she called gently, heart skipping. “Who's there?”

But only the breeze answered, carrying with it the faint scent of pine and lake mist. She blinked, looking around once more before deciding it must’ve been an animal. Still… she wasn’t entirely sure she was alone anymore. But for now, she didn’t care. Because the stars were too beautiful, the water too calm, and for once, her soul too still to let fear or worry steal the moment. So she leaned back again, floating, letting herself simply exist.

Twenty minutes passed.

The water was no longer cold—her body had adjusted, and now it felt like an extension of herself. Rosie swam in slow, lazy strokes across the lake, letting the ripples fan out behind her like whispers in the dark. Occasionally, she would float on her back, staring up at the stars until her arms grew tired, and she’d paddle back to the center again. Her thoughts had finally quieted, her heart calm.

Until…

Snap.

Her head whipped around instantly, eyes narrowing toward the tree line. That wasn’t a fish. That wasn’t some breeze knocking a branch loose. That was definitely a footstep.

She started swimming backward, closer to the shore, shoulders tense, ready to scream if needed. The surface of the water rippled again—this time not from her.

And then someone stepped out from the shadows. He was shirtless, in black swim trunks, a towel slung over his shoulder, and glaring like she’d just insulted his mother. Katsuki Bakugou.

“What are you doing?” she called, pushing wet hair out of her face. “Stalking people now?”

“Tch. You’re the one trespassing,” he grunted, dropping the towel onto the rocks and stepping into the lake. “This water’s for class-approved use only.”

She raised an unimpressed brow. “Oh really? Did you get promoted to Camp Lake Patrol or something?”

Katsuki huffed through his nose, the corner of his mouth twitching. “Shut up.”

He waded in further, not once breaking eye contact with her, water lapping at his torso, muscles gleaming under the moonlight. His usual scowl softened as he got closer, and Rosie instinctively backed up a little—half from surprise, half from the sudden flutter in her chest.

“I couldn’t sleep,” she muttered finally.

He blinked. “Same.”

There was a pause.

Then she tilted her head. “So… you thought skinny-dipping in the middle of the night was the solution?”

“It’s not skinny-dipping, dumbass , I’m wearing trunks.”

“Oh, well thank God. I was so worried,” she replied with faux relief, rolling her eyes as she turned to float on her back again, kicking lazily through the water. “Would’ve been traumatizing .”

“Tch. You wish,” he muttered.

“I do not,” she said quickly— too quickly.

He smirked knowingly but didn’t say anything else, instead swimming out to where she was, matching her pace. They drifted in companionable silence for a few seconds before she peeked at him from the corner of her eye.

“You come out here often?” she teased.

“No,” he said flatly. “Only when idiots can’t sleep.”

“Wow, is that your way of saying you came here for me ?” He splashed water at her without warning, making her squeal and laugh as she threw some right back. “Asshole!”

“Brat.”

Her laughter echoed across the lake, warm and bright.

Rosie squealed again as he sent another splash her way, shielding her face with both hands. “I swear, Katsuki—!”

She didn’t finish the sentence.

Because suddenly, he was in front of her . And then his hands were on her waist—rough, calloused, warm even in the cool lake water—and before she could catch her breath, he was kissing her .

Her eyes fluttered shut immediately.

It was deep and hungry, like he had been holding himself back for far too long. His mouth was warm and demanding, and she melted into him so fast it made her dizzy. Her fingers curled around the back of his neck as she kissed him back with equal fervor, water sloshing gently around them.

When he finally pulled back, his breath was ragged, and his crimson eyes were dark with want.

“I’ve been wantin’ to do that all goddamn day, ” he muttered, forehead resting against hers, voice gruff and low.

Rosie giggled, cheeks flushed and lips tingling. “You’re lucky I didn’t drown from surprise.”

“You’d float,” he muttered, and she laughed again, quieter this time.

They held each other in the water, her arms loosely around his neck, his hands still at her waist like he couldn’t let her go. Her smile softened, brushing her nose against his. “We’ve only got two more days left until we’re back at U.A.,” she whispered.

Katsuki grinned, boyish and dangerous all at once. “Yeah,” he said, pressing a kiss to her temple. “And the night we get back…”

She looked up at him, curious.

“I want you to come sleep in my dorm,” he said, quiet but firm. “No more sneaking around.”

Her heart flipped in her chest.

She nodded, whispering, “Okay,” and kissed him again.

The lake swayed gently around them, the moonlight soft and silver. For once, there was no one yelling, no alarms blaring, no missions waiting. Just the water, the stars, and the boy who kissed her like he had no plans of ever letting her go.

Chapter Text

Being a Pro Hero came with its ups and downs.

The ups? Recognition, power, the satisfaction of blowing villains straight into concrete. The downs? Paperwork. Endless media appearances. And waking up before dawn to chase purse-snatchers through alleyways like a damn intern.

Katsuki Bakugou trudged down the busy sidewalk, hands jammed in the pockets of his black tactical coat, his scowl fixed in place like it had been welded on. Commuters parted for him instinctively—some recognizing him, others just reacting to the sheer pissed-off energy radiating from him like steam.

“Stupid-ass morning…” he muttered to himself, jaw ticking. Patrol had been pointless. Some punk with a water-based quirk tried to start a fire in a garbage can as a ‘distraction’ for shoplifting. Genius stuff. Katsuki had dunked his face in a sewer drain.

Now, coffee gone cold and patience long dead, he finally reached the front doors of his agency—tall, sleek, and decked out in gleaming steel and glass. The automatic doors whooshed open, the receptionist gave him a tentative wave, and he only grunted in return.

He didn’t slow down until he reached the top floor—his floor—where his private office and workspace were located. And then he stopped. Frowned.

No.No. No, no.

Her desk.

Empty.

Right outside his office—the place where she always sat, legs crossed, clipboard in hand, annoying as hell and sunshine-bright every goddamn morning—was empty.

He stared at the polished desk as if it had personally insulted him.

“Where the hell is she?” he growled under his breath, yanking open the door to his own office and stomping inside. He flung his gloves onto the desk and dropped heavily into his chair.

He glared at the clock.

Then the door.

Then the desk.

Then back at the clock.

Thirty. Agonizing. Minutes. Later.

The office door finally creaked open.

And there she was.

Late. Unbothered. Smiling.

His assistant—a short, stunning little menace dressed in an office outfit that shouldn’t have been legal. A tight black pencil skirt hugged her hips, paired with a bright red blouse tucked in just right. A black blazer sat snug around her shoulders, and pink pumps clicked on the floor with every step she took. Her lipstick that smelled of strawberries matched her blouse. Her cheeks were glowing. Her hair was perfectly done. And she looked like she’d just stepped out of a fashion ad called “Ways to Ruin a Man’s Day and Smile While Doing It.”

He swore under his breath, sitting up straighter in his chair like he hadn’t just been waiting and stewing like a lunatic.

“You’re late,” he snapped.

“Good morning to you too, Dynamite,” she chirped, sauntering over to his desk with a stack of files tucked against her chest. “You look like someone kicked your puppy.”

“I don’t have a puppy.”

“Well, you look like someone kicked your... I dunno, grenade launcher.”

He glared at her. “Don’t get smart with me.”

“Too late,” she said sweetly, dropping the files on his desk with a crisp little thwap . “Here’s the paperwork from last night’s raid. The press wants a statement, the chief wants a report, and your fan club sent cupcakes again.”

“I don’t have a fan club.”

“You do,” she replied, coming around to his side of the desk, sitting on the edge of his desk like she owned it, crossing her legs at the knee. “It’s run by middle-aged women and one suspiciously muscular guy named Randy.”

He blinked. “The hell.”

She just smiled—cheery and infuriating and radiant.

Somewhere in the middle of his growing irritation and exasperation, he realized…The office didn’t feel complete until she’d walked through that damn door. He hated that. He hated that it mattered.

He glared at her again, gruff and brooding as ever.

She winked. “Coffee’s on your desk. Extra bitter. Just like you.”

He snatched the cup and muttered a quiet, “Tch. Annoying woman.”

The next time he saw her was mid-afternoon, when the low hum of agency noise was starting to fade into something dull and heavy. His door creaked open again—no knock, as usual—and she stepped in, radiant as always, holding her pink bento box with both hands like it was some kind of treasure chest. 

“Lunch time,” she chirped with a bright smile. “Just letting you know I’m taking my break!”

Katsuki barely looked up from the mess of reports on his desk, a scowl already working its way across his face. “Yeah, yeah. Go.”

She didn’t move.

He could feel her eyes on him. “…What?” he finally asked, looking up.

She tilted her head, pout forming. “Where’s your lunch?”

He blinked, then grumbled, “Forgot it.”

She gasped like he’d told her someone died. “Katsuki!” she scolded. “That’s so bad for you! You need to eat or you’ll get all grouchy.”

“I’m already grouchy.”

“Exactly!” she beamed, like she’d solved a puzzle. “Good thing I always bring extra.”

Before he could protest, she was already walking across the room, heels clicking, a soft floral scent following her as she perched herself neatly on the edge of his desk. Without missing a beat, she popped open the bento—adorably arranged with rice, rolled omelets, sliced sausages shaped like octopi, steamed veggies, and bright pickled radish.

He stared. “You always eat like that?”

She gave him a wink. “Presentation is everything.”

He didn’t respond, just leaned back in his chair as she separated the little compartments and pulled out a spare pair of chopsticks from her purse.

“I don’t need—”

She ignored him, pinching a bit of the fluffy egg and holding it out. “Here. Say ‘ah.’”

He frowned. Hard. “I can feed myself.”

“Ahhh~,” she sang teasingly.

His jaw ticked. Then, without breaking eye contact, he leaned forward and let her feed him. Her face lit up like it was Christmas. “There we go,” she said smugly, scooping up a bite for herself. “You are trainable.”

“Tch. Watch it.”

But the edge in his voice was already softening, the storm clouds behind his eyes clearing just a little as she started talking.

It started with work stuff—some boring update about press interviews and hero rankings—but quickly spiraled into a story about her best friend Akira almost getting catfished by a guy who claimed to be a model-slash-pianist. Then something about her dog, Maya, getting into her lipstick collection and ending up with hot pink paws. She talked with her hands, laughed at her own jokes, and sometimes bounced her leg like she had too much energy for one body.

Katsuki didn’t say much.

He didn’t have to.

Because somehow, the room didn’t feel too quiet with her in it. It felt… normal. Lighter. Like the weight of the day had paused and decided to give him a break and when she offered him a piece of sausage shaped like a little octopus, he didn’t glare or bark. He just leaned in and let her place it between his lips, chewing slowly as she grinned in triumph.

They fell into that lazy, comfortable rhythm—sharing bites, laughing under their breath, the chaos of hero work fading out like background noise. For once, Katsuki didn’t mind that time slowed down. Not when she was in the room. Not when she was smiling like that.

The agency was quiet now. The hum of activity, ringing phones, and shuffling footsteps had died down hours ago. Most of the lights were off, save for the ones left on in his office—and hers, which still glowed faintly just outside.

Katsuki had lost track of time. The only indication of how late it had gotten was the fact that the sky outside his windows had turned indigo, with the city lights twinkling like scattered stars below. His eyes scanned over another goddamn mission report when the door creaked open again.

He didn’t even glance up at first. “Didn’t I already tell you to—” His words cut short the moment he looked up.

She stood in the doorway barefoot, her heels abandoned somewhere outside. Her blazer was gone too, leaving her in that deep cherry-red blouse, the sleeves rolled up slightly and collar undone just enough to look casually disheveled. A neat stack of paperwork rested in her arms as she stepped in, completely unfazed.

“You forgot this,” she said, setting it down on the side of his desk with a soft thunk .

His brows furrowed. “What the hell are you still doing here?”

“I was finishing up scheduling the press rounds for next week.”

“It’s almost nine.”

“I know.” She smiled softly, brushing her hair behind her ear. “I don’t mind staying late. I like spending time with you.”

He snorted, leaning back in his chair and folding his arms across his chest. “You need better hobbies.”

She giggled and perched on the corner of his desk like always, swinging her feet lightly above the floor. “Maybe. But this one’s kind of growing on me.”

He raised an eyebrow. “You serious? You’re young, gorgeous, and apparently enjoy feeding stray heroes. Shouldn’t you be out partying or something?”

Her cheeks flushed at the compliment, subtle but noticeable even in the dim lighting. “I don’t really go out much. Just for errands… and work. Sometimes a girl’s night, but that’s about it.”

Katsuki watched her for a moment, eyes narrowing slightly, his tone quieter now. “How the hell is someone like you not constantly being dragged into dinners, dates, or whatever crap people do these days?”

She shrugged, smile tilting sideways. “Guess I’m good at saying no.”

“Hmph.”

There was a pause.

His gaze lingered—on the way she sat so comfortably on his desk, the way her lips curved gently when she looked at him, the way the stray light from the window haloed her hair. She wasn’t trying to be anything tonight. Not his assistant, not perfect—just her.  Something about that annoyed him. Because he liked it too much.

She leaned forward slightly, voice low and teasing. “You asking if I’m free, Dynamite?”

He snorted. “I’m asking why the hell a woman who looks like you thinks spending her nights holed up with an angry bastard like me is fun.”

She shrugged again, this time with a small, genuine smile. “Because angry bastard or not, you never make me feel alone.”

His stomach dipped, caught somewhere between annoyance and something else he didn’t want to name. “…Tch. You’re so weird.”

“I know.” Her grin widened as she tilted her head. “But you like that about me.”

He didn’t answer.

He didn’t have to.

Because neither of them moved, and neither of them told the other to go home. The silence between them wasn’t awkward—just... full. Filled with things unspoken, yet strangely understood.

And for once, paperwork could wait.

Chapter Text

The key clicked in the lock as Katsuki swung open the door to his apartment, letting it fall open with a dull thud . Behind him, Denki, Sero, and Kirishima followed, loud and laughing as always, a half-case of beer and a worn-out deck of cards between them.

“Man, I swear if Bakugou’s fridge isn’t stocked—”

“Shut up and go check, Pikachu,” Katsuki growled without looking back.

They were halfway through the doorway when the sound of a door opening across the hall caught Katsuki’s attention. He glanced up instinctively—and paused.

There she was.

His new neighbor.

A woman with cotton-candy pink hair swept into a messy, elegant ponytail, eyes bluer than the ocean after a storm, and a sunny smile that felt like spring in the dead of winter. She balanced a tray of frosted cupcakes in both hands, wearing a cute, off-the-shoulder sweater and jeans. She looked like something out of a commercial for sugar and sunshine.

Katsuki blinked. “…You need help with that?”

She turned, surprised, but her smile didn’t falter. “Oh! No, I’m okay. Thanks, though. I’m just bringing these down to the lobby for the staff—little thank-you treat.”

The corner of his mouth twitched. “Right.”

“Well,” she added cheerfully, giving a slight bounce as she adjusted the tray, “I’ll see you later, Katsuki!”

With that, she turned and made her way to the elevator, heels clicking softly on the floor. She didn’t look back. Behind him, the silence among the guys was immediate—“Bro,” Kirishima whispered, grinning. “Who was that?”

Sero elbowed Katsuki as they stepped into his apartment. “Dude, she’s cute. ”

“She just moved in?” Denki added, eyes wide. “When?! How have we never seen her before?!”

Katsuki shut the door behind them and headed toward the kitchen. “Couple weeks ago.”

“ Weeks ?” Sero gawked. “You’ve been holding out on us!”

“I didn’t know I was supposed to report every neighbor to you jackasses,” he muttered, tossing a beer to each of them from the fridge.

“Well, what does she do?” Kirishima asked, catching his.

Katsuki shrugged as he cracked open his own. “Dunno. Don’t know her that well.”

Denki flopped onto the couch. “You should totally ask her out, man.”

Katsuki turned, one brow raised, unimpressed. “You’re all idiots.”

Sero snorted. “You’re the idiot if you don’t, man.”

“Let it go,” he muttered, waving them off as he dropped into the armchair and took a long sip of his beer. “She’s just a neighbor. Chill.”

Kirishima gave him a look. “You offered to help her carry cupcakes. That’s practically flirting for you. ”

“I was being polite,” Katsuki growled. “Now shut the hell up and deal the damn cards.”

Laughing, the guys let it go—sort of—as Denki began shuffling, and they settled into their usual banter-filled game night.

But even as Katsuki laid his cards down, scowling like usual… He couldn’t quite get the sound of her voice—or that bright smile—out of his head.

Katsuki trudged down the apartment hallway, every step heavier than the last. His boots left faint smudges of soot and city grime in their wake, the scorch marks on his gauntlets dim and scratched. Blood crusted along the edge of his jaw, dried over old bruises, and his blonde hair stuck to his forehead in damp spikes. He was exhausted. Bone-deep, muscle-screaming, don’t-talk-to-me-or-I’ll-kill-you tired.

All he wanted was to eat something vaguely edible, take a boiling-hot shower, and collapse face-first into his bed. Digging in his pocket for his keys, he muttered a string of curses under his breath when they snagged on a torn piece of fabric.

“Good morning.”

His head snapped up at the sound of a voice that didn’t match his mood—light, cheerful, way too awake for this ungodly hour.

There she was again. His neighbor.

She was locking her door, standing just a few feet away, dressed like she’d walked out of a fashion magazine and into a meeting with a CEO. A tight black pencil skirt hugged her curves, paired with a frilly pale pink blouse that softened her sharp blazer. Her hair was pinned up with a delicate stick decorated with tiny blooming sakura flowers, and she balanced a to-go coffee cup in one hand with effortless grace.

And of course, she was smiling at him like it wasn’t five in the damn morning.

Katsuki stared, “…It’s morning?” he asked gruffly, his voice hoarse and scratchy from yelling all night.

She laughed gently, the sound like something that should be illegal at this hour. “It’s five a.m., so yes. Technically.”

He grunted and looked her over again. “Why the hell are you so cheerful?”

She shrugged, sipping her coffee. “Some of us are morning people.”

“That should be a crime,” he muttered, but there was no bite behind it.

She giggled. Giggled . Like he was funny. “You always come home like that?” she asked, nodding toward the grime covering his arms and chest. “You look like you fought a building.”

“Just a gang,” he said, unlocking his door with a tired click. “The building lost.”

She blinked, then laughed again—this time full and bright.

Katsuki found himself watching her more closely now, noticing the little details. The pink gloss on her lips. The faint blush on her cheeks from the morning chill. The soft flush that deepened when she caught him staring.

“What’s your name?” he asked suddenly.

She hesitated, fingers tightening around her cup. “…Rosie.”

Of course it was. It fit too perfectly. He let the corner of his mouth twitch upward, just a little. “Pretty name.”

Her eyes widened a fraction. “Oh. Uh… thank you.”

“You live next door, smile like that, and you’re just now tellin’ me your name?” he teased, voice low and rough.

She ducked her head, obviously flustered, her smile tugging shyly at the corners of her lips. “You never asked before…”

“I’m askin’ now.”

“I noticed,” she murmured, eyes darting away as the blush crept down her neck.

He leaned slightly against his doorframe, crossing his arms, watching her with a quiet kind of heat. “You got a boyfriend, Rosie?”

Her eyes snapped up to his, startled. She laughed again, nervously. “That’s… a bold question for five a.m.”

“I’m not known for being subtle, sweetheart.”

She stepped back toward the elevator, still holding his gaze, her expression caught between bashful and charmed. “I really have to get to work…”

“You always dress that good to break hearts in the office?” he asked, eyes flicking down and up once more.

Her cheeks went redder. “Don’t tease.”

He smirked. “Not teasin’. Just observin’.”

Rosie shook her head with a soft laugh and took another step toward the elevator. “Well… I’ll see you later, Katsuki.”

He nodded, watching her retreat with a heavy-lidded gaze.

“Yeah,” he muttered, finally pushing open his door. “You will.”

And as she disappeared behind the closing elevator doors, Katsuki found himself grumbling under his breath—but this time, with the faintest smirk tugging at his lips. Maybe mornings weren’t so bad after all.

The door clicked shut behind Katsuki as he stepped into the hallway, locking it with one hand while the other adjusted the strap on his gear bag. It was still early enough that the lights overhead felt too bright, and the scent of someone’s brewing coffee hung faint in the air. He turned toward the elevator—and froze as another door down the hall opened.

Rosie wearing a red dress that hit mid-thigh, heels clicking softly, a little white cardigan hugging her shoulders. Her pink hair was in soft curls, and her lip gloss shimmered as she pulled her apartment door shut behind her, phone tucked under one arm and purse dangling from her wrist.

Katsuki blinked. Then he grunted. “You goin’ out?”

She looked up, surprised—and then her face lit with that bright, sweet smile that made something in his chest twist. “Hello Katsuki,” she greeted, walking toward him. “Yeah, I’m heading to brunch with my best friend, Akira.”

He looked her up and down once, slow and deliberate. “Red suits you.”

She flushed immediately, the compliment clearly catching her off guard. “O-oh—um… thank you…”

“You always dress that pretty to eat eggs and pancakes?”

She gave a bashful laugh, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. “Well, it’s brunch. And we’re trying out this cute rooftop place, so I figured I’d make an effort.”

He smirked and pressed the elevator button.

She glanced down at his hero gear. “You heading to work?”

“Yeah. Double patrol shift.”

“Yikes.” She wrinkled her nose. “I don’t envy that.”

The elevator dinged and the doors slid open. They stepped in together, the quiet hum of the machinery accompanying the silence between them as they descended. Katsuki leaned casually against the wall, arms crossed, watching her out of the corner of his eye. “You ever been out with a hero?” he asked suddenly, his tone lazy, teasing.

Rosie blinked, startled. “I—I mean, not really? No.”

“You should try it.”

Her lips parted slightly, curving upwards. “Are you offering?”

He shrugged, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “You gonna give me your number or do I gotta steal it from the leasing office?”

She let out a laugh, flustered but clearly delighted. “You would not.”

“I would. But I’d rather you just hand it over.”

Biting her lip, she dug into her purse, pulled out a small floral notepad, and scribbled her number on it with looping, neat handwriting. She folded it and handed it to him just as the elevator doors opened on the ground floor.

He took it with a satisfied grunt, slipping it into his pocket. “I’ll text you later.”

Rosie turned to him with a sweet smile and a slightly breathless laugh. “I’m looking forward to it.”

And with that, she walked off toward the lobby doors, the sway of her dress catching his eye as he watched her go. Katsuki stepped out of the elevator slowly, glancing down at the folded slip of paper. The day hadn’t even started yet, and it was already looking better.

Chapter Text

Rosie idled in the lot of the S&S Quick Mart, the late‑summer sun beating heat waves off the asphalt. 2:04 p.m. She drummed her nails on the steering wheel, glancing into the rear‑view mirror at the three restless shapes in her back seat.

Ryu, eight, sat in the middle row plucking an imaginary riff on the zipper pull of his hoodie; Kou, seven, kicked his light‑up sneakers against the floor mats while humming whatever theme song was stuck in his head today; Lucy, four, was strapped into her pink booster behind Rosie, legs swinging and tutu puffed around her like a dandelion.

Rosie’s phone still showed No New Messages .

A sleek black sedan glided in two spaces down. Rosie released the breath she’d been holding and stepped out, smoothing her fitted red dress. The door of the sedan swung open and Katsuki Bakugou unfolded from the driver’s seat—gray jeans, fitted black tee, scuffed combat boots, sunglasses that hid everything except the faintest smirk.

“You’re late,” Rosie said, shutting her door with a soft thunk.

He took off his shades and tucked them into his collar. Crimson eyes flicked over her, deliberate and slow. “Got stuck training two rookie sidekicks. They’re useless.” His gaze lingered. “You look gorgeous, doll.”

Heat crept up her neck—annoyingly familiar after all this time. “Thanks,” she murmured, brushing past him to the back door. She clicked the latch, and Ryu practically launched himself out, black skull‑print backpack slung over one shoulder.

“Dad!” Ryu’s face split into a grin. He threw up twin metal‑horns—his current guitar‑god sign.

Katsuki answered with a fist bump. “Ready for practice tomorrow?”

“Always,” Ryu said, voice brimming with eight‑year‑old swagger that he inherited from his father.

Kou scrambled out next, a quieter shadow behind his brother. He latched onto Rosie’s waist. “Mom, I can stay with you, right?”

“Buddy,” Katsuki drawled, crouching so Kou’s eyes met his, “I’ve got your favorite mochi ice cream in my freezer.”

Kou wavered, then turned to Rosie with wide eyes. 

She smiled, “it’s okay sweetie, go eat ice cream with your Dad.” 

He nodded, slowly releasing Rosie to grab his father’s outstretched hand.

Finally Rosie unbuckled Lucy. The little girl hopped down, ballet bag twice her size bumping along the ground. “Hi, Daddy! Watch my plié!” She bent her knees and grinned up at him.

“Ten outta ten, stardust,” Katsuki declared, scooping her up with one arm.

Rosie leaned against the doorframe and cleared her throat, sliding into Mom‑With‑The‑Planner mode. “Okay, schedule rundown: Tomorrow Lucy has ballet practice at 9:30. She needs the pink leotard— not the sparkly one, Miss Hana said no glitter this week. Ryu has his guitar lesson from ten to eleven, his sheet music’s in his case; he’s working on ‘Crazy Kid’ again—please remind him to slow the tempo. Then on Sunday at eleven Kou’s swim class is at Muscle Beach Gym . Goggles are in the side pocket of his duffel.” 

Katsuki nodded, tapping each point on his fingers. “Ballet, guitar, swim. Got it.”

“Homework packets are in Ryu’s bag. And Kou’s reading log is in the front pouch—he needs three chapters by Monday.”

“Easy,” Katsuki repeated, tapping the last reminder on his fingers. His crimson eyes softened for just a heartbeat. “Anything else, doll?”

Before Rosie could answer, Kou tugged her hand and pointed toward the sparkling‑clean gas‑station storefront. “Mommy, can you take me to the bathroom?”

“Of course.” Rosie turned to Ryu and Lucy. “Anybody else?”

“Yes!” Lucy wiggled out of Katsuki’s arms, tutu bouncing. She grabbed Rosie’s skirt like it was a lifeline.

“Bathroom field trip, it is,” Rosie laughed.

Katsuki transferred backpacks into his trunk while Rosie hauled Lucy to her hip and herded everyone toward the big glass doors. He stepped forward to yank the door open, sketching a half‑bow. “After you, princesses and gremlins.”

“Thank you, Daddy,” Lucy chirped, treating him to a dazzling grin before darting inside with her brothers.

The bathroom mission complete, Rosie made the fatal mistake of pausing to grab a bottle of iced green tea for herself. Lucy—ever the opportunist—spotted the candy rack. “Strawberry gummies, Mommy!” she gasped, clutching a packet like it contained state secrets.

“That’s one.” Rosie balanced Lucy’s gummies on top of her drink and turned—only to find Ryu and Kou skidding up beside her, eyes wide and hands very empty of snacks… for now.

“Mom.” Ryu.

“Mom, can I get spicy chips?” Kou.

“Asking for chocolate!” Ryu.

“Please, sour worms?” Kou.

Rosie exhaled through her nose, leveling a look at Katsuki, who was leaning on the endcap like a very large, very smug gargoyle. His arms folded, lips twitching.

She narrowed her eyes. “Have you gone grocery shopping yet?”

Katsuki scratched the back of his neck, sheepish. “I’ve been busy. Rookie sidekicks keep setting paperwork on fire.”

She gave him the stare then turned to her kids with a smile, “five snacks each.”

A chorus of Yessssss! erupted as three small hurricanes scattered into the aisles. Katsuki moseyed closer, hands sliding into his pockets. “You sure you don’t wanna make it six snacks? Ten?”

“Don’t start.” Rosie scanned a shelf for apple juice boxes. “You’ll regret it tomorrow when they’re climbing the ceiling.”

He leaned in, lowering his voice. “Pretty sure that’s why you packed sleep aids,”

She rolled her eyes but bit back a smile. “Flirting will not raise the snack limit, Katsuki.”

“Worth a shot,” he murmured, smirk firmly in place.

Lucy reappeared clutching a pint‑sized carton of strawberry milk… and a box of apple juice. Her little brow furrowed in existential crisis. “Mommy, I can’t pick. One’s pink, and one has the cute apple on it.”

Rosie crouched. “Okay, sweetheart, just choose—”

Katsuki knelt beside them, ruffling Lucy’s pink hair. “Why choose?” He plucked both drinks from her hands, dropped them in the basket, and kissed her forehead. “My little stardust gets both.”

Lucy lit up like a firework. “Thank you, Daddy!”

Rosie sighed—half exasperation, half melted heart. “You’re going to spoil her.”

“Perks of the weekend parent,” he said, straightening. “Besides, she’s cute when she’s happy.”

“Still not raising the snack limit for the other two.”

“Debatable,” he shot back, but there was no fight in it. Just a warmth Rosie remembered too well and tried not to dwell on.

By the time they reached the counter, Ryu’s arms were piled with chips and chocolate bars, Kou balanced gummy octopi on his head like a crown, and Lucy was humming about strawberry planets and apple‑juice moons. Katsuki paid without blinking, Rosie slid in an extra apple for sanity’s sake, and together they wrangled children and snacks back to the sedan.

As she buckled Lucy in, Rosie glanced at Katsuki over the roof of the car. He looked tired, sure. But the fond curve of his mouth as he listened to Kou’s endless chatter reminded her why weekends like this still mattered.

After kissing each of her kids goodnight and giving each one a long, lingering hug—Lucy clinging extra tight and Kou sneaking one last gummy into his pocket—Rosie gently closed the car door. The thud of it shutting left a strange silence in its wake.

She turned—and nearly collided with Katsuki’s chest.

“Shit,” she gasped, pulling back slightly, hand brushing his firm chest for balance. “You scared me.”

He stood there, hands casually tucked in his back pockets, watching her with that unreadable look that always made her heart skip. The late-afternoon sunlight hit just right—highlighting his jawline, the faint scar near his temple, the gold in his hair. Of course he had to look that good. Still in those damn gray jeans and black boots like he just stepped out of a magazine, only dirtier. Rugged. Real.

“Call me if anything happens,” she said, clearing her throat and stepping back to regain some distance—and composure.

He raised a brow. “Should be me saying that,” he drawled, giving her a slow once-over. “You’re the one dressed like trouble.”

Rosie rolled her eyes but smiled despite herself. “It’s just drinks. I’m meeting Akira, Maerya, and Kanako at Silven’s.”

His eyes flicked to the hem of her red dress and then back to her face, a smirk tugging at his lips. “Yeah? That why your legs are out and your lipstick matches your heels?”

She scoffed and crossed her arms over her chest, her voice laced with amusement. “I didn’t know I needed your approval to wear a dress.”

“You don’t,” he said smoothly. “But you should know how damn distracting you look in one.”

That made her blink, heat creeping into her cheeks. “Don’t start,” she warned, though it came out far too soft.

Katsuki tilted his head. “Just don’t get sloppy. You’re drunk after three drinks, remember?”

“That only happened one time,” she said defensively, then added under her breath, “Maybe two.”

“You tried to karaoke ‘WAP’ and then threw up in the Uber.”

“I had nachos before that,” she muttered, a hand flying to her face. “You said you weren’t gonna bring that up again.”

He chuckled and something about the sound loosened the tension in her chest. When his gaze met hers again, it had softened.

“I’m just saying,” he murmured, voice low and warm, “if you need me to come pick you up… I will.”

Rosie met his eyes. “I know.”

The quiet between them stretched out, thick with something unspoken. Familiar. Not quite longing, but close. It wrapped around her like the breeze brushing her bare shoulders. She didn’t look away.

“You’re a good dad,” she said quietly.

His expression shifted—like he didn’t quite know what to do with the compliment. He scratched the back of his neck. “Yeah, well. I had to learn from someone.” He paused. “You made it look easy, Rosie.”

That hit deeper than she expected. She glanced away, blinking fast. “It wasn’t.”

“I know,” he said simply. Another pause. “You look really beautiful tonight, y’know?” Katsuki added, more gently now. “Not just the dress. Just… you.”

Rosie’s breath caught slightly. She could feel her heart thudding, could feel the old pieces of herself stir where she tried to keep them buried. “…Thanks,” she murmured. “You don’t look so bad yourself. For a single dad covered in melted slime villain residue half the time.”

He gave a soft snort. “Still got it though, huh?”

She smiled. “Always.”

He stepped back finally, giving her space, though his eyes lingered a beat longer. “Go have fun. Text me if you need anything. Even if it’s just a ride home.”

“I will,” she promised, voice just above a whisper.

And as she walked away toward her own car, Rosie had to resist the urge to look back—because she knew damn well that if she did, she’d catch Katsuki still watching her. And she wasn’t sure what she’d do if she saw that look in his eyes again. But her heart was already beating faster. Just like it used to.

Chapter Text

Katsuki Bakugou hated social media.

The whole thing grated on his nerves. People parading their lives around like it meant something—every dumbass post about their breakfast, gym routines, relationships, pets, new socks, and goddamn sunsets. It all felt like static noise to him. Why the hell did anyone need to know what he was doing unless it was important? Relevant.

He wasn’t shy about saying it either.

“Social media’s for extras,” he’d mutter under his breath, eyes twitching every time someone shoved a phone in his face and said, “Take a selfie with me, Dynamight!” The only times he did post were for things that actually mattered. Milestones.

The day he got accepted into Aldera Middle—one blurry, angry photo of his acceptance letter. 

Then again when he got into U.A., standing in front of the gates with a cocky-ass smirk and a caption that just said: Next level.

His provisional license came next. No caption, just the license in his gloved hand and the shadow of his grin in the corner.

Debut as a Pro Hero: him walking out of the Hero Commission doors, back turned, gauntlets gleaming under the midday sun.

Then his own agency’s ribbon-cutting. One photo. No taglines. Just him in a sleek black hero suit, arms crossed, “DYNAMIGHT HQ” lit up behind him.

After that? Maybe one post a year—an annual update of him climbing the rankings, photos of headlines or mission shots. Nothing personal. Never anything soft.

So when he posted a picture one Saturday morning, the entire internet went into cardiac arrest.

The image was simple, almost careless: a candid shot of a woman walking ahead of him, her long legs bare except for a pair of cozy socks and his hoodie—that beat-up black one with “Ground Zero” in bold white letters across the back. She had her pink hair pulled up in a messy bun, a drink in one hand, the hem of the hoodie brushing the top of her thighs. She was looking away, heading toward the living room, sun pouring in from behind her.

Her face wasn’t even visible. But the caption? “my pretty doll.” That was all. No context. No explanation. No tag. No additional story or post to follow. Just one photo.

The app broke.

Within minutes, people were screen-capping the image, reposting it to Mitter, BikBok, HeroNet, Weddit, Liscord, Linked, gossip columns. Theories exploded like fireworks across the internet. Entire forums popped up titled things like WHO IS DYNAMIGHT’S GIRLFRIEND??? and The Doll Conspiracy Thread. There were breakdowns of every detail: the shape of her calves, the color of the drink in her hand, how far up her thighs the hoodie fell. Some swore she was a fashion model. Others claimed she had to be a civilian—“No pro hero’s for her description.” One person made an actual slideshow presentation arguing she had to be a childhood sweetheart from U.A. based on the hoodie’s age. Another user wrote a 10,000-word essay titled: “Why Katsuki Bakugou Secretly Likes Sweet Girls.”

Katsuki didn’t give a shit, not really. Okay, maybe he noticed when even Aizawa texted him: You posted a girl? Are you dying?

And Hawks sent: Lmao you really hard launched her like that?? Didn’t even tag her? Cold-blooded, man.

And then Kirishima: BRO IS THAT THE ONE YOU SAID COOKS FOR YOU??? I THOUGHT YOU WERE KIDDING

Katsuki just rolled his eyes and went back to drinking his damn coffee, leaning against the kitchen counter with the mug warming his hand and a familiar scowl tugging at his lips. From where he stood, he had a perfect view of her—his girl—flopped over their living room couch, tucked into the corner like she belonged there (because she did), wearing nothing but his oversized hoodie and a pair of fuzzy socks with tiny strawberries on them.

Her bare legs were tangled in a blanket, a paperback novel in one hand and a ridiculous cup of coffee in the other. He knew it was basically sugar and milk with a drop of caffeine—an insult to coffee, really—but it didn’t matter. Not when she looked so damn peaceful, her pink hair falling into her eyes as she turned the page and let out a little hum of interest.

He didn’t even like sweet things. Never had. But the moment his eyes landed on her for the first time—grinning that bright, sunshiney grin and waving like they were already friends—Katsuki developed the worst kind of sweet tooth.

And it was terminal.

It had been a chance encounter, really.

She had just moved into the apartment next to his. He’d been coming home from patrol, covered in grime, half-pissed at the world, and there she was: struggling with three boxes stacked taller than her head, stubbornly refusing to ask for help.

He offered anyway, and she had the audacity to beam up at him like he’d just saved her from a fire and said, “Oh my gosh, you’re so strong! Thank you!”

He didn’t even remember what he said back. Probably something like “Tch, whatever.” What he did remember was the curve of her smile, the way her eyes sparkled when she laughed at her own clumsiness, and how she smelled like rainwater and berries.

From that moment, he was doomed. Weeks went by. He flirted—blatantly. He offered to help carry her groceries. Walked her dog. Let her borrow sugar even though he didn’t bake. He had even, God help him, helped her fix her coffee table.

But she never took the damn hint. Not because she wasn’t interested—hell no, she just… didn’t see it. She was sweet, kind, a little spacey, too busy talking about her favorite books and her chaotic job to notice that he was basically throwing himself at her in his gruff, Bakugou kind of way.

Eventually, it took cornering her outside the elevator, one hand on her waist and growling out, “Go on a date with me already, dumbass,” for her to blink up at him and go, “Oh! Wait—were you flirting with me this whole time?”

He was done. And he still was. Because once she was his, Katsuki hadn’t been the same.

He was drunk on her laugh. Obsessed with her sleepy voice in the mornings. Addicted to the way she clung to him in her sleep like he’d vanish if she let go. She had him wrapped around her pink-painted finger, and he loved it there.

His phone buzzed again. Then again. Then six more times. Groaning, he slammed his mug on the counter and unlocked it, only to immediately regret it. Mitter was lit.

💥DynaMIGHTbeTaken:
WHO TF IS THAT GIRL IN HIS HOODIE I AM NOT OKAY 😭😭😭

💅HotforHeroes420:
not me zooming in on the ankles to try and identify her nail polish…

🧠IQ_Over9000:
Based on the angle of sunlight and the floorboards, I’m guessing she’s at HIS apartment. Case closed.

👀Uraraka_stan_acc:
This man really said “my pretty doll” and went radio silent like we weren’t gonna burn the internet down about it

😭MrsExplosionMurder:
Imagine being so fine that you get Dynamight himself to POST you. She’s the chosen one.

Katsuki snorted, rubbing a hand down his face.

“Idiots,” he muttered.

But a corner of his mouth tugged upward as he looked back at her. Still curled up, still soft, still entirely unaware of the chaos she’d caused with one blurry photo and his stupid caption. Yeah. He didn’t care about social media. But he did care about her, and if the world was gonna know one thing about him outside of his hero work, it’d be this: his heart is taken by the most gorgeous woman. 

“Katsuki, darling,” Rosie’s voice broke the soft silence of the living room, gentle and sweet like always. Her pink hair was tied up in a messy bun, loose strands curling around her face as she peeked up at him from where she lay curled up on the couch. “Could we go grocery shopping later?”

Katsuki didn’t even hesitate. “Anything for you, doll,” he murmured, immediately abandoning his phone to cross the room and lower himself beside her.

She melted into him the moment he settled down, nuzzling her face into his chest with a content sigh. His arm wrapped around her shoulders, anchoring her against him like she belonged there—and she did.

He pressed a kiss to the crown of her head, lips brushing her hair with a quiet kind of devotion that he’d never show anyone else. Just her. Only her.

It had been barely a day since he dropped that first photo—his “pretty doll” hard launch that sent the internet into an absolute frenzy—and already Katsuki had posted more.

A hand on his forearm with soft pink polish.

Her legs stretched out on the balcony with a book resting on her knees.

A blurry photo of her in his hoodie again, stirring soup in the kitchen with her hair tied back, all warm light and home.

Never her face. Not because he was ashamed—hell no—but because she was his, and some things weren’t for the public. Her smile, the one she saved just for him? That was his. The way she blushed when he flirted too boldly? His. The sleepy kisses, the giggles, the sleepy drawl of “Katsuki, I missed you,” whenever he got home late from patrol? All his.

Still, he found himself scrolling through his own Linked page, something he never used outside of mandatory updates and professional posts. He hadn’t realized how many little snapshots of her he’d collected until now—half-candid photos, cozy domestic glimpses, sweet nothings captured and posted with nothing but a few quiet words like:

My girl’s cooking again. I’m spoiled.

Not sharing.

She picked this dumb mug. I use it every day now.

Yeah, I’m taken. Cry about it.

Pretty legs. My hoodie. Stay mad.

He hated social media. Still did. It was nosy, loud, stupid. But somehow… he couldn’t bring himself to keep her entirely to himself. He loved her too much to act like she wasn’t the center of his universe. So yeah, maybe he’d post another photo later. One of her sunbathing on the balcony, book cracked open, lips slightly parted in concentration. Or maybe the one where she was hugging Maya, their dog, and giggling with her nose scrunched up.

He didn’t care how many weirdos tried to piece her identity together. They’d never know what it felt like to wake up with her curled against him, or to have her hand on his cheek when he came home bleeding and tired, or to have her lips pressed to his scarred knuckles and whisper, “I’m proud of you.”

As she shifted on his chest now, flipping the page of her book, Katsuki looked down and caught her reading quietly, eyelashes fluttering, soft as ever.

He kissed her head again, murmuring, “You’re perfect, y’know that?”

She hummed, snuggling in closer. “You’re extra sweet today.”

“Only for you, doll.”

Chapter Text

The tree outside her window had always been a pain in the ass. But tonight? It was worth every scraped palm and scuffed boot. Katsuki climbed with practiced ease, silent despite the pounding of his heart in his chest. The moonlight hit her window just right, soft and glowing, casting a pale haze across the glass—and there she was.

Rosie.

Wearing nothing but a faded band tee and her favorite American Apparel underwear, the waistband peeking just above the hem of his shirt. Her hair was messy—sleep-mussed and shoved up with a claw clip, pieces falling around her face and neck, brushing her collarbone as she padded barefoot into her room, like she didn’t care. She probably didn’t. She looked perfect and he was so gone for her.

In the background, a half-played cassette tape he’d found buried in some thrift shop played a soft ballad. A mix he made her filled with songs he had carefully handpicked, on impulse, just because she said she loved “vintage things.”

She didn’t see him. But he didn’t care, as he was enjoying soaking up these last several seconds before he might potentially get his heart broken. How could he not stop and stare? She looked like something out of a dream. His dream.

Katsuki exhaled slowly, then lifted his hand and knocked on the window.

She froze. Her head snapped toward the sound, and her mouth fell open. She rushed over, fumbling with the latch before pushing the window up. “ Katsuki?! What are you doing here? My Dad is going to be home soon.” 

He didn’t answer. He grabbed the back of her neck and yanked her forward, kissing her. She melted instantly, fingers clutching his shirt, lips parting to taste the urgency on his tongue. When he finally pulled back, she was breathless, dazed with a dreamy look.

“What—what are you doing here?” she whispered, cheeks flushed.

Katsuki reached into his jacket, pulled out the two folded plane tickets, then the velvet ring box. He didn’t open it. Just looked at her. “Run away with me.”

Her lips parted, stunned. She glanced at the tickets, then back at him. “You’re serious?”

“I wouldn’t be here if I wasn’t.” His voice was low, hoarse. “No press, no wedding, no bullshit. Just you and me. Pick a place, any place. I’ll take you there tonight.”

She stared at him like she might cry. The kind of tears that said yes , even if she hadn’t said the words yet.

Katsuki felt something tight in his chest crack open. He’d thought about this for weeks. No— months . Every time her old man gave him that look —the one that said you’re not good enough, punk —every time Rosie came home a little quieter because of some comment her father made.

He’d heard it all.

"He’s too angry."

"He’s a hero, not a husband."

"He’ll never take care of you the way you deserve."

Her dad hated him. Always had. Tried to talk her out of being with him more times than Katsuki could count. And maybe… maybe he was right. Maybe Katsuki was too rough, too volatile, too damn stubborn . But when Rosie looked at him like this ? With that softness in her eyes, with her hands trembling as she reached up to cup his jaw? It made him want to burn down the world for her.

“I love you,” he said, voice cracking slightly. “I’ve loved you since the day you walked into class and sat in front of me. I’m not perfect, doll. But I’ll fight for you every damn day. Just say yes. Just… say yes.”

Rosie didn’t hesitate anymore. She nodded—tears clinging to her lashes—and whispered, “Yes.”

And that was all he needed.

Katsuki didn’t even wait—he slid the ring onto her finger, his rough thumb brushing over her knuckles. It fit like it had always belonged there. Her hand trembled in his, eyes wide as the weight of what they were about to do settled in.

“Pack what you need,” he said softly. “I’ve got everything else.”

She nodded, breathless with excitement, and turned on her heel, bolting into her room like a whirlwind.

Katsuki leaned against the doorframe, watching her with an unshakable grin tugging at the corners of his mouth. Fuck , she was beautiful—barefoot, flushed, practically glowing with adrenaline and joy as she flung open drawers and tossed clothes onto the bed in messy, half-folded piles. Her suitcase lay open in the center like a waiting mouth, and she was stuffing it full of jeans, oversized sweaters, soft pajamas, a hoodie of his, and that ridiculous but adorable strawberry-printed bikini she bought last summer.

She stripped out of her clothes and changed into skinny ripped jeans she found off the floor, a red tank top and tugged on a pink sweater and sneakers. She then returned back to packing as her laptop and charger were thrown in next, along with a pink pouch full of toiletries, her purse, and— He straightened a little when he saw her pause at her closet.

She reached into the back corner, dragging out a slightly worn shoebox decorated with stickers, glitter pens, and tiny lettering in her neat, bubbly handwriting. She opened it quickly—just to check—and Katsuki could see the flash of photos, ticket stubs, old receipts, birthday notes, and even the horrible folded napkin he wrote his number on back when they were just friends.

That box was their whole history.

From being reluctant classmates to hesitant friends to the four-year whirlwind of a relationship that somehow had survived everything—including disapproving parents, media pressure, hero work, and stubborn tempers.

And she was bringing it with her.

His throat got tight.

“You’re really taking that?” he asked, voice rough.

Rosie turned and smiled at him, warm and radiant. “Of course I am. It’s us. ”

God, he was so in love with her.

She tucked the box carefully into her carry-on and zipped up the suitcase with a bounce in her step, dragging it off the bed and toward him. She was glowing. His glowing girl.

“You ready?” she asked, breathless.

“I’ve been ready for you since the moment you smiled at me that first day in training,” he said, grabbing her suitcase with one hand and intertwining his fingers with hers with the other. “Let’s get the hell outta here, doll.”

The low hum of the airplane cabin buzzed around them—overhead bins closing, flight attendants greeting stragglers, the muffled voices of passengers finding their seats. Through the oval window beside her, Rosie gazed out into the dark, the tarmac illuminated by the soft golden glow of floodlights. The loading crew moved like quiet ghosts across the slick pavement, prepping for departure.

It didn’t feel real yet. The plane. The ring on her finger. Him.

She turned slightly in her seat to glance at him.

Katsuki sat beside her, hoodie draped lazily over his black tee, one hand gripping the armrest like he wanted to punch the plane into the sky himself. Despite the casual slouch of his frame, he was alert, crimson eyes flicking toward the exit door and cabin crew as if expecting trouble—even now.

Always protective. Always her safe place.

“You should sleep,” he muttered, eyes finally sliding over to her, softer now. “It’s a long flight.”

She nodded, already shifting. Without hesitation, she leaned over and tucked her head beneath his chin, curling into his side like it was second nature—because it was. Her hand slipped across his stomach and rested gently there, her breath soft against his collarbone.

He exhaled slowly, resting his cheek against the top of her head, pressing a quiet kiss into her hair. His arm came up to wrap around her shoulders, tucking her in close. It was her favorite place in the world. No walls. No expectations. No eyes on them. Just the two of them, above everything else.

As the last of the passengers filed on, Rosie murmured, barely loud enough to be heard over the announcements:

“Katsuki?”

“Hm?”

“Are you sure?” Her voice was small. Uncertain. “About marrying me?”

His response was immediate.

“I booked these damn tickets months ago, Rosie.”

She blinked, surprised. She tilted her head up slightly to look at him.

“I already knew I was gonna ask you.” He took her left hand in his, brushing his thumb over the ring— his ring —on her finger. Then he brought her hand to his lips, kissing her knuckles softly. “I wouldn’t marry anyone else, even if the whole damn world lined up and begged.”

Her eyes welled a little, warmth blooming so deep in her chest it ached.

“I love you,” she whispered.

He looked at her like she hung the stars. “I know. And you’ve got me, doll. All of me.”

Outside the window, the lights blurred as the plane began to taxi. But inside their little row, it felt like the world had finally stilled. Wrapped in his arms, Rosie closed her eyes—and for the first time in a long, long time, she felt weightless. Like maybe running away hadn’t been reckless after all. Maybe it was exactly what they were always meant to do. Together.

Chapter Text

The house was silent—eerily so.

Rosie curled tighter beneath her bed, her breath caught in her throat as she strained to hear anything over the pounding of her heart. The carpet itched at her skin, but she didn’t dare move. Not even to scratch. Not even to breathe too loud.

From downstairs came the soft creak of the front door swinging open again. She heard the slow, deliberate thump of boots across hardwood, tracking mud—no, blood?—onto the floor she had just mopped yesterday. Her phone, held in a trembling grip, was dark. The screen reflected the faint glow of the hallway light under her door.

“Doll,” his voice called from downstairs, smooth and low and off.

She bit down on her lip, hard, stifling the gasp that wanted to rise up her throat.

The next sound chilled her: the slow sshhhkkk of a blade being dragged along drywall. The knife—she had seen it. Curved and gleaming, it had glinted beneath the hallway light as he passed by her family portraits.

“You left the back door unlocked,” he said, voice trailing like smoke. “That’s not safe. Anyone could come in.”

His steps were slower now. Louder. Intentional.

He’s coming back upstairs.

Rosie’s fingers trembled as she muted her phone. The screen was black, her phone had died. Her only option now was to hide.

Thump. Thump. Thump.

The stairs groaned under his weight.

“You were always good at hide-and-seek,” he continued, deceptively calm, despite them playing some twisted version of a childish game. “But you never were very quiet when you were scared.”

Rosie clamped her hand over her mouth.

A door creaked open. Then another. Slowly, rhythmically. She could picture it: him checking the guest room, the bathroom, the hallway closet. The room across hers that was Akira’s. The knife scraped gently against the wall again—like a caress.

“You’re so good at keeping quiet,” his voice drifted through the door like smoke, low and velvety. “Let’s play a game, yeah? If you come out… I’ll leave.”

The doorknob rattled, and Rosie held her breath. Her heartbeat thundered in her ears as the soft click of the latch echoed in the room.

Boots thudded against the carpet—mud-stained and heavy—bringing with them a scent of rain, earth, and something metallic. Her body trembled beneath the bed, heart warring between panic and something much more dangerous: thrill.

Shame crept up her neck, hot and blooming, at the way her pulse reacted. She shouldn’t feel this way. Not with him stalking through her room like a predator. Not with the fear winding through her chest. But there was something unmistakable about his presence—dark and magnetic. Like he knew exactly how much power he held over her.

The footsteps stopped near the bed.

Then turned away. A beat passed. Then two. And finally—he left. The door creaked, then settled against the frame, left wide open. Deliberate.

She didn’t dare move for several minutes, counting each breath, each creak of the floorboards. Only when she heard him descend the stairs, slow and casual, did she begin to slide out from under the bed. Her knees ached as she crept across the room.

Just get to Dad’s room. Lock the door. Call for help.

But the moment she slipped through the hallway, a strong hand caught her waist—and before she could scream, she was spun and pressed down against the bed behind her. A gasp left her lips, sharp and shocked.

His body covered hers, a wall of heat and muscle, chest rising and falling like a storm barely held at bay. His breath brushed the shell of her ear, low and amused. “Took you long enough.”

Rosie’s fingers twisted in the bedsheets, her breath caught halfway between a startled cry and something else she couldn’t name. “You said you’d leave…”

His grin ghosted against her cheek, lips barely brushing skin, the warmth of his breath curling at her ear. “I lied.”

Rosie squirmed beneath him, her face hot, the adrenaline in her veins running wild like a current. Her voice, barely a whisper, broke between them. “What do you want?”

His answer came low and deliberate, each word a weighted truth. “Isn’t it obvious?” His hand spanned across her stomach, the other anchoring at her hip. “You. My pretty doll. I’ve always wanted you.”

Something in his voice had shifted—less teasing, more exposed. Like a thread had finally snapped loose.

She blinked up at him, caught off guard. “What do you mean always?”

He drew in a breath, his chest pressing into hers as though he couldn’t bear to pull away. “I’ve been obsessed with you since the beginning. Couldn’t stop watching. Couldn’t stop wondering how someone like you could exist—so bright, so soft… and still look at someone like me.”

Her lips parted. The storm outside growled in the distance, lightning momentarily flashing against the windowpane. She could see the sharp lines of his face under the mask, the intensity simmering beneath.

“Obsessed?” she echoed, her voice shaking.

He chuckled darkly, but there was no humor in it—just a rough sort of vulnerability. “You have no idea how many times I’ve tried to get your attention. Tried to be charming. Tried to play it cool. But you... you never saw it.”

Rosie’s brows furrowed. “What are you talking about? I did—”

Before she could finish, he let go of her entirely. The sudden absence of his weight startled her. In one swift, practiced movement, he flipped her over onto her back.

She gasped, wide-eyed, breath catching in her throat as she stared up at him—now fully in view. The Ghostface mask glinted under the faint glow of lightning from the window, casting him in shadows and silver outlines. He was dressed head to toe in black—tight shirt, fitted pants—and in his gloved hand, a knife gleamed cold and sleek. Not raised. Not threatening. He tilted his head slowly, watching and waiting.

“You never saw how gone I was,” he said, voice filtered through the mask. “But I got tired of waiting. Tired of pretending. So now—” he leaned closer, the mask mere inches from her face “—I’m done trying to get your attention.”

Rosie swallowed thickly, her heart pounding in her ears.

“I bet I have your attention now,” he finished, low and final.

There was no doubt in his tone. No hesitation. Just that dangerous devotion—the kind that burned too hot to last, but too deep to ever really go out and despite everything—the mask, the storm, the knife resting in his hand—she wasn’t afraid. She was excited.

“What now?” She asked as she stared up at him, feigning confidence. “Gonna kill me?” 

He just chuckled, “no, babydoll, nothing of the sort.”

Chapter Text

The soft chime of her stream notification echoed through the pastel-decorated room, signaling the start of another “Rosie’s corner.” A gentle pink “LIVE” sign glowed behind her, nestled between wall shelves filled with plushies, candles, and tiny succulents in ceramic animal pots. Her room was a warm cocoon of whites, rose hues, and soft lighting, with a delicate lace curtain letting golden sunlight filter in through the window.

Rosie sat at her white-and-pink desk, clad in a fuzzy oversized cardigan and a simple white camisole with a pink ribbon tied at the collar. Her cheeks were flushed naturally, her lips glossed in a strawberry tint, and her long pink hair was clipped back with sparkly barrettes shaped like bows and moons. A cozy mug of tea steamed beside her keyboard, its surface adorned with tiny frothy marshmallows.

"Hi hi hi, everyone~!” she chirped as the chat box exploded with greetings. “Okay, let’s see who’s here today... Oh, I see our usual troublemakers are in already. Be nice or I’ll sic one of the monsters from ‘Lethal Library’ on you.”

She giggled sweetly and adjusted her headset. Though she looked like a character straight out of a magical girl anime, her game of choice today was a pixelated horror puzzler full of cryptic riddles and spine-chilling audio cues.

"Yes, yes, I know I look like I should be playing farming sims or something," she said, winking at the camera. "But you all know I live for the lore dumps, secret codes, and scream-worthy jump scares. The more cursed, the better."

Between puzzles and running from some grotesque shadowy figure on screen, Rosie paused to take sips of her tea and respond to the barrage of comments scrolling past.

“No, I haven’t finished that cozy cryptid mystery game yet, but I’m getting there—I promise! Also, the lemon muffins from my last baking vlog? Totally flopped the first batch, but the second came out chef’s kiss. I’ll upload the recipe soon.”

Her streams weren’t just about gaming—they were a slice of her life. On Sundays, she hosted her popular “Soft Sweep” segment, where she vlogged while folding laundry in her living room, chatting to viewers like old friends. Sometimes, she streamed while crocheting blankets for animal shelters or talked about her latest fantasy book obsession while making boba in her kitchen.

A donation alert chimed.

“Aw, thank you for the tip, JellyBones!” Rosie beamed, clapping her hands together. “I’ll put it toward a new plushie for the shelf—maybe something spooky cute!”

As her character in-game crept through a bloodstained hallway, she leaned closer to the screen, eyes narrowing with focused mischief. “Ooh, it’s puzzle time. I bet none of you can solve this before I do.”

Her community spammed support, emojis, and laughing reactions.

Rosie winked. “You’re welcome to try.”

“ And that’s how you do it! ” Rosie cheered softly, the final puzzle piece snapping into place on screen with a satisfying chime. Her chat erupted with emotes—stars, sparkles, claps, and little ghosts in pink bows. She leaned back in her white gaming chair, her knees drawn up as she sat criss-cross in her seat, a fluffy white miniature poodle curled contently in her lap.

“Okay, Maya was my good luck charm today,” she said, giving the sleepy pup a gentle chin scratch. “Weren’t you, baby girl?”

Maya gave a tiny, satisfied woof, and the chat lit up again.

Rosiesno1fan: Maya Cam WHEN

GoblinManifest: Best streamer, best dog!!

LonesomeKat: She solved that puzzle in five minutes, HOW?!

Rosie giggled, her cheeks flushed from the praise. “Okay, okay, give me a sec, I’m switching games now… but first, let’s catch up, yeah?”

She clicked over to her chat overlay and blinked when a donation popped up with a low bass chime —the one she had custom-set for a certain familiar username.

💀 $50 Donation from Murder God: That was impressive. Almost didn’t want the game to end.

“Oooh,” Rosie cooed, her tone warm and teasing. “Look who’s here. Murder God, you always come in right when things get spooky.” She leaned into the mic, resting her cheek against her palm, fingers twirling the ends of her hair. “How was your day? You disappear for hours and then show up like a shadow.

Her chat was immediately on it.

Shipper4ever: Murder God is back omg!!

Stoner69: Rosie’s fav is HEREEEE

WingedBlades: I ship it I don’t even care.

Rosie just laughed, brushing her fingers through Maya’s fur as the pup snuggled deeper into her lap.

“He’s been here for a couple months now,” she mused out loud, mostly to herself. “Always drops in after 7 p.m… I wonder what you do for work, Murder.”

A beat passed. Then another message pinged in the chat.

Murder God: Don’t worry, I’ll always make time for you, doll.

Rosie’s smile twitched at the corners. “Doll,” she repeated softly, heart fluttering. “You always call me that…”

Another message came seconds later:

Murder God: Because it suits you. 

Rosie froze for a second,  face warm. “Thank you for the compliment.”

RosiexMurder: YALL IS HE FLIRTING?!?!?

wEt.nOddl3: omg!!!! i’m like… intrigued??

PinkyAcid: he’s definitely flirty in a mysterious way

Bobagurl: murder god simp arc when?!

She hid her face behind her sleeve with a breathy laugh. “You guys are ridiculous,” she mumbled, clicking around to prep her next game. “Anyway, I’m starting ‘The Forgotten Asylum’ next. And no, Murder, you can’t backseat me through it. Not yet. I wanna try on my own.”

Murder God: Wouldn’t dream of it. 

Rosie’s heart gave a strange little flutter. She cleared her throat and offered the camera a wry smile. “Thank you”

She took a sip of her tea—lukewarm now—and whispered to Maya, “I think I’ve got a ghost with a credit card haunting my stream.”

Maya sneezed causing Rosie to smile, before she moved to click, “Start Game.”

The glow of three monitors lit the room in pulsing hues of red, amber, and cold white. Fans from his high-spec rig hummed low and steady, barely audible beneath the distant, gritty soundtrack of the survival horror game playing on his leftmost screen. Katsuki Bakugou—known to the online world as Dynamight —sat back in his custom black-and-red gaming chair, hoodie slung half-off his shoulder, headset slung around his neck, and calloused fingers drumming along the desk’s edge.

On one monitor, his own livestream ran live—chat scrolling fast as thousands watched him tear through zombies and cursed creatures with his usual ruthless efficiency.

[DYNAMIGHT]: HEADSHOTS ONLY—DON’T @ ME
KILL STREAK x9

Dynagurl: HE'S A MACHINE

Lobster: BRO JUST BLINKED FOR THE FIRST TIME IN 20 MINUTES

Katsuki didn’t respond. He almost never did mid-match. Too focused. Too dialed in. Except tonight, his eyes kept flicking sideways to the third monitor.

Muted, but impossible to ignore, Rosie’s stream played on the far right screen. Pastel overlays, sparkling alerts, and a scrolling chat full of usernames begging for her attention. A soft little laugh escaped her lips as she fed a white puff of a dog a strawberry gummy.

The sound didn't carry, but he didn’t need it to. He’d watched enough of her streams to know how her voice rose when she was flustered. How her mouth tugged into a real smile when someone made her laugh, or how her fingers absentmindedly twirled her hair when she got deep into a game or a tangent about her favorite books.

He didn’t remember when exactly he’d stumbled on her stream. Just that it had been late, and he'd been browsing “Upcoming Horror Streamers” out of boredom between ranked matches. Her thumbnail had caught his eye first: soft lighting, rosy cheeks, huge blue eyes. Gorgeous.

Too gorgeous.

He’d clicked—expecting some fake-sweet influencer voice, maybe overdone filters. Instead, she’d been… real. Flushed and fussing with her mic, laughing too loud at her own dumb jokes. Rolling her eyes at chat like they were old friends. He hadn’t even noticed he’d stayed, or that he kept coming back. Every stream.

And now? Now he had two screens running. One where the world thought they knew who he was, and another, secret account under the username Murder God , where she didn’t know who he was at all.

The screen dimmed slightly as Rosie’s stream ended with a cheerful wave and her usual “Byeeeee!” drawn out like a melody. The cozy overlay faded to black, and the soft pink light of her room disappeared from his screen.

Katsuki didn’t move.

Still sitting in his custom gaming chair, lit only by the red and white glow of his rig, he leaned back slowly, arms crossed behind his head. On one screen, his own stream dashboard sat dormant—offline, done for the night. The other screen? Rosie’s now-blank channel. Third screen? Her merch store’s countdown timer, ticking down toward the exclusive early launch for premium members.

He’d already bought everything.

The pastel hoodie with the stitched heart? Got it. The limited-run “Spooky Doll” enamel pin? On preorder. The pink mug with her blushing pixel avatar? He drank out of it every damn morning. No one knew—not his agency, not his fans, not his friends, not even his damn sidekicks—that Dynamight, top-5 ranked pro hero and chaos-loving game god, was totally and completely whipped for a girl who didn’t even know his real name and he liked it that way.

“Tokyo Comic Con,” he muttered under his breath, a grin pulling at his lips. “You’re finally giving me a chance, doll.”

He leaned forward, cracked his knuckles, and pulled up the con schedule. She hadn’t said what she’d cosplay as—only that she’d be there on Saturday and Sunday, and to “please come say hi!”

“Yeah, I’ll say hi,” Katsuki said, already opening a private browser window to grab VIP tickets. “But I’m gonna do a hell of a lot more than that.”

He could already see it: her wide eyes behind big pink lenses when she realized who was standing in front of her. He’d get to see her in person, no screen, no filter and he’d finally get his chance to ask her out.

He clicked purchase , leaned back in his chair again, and stared at the reflection of her stream screen one last time.

Chapter Text

Katsuki Bakugo was going to combust.

Not in the metaphorical sense either—his palms were actually starting to sweat, and the familiar tickle of sparks itched along the edge of his fingers like they wanted to explode . He shoved his hands into his pockets and scowled down at his desk.

The box of chocolates in his bag—handmade, carefully wrapped, tied in a perfect bow that he’d re-done five goddamn times—felt like it weighed a hundred fucking pounds.

This is stupid.

She was sitting right in front of him, like always, back straight, long pink hair tumbling down her back in soft waves. Blue eyes that sparkled when she laughed, when she whispered to her seatmate, when she tucked a note into Aizawa’s sleeve as he passed by and called him “Dad.”

Fucking hell.

She was everything Katsuki wasn’t. Sweet. Polite. Gentle in a way that made his teeth grind. She was the kind of girl who offered to help clean the classroom even if it wasn’t her turn, who braided her friends’ hair, who knitted a scarf for Eri and made it look like it was nothing.

Rosie Aizawa.

His goddamn weak spot.

She didn’t even know it, but he hadn’t been able to stop thinking about her since the first day of school. She walked into class like she didn’t even realize she was breathtaking—wearing that little pink cardigan and those shiny shoes, sitting down with a smile like this wasn’t U.A. and like she wasn’t surrounded by maniacs training to become pro heroes.

Katsuki had stared . He remembered that.

And now? Now it was White Day, and he was acting like a hormonal dumbass with a crush.

“Fuck,” he muttered, barely under his breath.

She turned slightly at the sound, peeking at him over her shoulder, lips parted like she was about to ask something.

He quickly looked away, jaw tight, heart hammering against his ribs like a damn villain was attacking.

Why the hell was he like this?

He was supposed to be focused—on winning , on being Number Fucking One. Not on the way she wore her hair in those pretty pink and white lacey ribbons. Not on how she tucked her legs under her when she sat, or how her laughter actually made his throat feel tight .

And definitely not on how he had a box of damn chocolates in his bag with her name on it.

Tch.

“Coward,” he whispered to himself. He wasn’t a coward. He blew shit up for fun. He faced down villains and walked through fire. And yet here he was—sweating over a girl with goddamn pink hair and soft hands .

He clenched his jaw.

He had to do it. He was going to do it. Just not… right this second. Maybe at lunch. Or after school. Or when they were alone and he could shove it at her and grunt something that didn’t sound like a full-on breakdown.

Yeah.

He just had to survive the next hour without blowing his desk up from pure nerves.

Katsuki shouldn’t be doing this.

He watched, jaw tight, as yet another damn extra from General Studies handed Rosie a box of chocolates after class, cheeks red and smile hopeful. She accepted them like she always did—with a warm, sunny smile and a thank-you so genuine it made something twist in Katsuki’s gut.

What the hell was he even thinking?

He wasn't like them. He didn’t smile like that. He didn’t say sweet shit. He didn't… fit with someone like her.

He should just chuck the chocolates in the trash.

But he didn’t, instead he sat at his desk, silent, simmering, waiting. Everyone filtered out, eager to get home, yelling goodbyes, making plans, being loud like always.

But she stayed.

Just like he knew she would.

Humming a soft, catchy tune under her breath—some cutesy idol group she liked. She swayed a little in her seat as she packed her bag. Her pens were scattered—all soft pastel colors, each one topped with a tiny fluffy white poodle.

Even her goddamn pens were cute. Her backpack was pink. Not just light pink. Rosie pink—soft and girly and sweet. With those sparkly, ridiculous keychains hanging off the zippers—a glittery bunny, a cookie with a smiling face, and something that looked like a sleepy strawberry.

Everything about her was so fucking pink. So soft. So perfect.

And he was none of that.

He stood, breath caught in his chest like a damn vacuum, gripping the strap of his bag like it had personally offended him.

She didn’t even hear him coming. He stopped at her desk and just… stood there, looming.

Rosie blinked up at him, mid-zip, her lips parted slightly in surprise. “…Bakugou?” she said softly, tilting her head, pink hair sliding off her shoulder.

Katsuki shoved the box of chocolates at her like it burned. “…Here,” he muttered, voice low and rough.

She blinked. “Huh?”

His ears were burning. His face probably looked like he stuck it in a furnace. “I—fuck, look. I don’t do this shit,” he ground out, eyes locked on the desk behind her. Anywhere but her face. “But… I made those. For you.”

She stared, unmoving.

“And I know you got like, twenty boxes already from those damn extras,” he snapped. “But I don’t give a shit about that. I’m not them. I’m not tryna impress you with some fake smile and sweet talk. That’s not me.” His fists clenched. “But I’ve liked you since the first fucking day you walked in here. With your dumb pink cardigan and your sparkly shoes and your soft-ass voice that doesn’t match this place at all. And I’ve been trying to get this stupid day over with just so I could tell you.”

Finally, he looked at her and she was just sitting there, wide-eyed, lips parted. Her hands frozen halfway through zipping her bag, s ilent.

Fuck.

His stomach dropped.

“…Forget it,” he muttered, turning to walk off, chocolates still in hand, heat crawling up his neck. “Just forget it, alright.” 

Fucking idiot. Katsuki stormed down the hall, fists jammed in his pockets, breath coming out hot and sharp through his nose. Dumb, loud, goddamn idiot.

Why the hell did he say all that? What was he thinking? That she’d just melt and throw her arms around him? That she’d swoon like in some dumb romance manga? She was probably still sitting there in shock— fuck .

He walked faster. You’re not good at that shit. You’re not smooth. You’re not nice. You’re not—

A hand wrapped around his wrist, stopping him dead in his tracks.

He froze.

“…Katsuki,” she said behind him, her voice soft, breathless.

He turned, pulse thudding in his throat.

She was staring up at him, wide blue eyes unblinking, pink strands of hair falling into her face. Her cheeks were flushed, lips slightly parted.

And then… she smiled. Not the one she gave to the others—not that polite, airy sweetness. No, this one was soft, shy, and just for him . She reached up slowly, gently, and took the box of chocolates from his hand like it was something precious. "I… I like you too," she said, voice quiet but steady. “I’ve liked you for a while, actually.”

Katsuki’s brain short-circuited.

Before he could say a single word, she stood on her tiptoes, face warm and glowing—and pressed a kiss to his cheek. It was feather-light. But it stuck . Literally. Strawberry-flavored lip gloss smeared gently against his skin.

Then she giggled— giggled —and turned, skipping off a few steps just as a tall shadow turned the corner. “Rosie,” Aizawa said gruffly, raising a brow. “Ready to go?”

She turned with a bright smile. “Yup!” She looked back at Katsuki one more time, that shy smile curling on her lips. “I’ll see you tomorrow, okay?”

He didn’t answer. Just nodded, stiff.

She disappeared around the corner with her dad, hair bouncing behind her, pink bag swaying.

Katsuki just stood there, in the middle of the empty hallway, touching his cheek like an idiot. It was still sticky. He could feel the faint tack of her gloss. Strawberry.  

His face went red. Ears too. “…Shit,” he muttered to himself, running a hand through his hair, completely flustered and for the first time in what felt like forever, Katsuki Bakugou didn’t know what to do with himself.

Chapter Text

The park was quiet, filled with the low hum of cicadas and the occasional chirp of birds overhead. A gentle breeze rustled through the leaves as Aizawa leaned back on the bench, coffee in one hand, fingers loosely intertwined with his wife’s in the other.

Miyu sat beside him, her long pink hair spilling over her shoulder like spun candy floss, her pale skin glowing softly in the afternoon sun. She wore a simple sundress and sandals, but she looked like something out of a dream—she always had. Even now, years after they’d married, she still made his chest tighten with something he would never say out loud.

“She’s so full of energy today,” Miyu murmured, watching their daughter with a soft smile.

Rosie, dressed in a pink ruffled skirt, a white tee, and her favorite little jean jacket, was laughing as she ran circles around the playground. Her hair bounced behind her like a silken banner, ribbons fluttering. She looked just like her mother.

Too much like her mother.

“She gets it from you,” Aizawa said, sipping his coffee. “The chaos.”

Miyu just smiled, her eyes twinkling. “And the attitude from you.”

Rosie was currently holding hands with her best friend, Akira, while a boy stood a few feet away from them, scowling but determined. Aizawa recognized that blonde hair and fiery glare instantly.

“…That’s Bakugou,” he muttered, brows furrowing.

Miyu perked up. “Oh! He’s cute.”

Aizawa side-eyed her. “He’s seven.”

“Rosie will be seven too soon,” she teased gently.

The blonde boy, Katsuki, was clearly working himself up to something. He stomped toward Rosie, clutching something in one hand. His cheeks were red, his mouth twitching with nerves.

Then, right in front of Rosie, the boy dropped to one knee.

Aizawa blinked. Miyu gasped. “Is he—”

“Is he proposing ?” Aizawa deadpanned.

“ Oh my God, ” Miyu breathed, covering her mouth.

Rosie blinked in surprise, her big blue eyes wide and glittering under the sun. The little boy in front of her—blonde, loud, and clearly ready to combust from nerves—shoved a pink-and-blue Ring Pop at her like he was brandishing a sword. “I like you, okay?!” he blurted, red in the face. “I’m gonna marry you one day, so just—just get used to it!”

There was a sharp crack! of harmless sparks as his palm ignited in a little flash of heat and light, more for emphasis than threat. A show of power. A declaration of war or love. Perhaps he was just too nervous. Aizawa couldn’t tell which—and honestly, he didn’t care.

He just watched a boy propose to his daughter with a Ring Pop. With a damn Ring Pop.

A vein twitched in Aizawa’s temple.

Rosie, unbothered and giggling, crouched down and pressed a kiss to the blonde menace’s cheek. “Okay,” she said sweetly. “But you have to bring me a cupcake next time too.”

The boy looked like he’d just won the Pro Hero Olympics, standing there in stunned, victorious silence as she skipped off toward the swings and waved for him to follow her.

Aizawa stared blankly at the scene unfolding. Then slowly, slowly leaned back on the bench like the weight of the universe had settled onto his shoulders. He closed his eyes for a long moment. When he opened them again, they were full of dead, murderous resolve. “I’m going to kill him,” he muttered.

Miyu, seated beside him with her delicate fingers laced with his, gave a soft hum of amusement. “You are not going to kill a seven-year-old, darling.”

“Watch me.”

“He’s a child.”

“He’s a brat, ” Aizawa hissed. “And he just proposed to my daughter with a piece of sugar jewelry. There was an explosion, Miyu. Sparks. You saw it.”

Miyu giggled behind her hand, her pastel-pink hair fluttering with the breeze. “It was harmless. Dramatic, but harmless.”

“She kissed him.”

“It was on the cheek.”

“She accepted the proposal.”

“She said he has to bring her a cupcake next time.”

“She’s six!” Aizawa snapped, his voice low but incredulous. “Six, and already making marriage pacts with snot-nosed brats who think explosions are romantic gestures. What’s next? Matching costumes? A couples channel?”

“Oh, sweetheart,” Miyu said gently, placing a calming hand on his arm. “Settle down. They’re just kids. It’s all pretend.”

Aizawa scowled at the pair on the swings. Katsuki was pushing Rosie, and she was laughing, holding onto the chains like they were the reins of a flying unicorn.

“They’re too young to be making promises like that,” he grumbled. “Especially her. ”

Miyu tilted her head and gave him a knowing smile. “People will fall for her.”

“She’s not allowed to date until she’s thirty.”

“She’ll be lucky to make it past middle school without another dozen ‘proposals’ like that.”

“Then I’m building a bunker.”

She laughed again and leaned her head on his shoulder. “What’s the worst that could happen?”

Aizawa narrowed his eyes at the swing set, where Bakugou was shouting something about pushing her higher and Rosie was giggling louder than ever.

“…He’s gonna be in my class someday, isn’t he?” he muttered grimly.

Miyu’s smile widened. “Mmhm.”

“I hate everything.”

“And yet,” she said sweetly, brushing a kiss against his cheek, “you love us.”

“…Unfortunately.”

And even as Aizawa brooded and planned a dozen elaborate ways to sabotage a future wedding, he never let go of Miyu’s hand. Though he did make a mental note to inspect every cupcake that boy ever brought to his daughter.

The sun was setting in brilliant streaks of orange and gold behind the graduation stage, casting a warm glow across the rows of proud families and beaming students. A breeze tugged at the white and navy uniforms of the graduating heroes of UA High, flapping tassels and stirring curls.

Among the crowd, Aizawa stood stiff as a board, his arms crossed tightly, the ever-present shadows under his eyes deeper than usual. Beside him, Miyu looked radiant in a pale pink dress, her hand resting lightly on her husband’s arm as she dabbed at the corners of her eyes with a lacy handkerchief.

“She’s so grown up,” she whispered. “Look at her, honey. Our little girl’s about to become a pro.”

Aizawa grunted. “She was six five minutes ago.”

Miyu smiled, eyes twinkling.

On stage, the principal gave the final closing remarks, cheers erupting as caps were flung into the air. And then —then— it happened.

As the applause faded, one blonde-haired idiot stood up on stage with a box in hand. Katsuki Bakugou.

He turned to Rosie, who had just tucked a pink strand of hair behind her ear, and dropped down on one knee.

One. Knee.

From the crowd, Aizawa jolted forward. “ Oh, HELL no. ”

Miyu’s arm snapped out like a seasoned fighter and gripped his elbow, holding him in place. “Don’t you dare.”

“He’s proposing. He’s PROPOSING! ” Aizawa hissed, eyes wide with disbelief and betrayal. “You said this wouldn’t happen! You said—!”

“I said they were kids, ” Miyu corrected calmly, dabbing her tears again with a delicate sniffle. “I never said he wouldn’t follow through.”

Up on stage, Katsuki—sweaty, red in the face, uncharacteristically trembling—was holding out a velvet box with a shimmering ruby and diamond ring nestled inside. Rosie had her hands covering her mouth, eyes wide, cheeks pink.

“I told you, dumbass,” Katsuki growled, voice raw over the microphone he clearly didn’t realize was still on. “Told you back when we were kids. I said I was gonna marry you.”

Rosie was crying. Miyu was crying.

Aizawa was not crying. He was vibrating with rage, “MIYU.”

She calmly patted his arm. “He loves her.”

“He’s still loud.”

“So were you, once.”

“I had restraint.”

“He wore a pink button-up today.”

“…That does feel like a trap.”

“Just look at his face, sweetheart,” Miyu said with a soft laugh, gently tugging her husband back into his seat. “If you had seen the way that boy looked at Rosie when they were six and seven—like she hung the damn moon—you’d have known this was coming. He’s always adored her.”

Aizawa stared up at the stage in utter horror as Rosie nodded furiously, dropped to her knees, and wrapped her arms around Katsuki’s neck, laughing and crying all at once. The crowd erupted into applause.

She took the ring. She kissed him.

Aizawa muttered darkly, “I’m going to kill him.”

“No, you’re not.”

“I might. ”

“He asked for your blessing last week.”

A beat. A pause. “ What? ”

Miyu smiled sweetly and pressed her cheek against his shoulder. “I said yes for you. You were grading papers and muttering about teenagers. I figured it was a no either way, but he took it like a man.”

Aizawa looked like he might faint.

“He may be loud and rough at times,” Miyu added fondly. “But he’s devoted, and he loves her like fire. What more can we ask for?”

“I wanted her to marry a quiet support specialist.”

“She fell in love with a human explosion. Life’s funny that way.”

As cheers echoed across the grounds and Katsuki kissed Rosie again, Aizawa exhaled like a man whose worst fears had finally come true. “…He better never forget the cupcake,” he muttered.

Miyu giggled and kissed his cheek. “He never did.”

Chapter Text

Katsuki’s jaw ticked as he sat in the hallway just outside the locker room, arms crossed over his chest, the low chatter of his sidekicks drifting down the corridor. They didn’t know he was there. “—I swear, if Dynamight doesn’t marry her, I might try my luck,” one of them joked, voice full of laughter. “Have you seen the way she brings him coffee every morning? With that little smile?”

“And the way she fusses over him like some doting wife? God, I wish someone looked at me like that while yelling at me for missing lunch.”

“I don’t even think she realizes how hot she is. Always in those skirts and tight little blouses. You think she wears them for him?”

Katsuki’s teeth ground together.

Rosie.

They were talking about his Rosie, his pretty assistant.  Soft, sweet Rosie who always checked his schedule twice. Who made him drink water when he forgot. Who fixed the collar of his uniform before every mission and said, “Come back safe, Katsuki.” Rosie, who had no idea how much he ached for her sometimes.

When he stepped into the locker room with a scowl etched deep into his face, the room cleared faster than it ever had during an emergency call.

The office was too damn loud for how late it was. Papers shuffling, boots stomping, and Denki cracking some dumb joke no one needed to hear. Katsuki didn’t bother looking up from the mission reports—until he heard her voice.

“Where is he?” Rosie’s voice, bright and sweet, called out.

The chatter dipped instantly. Every single sidekick looked up like she was the queen walking in—because in a way, she was. The real boss around here and everyone knew it.

Katsuki didn’t even flinch, no, instead, he just raised a hand without looking up. “Over here.”

A moment later, the scent of her shampoo and something sugary hit him, and her fingers ruffled the back of his hair like he was some damn pet. “You haven’t eaten, have you?” she asked, tone full of knowing disappointment.

He scowled, not at her—never at her—but at the truth of it. “Had coffee.”

“Coffee isn’t food, Katsuki.” 

"I'll eat after everyone leaves."

There were eyes on them—there always were. He knew Denki and Sero were smirking. Knew even that bastard Haru had started calling her his "work wife" when they thought he wasn’t listening. But it wasn’t a joke. Because Rosie was the only one allowed to touch him. Scold him. Walk into his office during a top-level meeting and hand him his gear while calling him a forgetful dumbass. She was the only one who could talk to him like that and live.

And the truth?

He let her. No—he liked it.

Two hours after everyone had left, Katsuki sat at his desk in his office, a pile of reports in front of him and a tension headache behind his eyes. Rosie was across from him, perched on the little couch near the windows, her heels kicked off and legs tucked underneath her as she ate from a takeout container. She looked cozy and happy. Oblivious to the war he was waging in his own chest. “You still haven't eaten,” she said softly, looking up at him.

“I’m fine,” he muttered.

“No, you’re not.” She stood and crossed the room, still holding her food. “You get grumpy when you’re hungry.”

“I’m always grumpy.”

Rosie hopped onto his desk like she owned the place—she practically did—and opened the bento box. The skirt she wore today was too short. She looked so casual, so comfortable, it made his chest tight. “You’re gonna eat all of this.” She speared a bite with a pair of chopsticks and held it up to him. “Say ‘ah.’”

He rolled his eyes, grabbing her wrist. “You’re unbelievable.”

She just smiled, teasing and sweet. “You love it.”

He opened his mouth. The food was good but her smile was better. “You’re such a pain in the ass,” he muttered, swallowing.

“Mm, but I bring you dinner.”

He didn’t answer—but he didn’t let go, either. He let her feed him as she sat perched right on the edge of his desk, legs swinging gently, humming under her breath while she made sure he ate everything. After the third bite, he yanked her by the waist and pulled her straight down into his lap.

“Stop wiggling,” he grunted. “You distracted me. Sit still.”

She squeaked, flustered and pink-faced, her hand still holding the chopsticks mid-air. “Katsuki—!”

“Shut up,” he said gruffly, arm winding around her waist. “You’re not goin’ anywhere.”

She blinked at him, but her body slowly relaxed against his. Her free hand came up to brush a stray piece of hair out of his eyes. “You okay?” she asked softly.

He didn’t answer right away. Just looked at her, eyes heavy-lidded and unreadable. Then, in a low, almost embarrassed voice, he muttered, “They talk about you.”

Rosie tilted her head. “Who does?”

“My sidekicks. Everyone. Saying shit about you. What you wear. How you look. How you act around me.”

She stiffened slightly. “I—I didn’t mean to—”

“I like it.” His voice cut her off. Quiet and rough. “I like the way you are with me. You’re mine.”

Her lips parted, eyes wide.

“And I’m not sharin’ you.”

She went quiet for a moment, the silence stretched between them for a heartbeat before she finally smiled, soft and warm, her cheeks pink again. “I didn’t think you were.”

Then she went back to feeding him again like it was the most natural thing in the world. Her hand resting lightly on his chest, her head tilted toward his, her legs warm over his thighs. His pulse thudded too loud in his ears. He thought back to earlier, to the sidekicks whispering when she brought him coffee with three sugars and a smirk, when she’d slapped his hand for trying to grab the reports she hadn’t finished reviewing.

They all said the same thing:“Are they married? They act like it.” “Rosie’s the only one who can boss him around.” “She’s got him on a leash, man.” He didn’t care if they whispered. He didn’t care what they thought. Because none of them got this. She was his. And if acting like her husband at work made them back the hell off, then good.

Rosie leaned her head against his. “You feel a little less grumpy now.”

“Tch,” he muttered. “You’re annoying.”

She smiled against his jaw. “You’re welcome.”

He just held her a little closer, ignoring everything else.

Chapter Text

Katsuki’s jaw ticked as he stood with the rest of Class 2-A behind the barricades, the roar of the stadium crowd a dull hum in his ears. The Sports Festival was supposed to be about winning . About proving who was the strongest, who was the best, who belonged at the top.

He wasn’t supposed to be standing here, sweat cooling on his neck after the obstacle course, staring at someone like a complete dumbass.

But Rosie was in the cheer squad uniform and it was doing something dangerous to his brain and his body.

The U.A. cheer outfit was all orange, white, and green, cut to the standard with that stupid little crop top and pleated skirt. There were at least two dozen girls in matching sets from different years—business course, general studies, hero track, support.

But he didn’t give two shits about looking at a single one of them. Not when she was there.

Rosie Aizawa.

His teacher’s daughter. Aizawa’s precious daughter.

Dressed in that cheer uniform with the white ribbons in her hair and her thigh-high socks hugging those legs like they were designed to taunt him specifically.

She was laughing about something one of the other cheerleaders said, her eyes bright, hands animated as she talked. The little pink-tinted gloss on her mouth caught the sunlight, and the soft bounce of her pink hair in those pigtails was not helping.

Katsuki swallowed hard, forcing his eyes away—only to glance back again a heartbeat later. His brain wasn’t working right. He wasn’t thinking about anything appropriate. Not for school. Not for her. Definitely not for the daughter of the man who could and would erase his quirk and his existence.

He knew he shouldn’t be thinking about how warm her thighs probably were under those socks. Or how soft they’d feel against his cheek. Or how easy it would be to just—lay there, face-first. Nap between them like a heathen. Let her play with his hair. Just once. Just to see if she’d hum something soft and stupid like she did sometimes when she sat next to him during lunch.

“Bakugou,” Kirishima’s voice broke through his spiral. “You good, man? You’re kinda red.”

“I’m fine, ” he snapped, yanking his gaze away like he hadn’t just been fantasizing about napping in Rosie’s lap in front of thousands of people.

Fucking great. Now he was thinking about the way she always sat cross-legged when she was waiting around between classes. Just casually. Like she didn’t know what that did to him. Like it wasn’t unfair.

God, he was going to combust.

Rosie glanced toward the Class 2-A section right then, and his eyes met hers for a split second. She smiled—soft and real and just for him.

His heart tripped.

She waved a little. Like it was normal. Like she hadn’t just sent him straight to hell in a skirt and socks.

Katsuki tore his gaze away and muttered under his breath. “Damn it, Rosie.”

Denki elbowed Sero with a grin, nodding toward the cheer squad. “Bro, I swear that third-year from business in the front row just winked at me.”

Sero snorted. “In your dreams. I think she was looking at me.”

Mineta, half-hunched behind them, was not being subtle. His eyes darted, hands clutched together like a little gremlin. “Forget those girls. Rosie Aizawa is where it’s at. Have you seen her? She’s like a cupcake dipped in—”

Katsuki’s fist shot out before his brain could stop it. It didn’t hit hard—more like a reflex jab to the back of Mineta’s overly round head. Enough to shut him up, not enough to get in trouble. Probably.

Mineta squawked and dropped to the bench, holding his head. “Ow! What the hell was that for?!”

Katsuki didn’t even look at him. “Don’t talk about her like that,” he muttered, voice sharp. “You know the rules.”

First day, first year—Aizawa had made it painfully clear that Rosie was off limits . To everyone. There had been rumors—some poor dumbass from general studies tried to ask her out and ended up spending three days in recovery after tripping on air and somehow falling down two flights of stairs. Coincidence, sure. But no one tested the theory twice.

Katsuki ground his teeth, forcing his focus back to the field.

The intermission games were still going—some dumb obstacle relay for the support course. Useless. He didn’t care. Not unless someone exploded. He only cared about one thing now: Her.

Rosie was waiting on the sidelines with the rest of the cheer squad, bouncing a little on her toes, fingers playing with the hem of her pleated skirt as she laughed at something the girl beside her said.

It wasn’t until five minutes later, the games had ended and now the cheerleaders were about to perform. 

The squad moved into formation, and Rosie stepped forward with two others to lead. She was light on her feet, smile radiant, the perfect mix of sweet and confident. Every little move she made hit different—every twirl, every jump, every cheer that echoed over the stadium.

Katsuki was entranced. Until she jumped—and he caught a quick, blinking flash of lace. His brain short-circuited. Pink. Lacey. Frilly. Pink.

His heart stuttered. His lungs gave out. His body did not cooperate. “Oh, you’ve got to be kidding me,” he hissed, grabbing the edge of his seat and leaning forward just enough to slouch and hide it with a strategically placed arm.

God, he was the worst.

He squeezed his eyes shut, trying to think of literally anything else. Algebra. Stain’s crooked smile. His mom yelling at him just last week.

Nope. Nothing helped.

He peeked up again despite himself—and there she was, spinning with that same soft light in her eyes, skirt fluttering just above those socks like it was a scene straight out of hell tailored to destroy him personally .

“Damn it, Rosie,” he muttered for the second time that day.

Katsuki tugged the bathroom door open, wiping his hands dry on the back of his sports jacket as he stepped into the hallway.

He grunted under his breath. Stupid games. Stupid skirt. Stupid— He shook the thoughts off, glaring down at the floor tiles like they personally offended him. At least the… problem was handled now. Cold water. Angry thoughts. The usual.

He just hadn’t expected her to look that good in a cheer uniform.

“Ka—”

His head snapped up, instantly recognizing her voice.

Rosie stood at the end of the hallway, her hair now up in a high ponytail, pink strands bouncing with each step as she approached him in her hero  training uniform. Her bright blue eyes were practically glowing with post-performance excitement.

“There you are!” she said, stopping in front of him, slightly out of breath. “I was looking for you—did you see our performance?”

Katsuki grunted, scratching the back of his neck and glaring off to the side like he wasn't internally combusting all over again.

“Tch. Yeah. You were... fine,” he muttered, then hesitated before adding, “You looked… good. Or whatever.”

Rosie blinked, then flushed.

Bright pink bloomed across her cheeks, and she immediately glanced down at her shoes, fingers fidgeting with the hem of her sleeve. “Oh—uh—thanks. That means a lot… coming from you.”

Katsuki shoved his hands in his pockets, watching the way her lips curled into a soft smile. She always did that—smile like it was made just for him.

She peeked up at him through her lashes, then glanced around the hallway. The very empty hallway and before he could stop her, she stood on her tiptoes and leaned up, brushing her lips against his.

It was quick and gentle.

But it knocked the breath right out of him. He didn’t even think—his hand was already cupping her jaw, pulling her back in as he kissed her again. Firmer. His. For just a second longer than either of them should have dared.

When they finally broke apart, her breath caught in her throat. He watched her eyes flick up to his, soft and sparkling, and he could barely stand how much he felt.

His chest ached. They’d been doing this— being this—since the summer. Hidden glances. Secret texts. Stolen moments in dark rooms, under the cover of night. And even now, it felt like a dream. Like something too bright for the world they lived in.

She was still looking up at him like he hung the damn sky.

“You’re insane,” he muttered, voice lower than before. “Kissing me in a hallway like that…”

Rosie giggled and leaned in, whispering near his ear, “You like it.”

“…Yeah,” he admitted quietly. “I do.”

He glanced around once more, then slipped his hand into hers before anyone could round the corner and see. “C’mon, cheerleader. Let’s go win something.”

Chapter Text

The world outside the castle walls was a tangle of ruin and ash. Smoke rose in thin, curling tendrils from the wreckage of the forest, where beasts with too many eyes and the scent of rot had clawed through the realm’s borders for the third time that season. The sky, once silver-blue and serene, now hung heavy with stormclouds that never brought rain—only lightning and omens.

Yet deep within the stone fortress carved into the bones of the mountain, the Princess sat in a pool of golden light.

Rosie.

She wore a gown the color of pale cherry blossoms, her long pink hair braided with silver threads, and her small hands cradled an old book as she sat curled in the high-backed chair by the fire. Her soft blue eyes were trained on the inked pages, but she glanced up the moment his boots hit the flagstone.

Katsuki stood at the edge of the firelight, his crimson cloak streaked with soot, the edge of his greatsword still gleaming faintly from fresh use. He was a scar across the softness of her chamber — tall, sharp, and simmering with the heat of a man who was built for war, not the warmth of her smile.

“You shouldn’t be sitting in here with the damn windows open,” he barked gruffly. “The outer wall nearly fell. I told you to stay in the sanctuary.”

Rosie simply closed her book, unbothered by his tone, as always. “I knew you would come back.”

His jaw tensed. She said it like it was fact, like there had never been a single doubt in her mind.

“You’re too trusting,” he growled, stalking forward. His armor creaked faintly with the motion. “There are monsters clawing at our gates, and you sit here humming lullabies.”

Her eyes sparkled as she smiled up at him. “And yet you stand before me. Blade drawn, blood on your collar. My sworn sword, just like always.”

His glare deepened, but he didn’t speak.

He hated how soft she was. Hated how her presence dulled the edge of the rage he carried like a second heart. But gods, he hated even more how much he needed to see that softness after wading through the filth and death outside the castle.

She reached for him without hesitation, fingers brushing the scorch mark on his gauntlet. “You’re hurt.”

“It’s nothing,” he muttered, stepping back before she could see the cuts underneath. “I don’t need coddling.”

“You don’t,” she agreed, voice gentle. “But you’re still human, Katsuki.”

The sound of his name on her tongue always struck him like an arrow. No one else called him that anymore. Not in this ruined world. He was Bladebearer, the Crimson Bastard, Kingslayer, Hellborn. But to her?

To her, he was just Katsuki.

She stood, barefoot on the stone floor, and looked up at him. Small, vulnerable, delicate, and breakable and yet she commanded more loyalty from him than any crown or coin ever had.

“You shouldn’t care about someone like me,” he snapped, almost desperate. “I was born in fire, bred for war. You—” he waved a hand at her like she was some impossibly rare bird, “—you were made of light.”

She stepped closer. “And yet you keep coming back.”

He didn’t answer. 

Her hand touched his chest—just over the battered leather of his armor, right where his heart still thundered like a war drum, steady and violent. There was no place for softness in him, no corner of his soul untouched by war, but where her fingers lingered… he felt it. The ache. The crack .

“You’re not just my sword,” Rosie said quietly, her voice no louder than the snow drifting down beyond the broken castle windows. “You’re mine.”

The words shouldn’t have been allowed. Not between them. Not now. Not ever.

He stared at her—at the curve of her mouth, sweet and uncertain; at the stars in her eyes, still so painfully bright despite the ruins all around them. She looked like she belonged to another world—one untouched by death, rot and the smoke-stained horrors that haunted their kingdom. Yet, she stood here with him. In the wreckage and the cold.

He felt it again—the thing he’d buried years ago. That slow, quiet, wrong kind of longing. The one he’d killed a thousand times in himself and still couldn’t seem to burn out.

“…Damn it, Rosie,” he muttered, voice low, fraying. “Don’t say things like that.”

But she only looked at him like he wasn’t a monster. Like he wasn’t something made of ash and steel and blood. Then, without thinking—without breathing —he dropped to one knee.

The sword on his back tilted forward with the motion, catching the firelight. Sparks danced up into the dusk-hollowed chamber, flickering against the cracks in the stone walls. The shadows wrapped around them like a crown of thorns, dark and watching.

He didn’t care. He bowed his head to her—his princess, his soft undoing—and let the words fall from his mouth, heavy with truth. “I’ll follow you into hell,” he said. “Until my last breath. Even if it breaks me.”

And Saints, he meant it. He had meant it since the first time he saw her.

He was only fifteen then, blood still fresh on his hands from the border wars, when the King himself called him into the Hall of Saints and placed him at her side. A peasant-born boy with a dangerous power and a scar down his cheek, kneeling beside a thirteen-year-old girl in a silk dress with ribbons in her hair.

The saints bore witness to the oath. So did the court. Nobles with sharpened smiles and commoners pressing their brows to the marble floor as he vowed it before all: To live for her. To die for her. To shield her with every breath between the two.

Somewhere in the years that followed, he stopped thinking of it as duty. Somewhere in the darkness, it became something else. Something unspoken and forbidden. Something he couldn’t claw out of his chest no matter how he tried.

She stepped closer now, light pooling around her like a blessing. Hair glinting silver in the firelight. Eyes like spring skies before a storm. Her fingertips curled under his jaw, coaxing his face upward until he met her gaze. There was no fear in her. There never had been—not of him. 

“You’ve never once failed me,” she whispered.

“Maybe you should’ve asked for someone better,” he rasped.

“There is no better.”

It undid him. It unmade him.

She could’ve asked for a knight of ancient blood or a warlock king’s son. She could’ve had poets write her name in stars. But here she stood—touching him, breaking through every wall he’d built just to keep her safe from the worst part of himself.

The part that wanted.

The silence between them hung like a breath before a storm. And all Katsuki could do was kneel in it—heart raw, throat burning, drowning in the wish he’d sworn never to make: That she would say it again. That she would say he was hers and mean it in the way he wasn’t allowed to want.

Chapter Text

The man stared at her from behind his ghostface mask, he reached forward, bringing his hand up to her face, gently tracing her jawline with feather-light touches from his leather gloved fingers. The cold leather felt so good against her warm skin, Rosie didn’t even realize that she had been leaning into his touch which caused him to chuckle. He looked her over, as though assessing her slowly, she stared at him, unsure of where this was going. But one thing she did know was that she was finding him very attractive despite the fact he broke in, terrorized her, admitted to stalking her and now stood over her with a knife. 

It was sick just how turned on she was by him, by his presence, and that voice, despite the modulator was making her body ache.

“I’m going to give you a choice, pretty girl.” He chuckled behind his mask, the sound low and dark like it carried secrets only he knew. The glint of the knife caught the dim light as he twirled it lazily in his hand, as though this moment were nothing more than a game to him. “Stay on the bed and I’ll leave… or step into the hallway for a surprise.”

The cold metal of the blade traced up and down the sensitive skin of her inner thigh, making her shiver and her breath hitch. Her pulse hammered so loudly in her ears she was sure he could hear it. He tilted his head, amused by her silence.

“Now,” he murmured, his voice dropping lower as he pressed the flat of the blade against her thigh. “Stand up and make your decision.”

She pushed herself up on shaky legs, the weight of his gaze pinning her in place. Her eyes flicked toward the safety of the bedroom door, then to the dark hallway beyond. A part of her screamed to choose the first option, but something darker and intense burned in her chest.

Taking a step into the hallway, she slowly turned to him, keeping her feet planted as she peered at him through lashes. 

He stilled. Then a slow, dangerous laugh slipped past his mask, rolling over her skin like a caress. “Atta girl,” he purred. “I was hoping you’d pick that option.”

Every step made the darkness ahead seem thicker, heavier. She couldn’t see where it led, but his presence at her back made her all too aware of her choice. As soon as he crossed the threshold, his hand tightened around her wrist and he pulled her hard against his chest. She gasped, the sound swallowed by the sudden press of cold steel beneath her chin.

“Shh,” he whispered at her ear, his breath hot against her skin. “Your surprise starts now.”

With his other hand, he pinned her wrists above her head, the knife pressing against the column of her throat. Removing the knife, he stabbed it into the wall just mere centimeters beside her head. “So fucking pretty.”

This was dangerous, he could kill her. Maybe her Dad was right that all those dark romance novels would rot her brain, because no sane person would have made the decision she had.

Grasping her by the throat, he pressed down on it before he led her to her room without a word. “Get on the bed, on her back with your hands above your head.” 

He released her, allowing her to obey his commands perfectly. She peered at him, only to watch as he had yanked his belt off, wrapping it around her wrists and connected it to her bedframe. He leaned over her, cursing under his breath then in mere seconds her tank top and shorts were sliced open and fell in tatters around her. 

She let out a noise, one that was both angry and turned on. He chuckled, “don’t worry doll, I’ll get you new ones. Just because you look so pretty prancing around in them.” 

“What now…?” 

“So little time and yet so much I want to do to you,” he purred. “I’ll just have to plan better next time.” 

“Next time..?” She whimpered, the cool air biting at her exposed flesh.

“You think this is just a one time thing?” 

She blinked, her face growing warm, she opened her mouth to retort only to have him thrust two of his fingers into her mouth. It took her a second to register what happened before she was greedily licking and sucking on them, faintly tasting the leather of his gloves. His fingers played with her tongue as they were coated with her spit, making her gag as her eyes watered. 

“I could stare at your pretty little cunt all day, look how wet it is already.” He purred, “Such a good girl, even like this.” He cooed as he withdrew his fingers, “I knew you would be.” 

Shoving both fingers into her aching, drenched cunt, she felt him begin to thrust his fingers into her, curling and spreading his fingers inside her. His thumb rubbing around her clit in gentle lazy circles caused her back to arch off the bed. 

“P–please,” she whimpered. “Fuck! Don’t s–stop!” 

He leaned forward, his mask by her ear, his breath, heavy, hot and panting. “Cum for me pretty girl, cum on my fingers.” 

 Just like he said, she obeyed like the good girl she was. It was hot, like a string being snapped as she felt white hot pleasure wash over her body before she collapsed back onto the bed. Cupping her face, he cooed, leaning forward, “how can someone be so pretty on the inside and out? Everything about you is pretty.” 

His phone vibrated, causing him to sigh, “fuck.” 

“W–what?” 

“Nothing to worry your pretty little head over,” he spoke before he reached for his jeans. “Just some nasty business that isn’t for your pretty self to mix herself in.” 

Readjusting their position, he grasped her thighs, hooking them over his shoulders. “Gonna have to bury my face in these when I eat you out next time.” 

Her face went red, a whimpered squeak leaving her lips as she stared at him. But soon, her eyes flickered down to where his thick, heavy cock nudged at her aching cunt. 

His cock pressed inside her in one slow, brutal thrust, stretching her wide and deep until her breath caught in her throat. Stretching to fit him, had her breathing in through her nose, tears prickling as she felt that delicious ache thrum through her body. 

“Shit—” He swallowed thickly, “you feel so good, so tight and warm…”

They started out as slow, lazy strokes, his hands on her hips, groans spilling from his lips, she could only moan helplessly underneath him. Her pussy gripping him tight as it fluttered around his cock, it wasn’t until he found that special spot inside her that she cried out, jerking on the belt restraint as she came so prettily, so loud, and oh so perfect. 

“That’s it…such a good girl with how you’re taking me so well, pretty girl.” 

A soft whining noise crept from her chest, “A–again…” she squirmed and writhed underneath him, her thighs shaking. 

“Y-you’re such a perfect slut for me. So needy and clingy already…” He rasped, his fingers gripping into her hips with a bruising pain that had her pussy clenching around him “Your cunt is so fucking tight and so wet for me, hm?”

Grabbing and pinching her nipples, he groaned again, his pace never faltering.  His voice was hoarse now, “do you want me to make you squirt on my cock?” 

Tears form in her eyes as he continues to pound into her relentlessly, dragging her closer and closer to another orgasm. The lewd sounds of their skin slapping filling the room followed by the squelching noise of her drenched cunt made her face grow red and hot. 

“Yes! Please!” 

“You belong to me, yeah?” 

She hummed, nodding her head frantically but he slowed his thrusts causing her to whine and whimper from the loss. 

“Not good enough doll,” he clicked his tongue. “Say it or you won’t come again.” 

“I’m yours. I belong to you.” She panted, peering at him through wet lashes and she wondered if he was wearing a smug satisfied smirk underneath that mask. “Always, I promise.” 

Something manic took over instantly, as his thrusts grew harder, messier, almost desperate, driving so deep until she was orgasming again. Filthy, pretty words leaving his lips as her orgasm was raw, intense, and completely overwhelming.

“Been waiting so long for this pretty girl…” he choked out. “Damn near fantasized about it.” He babbled as his breathing turned heavy and erratic, warm puffs of air as he slammed into her again. “‘s the thought of you being like this with anyone else…fucking kill ‘em. Fuck you in their blood too, pretty girl.”

She hummed, her lips swollen from biting down on them, her head falling back against the bed, her hips bucking against him in a frantic and desperate manner. 

“Need to stuff your cute pussy…” he let out a throaty groan. “Fuck—”

“Ngh—ahh!”

He groans, burying himself deep, his cock throbbing as he spills his cum inside Rosie, hot, thick, and sticky. But he doesn’t stop thrusting, no he continues, his hips stuttering ever so softly before he finally stills. 

Slipping out of her, he gently untied the knots around her wrists, his hands warm and surprisingly tender as he rubbed her sore arms. “You did so good for me,” he murmured into her ear, voice low and dark with a husky edge that made her shiver. “My perfect, pretty girl…”

She hummed softly, her body pliant and warm as he helped her ease back against the pillows. Blinking slowly, her lashes fluttered like she was already halfway to sleep. He pulled the blanket over her, tucking it around her shoulders with a care that felt almost out of place given the sharp edge of their night.

But he lingered.

Sitting on the edge of the bed, he reached out and brushed a few strands of hair from her flushed face, his gloved knuckles barely grazing her cheek. For a fleeting moment, his crimson eyes softened behind the mask. Then, with a muted sigh, he stood and began gathering his things, readjusting his clothes, sliding his knife back into its sheath.

She felt the loss immediately.

As he leaned down to pet her head, smoothing her hair like he was soothing her to sleep, she reached out on instinct and grabbed his wrist. Her grip was small, almost fragile, but it stopped him in his tracks. 

“You’re leaving?” she whispered, her voice thin and wavering.

He turned back, crouching down to her level so their eyes met. Her wide, blue gaze was glassy with exhaustion and something that twisted his chest just a little. A pout tugged at her lips, making her look heartbreakingly soft.

“Yeah, pretty girl,” he said with a quiet chuckle, though there was a warmth under the dark edge of his voice. “Gotta go before your old man catches me in here.”

Her pout deepened. “But I don’t even know your name… or what you look like.”

That earned him a small, amused hum. He tugged his mask up just enough to reveal his mouth, the sharp curve of his lips pulling into a smirk that was both wicked and soft.

“Katsuki,” he said simply and then he kissed her.

It wasn’t hurried or rough this time. It was unhurried, warm, his mouth slanting over hers with a slow, deliberate press that stole the breath from her lungs. She sighed into it, a dreamy, wistful sound as her fingers curled in the fabric of his sleeve. He lingered there, tasting her, memorizing the feel of her lips against his like he didn’t want to forget.

When he finally pulled back, she blinked up at him, dazed. “When… when will I see you again?” she whispered.

Katsuki rested his forehead against hers for a brief second, the intimacy of it making her heart race. “Two days,” he promised, voice a low rasp. “I’ll come back for you in two days.”

Her lips parted in a small, hopeful breath.

He straightened, tugging his mask back into place as he glanced toward the window. “From now on… keep that window unlocked,” he said, his tone dark but promising. “Don’t make me break it next time, yeah?”

And with one last soft stroke of his fingers through her hair, he was gone, slipping out into the night and leaving her with the ghost of his kiss still warm on her lips.

Chapter Text

The rain tapped gently against the windows, a soft, steady rhythm that filled the silence of their dimly lit living room. Rosie sat on the couch, arms folded over her middle, still dressed in the soft robe she’d been wearing since coming home from the hospital.

Their third baby, their youngest and only daughter, Lucy was asleep upstairs. The older two, Ryu and Kou, were at Mitsuki’s for the weekend. Katsuki had just returned from patrol, still dusted with soot and blood. The cut on his cheek wasn’t fresh, but it hadn’t healed.

Rosie stared at it a long time before finally speaking. “I think we should get a divorce.”

Katsuki froze mid-step, head slowly turning toward her like he wasn’t sure he’d heard right. “What?”

“I want a divorce.” Her voice didn’t shake—but her fingers did. She twisted her wedding band around her finger, staring at the metal like it burned.

He scoffed. “Is this because of what happened? Rosie, I told you—”

“No, Katsuki.” She looked up at him, eyes shining with unshed tears. “This isn’t about just what happened. It’s about everything. The kidnapping. The media. The villain who said my name like he’d been dreaming about it for years. It’s about our kids being targets before they even learn to crawl.”

Katsuki’s jaw tensed. “You think I don’t hate it too? You think I don’t go out there wanting to erase every bastard who even thinks about looking at you sideways?”

“I know you do.” Her voice broke gently. “But you can’t erase the world. And I can’t keep pretending this is survivable just because we’re in love.”

Katsuki stepped forward, eyes burning. “So what, you leave me? That’s your fix?”

“I want to live apart,” she said quietly. “Somewhere safe and quiet. Where no one whispers your name like a threat, where the kids can grow up not flinching every time something explodes.”

He looked like she’d kicked him in the chest. “You’re not serious.”

“I am.” Her hands dropped to her lap, limp now. “If something happens to me again, and you’re out there trying to save a city—what happens to our kids? What if they lose both of us in one day?”

Katsuki’s fists clenched, trembling with fury. Not at her, but the world and the villains. With all the strength in his body, all the fire and rage and power he had—it still couldn’t keep her safe. How many times had she been in danger, been close to death even before they dated? How she had already died at the young age of twenty and only revived due to her quirk?

“I became a hero to protect what I care about,” he said hoarsely. “You are what I care about.”

“And now I’m protecting you by walking away.” She laughed bitterly. “What a joke, huh? All this love, and we still end up here.”

“You’re punishing me for being who I am.”

“No,” she said gently. “I’m saving our children from what we’ve become.”

He sat down heavily on the opposite couch, rubbing his face. “We said always.”

“We did.” She swallowed hard. “And maybe in another life, where there aren’t villains who want your blood and mine with it, we could’ve had it. But I won’t raise our kids waiting for sirens to stop. I won’t teach them that this is normal.”

Silence settled again, broken only by the soft static of the baby monitor.

“I’ll always love you, Katsuki,” she whispered. “That’s never going to change.”

He didn’t respond, not because he didn’t feel it. But because he knew if he did—he’d be choking on tears.

The room was too white. Too quiet.

Rosie sat across from Katsuki at the long table in the center of the conference room, fingers folded tightly in her lap. Her lawyer sat to her left, murmuring soft explanations of legal terms, asset divisions, custody agreements. None of it really registered. She kept her eyes on the papers. She didn’t look up.

Katsuki hadn’t said much since they walked in. His jaw was tight, arms crossed, but his knee bounced under the table—restless. Agitated. The same way it always did when he was trying not to blow up.

His lawyer had just finished listing out shared assets: the apartment in Musutafu, the hero agency Katsuki co-owned, savings accounts, the car, the furniture, the—

“The house,” Rosie said suddenly, cutting through the room.

Everyone paused.

“I want the house.” Her voice didn’t shake. But she wasn’t sure how.

Katsuki’s lawyer glanced at him, but Katsuki didn’t hesitate. His arms dropped, fingers threading together as he leaned forward, voice gruff but calm. “She’s getting the house.”

The lawyer blinked. “Mr.Bakugou—”

“I said she’s getting it.” Katsuki didn’t raise his voice, but there was no room for argument. “She will have the kids most of the time, it’s their home. I’m not pulling them out just because this is all going to hell.”

Rosie finally looked up, her throat tightened.

Katsuki wasn’t looking at her. He was staring at the paperwork like it had personally betrayed him.

“You don’t have to…” she started, but stopped. “It’s a lot to give up.”

“I’m not giving it up,” he muttered. “I’m giving it to you . There’s a difference.”

Rosie’s lawyer cleared her throat delicately and kept the meeting going. Custody schedules, support agreements, schooling, health coverage. Legal language passed like wind through Rosie’s ears.

But Katsuki—he was quiet the entire time. Answered only when asked, kept his eyes on the table.

Until the very end, when the lawyers left them alone with a stack of forms to sign. Rosie picked up her pen, but her hand hovered above the paper. “I didn’t think it would end like this,” she said softly.

Katsuki didn’t look at her. Just pressed his thumb hard into the edge of the table. “Me neither.”

“Thank you,” she whispered. “For the house. For… thinking about the kids first.”

“They’re all that matters,” he said. His voice cracked on the last word. “And you—You’ll be okay.”

She blinked hard.

He stood up, and for a second—for just one, trembling moment—he looked like he might say something else. But instead, he just nodded once. Then walked out of the room, the door clicking shut behind him like the final period at the end of a sentence.

Rosie didn’t cry. Not yet, but the pen in her hand suddenly felt heavy as a sword.

The sun hadn’t fully risen yet, casting a pale blue over the city skyline as Rosie parked at the curb in front of Katsuki’s new house. Her hands tightened on the steering wheel. She could feel her heart in her throat.

In the backseat, Ryu kicked his legs excitedly, already unbuckling his booster. “Are we here?”

“Yeah, baby,” Rosie said softly. “We’re here.”

Kou, barely four, clutched his stuffed dragon a little tighter. Lucy was asleep in her car seat, her soft baby breaths the only sound bridging the silence between her siblings. Rosie climbed out and opened the side doors, helping Ryu out first.

He bolted toward the front door before stopping halfway and looking back. “Wait—do I knock or use the button thingy again?”

Before Rosie could answer, the door opened. Katsuki stood there in sweatpants and a black t-shirt, hair a mess, looking like he’d just rolled out of bed. His eyes locked on Ryu first, the Kou, and finally settled on Rosie.

Her breath caught.

He looked tired. Hollow-eyed. Just like she felt. “Come on, squirt,” he muttered, stepping aside to hold the door open. “I got pancakes on the stove.”

“Pancakes!” Ryu shouted, bolting in.

Kou was slower, clinging to Rosie’s leg.

“Go ahead, sweetheart,” Rosie said gently, crouching to help him out of the car. “You’ll have fun. Daddy has a new coloring book for you, remember?”

Kou nodded, nervous. “Will you come too?”

There was a long, loaded pause. Katsuki looked at Rosie—then quickly looked away.

Rosie crouched again. “No, not today, baby. But I’ll see you soon. I promise.”

Kou whimpered but walked over to Katsuki. He lifted him easily into his arms and held her tight.

Rosie bent into the car to gently unbuckle Lucy, still asleep, and brushed her lips to her baby’s forehead before settling her into Katsuki’s arms.

Katsuki hesitated. “She okay with sleepin’ like that?”

“Yeah,” Rosie murmured. “She’ll wake up soon. Her bottle’s in the front bag.”

His jaw tightened. “Got it.”

They stood there, awkwardly, a few feet apart. Their second son and only daughter tucked against him. The morning silence too loud.

Rosie shifted her keys in her hand. “Text me when they wake up, or if Kou gets fussy. Or—”

“I know what I’m doing,” Katsuki said gruffly, but not unkindly. “I got it, Rosie.”

“I know you do,” she said quickly, swallowing her nerves. “I didn’t mean to—”

He looked at her again. And for one painful moment, their eyes held. It wasn’t anger or blame between them now. Just… ache.

“Thanks,” she added quietly. “For making it easy for them.”

His grip on Lucy tightened for a second. Then he nodded, turning away from her. Kou clutched at his neck. Ryu was already inside, kicking his shoes off.

“Bye, Mama!” he called.

Rosie managed a small wave. “Bye, lovebug.”

The door clicked shut behind them and she stood there alone on the sidewalk, blinking fast as she turned back toward the car.

Not crying. But not far from it either.

How could she be twenty five with three kids and already divorced?

Chapter Text

The first day of summer was always electric, no matter how you spent it—whether you were rotting on the couch eating chips and ice cream or lugging bags onto a bus headed for the woods, where summer camp promised three months of sun-soaked freedom, laughter, and inevitably, mosquito bites. Either way, it was freedom, and Rosie could feel it buzzing in her veins like static electricity.

The camp sprawled luxuriously across the forested hills. To the north sat the counselors’ cabins, neatly lined up with wooden porches and swinging chairs. East held the kids’ cabins, smaller but just as colorful, each one buzzing with the chatter of excited campers. South, the glimmering lake reflected the sunlight, calling out for canoe races and late-afternoon swims, and to the west were the arts-and-crafts building, the theater, and other activity spaces. At the very center of it all stood the cafeteria, the nurse’s station, and the hub for announcements.

Rosie strode along the winding gravel path with Mina, Maerya, and Momo, each of them juggling their luggage while chattering about all the adventures they were sure to have. Their laughter and the rustle of leaves underfoot were a perfect soundtrack for her first day as a camp counselor, a role she’d taken after quitting her job at the pottery shop. The girls had been insistent that she try it, promising new experiences, friendships, and stories to tell for years to come as it was their fifth year doing it.

She barely noticed the way the sunlight caught on the polished wood of the counselors’ cabins as they approached—because then, she saw him.

A handsome blonde in a sinfully tight black shirt and gray jeans and black boots with orange detailing. He was standing a few feet away, tossing a duffel bag onto the porch of his cabin with a casual ease that somehow made everything around him seem charged. His hair, as impossibly spiky as everyone said it was, caught the light like a halo of defiance, and those sharp, fiery eyes… Rosie felt something strange, a jolt in her chest that had nothing to do with the summer heat.

“Uh—hi?” she found herself saying, awkwardly clutching the strap of her own bag.

Katsuki tilted his head slightly, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth, as though he’d been expecting her. “You new?” he asked, voice low and rough but not unkind.

Rosie nodded, and just like that, something sparked—electric, fleeting, undeniable. She could feel it in the way her stomach flipped and her pulse spiked, and if she wasn’t careful, she’d stumble over her own words. She tried to look casual, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear, but her gaze kept flicking back to him.

“Rosie,” she said finally, more a statement than an introduction, hoping it sounded confident.

“Katsuki,” he replied, voice a little softer now, the smirk fading into something just short of curious.

For a moment, they just stood there, two strangers in a new place, yet somehow the air between them thrummed with potential. It was the kind of first impression that could’ve been nothing, just a passing glance. But something told Rosie—and judging by the way Katsuki’s eyes lingered on her, she wasn’t the only one—that this summer was about to get a lot more interesting.

Mina nudged her shoulder, breaking the moment. “Rosie, come on! We’re unpacking!”

Rosie blinked, shaking off the haze, but she couldn’t help sneaking one last glance over her shoulder at Katsuki. He was already moving, casually slinging his bag over one shoulder, but the fire in his eyes promised that this wasn’t the last she’d see of him.

After unpacking their bags, the girls changed into their counselor uniforms: sky-blue t-shirts with crisp white lettering of the camp name and logo. Rosie tucked hers neatly into her fitted shorts, clipped her whistle around her neck, pinned on the counselor badge, and tied her sneakers with practiced efficiency. She glanced at her reflection in the cabin window—ready or not, she was officially part of the camp crew.

“Time to meet the others,” Mina said, slinging her own bag over her shoulder, already buzzing with excitement. The campers would arrive in just two hours, and the cafeteria was the hub where all the counselors gathered before the chaos began.

As they entered the large, sunlit room, Rosie spotted the rest of the staff. Ten other counselors were already assembled, some chatting quietly, others reviewing clipboards or adjusting gear. Familiar faces—people she’d seen during hangouts with Mina, Maerya, and Momo—gave her a small sense of comfort. Jirou was leaning against a table, murmuring instructions to her boyfriend Denki; Shoto and Iida stood a little stiffly, nodding to each other over papers; Ochaco was flipping through a stack of schedules; Tokoyami glanced up from his phone; Kirishima and Izuku were joking around near the snack table; Shinso looked distracted but alert; and, of course, Katsuki.

Rosie’s stomach gave a small flip. He was leaning against the counter, arms crossed, looking every bit the picture of confident nonchalance. Even in a crimson red counselor shirt, he radiated fire—like he belonged anywhere he wanted and expected the world to notice.

“The other counselors must be setting up,” Mina said, breaking Rosie’s thoughts.

“How many more are there?” Rosie asked, tilting her head, still sneaking glances at Katsuki.

Momo hummed, propping her chin on her hand. “Considering there are over two hundred campers? I’d say twenty in total. Each counselor gets ten kids to personally look after in their groups.” She smiled, the kind of calm, certain smile Rosie found almost enviable.

“But there are more boys than girls,” Rosie said with a frown, glancing around.

Maerya shrugged, flipping a perfectly filed nail. “This camp only just started letting girls in five years ago. There still aren’t a lot of us, which is… fine,” she said nonchalantly, though Rosie could see the hint of a smile tugging at her lips.

Rosie’s gaze drifted back to Katsuki. He had noticed her staring—of course he had—and for a split second, the smirk returned to his lips. He tilted his head just enough to give a small nod. The air between them, subtle but undeniable, seemed to hum with anticipation, and Rosie felt the tiniest thrill run through her.

The moment was brief, broken only by Denki bumping into Jirou and a flurry of counselors moving about, but Rosie made a mental note: this summer was going to be interesting . Very, very interesting.

The counselors started moving with quiet efficiency, setting up clipboards, marking schedules, and double-checking supplies. Rosie found herself glancing toward Katsuki more than once, just in time to catch him smirking at some mischief only he seemed to notice.

“You look like you’re planning to terrorize the campers before they even get here,” Rosie called lightly, sidling up to him with a smile.

Katsuki raised an eyebrow, lips quirking into that familiar smirk. “Maybe I am,” he said. “You gonna stop me, counselor?”

Rosie laughed, rolling her eyes. “Oh, I’ll stop you… eventually. But for now, I’ll just make sure the kids survive your rumored ‘training methods.’”

“Good. I like a challenge,” he replied, his tone teasing, and something about the way he said it made her pulse skip. For a fleeting moment, they shared a look, half playful, half daring, and the air seemed to sizzle just enough that Rosie had to look away.

Shaking herself out of the brief daze, Rosie grabbed the clipboard with her list of assigned campers. Ten girls, ages ranging from eight to twelve, each name scribbled neatly. She gathered them quickly and efficiently, leading them toward the east-side cabins.

“Alright, ladies,” Rosie said brightly as they approached, “these are your cabins. You’ll each get a bed, a locker and trunk, and space for your stuff. Unpack, settle in, and make yourselves at home. But we’ll meet back at the cafeteria in thirty minutes for check-in. That’s where I’ll go over the plans for today’s big activity.”

The girls chattered excitedly as they began unpacking, tossing belongings onto their bunks and exploring their new space. Rosie moved from cabin to cabin, offering guidance, helping a girl with a stubborn zipper, or adjusting a neatly folded blanket.

“Tonight,” Rosie said with a conspiratorial wink as the last girl slung her backpack onto the rack, “we’re going to have our first official camp game—capture the flag. Get ready to run, strategize, and maybe get a little muddy. I promise it’s going to be fun!”

The campers squealed in delight, their excitement practically vibrating through the room. Rosie felt a warm satisfaction at their energy, the chaos, and the tiny spark of leadership she could already feel growing inside her.

As she walked toward the cabin door, she noticed Katsuki standing near the far end of the row, watching, arms crossed, smirk still in place. This time, when their eyes met, Rosie couldn’t help but grin back. Whatever this summer held, it was already shaping up to be unforgettable.

The forest was alive with noise. Crickets pulsed in the tall grass, fireflies blinked between the trees, and somewhere out there Denki was howling like a wolf while Kirishima shouted, “GO! GO! GO!”

Rosie ran, heart pounding, bare legs flashing beneath her short shorts, her official Camp U.A. t-shirt knotted at the waist. Behind her, the shrieks and laughter of the Class 1-A girls echoed faintly, their flag hidden away in some “impossibly clever” spot. She should’ve been guarding base like a responsible counselor. Not charging recklessly through the dark woods, hair flying, adrenaline sizzling in her veins.

But the boys had teased, someone had dared her, and Rosie never backed down from a challenge. Now, panting, and maybe slightly lost, she wondered if she should’ve thought this through.

Then— crack.

Her whole body froze. A twig. Heavy. Fast. Purposeful.

“Shit,” she hissed, bolting again, lungs burning. Branches whipped against her arms as she dodged roots and stumbled over a half-buried log. Somewhere close behind, a voice rumbled low, close enough to send goosebumps racing down her spine.

“Got you.”

Before she could react, a hand snatched her wrist and another curled firmly around her waist, spinning her and pinning her back against a rough tree trunk. Rosie gasped, half-struggling, half-shocked—until her eyes locked on him.

Katsuki.

His shirt clung to his chest, damp with sweat. His spiky hair stuck to his temples, framing sharp crimson eyes that glowed faintly in the moonlight. He didn’t speak, just stared, his breathing steady and his grip unyielding.

And Rosie, despite herself, couldn’t look away.

Out here, in the hush of the trees, with fireflies drifting lazily around them, he wasn’t just another counselor. He looked dangerous, magnetic, and undeniably alive. A complete one eighty in the dark of night. 

Her breath caught, her pulse stuttering in her throat.

“Didn’t know we were playin’ dirty,” Katsuki finally said, his voice low, gravel-soft, vibrating through the dark.

“I wasn’t—I mean, I was—” Rosie stammered, heat rising in her cheeks. Her whole body felt aware of where his hand still pressed against her waist. “You’re on the red team.”

“And you’re on the blue,” he countered, voice dipping lower. His fingers brushed deliberately down her side until they ghosted over the blue bandana tied at her belt loop. He could’ve snatched it. He didn’t. His hand lingered, then slid back to the tree beside her head, caging her in without touching.

The air between them stretched taut, hot and humming. Rosie felt like a thread had snapped inside her, binding her to him in a way that had nothing to do with camp games. She just met him earlier today, didn’t even know his favorite food, or how he laughed, but her gut screamed that this moment —this closeness— wasn’t ordinary. It meant something.

Katsuki’s gaze flicked from her eyes to her mouth, then back again. “You always run straight into trouble?”

Rosie swallowed hard. Her voice came out softer than she intended, but steady. “Only when it looks like you.”

A beat of silence. Fireflies drifted lazily between them. His lips twitched, like maybe he was fighting a smirk, or maybe he was just surprised. Then, without breaking her gaze, he loosened his hold on her wrist. But instead of pulling away, his fingers slid down, curling gently around hers.

Her chest ached with how fast her heart was beating.

“You’re in my woods now, Princess,” he murmured, voice rough with something that didn’t feel like teasing anymore. His thumb brushed over her knuckles, subtle but deliberate. “Better stick close.”

The words sent a shiver down her spine, even as heat spread low in her stomach. He tugged her lightly, coaxing her forward, and she let him. Hand in hand, he guided her back through the trees as though she were his prisoner of the game. But neither of them mentioned the flag. Neither cared.

Rosie knew it then—this wasn’t just capture the flag. This was the start of something much more dangerous.

Chapter Text

Rosie padded into the living room, still toweling off her damp hair, wearing one of Katsuki’s oversized sleep shirts that hung well past her thighs. The apartment was quiet, except for the low hum of the air conditioner and the flicker of the TV Katsuki must’ve left on pause.

She noticed his laptop open on the coffee table, its screen still glowing. Curious—and assuming it was something boring like reports or hero rosters—she wandered closer, sitting down cross-legged on the couch. But what was pulled up wasn’t paperwork or hero stats. It was a social media page. His page.

Her breath caught.

Katsuki didn’t really post often. He barely followed anyone. They’d mutually agreed not to follow each other online to keep their relationship private— his idea, originally. Something about protecting her, about not wanting her dragged into the public eye.

But here it was. His locked, personal account. His profile picture was a low-resolution image of an explosion. Very on brand. She smiled.

And then her smile vanished.

Because right there were several photos of her. The latest one? 

It was a quiet moment—Rosie asleep on the couch, curled up with one of the blankets he’d gotten her, her lips slightly parted, hair obscuring her face, and that stupid red panda plush tucked under her arm. She hadn’t even known he’d taken it.

The caption read: She falls asleep in two seconds but still calls me the grumpy one. 🧨❤️

Rosie blinked. Scrolled down.

Another post: A photo of her in the kitchen, stirring something in a pot, laughing at whatever he must’ve said, in his hoodie. 

Pretty sure this is what people mean when they say “out of my league.”

Her cheeks burned. She covered her mouth with her hand and kept scrolling, mortified and fluttery all at once.

There were photos of her holding up new plants at the farmer’s market. Her half-asleep in the passenger seat of his car. Her ducking under his umbrella. Her in his hero hoodie, which had almost swallowed her whole.

She didn’t hear him come in. Not until his voice rumbled behind her.

“You’re snoopin’, huh?”

She shrieked and jumped, slamming the laptop closed and nearly falling off the couch. “Katsuki!”

He was smirking, towel slung over his shoulders, fresh out of the shower with his sweatpants low on his hips and water still dripping from his hair. “Didn’t think you were the nosey type.”

“I wasn’t snooping! You left it open!”

“Still looked through it though.”

“You’re not supposed to have pictures of me online!”

He just raised a brow and walked closer, crouching in front of her with that lazy grin that always made her stomach somersault. “Why not? Your face is covered in all of them.”

She crossed her arms, trying not to squirm. “Because people would freak out if they found out you’re dating a civilian. Especially one as boring as me.”

He snorted. “You think you’re boring? Princess, you drive me insane daily.”

“That’s not the compliment you think it is.”

“Maybe not,” he said, voice softer now, eyes scanning her flushed face. “But it’s the truth. I… I didn’t post those to make things hard for you. I just…” He scratched the back of his neck, grumbling, “I’m proud you’re mine, alright? You make me wanna brag.”

Rosie blinked, her indignation crumbling fast under the weight of that quiet confession.

He leaned in, nosing gently at her cheek, his voice lower. “You’re the best damn thing in my life. I didn’t follow you, didn’t tag you, didn’t say your name—but I couldn’t help it. You’re everywhere, Rosie. Even when you’re not.”

Her heart squeezed. She tried to stay mad. She really did. But when he looked at her like that—with soft fire in his eyes and the barest smile playing on his lips—she was toast.

Still, she narrowed her eyes. “If the media finds out I’m dating a pro hero, I won’t have privacy ever again. I’ll get followed to the grocery store.”

“Then I’ll do the grocery shopping,” he said easily, tugging her into his lap with one arm. “Let ‘em look. They can stare at how lucky I am.”

She rolled her eyes, cheeks still burning as she tucked her face into his neck. “That was disgustingly smooth.”

“Yeah, well. You bring it outta me.”

She groaned. “You’re impossible.”

“And you’re stuck with me,” he whispered, wrapping both arms around her and pulling the blanket over them. “Deal with it.”

She grinned against his shoulder, already forgiving him.

Rosie was still thinking about Katsuki’s confessions when she curled up in bed that night, his arm lazily thrown over her waist, his breath warm against the nape of her neck. She couldn’t stop smiling. But maybe… just maybe … it was time to play a little fair.

So, the next morning—coffee in one hand, her phone in the other—she created a brand-new account. No name. No tags. No followers. Just a burner account with a peach emoji and a single post.

She waited for the perfect moment.

That afternoon, Katsuki sat in the living room, shirtless, sunk deep into the couch, sweatpants riding dangerously low as he played some chaotic co-op game. His hair was messy, sticking up in every direction, and his brows were furrowed in concentration. He was cursing at the screen while shoving chips into his mouth and occasionally yelling, “That was your fault!” at the poor NPC on-screen.

Her legs were lazily draped over his lap, and his hand absently rested on her shin, thumb rubbing slow circles while he played.

It was perfect.

Rosie lifted her phone discreetly and snapped a quick, cozy, chaotic photo: Katsuki shirtless, mid-yell at the TV, controller in hand, and her bare legs slung across his lap.

She typed the caption with a sly smile: 🧡 he says he’s not a softie but won’t stop rubbing my leg while yelling at fictional enemies. 10/10 boyfriend experience. 🧡

And hit post.

Two minutes later: The post had over 1,200 likes.

Five minutes minutes later: Nearly 10k.

Rosie opened the app again, blinking at the flood of comments pouring in—and instantly dissolved into a fit of laughter.

@explodethisplease: is that WHO I THINK IT IS???
THAT’S DYNAMIGHT’S COUCH

@boomboomhusband: NO SHIRT. SWEATPANTS. FERAL.
who is this woman and how do i become her

@lilashoto: WAIT THE HAND ON THE LEG??? HE’S TOUCHY ??? MY WORLD IS SHAKING

@detonationnation: you’re telling me this man yells at NPCs while cuddling??? please… leave us NOTHING

@sweatpantsbakugo: girl i don’t know who you are but you just won the lottery and i respect that

Rosie snorted and fell onto her side, stifling her laughter in a pillow. The usernames alone were killing her.

@bakubootyfanclub
@katsukisweatpantcult
@explosionhusbandrights

She wiped a tear of laughter from her eye, scrolling through the theories.

Some people thought it was photoshopped. Others swore up and down it had to be one of his friends pulling a prank. One person even accused it of being a paid actor. And then there were the deep-dive investigators analyzing the couch, the curtains, the wall color. All without confirmation. All without her tagging a thing.

Rosie was still giggling when Katsuki wandered in later on, towel around his shoulders and a water bottle in hand. “You’re in a good mood,” he muttered, raising a brow.

She turned her screen toward him without a word. He leaned in. Stared. Froze. “…You didn’t.”

“Oh, I did. ” Rosie said sweetly. “Didn’t tag you though.”

His eyes narrowed. “You took that picture today.”

“Yup.”

“And you posted it.”

“Uh-huh.”

“And now my entire fandom’s foaming at the mouth.”

She grinned and plopped a kiss to his cheek. “Payback, darling.”

He grunted, but there was a telltale flush creeping into his ears. “You're evil.”

“I'm adorable. ” She patted his chest. “You started it.”

He snatched her phone, stared at the comments, and muttered, “What the hell is a ‘Bakubootyfanclub’?”

Rosie wheezed. “You don’t wanna know.”

They ended up on the couch again, her snuggled into his side while they read the new theories together, his hand back on her thigh, her head on his shoulder, the soft sound of her giggling filling the space between them.

For now, their secret was still technically intact.

But not for long and neither of them really minded anymore.

Chapter Text

The villagers whispered of her.

The witch with starlight in her eyes and laughter like wind chimes in storm winds. They said she lived alone in a crooked cottage at the edge of the ancient woods, where the moss grew thick and the trees whispered secrets in a language only ancient magic could understand. No one dared enter, nor did one dare to disturb the one called Rosie.

No one… except for the hunter.

Katsuki Bakugou had spent his life slaying witches. The real ones that were hags, ugly, rotten, and failthy. Not the healers, the charm-makers, or those who whispered prayers into dried lavender. No, he hunted the cursed, the kind who left rot in their wake, ones who took children and twisted forests and turned hearts to ash.

He didn't believe in the stories, didn’t believe in whimsy.

He believed in steel and yet—there was a strange pause in him the first time he stood outside her gate. The sun was setting behind the tangled trees, casting long golden shadows over the field of wild roses that choked her garden. They brushed his boots as he stepped forward, petals clinging to his coat like blood.

The wooden gate creaked open, smoke curled from the crooked chimney.

She stood in the doorway of the cottage barefoot, her skirts a soft crimson with pink flowers embroidered, white sleeves slipping off her shoulders. Her hair was wild, wind-tossed, glinting like pink and silver in the dying sun. Her eyes were soft, bright, far too calm for someone facing a man who hunted her kind. "You came,” she said, as though she’d been waiting.

Katsuki didn’t speak. His fingers twitched over the hilt of the dagger at his hip. He had memorized every spell she was rumored to cast, he had silver tucked in his boots and holy water at his back and yet all he could do was stare.

“You’re quiet for a hunter,” she said with a smile, tilting her head. “Didn’t they warn you not to look a witch in the eyes?”

He gritted his teeth. “Are you going to curse me?”

“I could,” she murmured, stepping out into the garden. “Or I could make you tea.”

His heart thudded. Something was wrong, he was supposed to take her back to the citadel, was supposed to bind her magic and drag her through the forest in chains. But there was no poison in her smile nor dancing shadows in her steps.

Only the sound of bees in the lavender. The scent of something sweet and strange—berries, cream, and rain.

“You’re not what I expected,” he muttered.

“Neither are you.” She reached out. “You’ve got fire in your veins, the dangerous kind.”

He took a step closer. “So do you.”

Her hand brushed his, a flicker of silver danced up her fingers, flame-like veins glowing beneath her skin, she didn’t hide them.

“I could kill you,” he said softly.

She smiled. “You could try.”

Lightning cracked overhead and then rain began to fall. Without warning, she vanished—turning into mist and reappearing behind him in a gust of wind and laughter. Her breath touched the back of his neck. “I don’t want to hurt you, hunter. But I will if you try to bind me.”

“I should,” he growled.

“But you won’t,” she whispered.

And he didn’t. Instead that night, he stayed, not as a prisoner nor her captor but as something else entirely.

He sat by her fire while she brewed strange, glowing tea. She braided flowers into her hair and scolded him for sharpening his knives on her hearthstones. He told her about blood and battle and in turn she told him about the stars. They argued and laughed, and circled each other like wolves in moonlight.

He kissed her under the thunderstorm, as she pulled him into her bed of velvet and silk and when morning came, Katsuki Bakugou—witch hunter, slayer of the arcane—woke up tangled in limbs and vines, magic in his lungs, and love blooming like a curse in his chest.

He should’ve left, but instead his thoughts wondered to how the forest doesn’t always hide monsters as they sometimes hide the only thing that was ever meant to find you.

Katsuki watched her from beneath the low boughs of a blackthorn tree, arms crossed over his broad chest, his cloak half soaked from the rain that had come and gone with the morning mist.

Rosie was walking barefoot through the field behind her cottage, her skirts hitched just enough to avoid the dew. A basket was hooked over one arm, brimming with wild blooms—yarrow, chamomile, foxglove. Her fingers trailed gently over the petals, glowing faintly with silver where her magic pulsed, shimmering in delicate threads up her veins like starlight under skin. A wounded hare limped from the trees. Without hesitation, she dropped to her knees beside it, murmuring softly. Katsuki couldn’t hear the words—only the cadence, the affection in her tone as she placed her palm over the creature’s side and light flared, silver and warm.

The hare blinked, blinked again… then bounded away.

He exhaled through his nose, trying to ignore the warmth curling in his chest.

She turned, spotting him. Rosie’s smile was like a hook in the ribs. “I know you’re watching me,” she called, rising with her basket. “You always do.”

He stepped out of the trees, his boots barely making a sound across the mossy ground. “You never notice the wolves until they’re close, witch.”

She hummed. “You’re not a wolf. You’re something else.”

He stopped in front of her, gaze heavy as it swept over the light smudge of dirt on her cheek, the wildflowers tangled in her curls, the softness in her eyes. That same dangerous, frustrating softness that made him forget everything he was supposed to do. Everything he was. “You heal rabbits,” he muttered. “I thought witches were supposed to be wicked.”

“We are,” she teased. “Terribly wicked. I even used sugar instead of salt in the soup last night.”

His mouth twitched and then, before he could stop himself, he leaned in and kissed her. Her lips were sweet—tasting faintly of honey and sugar. Her magic bloomed between them, wrapping around his shoulders like invisible vines. When they parted, her eyes were bright, cheeks warm.

He cleared his throat. “I still have a job to do.”

“Oh?” she tilted her head, smirking. “You haven’t exactly slain me.”

“Why slay a witch…” he muttered, brushing a curl behind her ear, “…when I can tame her?”

She laughed, low and dangerous. “Tame me?”

He barely blinked before a gust of wind surged through the field—roses exploding in bloom around his feet—and he was suddenly on his back, flat against the earth, the air punched out of him. Rosie straddled him with a coy smile, fingers glowing with elegant, silver fire. “I think,” she said sweetly, “the witch hunter’s been tamed.”

Katsuki stared up at her, momentarily stunned. And then—he laughed, really laughed. It was rare, and it rumbled low in his chest like a storm rolling in. She grinned down at him as if she'd won a game, barefoot and wild, framed by the afternoon sun and her own wicked magic. The truth was—it didn’t matter who had tamed who, they were both ensnared now and neither one of them was running.

Chapter Text

The bell above the flower shop door jingled sweetly, chiming like a wind chime as Rosie reached to adjust the display of peonies near the front window. Her pink apron was dusted in pollen, and a smudge of green traced her cheek from trimming stems all morning. The air smelled like lilacs and baby’s breath.

The last thing she expected was the loud clang of the tattoo studio’s back door slamming open next door—followed by low, cursing mutters and heavy bootsteps.

Then he walked in.

Tall, broad. Sunlight glinted off a silver chain around his neck, half-tucked beneath a faded black shirt with the sleeves messily rolled up to his elbows. Ink swirled along his arms in sharp black designs, and his messy blond hair stuck up in every direction like he’d just rolled out of bed and didn’t care.

Which, judging by the cigarette tucked behind his ear and the dark look in his eyes, might’ve been true.

Rosie froze mid-spray, water misting the floor instead of the ferns. “Uh… h-hi?” she managed.

He stopped just inside the doorway, brow ticking up like really? He looked around her pastel world of blooms and bows, and then let his gaze settle on her—eyes sharp, dragging over her hair, her apron, the tiny rose pin in her hair. “Didn’t think anyone was in here,” he said, voice low and gravel-smooth.

Rosie blinked. “You… came through the back door.”

He shrugged, hands in his pockets. “Yard’s shared. Figured you wouldn’t mind.”

She absolutely minded but forgot how to speak as he wandered a step deeper into the room. His boots made the floor creak and she instinctively took a step back, nearly tripping over a crate of tulips.

“You always this jumpy, Flower Girl?” he asked, lips quirking into something that could only be described as a cocky smirk.

“I—I’m not jumpy,” she insisted, blushing all the way up to her ears.

He hummed, unimpressed, and reached down to brush a fallen petal off a nearby display. “Katsuki,” he said casually. “Tattoo shop next door. Just opened.”

She nodded quickly, fingers wringing the spray bottle. “I—I’m Rosie. This is, um… Petal & Stem. Obviously.”

He tilted his head. “Didn’t take you for the flower type.”

Rosie blinked. “You’re in a flower shop.”

“I meant you, sweetheart,” he said, eyes glinting as he leaned against the counter, close enough for her to catch a whiff of something spicy and dark—like smoked cedar and ink. “Thought florists were supposed to be all calm and delicate.”

She narrowed her eyes despite her red face. “Are you flirting with me or insulting me?”

He laughed, teeth sharp. “Why not both?”

Her mouth opened. Closed. Her brain completely short-circuited.

He pushed off the counter, walking backward toward the door with that same lazy swagger, pausing just before the threshold. “I’ll need some fresh stuff next week. Something red.”

“For what?” she asked, dazed.

“Shop decor,” he said, voice almost a purr. “Or maybe just for you.”

And then he was gone.

Rosie stared at the open door for a long moment, face flushed and heart doing something deeply stupid in her chest. Outside, the low buzz of a tattoo gun started up again.

And she realized—this was going to be very bad for her heart.

The morning rush had come and gone, leaving behind the familiar scent of crushed leaves and fresh blooms. Rosie wiped the sweat from her brow, humming under her breath as she glanced at the delivery slip in her hand.

One extra-large crate of wildflowers, upper loft storage.

Of course it was for the loft. And of course Shinso, her usual delivery help, was out sick. She stared up at the wooden ladder that led to the top shelving area of her little shop, frowning.

The crate sat stubbornly on the floor. It wasn’t impossibly heavy, just awkward—long and wide, filled with delicate stems wrapped in damp paper. She bit her lip, braced her arms under it, and began the slow, strained climb up the ladder. “One step at a time,” she mumbled, breath hitching. “This is fine. This is completely fine. I am a capable, independent florist—”

Her foot slipped. The crate tilted in her arms as her balance faltered. “ Wait—no, no, no—! ”

But she didn’t fall.

Instead, strong arms caught her around the waist, yanking her backwards just before she toppled. The crate was plucked from her hands, and she landed against a firm chest with a thud, her breath gone and heart racing.

“ The hell, Flower Girl,” Katsuki muttered into her ear, setting the flowers aside before he pulled her the rest of the way down. “You tryin’ to give me a damn heart attack?”

Her cheeks flamed.

She was still half-wrapped in his arms, his chest heaving against her back, his scent overwhelming—caramel, leather, smoke and something warm she could never quite place. His grip around her waist loosened only slightly.

“I—I had it,” she whispered.

“You did not ,” he huffed. “You were about to fall flat on your ass and crush a hundred bucks worth of wildflowers.”

Rosie turned in his arms, still breathless, her face inches from his. “Well—thank you. For catching me.”

His eyes dropped to her mouth and then slowly lifted back to her eyes. “You always this reckless when I’m not around?”

“I—I’m not reckless,” she stammered, and then ruined the moment by tripping over her own foot as she stepped back.

He caught her again, chuckling this time, his hand sliding from her elbow to her waist like it belonged there. “Right. Not reckless at all.”

She hid her face in his chest for a second, laughing. “You’re insufferable.”

“And you’re lucky I came over to borrow scissors,” he muttered. “Or I’d be peeling you and a crate of asters off the floor.”

Her smile softened. “You came over for scissors?”

He shrugged, pulling her just a little closer. “Maybe I came over to check on you. You’ve been working non-stop all week.”

Her heart fluttered. “I’m fine, really…”

He didn’t let go. “Next time you’ve got a delivery like that, you call me. Got it?”

Rosie looked up at him, eyes wide and warm. “Got it.”

His smirk faded into something gentler. “Good girl.”

She flushed from head to toe—sunlight streaming in through the windows, dust motes dancing in the air, and his hand warm and solid against the small of her back.

Then he leaned down, brushed a strand of hair behind her ear, and murmured, “You smell like berries.”

“ Katsuki ,” she whispered, grinning now.

“Yeah?”

“I think… I have another crate outside.”

Chapter Text

The bus rumbled down the highway, filled with the low hum of chatter, the occasional burst of laughter, and the rustle of snack bags. Katsuki sat by the window, arms crossed, his expression tight as he stared out at the blur of trees.

Next to him—sitting far too close—was Rosie.

Of course she was. She was his assigned buddy for the field trip. Aizawa’s daughter. The girl with the annoyingly soft voice, the stupidly kind heart, and the dumbest, prettiest smile he’d ever seen.

And she smelled like strawberries. Of course she fucking did.

“You brought snacks, right?” she asked brightly, nudging him with her shoulder. “You never bring snacks. You’re always cranky and starving halfway through these.”

Katsuki scowled, not looking at her. “I’m not cranky.”

“You’re cranky right now.”

“I’m not—!” He bit it back, jaw tightening as she laughed softly, leaning against the back of the seat and glancing out the window.

God, she was pretty. Not in the loud, flashy way like some of the girls who chased him around school. No—Rosie was just effortless. Her hair was pulled back with a little ribbon, her sleeves rolled up, her legs tucked beneath her like she was completely comfortable sitting next to him like this. Like he wasn’t ready to lose his mind.

And the worst part?

She was nice to everyone. Not just him. She probably didn’t even know what she was doing—smiling at him like that, brushing his arm without thinking. Laughing like he was someone she actually liked being around.

He hated it. He hated her.

…No, he didn’t.

He hated how much he liked her.

“I brought gummies,” she said, reaching into her backpack. “The sour kind you like.”

He blinked and looked down as she held out the pack toward him. He stared at it for a second, then at her, narrowing his eyes. “Did your dad tell you to keep me from blowing up the trip?”

She blinked. “No.”

“Deku?”

“Deku doesn’t even like sour stuff. He’s not your snack informant.”

Katsuki took the bag, grumbling as he ripped it open. “…Thanks.”

She smiled and bumped her shoulder against his again. “Anytime.”

He turned back toward the window, popping a sour gummy into his mouth and chewing with a scowl. She didn’t say anything else, but he could feel her presence, warm and constant beside him.

This was going to be the longest damn field trip of his life and if anyone asked him why he was red in the face, he’d say it was the stupid gummies.

Not her.

Never her.

The zoo was bigger than anyone expected. Sprawling paths wound between enclosures, and the chaperones were quickly overwhelmed by the sheer chaos of high schoolers spilling in every direction.

Katsuki realized Rosie was gone somewhere between the flamingo pond and the big cat exhibit. She had been right next to him. One second, she was walking beside him, her voice soft as she talked about red pandas—and the next, she was just... gone.

“Shit.”

His heart kicked into high gear, a mix of irritation and panic crawling up his throat as he stormed past a few classmates. Sero called something out about the penguins, but Katsuki ignored him. He shoved past a couple of loud first years and darted into the reptile house, scanning every corner.

Nothing.

Her name sat heavy on his tongue, but he didn’t shout it. Instead, he gritted his teeth, fingers curling at his sides as he tore through every building in sight. She had to be here somewhere.

Finally, near the back of the insect and nocturnal animals exhibit—darker, quieter than the rest of the zoo—he spotted a familiar ribbon tied in her hair. She was curled up on a bench in the far corner, away from the glow of the glass displays. Her head was bowed, her arms wrapped tightly around her knees, and her shoulders were trembling.

“Rosie,” he said, voice rough and low.

She looked up with wide, watery blue eyes. “Katsuki?” Her voice cracked.

He moved fast, crouching in front of her, one hand braced on the edge of the bench. “What the hell happened? You okay?”

“I—I got turned around,” she sniffed, wiping her cheeks. “And then there were too many people and I thought I saw a chaperone but it wasn’t, and then I—” She hiccuped, overwhelmed and embarrassed. “I didn’t mean to wander off.”

“Tch.” He pulled his jacket off and draped it over her shoulders, muttering under his breath. “You idiot. You could’ve gotten really lost.”

“I know,” she mumbled, looking down at the sleeves now hanging over her hands.

“Hey,” he said, quieter now. “I’m not mad.”

She peeked up at him, lashes still wet.

“I just—” Katsuki stood and held out a hand. “Next time, hold on to me. Got it?”

Her lip wobbled. Then, gently, she slid her hand into his. His fingers curled around hers immediately.

Rosie stood, his jacket still snug around her, sleeves brushing her thighs as they walked back into the sunlit zoo paths. Her hand didn’t leave his.

Katsuki didn’t say anything as the noise of their classmates grew louder in the distance. He just glanced down at her once, making sure she wasn’t about to disappear again.

She looked up at him and smiled.

His ears went pink.

“Don’t let go,” she whispered.

“Wasn’t planning on it,” he muttered.

The sun was starting to set by the time everyone shuffled back onto the bus. Tired feet, loud chatter, the occasional whine from someone who didn’t get to buy what they wanted from the gift shop—it all blurred together as Katsuki headed straight for the back row, tugging Rosie along with him by the hand.

She was still wearing his jacket, nor hadn’t she let go of his hand once.

He didn’t complain.

Once they sat, he reached into the small plastic zoo bag he’d been hiding under his arm and shoved a plush into her lap without looking at her. “Here.”

Rosie blinked down at it—a little red panda, its fur soft and its button eyes bright. She gasped. “You got me a red panda?”

He scowled, arms crossed. “Tch. You wouldn’t shut up about them. Figured it was either this or trying to smuggle one out.”

Rosie giggled, cuddling the plush to her chest. “I love it. I’m naming him Kat. With a ‘K.’”

“…That’s dumb,” he muttered—but the corners of his mouth twitched.

Then she dug into her own little gift bag and held something out to him. “I got you something, too.”

Katsuki looked at the small black leather bracelet in her palm—simple, clean, but cool. He took it slowly, turning it over in his hands.

“It made me think of you,” she said, voice a little shy. “And I dunno—I liked the idea of us… trading something.”

He was quiet, fingers brushing over the soft leather before sliding it onto his wrist. He tightened the buckle.

“Don’t take it off, okay?” she added quickly, her voice barely above the noise of the bus.

“…Yeah,” he muttered, “I won’t.”

She smiled so brightly, it was like she hadn’t cried at all just a couple of hours ago. They both settled back into the seat as the bus started rolling. Katsuki pulled out his phone and slid a single earbud into his ear before offering her the other. She took it without hesitation, resting her head against the padded seat.

Minutes passed.

Then he felt her lean into him—soft, warm—and by the time he looked down, Rosie had dozed off, her cheek nestled against his shoulder, her hands curled around the red panda plush. His jacket was still wrapped around her like a blanket.

“…Idiot,” he muttered quietly, ears turning red.

But he didn’t move. Not even when his arm started to go a little numb. Not even when the bus hit a bump and she stirred just enough to mumble his name and snuggle closer.

He just shifted slightly, adjusting so her head rested more comfortably, pulling her gently in so she wouldn’t slide down the seat. Katsuki leaned back, the music still humming in his ear, his eyes on the girl sleeping soundly on his shoulder and for the first time all day, he wasn’t annoyed that she made his heart beat faster.

Not one damn bit.

Chapter Text

The roar of engines shook the track, tires screamed, and the air smelled of burnt rubber and adrenaline. Team Dynamight’s pit was a storm of movement—slick and efficient. Rosie stood at the heart of it, headset snug over her ears, tablet in hand as she monitored the telemetry streaming in.

“Sector three’s tighter than a clenched fist,” she muttered, eyes scanning the data. “Tell him to take the apex sharper—he’s giving too much space on that curve.”

Kirishima nodded, relaying the message into his mic while Sero and Denki prepped fresh tires like lightning. Jirou stood by the wall, listening intently to the track chatter, fingers drumming anxiously.

And then came the voice—gravelly, cocky, and unmistakably Katsuki. “Doll, you miss me or something? You’re sounding a little breathless in my ear.”

Rosie rolled her eyes, cheeks warming despite herself. “Maybe I’m just thinking about how I’m the one keeping your sorry ass alive at 200 miles an hour.”

“You love it.”

“Debatable.”

“Bet you’re picturing me in that suit,” he drawled through a grin she could practically hear, the engine purring like a beast beneath him. “Or maybe out of it.”

Sero choked back a laugh. Denki whistled. Jirou groaned and muttered something about getting a new job.

“Bakugou,” Rosie snapped, biting her lip to stop the smile. “Focus.”

“Can’t. Your voice is hotter than my brakes right now.”

Rosie’s hands flew over her tablet, heart hammering. “You’re boxed in P2. Front runner’s losing time in the chicane. You have a chance, Katsuki. Keep your head on.”

There was a pause on the comms, just long enough for her to wonder if she’d pushed too hard. “Tch. You’re right.” His tone shifted—sharper, grounded. 

She could almost feel him gripping the wheel tighter.

The car tore around the final corner, a blur of red and black as it screamed into the pit lane. His visor reflected the harsh lights above. Rosie stepped back with the others, the world narrowing to thirty seconds of pure, seamless motion.

Tires off. Tires on. Fuel in. Adjustments made and just before he peeled away, Katsuki looked up at her—right at her—and winked behind his visor.

“Save me a seat on the podium, sweetheart.”

He was gone before she could form a reply.

Sero shook his head, smirking. “Dude’s so whipped.”

“Yeah,” Jirou muttered, crossing her arms. “It’s embarrassing.”

But Rosie just stood there, heart thudding, the ghost of a grin curling on her lips as she whispered into her mic: “Don’t make me come out there and drive it myself, Bakugou.”

From the track, laughter crackled through the radio. Challenge accepted.

The roar of the crowd reached a crescendo as Katsuki Bakugou crossed the finish line in first place. The team’s roar echoed in his helmet— Denki shouting, Kirishima cheering, Jirou pumping a fist —while Rosie stood trackside, heart pounding as he sped by. When the checkered flag waved and the podium beckoned, he took the stage, trophy in hand, sweat‑soaked and triumphant.

Minutes later, back in the paddock, he almost skipped down the corridor toward the pit. All the world narrowed to one single person in a pink headset and a blood-red smile. He grabbed the line of engineers and officials that blocked the way and… well...Katsuki fucking bulldozed right through.

Then he was in Rosie’s arms, pulling her close, lips hot and urgent on hers—kissing her so hard she thought she might mess up her makeup.

When he finally pulled away, he didn’t let go. He spun her around midair—laughing, wind whipping through her hair—and set her gently back on her feet, still clutching the headset to stop it from flying off. “We won, doll,” he grinned, voice rough and victorious, arm still around her waist.

Rosie laughed, breathless. “Our victory,” she said, dazed and triumphant. “Your speed and my numbers.”

He leaned down, resting his head against hers, still grinning. “Yeah? And your voice. You’re faster than any finish line.”

She swatted at him playfully but didn’t move away. “I’ll take it,” she whispered.

They stood like that for a moment—fast lanes, roaring engines, applause fading behind them—simply breathing each other in.

Then he kissed her again, softer this time, and she melted into it like she’d been going full throttle since she met him.

It was past midnight by the time the last interview ended and the track lights dimmed. The garage was empty now—quiet but still humming with leftover adrenaline. Katsuki finally slipped through the back corridor and found her just where he knew she’d be: sitting cross-legged on the worktable, still in her team gear, hair in a loose braid and grease smudged on her cheek.

She looked up from the telemetry sheet, a little startled—but only for a second. Then she smiled.

“I thought you were gonna get pulled into another press conference.”

“I escaped,” he muttered, kicking the door shut behind him. “Needed something better.”

Rosie arched a brow, tilting her head. “Something better?”

“You.”

She barely had time to gasp before he was in front of her, hands on her hips, mouth crashing into hers like he’d just taken the checkered flag all over again. She laughed against his lips—soft, surprised—but wrapped her arms around his neck all the same.

“Someone’s needy,” she teased, breathless.

“You wore that headset all damn day, giving me orders,” he growled, kissing along her jaw, down her neck. “You know how that drives me crazy.”

Her giggle was hushed and pretty, fingers threading through his sweaty hair. “You won the race, hotshot. I think I can boss you around a little.”

“I’d let you run the whole damn team if it meant you'd keep looking at me like that.”

She flushed, but didn’t look away. “Like what?”

“Like I’m the only one who makes your heart race.”

Rosie bit her lip. Her voice was barely a whisper. “You are.”

That was all he needed.

Katsuki picked her up without warning, making her squeal and laugh into his shoulder as he carried her to the bench in the corner of the garage. He set her down gently, kissed her even more gently—and then not gently at all.

They stayed there for a long while, tangled up between engine parts and leftover champagne mist, forgetting the rest of the world existed. For now, it was just the racer and his girl.

Victory was sweet. But Rosie?

Rosie is everything.

She hummed, her eyes half lidded, a coy smile on her lips, “can I do it?” 

“Now?” He grunted

“Come on Katsuki…” she begged with a pout, “you had fun last time.” 

“Only because you’re so cute when you pout,” he clicked his tongue. 

The track was empty. The night was quiet.

Rosie sat in the driver’s seat of Katsuki’s race car, her fingers curled tightly around the wheel. Her nails, painted a soft blush pink, looked comically out of place on the black leather steering wheel. But she looked good there, hell, she looked perfect.

Katsuki leaned in from the open passenger door, one brow raised, his arms crossed over his chest. “You sure you’re ready for this?”

She grinned at him, eyes sparkling. “You had fun last time I drove, didn’t you?”

“Tch,” he scoffed, but the smirk tugging at his mouth betrayed him. “Only ‘cause you looked damn good doing it.”

Rosie hummed and shifted in her seat, her lips tugging into a pout. “Come on, Katsuki… I’ve been practicing with you for months. Let me show you what I’ve got.”

He groaned under his breath, sliding into the passenger seat beside her. “Fine. But you crash my car and I’m breaking up with you.”

“Liar,” she teased, buckling in. “You’d cry if I broke up with you .”

The engine roared to life under her hands, rumbling low and smooth. Katsuki watched her, arms resting loosely on the sides of the seat, his crimson eyes locked on her face like she was the most dangerous thing on the track and maybe she was.

Rosie didn’t just drive—she flew . The second her foot hit the gas, the tires screamed and they shot forward. Katsuki’s body leaned with the curves of the car, but his eyes never left her. The way her mouth curved in concentration, the little wrinkle between her brows, the way her body moved in sync with the machine like it was second nature—it was intoxicating.

She hit a turn, clean and aggressive, and Katsuki barked a laugh. “Not bad, doll,” he shouted over the engine. “You’re starting to scare me.”

“You taught me, remember?” she called back, flashing him a grin.

The lap ended in a perfect glide through the final straightaway. Rosie hit the brakes and the car rolled to a smooth stop. Katsuki was already unbuckling, his heart pounding—not from the speed, but from the girl beside him.

Before she could climb out, he leaned over, grabbed her face in both hands, and kissed her breathless. Her squeal was muffled against his lips, and she giggled when he finally pulled back, flushed and grinning.

“We’re doing that again,” she said.

“Damn right we are,” he murmured, brushing his thumb across her cheek. “My girl’s got a need for speed.”

Chapter Text

The hideout reeked of smoke, metal, and scorched fabric, the aftermath of another “visit” from Pro Hero squad five. The floor was streaked with boot marks and soot, and several broken pieces of drone tech still sizzled near the windows. A victory, all things considered.

Katsuki kicked open the front door with blood on his boots and soot smudged up one arm, only to be met with—“ Shoes! ”

Rosie’s voice was far too cheery for someone scolding a man who could vaporize a truck with his bare hands. She stood in the doorway of the kitchen, arms crossed over her pink apron, her hair done up in soft little clips shaped like flowers. The scent of cinnamon and strawberries wafted behind her.

Katsuki scowled. “I just fought six heroes. You’re worried about my damn shoes?”

“You’re dripping blood.” She pointed to the smear already trailing across the tile. “I just mopped.”

He grumbled something about “damn mop priorities,” yanked off his boots at the door, and stalked through the hideout barefoot, smoke still curling from the collar of his black shirt. Rosie trailed behind him, a mug of tea in one hand and a ridiculous smile on her face like he hadn’t just committed twelve felonies before lunch.

She always smiled like that. Like the world wasn’t on fire. Like he wasn’t the one holding the match. “Anyone die?” she asked sweetly, passing him the mug as he dropped onto the couch, groaning.

“Yeah,” he muttered, sipping. “Two guards and a hero.”

She nodded, completely unfazed. “Did you bring them in through the back?”

He blinked at her.

She narrowed her eyes, lips pursed. “Katsuki. Did you bring any… bodies… through the kitchen?”

“…No.”

Her face lit up again. “Good! Progress!”

“Rosie, why the hell are you like this?”

She plopped down on the couch beside him, crisscross applesauce, her skirt poofing slightly as she pulled a cookie from her apron pocket and offered it to him like a peace offering. “Like what?”

“Like…” He waved a hand at her. “All pink and happy and soft when you work for me. I’m a goddamn villain, not some charity case.”

“I know you’re a villain,” she said, eyes twinkling. “You keep blowing things up and putting holes in my tea towels. Believe me, I’m aware .”

“Then why the hell are you smiling like I brought you flowers instead of intel covered in blood?”

She shrugged, biting her own cookie in half. “Because you’re funny when you’re mad, you always come home in one piece, and you make sure I never get caught in the crossfire. You’re a villain, Katsuki, but not to me.”

He didn’t answer. He couldn’t. Not when her words settled somewhere heavy in his chest, deep where guilt and pride warred over the smallest kindnesses.

“Besides,” she added, licking a bit of icing off her finger, “you’ve never once killed someone in front of me.”

“Not yet,” he muttered.

She leaned in, chin propped on her hand. “And you never bring bodies through my kitchen.”

“…That’s your boundary?”

She nodded seriously. “Blood on the floor I can clean. Corpses in the kitchen? That’s just bad manners as that is where we keep food.”

He stared at her. At her soft eyes and ridiculous rules. At the pastel nail polish on her fingers and the little heart-shaped bandage on her knee. At the girl who made tea after murder and wiped his brow when he was too sore to stand. “You make no sense.”

She smiled. “And yet, you keep me around.”

He took another sip of tea.

Yeah. He did.

The office was quiet, save for the scratching of Katsuki’s pen against a blueprint and the occasional hiss of something sparking on one of the nearby monitors. The villain’s office was more fortress than workspace—cold metal, glowing screens, a giant wall map with pins and string webbed like a spider’s trap.

He was elbow-deep in planning something loud, chaotic, and very much illegal when the door creaked open. 

Slippers padded in, light and casual. “Delivery,” came a soft voice.

Rosie stood in the doorway, wrapped in a fluffy pink robe with her matching cloud-shaped slippers. Her face was dotted with a sparkly green facemask, and she was balancing a tray of cookies and milk like she was hosting a tea party, not living with a man the government called “volatile.”

Katsuki blinked. “…Seriously?”

She walked in like she owned the place—which she very well might, judging by the way she plopped the tray down on his intimidating, steel desk like it was a kitchen counter.

“You’ve been in here for hours,” she scolded lightly, brushing past him to look over the large board of criminal logistics he had pinned with red string and notations. “No dinner. No water. And I bet you forgot you promised to go to the store with me in the morning.”

He scoffed but didn’t deny it.

She reached for a marker. “What’s this even for?”

“Bank job,” he grunted, eyes narrowing on her as she hummed thoughtfully. “Double vault. Pressure sensors. I’ve been working on the ingress points, but the guards switch shifts every six—hey!”

She was already erasing part of the diagram.

“Don’t use the rooftop,” she said casually. “Use the delivery hatch near the back loading dock. There’s always a ten-minute window where it’s unguarded. Their schedule’s sloppy.”

He stared. “You… You’ve been reading the blueprints?”

“I live here,” she said with a shrug. “I see things. Plus, you left them on the kitchen table under the plate of waffles I made you.”

Katsuki sat back in his chair, staring at her like she'd grown horns. “You’re terrifying.”

Rosie grinned and grabbed a cookie. “Nah. I’m just observant.”

As she started walking back toward the door, she paused, pointing a frosted finger at him. “No corpses through the kitchen. I mean it.”

He raised a brow. “The hallway’s longer.”

“The kitchen has cookies.” She pointed to the tray. “Don’t ruin my safe space.”

She left with a cheerful hum, robe swaying behind her as the door clicked shut.

Katsuki sat in stunned silence, then glanced at the tray. He picked up a cookie, muttering under his breath. “…She’s gonna be the death of me.”

Chapter Text

Rosie sipped from her water bottle, the plastic crinkling slightly in her grip before she set it down with a soft clink on the booth's supply table. She shifted on her feet, adjusting the leather skirt of her costume for what felt like the hundredth time, smoothing the fabric down her thighs. The star-shaped pin on her cape kept tilting slightly to the left, and the ribbon tied around her right bicep wasn’t sitting right, and was that hat crooked again?

“Stop fidgeting,” Akira said from behind a cardboard cutout of their villain character. “You look adorable.”

“Exactly. That’s the problem,” Rosie muttered, cheeks warm as she tucked a stray curl behind her ear. “I’m basically in a pastel swimsuit with gloves.”

“That’s what she wears in issue five,” Maerya said, adjusting the price tags for their enamel pins shaped like magical staves and cursed roses. “Accuracy, babe.”

Rosie groaned quietly, but her lips twitched into a smile.

The booth was almost done—colorful and inviting, filled with glossy posters, stacks of their self-printed comic books, and glittering merch arranged just right. The centerpiece was a huge illustrated banner of Magicka Moon , their debut series, complete with the heroine in full magical girl gear, casting a glittery hex at a snarling shadow-dog.

In said costume now, Rosie wore the lilac and white magician outfit—complete with thigh-high socks, a corset-style top that cinched her waist, detached bell sleeves, and a glitter-dusted mini cloak. Her streamer followers were already buzzing online after she teased the cosplay during her last “Just Chatting” stream, but this was different.

This was in-person and very much real.

“You’re doing great,” Maerya said, nudging her with a supportive elbow. “You’re gonna draw in everyone. Especially the die-hard fans. Half of them only know the comic because of you.”

Rosie bit her lip. “No pressure or anything…”

Akira grinned. “C’mon. You survived three horror games in one night without blinking. This is nothing.”

Easy for them to say. They were the artists—the creators. Rosie was the walking poster girl. She loved the comic, loved her friends, loved being part of something this cool. But having strangers stare? Having phones pointed at her? It was nerve-wracking.

Still… She looked at the crowd already trickling into Tokyo Comic Con through the wide, glass doors. Bright hair, bold costumes, camera flashes. Everyone here loved fantasy, passion projects, and nerdy joy. Her people and deep down, even through the nerves, she wanted to be seen.

So she took a deep breath, straightened her hat, adjusted the ribbon one last time, and stepped into place at the front of the booth. Her smile was small but growing. “Alright. Let’s do this.”

The first fan was a little girl dressed in a too-big cloak, holding a wand made from wrapped glitter paper and cardboard. She clutched a copy of Magicka Moon to her chest like it was sacred.

Rosie knelt down, smiling gently. “Hi, sweetie. You want me to sign that for you?”

The girl nodded so fast her ponytails bounced, then whispered, “You’re so pretty…”

Rosie’s heart melted on the spot.

She signed the inside cover in pink ink with a small star next to her name and a “Stay magical!” written underneath. The girl beamed, hugged her tightly around the waist, and ran off squealing to her mom.

The second fan was a teen boy who stammered while asking for a photo and blushed so hard when she smiled at him that even she turned a little pink. “Thank you for playing Eternal Bloom last winter,” he said quietly. “I was going through a rough time and… it helped.”

Rosie blinked, warmth blooming in her chest. “That means the world to me. I’m so glad it did.”

Photo after photo, autograph after autograph, the booth stayed busy. Rosie posed with fans who cosplayed as her character and even the villain of the series (a guy came by in full armor and a massive cape, quoting lines from the comic). Some people brought fan art for her to sign—hand-drawn sketches, painted posters, even cross-stitch.

At one point, someone shyly offered her a small wrapped bento box. “I know it’s your first Comic Con and I wanted to make sure you ate something. You said in your stream you forget to eat when you’re nervous.”

She stared at them, touched beyond words. “You actually remembered that?”

The fan smiled, bashful. “We all did.”

The hours passed quickly—frenzied and full, but glowing with energy. Maerya and Akira gave her thumbs-ups from behind the booth every time someone complimented her cosplay or asked for a photo.

But by mid-afternoon, the line was finally thinning. Her legs were tired, and her cheeks ached from smiling, but her heart?

Full. Absolutely, undeniably full.

As she took a sip of water and leaned back in the booth, she finally had time to glance at the small notebook where Akira was tracking fans who came by specifically for Rosie.

She blinked.

“Wait… these usernames—” she flipped through the page, recognizing one after another from her Twitch chat. “This one’s always in my horror streams. And this one helped me during that puzzle in The Lullaby Curse . And—oh my god—this person is from Ireland?!”

Akira laughed. “Yeah. Some of them told me. A few flew in from Europe. One couple said they came from Canada and coordinated their vacation just to meet you.”

Rosie covered her face with her hands, voice muffled by the sleeves of her robe. “I can’t believe this…”

“They love you,” Maerya said simply.

Her heart fluttered with the weight of it. For all the nights she wondered if her streaming made a difference… for every moment she thought maybe she wasn’t doing enough or being good enough… this?

This was everything .

She peeked back out from her hands, flushed and smiling. “Okay. Who’s next?”

Rosie adjusted the magician’s hat on her head, cheeks still warm from the last interaction as she peeked over her shoulder to check on the crowd.

That’s when she noticed Maerya and Akira whispering behind the display. Well—whispering was generous. It was more like muttering and trying to keep it lowkey while clearly not being lowkey at all.

Maerya leaned into Akira, brows raised. “He’s tall. Hands in his pockets. And those arms in a t-shirt? Dangerous.”

Akira sipped her drink without even looking. “Unfortunate that he’s blonde. Men with messy blonde hair are always the problem.”

Rosie blinked, blinking again. “Who are you two talking about?”

Maerya didn’t answer right away—she just grinned slowly and nodded toward the far end of the con floor.

Rosie followed the gesture, brows furrowed… and froze. Her mouth went dry.

Because walking through the dwindling crowd, hands tucked into the pockets of his worn gray jeans, black t-shirt stretched deliciously across his chest, and combat boots echoing each step, was him . Sharp jawline. Smoky red eyes. Platinum blond hair, tousled just enough to make it look like he either just woke up—or just climbed out of someone’s bed.

Katsuki Bakugou, a famous streamer.

Rosie’s stomach flipped.

“What—what is he doing here?” she whispered.

“Better question,” Maerya said without missing a beat, “why don’t we invite him to bed?”

“Wait, I thought you two only wanted to do threesomes with girls !” Rosie hissed, heart already fluttering in her throat.

Maerya winked. “Sweetheart, the offer is always on the table—for you.”

Akira gagged into her sleeve. “She’s like my sister. That would be incest , you absolute goblin.”

Rosie couldn’t help it—she snorted, laughing despite herself, but the breath was knocked from her chest when she looked back up and saw him… walking right up to her booth.

His eyes locked with hers. Direct and intense.

Oh, no.

Her stomach somersaulted again.

He stopped right in front of the table, towering over her, arms folded now. His expression was unreadable, but the corner of his mouth twitched ever so slightly. “Cute cospaly,” he said, voice low, gravelly.

“Th-thank you,” Rosie stammered, standing straighter, trying not to fidget with the wand in her hand. “Welcome to our booth!”

A pause, then his smirk deepened. “I want a photo,” he said. “And an autograph.”

Her brain stopped, literally just stopped. She blinked. “You… do?”

“Isn’t that what all your fans are doing?” he asked, already stepping beside her and leaning just a little too close. “Pretty sure I qualify.”

Rosie’s cheeks burned so hot she thought the fabric of her costume might melt off. “O-of course,” she squeaked. “Uh, Akira, could you—?”

“Already on it,” Akira muttered, barely hiding her grin as she took his phone from him.

Rosie held the marker in trembling fingers as she signed the limited edition card Katsuki picked off the table. And when he leaned his head down just a bit, brushing shoulders with her for the photo, she swore her soul left her body and levitated above the con floor.

This is fine, she told herself. Totally fine.

Then he leaned in closer, breath grazing her ear, and murmured low enough for only her to hear: “Didn’t know witches signed autographs with hands that shook.”

Rosie laughed nervously, hiding her red face behind her hat. Oh, she was in trouble. “Are you a fan of the comic or me?” 

Katsuki’s smirk turned wolfish. “Both,” he said without hesitation. “Especially since the comic’s main character is clearly based on you.”

She gawked, lips parting. “W-What—?”

“C’mon,” he drawled, looking over her with a slow, amused glance that made her feel very seen. “She’s got your face, your voice, your attitude, and how you dress.”

“That was Maerya’s idea,” she stammered, pointing at her friend and one of the two creators who only waved cheerfully from behind a display stand.

He leaned forward again, close enough to graze her ear with his whisper. “Tell her she nailed it.”

Rosie’s legs nearly gave out.

Then he straightened, casual as anything, and walked around the booth, grabbing a few pins, a sticker pack, and a signed copy of their Issue #1. He even took one of the special-edition keychains Rosie had painstakingly assembled the night before.

She stared as he returned to her, merchandise in hand, holding out a credit card with a single dark brow raised. “Hope this gets me bonus content.”

She fumbled to complete the transaction, mumbling something unintelligible as he signed the clipboard with an unreadable scrawl. Then, with a final wink, he was gone—vanishing into the dwindling crowd like some mythical beast in black boots and muscle.

The moment his silhouette disappeared, Maerya leaned forward with an elbow on the table. “So… are you gonna run after him?”

“What?!” Rosie squeaked. “No! No way! That’d be weird .”

“You’ve got hearts in your eyes,” Akira said matter-of-factly.

“I do not ,” she denied.

“Okay, he definitely did though,” Maerya added, reaching for the clipboard. She scanned the signature section and then froze. Her brows lifted high. “…Uhh.”

“What?” Rosie asked warily.

Maerya shoved the clipboard into Akira’s hands.

Akira looked down, immediately her eyes grew huge . “Oh, shit.”

Rosie blinked. “Okay, what ? What is it?”

“Nothing!” Maerya chirped.

“Nope, definitely something ,” Rosie said, reaching out and snatching the clipboard from Akira’s grip.

Her eyes dropped to the signature line. The name scrawled there in aggressive black ink, slanted and sharp like a threat, read: MurderGod.

Rosie blinked once, twice. Then dropped the clipboard onto the table like it burned. “Nope,” she whispered. “No. Way.”

“I knew I recognized him from somewhere,” Akira muttered.

“Isn’t he your number one fans?” Maerya asked then sighed wistfully, “imagine having Dynamight as your number one fan.” 

Rosie buried her red face in her hands. “Why is MurderGod hot in person?” she moaned.

“Because the gods are cruel,” Akira deadpanned.

“And clearly shipping you with a war criminal,” Maerya added cheerfully.

Chapter Text

Katsuki hated interviews. Thought they were invasive, pointless, and a colossal waste of time. Why did he need to sit and talk about heroism when everyone could just watch him dismantle villains in real time? Talking was for diplomats and politicians, not pro heroes like him. It was the dumbest shit a hero could do, and now, staring at the mess of flashing cameras and reporters at the edge of the street, he finally understood why Erasurehead preferred solo night patrols—no cameras, no questions, just the job.

That was until today.

He’d been out patrolling the city when a massive villain crashed through the side of a nearby building, sending dust and debris everywhere. Katsuki had wasted no time. After a brutal, no-holds-barred takedown—more beating than capture—he was ready to disappear into the shadows and avoid the media circus that would inevitably swarm the scene.

But then he saw her.

A young woman with pinned-up pink hair, vibrant and glowing even in the chaos. Her smile was bright, and her eyes sparkled with enthusiasm as she adjusted the badge hanging from her neck. She was animated, talking rapidly in front of a camera guy, totally unaware of the storm around her.

Katsuki paused. He didn’t know why.

Maybe it was the way she carried herself—small but fierce, like she belonged here, despite everything. Or maybe it was just the sudden quiet in his mind, the calm that came with just watching her for a second.

Before he realized it, he was right beside her, towering over her in his bulky hero gear. She spun around with a gasp, eyes wide and lips falling open into a small, surprised ‘O.’ “Oh—!” she stammered, a flush creeping up her cheeks.

Katsuki smirked, a rare softness hidden in the rough edge of his usual scowl. “You’re the reporter, huh?”

She nodded, trying to steady her breath as her bright eyes locked onto his. “Y-Yeah. Rosie. I—I’m covering the scene.”

He found himself caught off guard by her sincerity and the nervous energy radiating off her like warmth. Usually, reporters were all flash and noise—shoving mics in his face, barking questions, desperate to twist his words. But this one… this one was different. Somehow real.

Without thinking, he muttered, “Don’t get in my way.”

She laughed, the sound light and genuine, like she wasn’t even aware of the grime and chaos swirling around them. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”

For the first time in a long while, Katsuki felt a crack in his guarded armor. Something inside him—small, unexpected—urged him to stick around. “Go on,” he grunted, crossing his arms. “Ask your questions.”

Her eyes widened, a faint blush blooming across her cheeks. “Q-questions?” she squeaked before swallowing hard. “I was told you don’t do interviews. So… I have nothing prepared.”

The corner of his mouth twitched upward, and to her shock, Dynamight actually chuckled. The sound was low, rough, but warm in its own way. “Then just ask me what you’d ask anyone else.”

She hesitated, clearly not wanting to waste this rare opportunity. Then, after a quick breath, she started—soft questions at first about the fight, his tactics, the damage control afterward. Her voice was steady, but her eyes kept flicking to his, and every time, it was like she wasn’t expecting him to still be looking right at her.

And oh, was he looking.

Even as he answered, his mind wandered. He wondered how soft she would feel in his arms, pressed against his chest, maybe with that shy little smile aimed only at him. He could picture her laughing over dinner, her hair tumbling loose from its pins, eyes sparkling in the low light of some quiet, tucked-away restaurant.

Hell, he could see himself leaning in and tasting that laugh, kissing her until she forgot whatever question she was going to ask next.

But for now, he just watched her—watched how every answer made her eyes widen a little more, how she practically lit up under the weight of his attention. She looked… happy. And that happiness was infectious in a way he wasn’t ready to admit.

By the time she lowered her mic, cheeks pink and smile bright, he wasn’t thinking about the fight, the cameras, or the fact that he hated interviews.

He was only thinking about her.

It quickly became common knowledge in the hero world—and among the press—that if you wanted an interview with Pro Hero Dynamight, your best bet was to send Rosie. The rookie reporter who’d once stumbled through her first impromptu interview with him had somehow become his unofficial go-to.

It wasn’t just that he tolerated her. Oh no—Katsuki Bakugo, the man who snarled at most journalists, would actually wait for her to arrive before giving any statement.

The arrangement worked better than anyone expected. Rosie’s popularity skyrocketed, her face appearing in online compilations titled “Dynamight’s Favorite Reporter” and “Rosie & Dynamight’s Adorable Moments.” Her news channel basked in the ratings spike, and Katsuki’s own hero rankings jumped in popularity. Apparently, the public liked seeing him with her—the way his sharp edges softened when she was around, the way his voice dropped just slightly when he answered her questions. It made him seem more… human and approachable.

Today, she arrived on-site looking like she’d stepped straight out of a glossy magazine spread. Her hair was down, loose waves catching the sunlight, framing her face perfectly. The crimson dress she wore hugged her in all the right places, stopping mid-thigh and paired with black tights and matching heels. Professional, yet so distractingly beautiful that Katsuki’s usual scowl tilted into something dangerously close to a smirk the moment he spotted her.

“My favorite reporter,” he greeted, stepping into frame like he owned it—and in his mind, he did. His gaze swept over her, slow and deliberate, before locking on her flustered face. “You look gorgeous today.”

The compliment landed like a spark in dry tinder. Rosie’s cheeks flared pink, and she ducked her head slightly, lips curling into a shy smile. “T-thank you, Dynamight.”

They began the interview as always—her questions crisp and well-prepared, his answers confident and tinged with his usual bluntness. But today, something was different. He leaned in just a little closer than necessary, his smirk pulling at the edges every time she avoided eye contact. He let his eyes linger on her when she was speaking, making her words falter for just a moment. The banter slipped in between the serious talk—him teasing about her “fancy dress” and asking if she was trying to distract him from his job, her swatting back that maybe he was the one trying to distract her .

The cameraman, seasoned enough to keep rolling no matter what, probably realized before she did what was coming.

As she wrapped up with the usual, “And that’s all for today’s report—thank you for your time, Dynamight,” Katsuki didn’t step back like he normally would. Instead, he tilted his head toward her, voice dropping just enough for the microphone to still catch. “Actually, I’ve got one more thing.”

Rosie blinked, thrown off. “Uh—oh? What’s that?”

He grinned, and the damn thing was so self-assured, so confident, it made her stomach flip. “You busy this Friday night?”

Her mouth parted slightly, caught between professionalism and complete shock. “I… what?”

Katsuki’s grin widened. “I’m asking you out. Dinner. Drinks. Something that doesn’t involve you holding a mic in my face.”

The crowd that had gathered nearby audibly reacted, some gasps, a few muffled squeals, phones already out to record. Rosie’s pulse hammered in her ears, heat rushing to her cheeks. “I… yes,” she blurted, almost too quickly, before biting her lip. “Yes. I’d like that.”

And just like that, Katsuki Bakugo—Dynamight, one of Japan’s top pro heroes—smirked into the camera like he’d just won a championship. “Good,” he said simply, then looked directly into the lens. “Guess you heard it here first.”

Chapter Text

Outside the castle walls, the world had become a wasteland of ruin, blood, and ash. The sky, once silver-blue and serene, now hung heavy with stormclouds that never promised rain—only lightning and omens of death, a relentless herald of decay. Monstrous creatures prowled the dark forest, spilling forth with teeth bared, leaving nothing but corpses and terror in their wake.

Yet within the stone fortress, carved into the very bones of the mountain, the Princess sat bathed in a pool of golden light.

Rosie.

Her gown, pale as cherry blossoms, seemed to glow against the dark stone around her. Long pink hair, interwoven with silver threads, cascaded over her shoulders and down her back, the braids catching the firelight like threads of moonlight. Her small hands clutched an ancient book, the inked pages whispering secrets of kingdoms past, yet her eyes lifted the instant his boots struck the flagstone floor.

Katsuki.

He stood at the edge of the firelight, a streak of shadow and crimson. His cloak, dark and scorched, trailed behind him, and the edge of his greatsword gleamed faintly, still slick with the remnants of battle. He was a living scar against the softness of her chamber—tall, unyielding, the heat of a thousand wars simmering in his posture, yet here he was, still bound to her by something more fragile than steel: devotion.

She rose, abandoning the book as if it had no claim on her in that moment. “You are leaving for the front lines, yes?” she asked, voice trembling only slightly, steadier than she felt.

He did not answer immediately. His gauntleted hands rested against his sides, tense with unspoken fears, the weight of command heavy upon his shoulders. Then he spoke, low and roughened by exhaustion and resolve: “I have to go. The King calls me to the front lines.”

Rosie’s gaze, steady yet fragile, lifted to meet his. “Please… be safe,” she whispered, her fingers brushing the visor of his helm with a reverent touch, tracing its cold, unyielding edge like a prayer offered to the gods themselves. “Promise me you’ll return.”

He lowered his helm, revealing eyes that burned with a battle-hardened fire, tempered by the gentleness he reserved only for her. “I swear it,” he said, voice hoarse but certain. “No darkness, no monster, no hell of war will keep me from returning to you.”

For a moment, silence stretched between them—a fragile thread holding back the world outside, holding back the storm, the blood, the ruin. The scent of roses clung to her, delicate and sweet amidst the acrid stench of ash and steel, a reminder that life and light still existed in a world nearly consumed by shadow.

Her hands moved carefully, as if even the motion might shatter them both. From the folds of her sleeve, she drew a handkerchief of silk and lace, pale and embroidered with tiny, intricate roses. She pressed it into his gauntleted hands.

“Take this,” she said, her voice a tremulous mixture of command and plea. “Carry it into every battle. Let it rest against your heart. Let it remind you of what you fight for—and of what waits for you here.”

Her eyes searched his, imploring him to understand the depth of her trust, the unspoken weight of her love. “Return it to me,” she added softly, “when the war is won, when you come back… as my sworn sword, as the one who protects me, as the one I trust with my life.”

Katsuki’s jaw tightened. He felt the press of her gaze, the weight of her hand in his, and the impossible ache of wanting to stay and leave at the same time. His hand curled around the silk, the fabric warm against his cold steel, and he bowed his head, pressing his forehead briefly to the delicate cloth.

“I will carry it,” he rasped, voice raw. “Through fire, through blood, through every hell that waits for me out there… I will carry it and I will return. Always.”

Her lips quivered, but she offered a small, resolute smile. And then, with a final brush of fingers against his cheek, she stepped back, letting him go. The castle, the firelight, the golden glow around her—all of it seemed to hold its breath as Katsuki turned toward the dark corridors beyond, toward the waiting storm and the war that would test everything he had sworn to protect.

And still, through the chaos and ruin, that silk handkerchief—and the promise woven into it—was the tether that would guide him back to her.

The front lines were a hell made flesh. Screams ripped through the smoke-choked air as monstrous beasts, their eyes too many and too wide, surged against the human ranks. Charred timber, shattered stone, and the acrid stench of blood mingled into a suffocating fog.

Katsuki moved through it all like a storm. His greatsword swung with lethal precision, cutting through claw and fang, the edges of his blade catching the dying firelight. Each strike was punctuated by the crackle of his explosion magic, detonations tearing the ground beneath the monsters’ feet, sending them flying in shredded, smoky arcs.

And yet, even amid the chaos, his mind could not escape her. Rosie.

He ducked under a monstrous swipe, rolling across the charred ground and springing back to his feet, eyes scanning for the next threat. Her pale face, framed by pink hair, rose unbidden in his mind. The way her soft blue eyes held unwavering faith. The tiny silk handkerchief she had pressed into his gauntlet. The warmth of her touch against his cheek before he had left.

“Focus!” he hissed to himself, raising a hand to detonate another explosion that threw three clawing horrors into the air. But even as he did, he pictured her standing in the golden light of the castle, waiting for him, her hand outstretched, her lips barely parting as if to speak encouragement through the smoke of his memory.

The monsters never ceased. They surged, a writhing tide of rot and malice, teeth gnashing and claws rending the earth. Katsuki’s muscles burned, his lungs heaving, yet he fought on—not just for survival, not just for victory—but for her. For the promise he had sworn.

Another explosion. Fire and stone erupted around him, and he felt the recoil jolt through his arms. When the smoke cleared, he saw a grotesque, multi-eyed creature staggering toward the human lines, larger than any before. Its limbs cracked like splintering wood, and the stench of decay made his stomach twist.

He gritted his teeth, gripping his sword tighter. Rosie’s waiting. She’s waiting. I promised.

He leapt forward, every motion a blend of violence and precision. His sword slashed, cutting a deep line across the monster’s chest, while his other hand cupped an orb of explosion magic. He threw it with all the force he could muster—another detonation that sent the creature reeling backward, screaming in rage and pain.

And all the while, in the back of his mind, he could see her. Rosie’s fingers brushing the edge of his helm, her eyes shimmering with that impossible mixture of courage and sorrow, her whispered plea: “Promise me you’ll come back.”

He roared as he threw himself into the next wave, magic crackling across his hands, his sword swinging with merciless accuracy. Each death he dealt, each monstrous head that fell, was for her. Every drop of blood spilled, every scream silenced, was a promise: he would survive. He had to survive.

A massive claw swept at him from the side. Katsuki rolled, bringing his blade up in a brutal arc, and the monster’s arm shattered under the strike. He didn’t pause. He couldn’t. Rosie’s image was a knife in his chest, driving him faster, harder, with every heartbeat.

“Rosie…” he muttered between breaths, voice rough, almost lost in the cacophony of war. “I’ll come back to you… no matter what.”

The battlefield blurred into motion and fire and death, but in that blur, he held onto her. Her voice, her light, the promise of her waiting in the golden sanctuary of the castle—all of it anchored him, gave him purpose beyond the carnage.

Even in hell, even at the edge of exhaustion and blood-soaked despair, Katsuki’s hands never faltered. His eyes never left the path that would lead him home. Because every monster he cut down, every explosion he unleashed, every ounce of strength he poured into survival was for one reason: to return to Rosie.

And he would. No matter the cost.

Chapter Text

Fog clung low to the forest floor, curling between the roots of ancient trees as if the woods themselves were trying to breathe. The gravel driveway ended in front of a sprawling, weathered cabin—three stories tall, its wooden beams dark with age and shadow.

“This is it?” Sero broke the silence, eyeing the place with a mix of awe and unease. “Looks… welcoming.”

“Looks haunted,” Jirou muttered, crossing her arms as she glanced at the dark windows, each one reflecting just enough light to seem like something was watching.

“Haunted or not, we’re here for the weekend,” Mina said, trying to inject cheer into her voice. “No cell service, no neighbors for miles, and nothing but fresh air and… uh… nature.”

“Nature that could hide a hundred serial killers,” Denki said under his breath, his eyes darting toward the treeline.

Shoto stood slightly apart from the group, hands in his pockets, gaze fixed on the cabin’s door. “It’s not the place you should be worried about. It’s what might be inside.”

No one had the heart to ask him what exactly he meant.

Behind them, a muffled giggle broke the tension. Everyone turned to see Rosie and Katsuki pressed up against Katsuki’s car, his hand braced beside her head, his lips hovering dangerously close to hers.

“Really?” Kirishima groaned, throwing his hands in the air. “We’re about to walk into Murder Cabin: The Movie and you two are already—”

“Shut it, hair-for-brains,” Katsuki growled without looking at him, though his other hand had slipped under the hem of Rosie’s sweater, thumb brushing skin in a way that made her laugh breathlessly.

Rosie glanced over Katsuki’s shoulder, cheeks flushed. “Sorry, sorry—just… distracted.”

“Distracted by his face or his hands?” Mina teased, only to jump when a sudden gust rattled the cabin’s shutters.

The group froze.

From somewhere deep in the forest, a single crack echoed—like a branch snapping under something heavy.

Shoto’s eyes narrowed. “We should get inside.”

Katsuki finally broke away from Rosie, though his arm stayed firmly around her waist, possessive. “Tch. Fine. But if anyone tries anything—” His gaze flicked toward the treeline, sharp and dangerous. “—they’ll regret it.”

The door creaked open under Kirishima’s push, the scent of dust and damp wood drifting out. Beyond the threshold, the cabin waited, silent… except for the faint sound of floorboards shifting upstairs.

And somewhere in the distance, just beyond the reach of the fog, a figure stood between the trees—watching.

The cabin’s main room came alive in a haze of dust motes and fading daylight. Someone found the breaker box, and the overhead lights flickered to life with a strained hum. The air smelled faintly of cedar and something metallic—old pipes maybe, or… something else.

It didn’t take long for the “party setup” mode to kick in. Kirishima was dragging a long wooden table toward the center of the room while Sero unboxed plastic cups and bottles of cheap liquor. Mina was hanging string lights she’d brought “for vibes,” and Denki had found the cabin’s old stereo, testing each speaker with an obnoxious thump-thump of bass.

“Man, this is gonna be epic,” Denki grinned, tossing an unopened bag of chips to Jirou. “Remote cabin, no rules, no curfew. Just us.”

“Just us… and no cell signal,” Jirou muttered, examining the stereo as if it might explode.

From the kitchen, Mina peeked out, holding a bowl of pretzels. “Speaking of ‘just us’—where’d the lovebirds go? Didn’t they come in with us?”

Denki leaned against the counter with a sly grin. “Oh, you mean Mr. ‘Hands Everywhere’ and his princess? Please. Those two haven’t been able to keep their paws off each other since they started dating.”

Kirishima chuckled, stacking red cups into a precarious tower. “Seriously. They’ve probably already found some corner to make out in.”

Mina sighed dreamily. “I think it’s sweet.”

“Sweet?” Jirou snorted. “It’s like watching a nature documentary. Predator meets prey—but the prey’s totally into it.”

They all laughed, the sound bouncing against the high wooden beams of the ceiling. For a moment, the unsettling creak of the cabin’s old bones was drowned out by warmth and noise.

None of them noticed the way the front door, which had been firmly shut, was now slightly ajar. Or how the faint breeze that slipped through carried the sound of footsteps—slow, deliberate—circling the cabin outside.

Somewhere upstairs, a faint thump echoed again.

But Denki had already cranked the music louder, and Kirishima was pouring shots. “We’ll do a game of King’s Cup after food’s ready.”

Mina grinned. “And maybe the lovebirds will actually show up for it.”

“Nngh—! Katsuki!” Rosie cried out, her cheek pressed against the wood as he thrusted into her causing the table to thump against the wall.

He panted, softly groaning as he grasped her hips. “Fuck…Rosie, doll…feel so good…mmm, pretty little pussy's jus' so greedy for it." Katsuki swore under his breath as he rolled his hips again.

His large rough hands gripped her hips firmly, bruising her pale soft flesh as he slammed his cock into his pretty little girlfriend’s cunt, stretched and stuffed full of him.

“ahhh—!” She sobbed, tears rolling down her face as she gripped the table for stability. “Kats—! Please…p-please it’s too muuu…much!”

The lewd expression on her face along with the sound of her pussy squelching made him nearly spill his cum into her right then and there.

Withdrawing from her, he gave her only a second to catch her breath before he flipped her over. Adjusting her to her back, he cooed at her, “so so pretty like this, just like a pretty doll.”

Back arching for him, his thrusts are brutal as he fucks Rosie with an intensity that boarded on animalistic and manic. The walls of her pussy, fluttering and gripping around his thick veiny cock. Baring her neck to him as her head was thrown back, “P—ppomchi—!”

“Awe, is my doll getting fucked so stupid that s-she…fuck babydoll…so stupid you can’t form sentences hm?”

His hips didn’t slow down nor did they falter,  each thrust pushing deeper and deeper inside her. His massive cock aching, throbbing as he continued to stretch out her abused cunt. Pushing both of them to the edge of orgasming. Grasping her jaw, he forced her to look at him, drool running down her lips as she moaned and whimpered. Leaning forward, his hot breath fanned against the skin of her neck, his teeth nipping at the already bruised flesh. His tip slammed into her cervix, his large rough hands adjusting her legs over his shoulders.

“Who do you belong to hm?”

Rosie cried out, “you…Kats…f-fuck, I belong to you!”

He smirked, “So wet and tight, but my cock just slides right in. It’s like you were born to take me inside of your pretty cunt.” Swearing under his breath, he groaned as her walls pressed down, squeezing his cock.

She threw her head back, just as her orgasm washed over her, her hands scratching the wood table.

The groan was low and throaty as he watched her come apart on his cock, leaning over he pressed a quick kiss to her lips. Nipping her jaw, he swore, “Give me one more. Please, just one more doll, try to keep your eyes open,babydoll…b-but need to see you cum just one more time.”

Vigorously she shook her head, tears running down her face, her skin flushed and sweaty. “Too much…please, Pom–pomchi…too smooch.” She whined

“Shhhh,” he pressed another kiss to her jaw, before he raised back up, messaging her hips, his thrusts punishing. “I know you have one more in ya doll,” Katsuki grunted, nipping at her calf

Thrusting into his pretty girlfriend fast and hard with precision as he hits that soft spongey part inside her that immediately has her choking on moans and cries. His name coming out in broken soft whispering prayers,

Katsuki knew Rosie was overstimulated, she always easily got overwhelmed, but he just couldn’t help himself. Not when she just looked too damn pretty in her shorts and crop top, bent over with her ass in the air.

Everything about her was so pretty, so sweet, and such a fucking turn on, especially when she was angry with him. Her blue eyes sparkled with explosions of silver flames, those pretty pink lips twisted into a snarl as she snapped at him. Hands on her hips, chest heaving, and her brows furrowed. The makeup sex was always amazing, hot, heavy, and with them fucking their frustration out. Fuck…

That did it for him.

With one last brutal slam of his hips, Katsuki spilled inside her, his groan ripping from his throat as she screamed his name. Hot, thick ropes of release painted her insides, his body trembling as he stayed buried deep, grinding out every last drop. He kept moving slowly, lazy thrusts meant more for drawing out their bliss than chasing it again. His mouth found her skin in worship—scattered kisses trailing over her calves, her knees, anywhere his lips could reach while she tried to catch her breath.

At last, with a final kiss to the inside of her thigh, he eased out of her, watching with a soft, possessive satisfaction as his spend threatened to spill. She whimpered faintly, body boneless against the table, and that sound hit him harder than anything else had.

“Damn it, Rosie,” he muttered under his breath, brushing a damp strand of hair off her forehead. His tone was rough, but the tenderness in his touch betrayed him.

Before she could curl up, he slid his arms beneath her and lifted her effortlessly against his chest. She clung to him instinctively, cheek pressed to his sweaty skin, and he pressed a kiss to the crown of her head as he carried her toward their bathroom.

The warm light flicked on with a hum, steam already curling as he set the shower to the perfect temperature. Katsuki settled her gently on the counter, crouching down so he could wipe her thighs clean with a damp cloth first, his hands slow, deliberate, careful. She watched him through heavy-lidded eyes, the pink flush in her cheeks deepening—not from lust now, but from the overwhelming gentleness of him.

“You don’t gotta…” she whispered, but he shot her a sharp look, one she knew meant shut up and let me take care of you.

He stripped out of his ruined clothes and pulled her under the spray with him, the water cascading hot over their skin. His hands weren’t rough anymore—they slid through her hair, massaging shampoo into her scalp, then smoothing soap down her back in long, soothing strokes. Every touch was reverent, grounding.

“’m not breaking you,” he murmured into her wet hair, voice gruff as though embarrassed by the confession. “But I might if I don’t get to hold you like this after.”

Rosie’s laugh was soft, watery. She leaned into him, lips brushing over his collarbone. “Then you better always hold me after.”

Katsuki tilted her face up, his thumb brushing over her swollen lower lip before he kissed her slow, unhurried. It wasn’t a claiming kiss like before—it was a promise.

And when they stepped out, he wrapped her in a thick towel, scooped her back into his arms, and carried her straight to bed, tucking her against his chest as though she belonged nowhere else.

“There’s the lovebirds,” Denki smirked the second Rosie and Katsuki appeared at the top of the stairs. His eyes flicked pointedly at the way Rosie leaned into Katsuki’s side, hair still a little damp from their shower, a fresh bruise blooming on her shoulder where his mouth had clearly been.

Jirou gave a low whistle, crossing her arms. “Wow. Even with the music blasting, we still heard you two.”

Rosie’s face flushed hot as she instinctively tugged at the neckline of her sweater to hide the evidence, but Katsuki only snorted, unbothered, and wrapped a possessive arm tighter around her waist.

“Not my fault you’ve all got dog ears,” he shot back, glaring down at them.

“Or that you can’t keep your paws off each other,” Denki added with a dramatic sigh. “Seriously, I think you two set a new record. Any guesses on how long they were gone?”

“An hour and a half,” Mina grinned, already holding up a glass of neon-pink punch like it was proof. “And honestly? I think it’s sweet. They’re in that phase where you can’t breathe without each other. It’s kinda cute.”

Rosie covered her face with both hands, but she was laughing through her embarrassment. “You’re all awful.”

“Awful, but right,” Kirishima chimed in, clapping Katsuki on the back hard enough to nearly knock the cup he was handed out of his grip. “Now stop hogging her to yourself and drink with us!”

The big cabin’s living room was already half-lit with string lights and the warm crackle of the fireplace, music bouncing off the high rafters. Bowls of chips and scattered card games littered the big table, half-empty bottles lined the counter, and someone had dragged the couches into a loose circle around the hearth. It felt messy, alive, like every camp-cabin movie party scene come to life.

Katsuki grumbled but accepted a drink, tugging Rosie onto the couch beside him as though daring anyone to try pulling her away. She nestled against his side, cheeks still red, but her smile wide as Mina and Jirou tried to get her into a round of Truth or Dare.

“Rules are rules,” Mina declared with a wicked gleam. “New couple plays first.”

“We’re not new,” Katsuki growled, taking a long swig of his drink.

“Then you won’t mind going first,” Jirou shot back, smirking as she leaned forward to shuffle the deck of question cards.

Rosie laughed again, leaning up to whisper in Katsuki’s ear, her words lost in the noise—but whatever she said had him biting back a grin before kissing her temple in full view of everyone.

Denki groaned, falling back against the couch. “They’re gonna kill me with all this lovey-dovey stuff.”

Everyone burst into laughter, the sound mingling with the clinking of glasses and the crackle of the fire, the perfect carefree moment before the shadows outside the cabin would start to matter.

Chapter Text

It was an elementary fact that wherever Rosie went, Katsuki wasn’t far behind. The two of them had been next-door neighbors since before they were born, their mothers sharing stories of morning sickness and cravings across the fence long before the pair took their first steps. By the time they could walk, they were toddling into each other’s yards; by the time they could talk, they were already finishing each other’s sentences.

Growing up, Rosie had always been the soft-spoken balance to Katsuki’s firecracker personality. She’d trail after him when he stormed ahead, cheer for him when he picked fights, and laugh at the parts of him that others called too much. Where other kids found him intimidating, Rosie just tilted her head and smiled, like she’d always seen through the explosions to the boy underneath.

Katsuki, for his part, never admitted out loud that he treated her differently—but everyone who knew him could tell. With Rosie, he wasn’t just the loud, sharp-edged brat who barked orders and insulted everyone who breathed wrong. He was… gentler. Not soft, never soft, but gruff in a way that was oddly protective. If she forgot her lunch, his ended up split in half without a word. If she got cold, his scarf would be shoved into her hands with a muttered, “Take my scarf, you idiot, before you freeze to death.” If someone made her cry, well… they didn’t make that mistake twice.

He never sugarcoated things with her—Katsuki wasn’t capable of that—but he also never let his temper scorch her the way it did with everyone else. His insults around her were more bark than bite, his growls always hiding a kind of fierce affection. And Rosie, somehow, always understood the translation: when he snapped “You’re so damn slow, hurry up,”what he really meant was “I’ll wait for you.” When he rolled his eyes and shoved a book into her hands with “Read it yourself, dumbass,” what he really meant was “I remembered you wanted this.”

As the years passed, that unshakable bond only deepened. People teased them about being inseparable, but Rosie never minded. She knew Katsuki in ways no one else did—the quiet moments, the rare flashes of vulnerability, the softer boy under the spikes and fire. And Katsuki, though he’d never say it out loud, knew he didn’t have to fight for Rosie’s loyalty. She’d been by his side since the very beginning, and he had no doubt she always would be.

That was until U.A. High School split their paths. Katsuki stormed straight into the Hero Course like it was written in stone, while Rosie ended up placed in the General Course. They both knew it would happen—her quirk, while powerful, leaned supportive as a healing type despite the shadow of her father’s quirk, Erasure. Still, knowing it and living it were two different things.

At first, Katsuki told himself it wouldn’t bother him. They still rode the train together every morning. They still walked side by side through the gates of U.A., her voice bubbling with chatter about her excitement about meeting her new classmates, her teachers, or the snacks she’d snuck into her bag. He didn’t say much, but he didn’t need to. He carried both their bags without thinking, one heavy and plain, the other pink with glittery keychains, patches, and pins that jingled with every step.

When they reached the hall where their courses split, he slowed. Rosie turned to him, smile bright as she reached for her bag. He handed it over with a grunt, trying not to look too obvious about how he lingered.

“Thank you for walking me,” she said warmly, hugging the strap to her chest like the simple gesture meant more than it should.

“Whatever,” Katsuki muttered, shoving his hands back in his pockets. “We go to the same school. Don’t make it weird.”

She didn’t even flinch at his tone. She never did. Instead, she bounced forward and wrapped her arms around him, brief but warm, smelling faintly of strawberries and rainwater shampoo and vanilla. His jaw locked tight, but he didn’t shove her off like he would’ve with anyone else.

“Have a great day,” she beamed up at him, pink hair swaying as she pulled back. “See you at lunch!”

And just like that, she spun on her heel and disappeared into her classroom, leaving Katsuki standing in the hall with heat prickling across his ears. He huffed, pretending not to watch the way her hair caught the light, before stomping off toward the Hero Course wing.

Katsuki had barely slammed himself into a seat in Class 1-A when he started getting under people’s skin. “Your shoes aren’t even lined up properly!” Iida barked, chopping his hands as if scolding Katsuki would fix anything.

“Shut the hell up, Glasses,” Katsuki snarled, leaning back with his arms folded. “I’ll line ‘em up when you pull the stick outta your ass.”

Iida practically combusted on the spot, veins bulging in his forehead. Before he could scold further, the door slid open again.

Izuku stumbled in with Uraraka right behind him, nervously adjusting his bag strap. “Kacchan—! Uh, maybe we should all just… calm down?”

“Back off, nerd!” Katsuki snapped, sparks already flaring around his palms.

Izuku winced but didn’t press further, used to this dance by now. Uraraka whispered something awkward about “a lively class,” but before the tension could fully snap, a groggy voice cut through the air. “Sit down. All of you.”

Aizawa slouched into the room, yellow sleeping bag hanging from his shoulders like a second skin. The entire class scrambled into their seats under his half-lidded glare. For a second, the room felt like it might settle into some semblance of order.

Then—click. The door cracked open again.

Everyone turned.

A girl with pinned-up pink hair and wide, striking blue eyes stepped inside wearing the standard U.A. uniform, her presence immediately bright against the dreary classroom. She bowed politely. “Sorry for interrupting,” she said, voice warm, almost musical. “I forgot to give you your bento.”

She strode across the room without hesitation, ignoring the curious stares of twenty pairs of eyes. Katsuki didn’t even blink as she placed the neatly wrapped lunch box on his desk.

“You’re always so forgetful,” he grunted, but there was no bite to it.

She only smiled, the corners of her eyes crinkling. “I won’t forget next time. Promise.” With that, she turned to leave.

Silence.

Then—splat!

Mineta’s nose erupted like a broken faucet. “S-she’s like… the cutest girl I’ve ever—”

Before he could finish, sparks lit the air. Katsuki’s chair screeched back as he stood, collaring Mineta in one rough hand and hauling him straight off the ground.

“Wanna repeat that, short stack?!” Explosions snapped around his palm, his eyes glowing murder.

Rosie flushed furiously at the attention, waving her hands. “Katsuki, it’s fine! Put him down, please!”

“The hell it is! Guy needs to learn how to respect women!”

Mineta kicked and wailed, but before Katsuki could torch him, something else moved faster. A scarf snapped through the air. Mineta shrieked as Aizawa’s capture weapon coiled around him, hoisting him upside down like a squeaky, flailing piñata.

“You,” Aizawa drawled, eyes narrowing in true Erasure mode, “will keep your eyes*—and your mouth—*off my daughter.”

The room went dead silent. A chorus of gasps followed. Mina’s jaw dropped, Kaminari’s eyes bugged out, even Todoroki tilted his head like he hadn’t expected to hear that word.

“D-daughter?!” practically the entire class exclaimed at once.

Izuku ducked his head sheepishly, while Katsuki leaned back in his chair with an unapologetic scowl. “Tch. Damn right she is.”

The room was still dead silent when Aizawa turned his gaze back toward Rosie. His expression softened just slightly, like watching snow melt at the edges of spring. “Rosie, sunshine, get to class,” he said, his voice uncharacteristically gentle.

“Yes, Dad.” She smiled, leaned down, and pressed a quick kiss to his cheek before slipping out the door with a little wave.

And that was when Class 1-A exploded.

“YOUR DAUGHTER?!” Mina shrieked, nearly toppling out of her chair.

“You mean to tell me we’ve had Aizawa’s daughter walking around the school and no one knew?!” Kaminari groaned, clutching his head.

“She’s… she’s really pretty,” Uraraka said softly, still blinking in disbelief.

Meanwhile, Iida started shouting about favoritism, while Mineta*—still dangling upside down—*wailed about how unfair life was.

Aizawa didn’t even flinch. “Shut up and get into your training clothes,” he deadpanned, releasing his scarf just enough to drop Mineta unceremoniously onto the floor.

By the time lunch rolled around, the uproar hadn’t fully died down. Katsuki grabbed Rosie’s hand without a word and dragged her straight to a quiet corner of the cafeteria, away from the chaos of the main crowd.

She sat across from him, blue eyes sparkling as she unwrapped her own pink bento box lunch. Her voice bubbled like a stream as she chattered between bites.

“My homeroom teacher seems nice—kind of sleepy but really sharp. My classmates are so sweet too, I already made a couple of friends! Oh, and there’s this one girl who braids her hair the prettiest way, I’ll have to show you sometime—”

Katsuki shoveled food into his mouth, listening with one ear, his red eyes fixed on her. He didn’t interrupt, didn’t tell her to shut up. He just let her yap, grunting occasionally to let her know he was listening. His mouth might’ve been busy with rice and pork cutlet, but his gaze never left her face.

Of course, peace never lasted long.

“Rosieeeee!” Mina’s voice rang out like a siren. She and Jirou swooped in with trays in hand, dragging a couple more curious girls with them. They slid right into the empty seats on either side of Rosie, practically cornering her.

“So is it true you’re Aizawa’s daughter?” Mina grinned, leaning on her elbows. “You have to tell us everything. What’s it like having a pro hero for a dad?”

Jirou smirked. “And don’t hold back on the embarrassing stories.”

“Wait, does that mean you already knew Eraserhead’s capture weapon techniques? Can you use them?!” Hagakure piped up, her voice floating from nowhere.

Rosie’s cheeks flushed pink as she smiled, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. “I mean… yeah, he’s my dad. He’s just… Dad, you know? There isn’t anything special or difference in him being a Pro Hero.”

The girls giggled, delighted by every little detail. Rosie laughed with them, answering their questions as best she could, happy to share.

But Katsuki? He was fuming.

His jaw tightened with every new voice piling on. His food sat forgotten as his glare swept over Mina, Jirou, Hagakure, and anyone else who dared crowd around Rosie like vultures. His fingers twitched against the table, faint sparks flickering. “Back. Off.” His voice was low, dangerous, almost a growl.

The girls froze, then slowly turned to look at him.

“Katsuki,” Rosie giggled, nudging his arm. “Don’t be so grumpy, they’re just curious.”

He grunted, shoving a piece of pork cutlet into his mouth like he wanted to bite something much harder. “They’re loud,that’s all.”

Rosie only smiled wider, leaning her chin on her hands as she looked at him fondly. “He’s always like this,” she told the girls, eyes sparkling.

Which only made Katsuki flush and scowl harder, his ears burning red as he turned away.

Chapter Text

That night, after the long blur of check-ins, laughter, and the wild chaos of capture the flag, Rosie finally made it back to her cabin. The hot shower washed away the sweat, dirt, and campfire smoke clinging to her skin, but it couldn’t wash away the memory of what had happened in the woods.

Now, dressed in soft cotton pajamas with her damp hair sprawled across her pillow, Rosie lay on her back, staring at the ceiling beams. The sounds of summer filtered in through the open cabin window—the chirp of crickets, the faint croak of frogs, the low hum of night settling into stillness.

She should’ve been exhausted. Instead, her mind replayed the way his hand had wrapped around her wrist. The weight of his arm braced beside her head. The fire in his eyes.

People joked about summer flings all the time—camp romances that burned bright and fizzled out once school or real life came knocking. Maybe that’s what this was supposed to be. A crush sparked by too much heat, too much adrenaline, too much proximity.

But it didn’t feel like that.

It hadn’t been messy or shallow or fleeting. It had been quiet, charged, and somehow… sweet. Like there was something softer tucked beneath his sharpness, something she’d glimpsed in that tiny moment when his thumb brushed her knuckles. Something he probably didn’t show anyone.

Rosie turned onto her side, hugging her pillow, heart fluttering at the thought. Maybe it was reckless to think about him like this. But she couldn’t stop herself.

Sunlight spilled into the cafeteria, bouncing off the long rows of tables as counselors wrangled their groups into order. Rosie had wrangled her ten girls through breakfast—pancakes, syrupy fingers, and endless chatter about who had “almost won” capture the flag. Their excitement carried them into the new day with boundless energy.

“Okay, ladies,” Rosie said, adjusting the clipboard tucked against her chest as they clattered toward the field, “we’ve got climbing this morning. Tie your shoes tight, keep your ponytails high, and bring that energy. We’re gonna crush it.”

Her girls cheered, already skipping ahead. Rosie followed, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear—and nearly collided with someone rounding the corner.

“Watch it, doll.”

The familiar growl made her freeze, then lift her gaze. Katsuki stood there with his group of boys trailing behind, all rowdy and competitive, already shoving at each other in excitement. He smirked down at her, the morning sun cutting sharp lines across his face.

“Morning,” Rosie said, a little too quickly, clutching her clipboard like a shield.

“Morning?” Katsuki repeated, his smirk tugging wider. “That all you got after nearly getting your ass tagged last night?”

Rosie rolled her eyes, but the heat creeping up her neck betrayed her. “Please. You didn’t even take the bandana. You’re slipping.”

“Maybe I wasn’t after the flag,” he said, low enough that only she heard.

Her breath caught, the playful smile on her face faltering just a second. She opened her mouth to retort, but he stepped past her, brushing close enough that his shoulder grazed hers.

“Hope your girls don’t mind losin’ to my boys,” he added over his shoulder, tossing her a look that was equal parts challenge and dare.

Rosie’s pulse tripped. The spark from last night hadn’t dimmed—it was alive and burning hotter and judging from the smug curve of his mouth, he knew it.

The climbing wall loomed tall at the edge of the activity field, painted in bright colors with ropes dangling like vines. Rosie’s girls squealed and scrambled to line up, their chatter carrying across the morning air. Katsuki’s boys were already chest-bumping and daring each other to beat their times.

Rosie clapped her hands together. “Alright, team Stars, listen up! Safety harnesses first, helmets snug, and don’t forget—you don’t have to be the fastest, just the most confident ! One step at a time, got it?”

Her girls chorused a cheerful “Yes, Rosie!” and she smiled, heart swelling a little at their enthusiasm.

Beside her, Katsuki barked at his boys to quit messing around and get clipped in properly, though there was amusement glinting under his sharp tone. He caught Rosie watching him and smirked. “Bet my guys hit the top before yours even get halfway.”

Rosie scoffed, putting her hands on her hips. “Bet my girls outshine yours with actual teamwork instead of just yelling at each other.”

“Teamwork’s useless if you don’t win,” Katsuki shot back, stepping closer. His voice dropped just a fraction, warm and rough. “But maybe I’ll let you prove me wrong.”

She opened her mouth for a snappy retort but was cut off when Katsuki shouted, “Go, go, go!”

The first climbers scrambled up the wall, harnesses taut as counselors on the ground shouted encouragement. Rosie cheered loudly for her girls, her voice carrying clear, while Katsuki’s rough growl of “Move your ass!” made his boys laugh and climb faster.

Every so often, he’d drift close to her—offering a sideways smirk, brushing past as if he just happened to stand at her shoulder. Each little graze of his arm against hers made her stomach flip.

By the end of the activity, both groups were buzzing with pride, sweaty and red-faced but triumphant. Rosie knelt to high-five her girls, handing out water bottles. When she stood again, Katsuki was already watching her from a step away. “Not bad,” he said, tone low enough only she could hear.

Rosie raised a brow. “Not bad? That’s all the praise we get for smoking your boys?”

His mouth twitched, amusement sparking in his eyes. And before she could say another word —before she even thought to glance around— he leaned in, quick as lightning, and pressed his lips to hers.

It wasn’t long, just a soft, deliberate brush that lingered a heartbeat too long to be an accident. By the time Rosie blinked, wide-eyed and breathless, he was already leaning back, smirking like he’d just claimed victory in another kind of game.

“Cute,” he murmured, chuckling at her dazed expression. “Didn’t think you’d look even better when you’re stunned stupid.”

Rosie blinked again, mouth opening and closing without a sound. Her heart was doing somersaults, her skin buzzing where his lips had been.

Katsuki tilted his head, still smirking, and added, “Don’t worry, Princess. I’ll make sure you get used to it.”

Then, as if nothing had happened, he turned back to his boys, barking at them to grab their gear—leaving Rosie rooted to the spot, clutching her clipboard and trying to remember how to breathe.

No one noticed it but them. 

To everyone else, Katsuki Bakugo was the same gruff, snappy counselor he’d always been—blowing whistles too loud, glaring across the dining hall, scolding campers with a single look. And Rosie? Rosie was the soft-spoken sunshine girl, the one all the kids gravitated to, the one who patched up scraped knees and handed out extra bug spray without ever losing her smile.

But between them… something unspoken had begun to bloom.

It started the night he chased her down in the woods during the first game of Capture the Flag. He had grabbed her from behind—rough hands, fast breath—and when she turned to look at him, flushed and laughing, something shifted. Something stuck. 

Since then, they’d been dancing around each other in quiet, easy ways. She always managed to sit next to him during counselor check-ins every morning and night. He always made sure there was an extra sandwich waiting on her tray. She brought him his coffee in the mornings, somehow exactly how he liked it. He scowled less when she was near. She laughed more when he was close.

The bracelets had sealed it.

He gave her his first—thick black cord with a single thread of red, knotted carelessly but tight. He didn’t even explain it, just shoved it into her hand after a morning session and muttered, “Don’t lose it,” before stalking off.

Later that night, she brought him hers.

Red and black to match, but softer. She’d braided it with a silver bead shaped like a star—something small, something that sparkled just a little. He took it without a word, slipped it on, and didn’t take it off once.

They didn’t speak about it. They didn’t have to.

It was their second Friday night at Camp U.A., and Capture the Flag had returned—this time with strict boundaries after Denki had set a tree on fire last week. The kids were all energy and shrieking excitement, and the counselors split themselves up evenly.

Katsuki and Rosie ended up on opposite teams.

She caught his eye across the bonfire-lit field. He raised a brow smirking. She flushed.

The second the game began, Rosie darted into the woods—not toward the flag, but toward the lake trail. Her footsteps were light, but her heart was pounding. She didn’t look back. She knew he was behind her.

The boat house sat quiet and untouched at the edge of the dock, moonlight flickering on the lake’s surface. She slipped inside, breath caught in her chest. The air smelled like cedar and dust and summer storms.

The door creaked shut behind her.

Katsuki was already moving—grabbing her waist, pushing her back against the wood-paneled wall, eyes burning with the same intensity that had lingered in every look he gave her all week.

“The boat house?” he growled.

“You followed me,” she whispered, smiling despite herself.

He didn’t answer. He kissed her instead. It wasn’t soft. It wasn’t cautious. It was fire and tension and every long glance and shared touch from the past seven days, bursting all at once. His hands cradled her face like she was something precious, and she clung to his shirt like she’d fall without it.

She tasted like cherry soda and heat. He smelled like caramel and smoke.

Her back thudded lightly against the wall as he leaned in deeper, only pulling back when their breath ran out. His nose brushed hers, voice low and rough. “We’re not supposed to be doing this.”

Rosie’s smile turned teasing and dreamy, her fingers still curled around the collar of his camp shirt. “Want to stop?”

Katsuki stared at her, the moonlight glinting in his narrowed, crimson eyes. He was flushed down to his collarbones, breathing just a little too fast. His hands gripped her waist like he couldn’t believe she was real—like she might vanish if he let go. He scowled, but it lacked heat. It was soft. Exasperated. “Hell no.”

Her laughter bubbled out, soft and breathless, like it escaped before she could stop it. And it was that sound—that light, fluttery laugh—that made something break open in his chest.

He tugged her closer, one hand sliding along her waist, his rough thumb brushing under the hem of her shirt, just enough to graze the warm skin at her hip. She gasped faintly, fingers tightening on his shirt. Her eyes sparkled with delight, lips parting as she leaned in once more.

Their mouths collided again—hotter now, bolder, the kind of kiss that came after a week of stolen glances and innocent touches that had meant way too much. Rosie let out a surprised little noise as Katsuki deepened it, his hand anchoring at the small of her back. He was heat and pressure and just a bit of recklessness, and she melted into it like he was the safest thing in the world.

Then she giggled— actually giggled—mid-kiss.

He pulled back just enough to raise a brow. “What?”

She grinned, nose crinkled. “You make this angry face even when you kiss.”

“ Tch. ” He looked away for a second, his ears burning red. “Shut up.”

But he was smiling too, the curve of it betraying how hard he was trying not to. Rosie leaned up again, lips brushing his as she whispered, “I think it’s cute.”

He didn’t give her the chance to say more—he kissed her again, harder this time, laughing against her mouth when she squeaked in surprise. And then they were both laughing, breathless and messy, foreheads bumping as they fought the urge to smile between each kiss. She accidentally stepped on his foot. He almost knocked over a broom. They couldn’t stop grinning.

Her fingers slid into his hair, tugging playfully at the soft blonde strands. “We’re going to get caught,” she whispered.

“Only if you keep talkin’.”

“Katsuki—”

“Say my name again like that and I’ll never let you leave this damn boat house.”

She snorted, trying to muffle it against his shoulder as he buried his face in the side of her neck, lips still brushing her flushed skin. His jacket smelled like pine, sweat, and something warm she couldn’t name. They clung to each other.

Then— FWEEEET! 

A sharp whistle split the night air, echoing through the trees like a gunshot. It was followed by the distant roar of cheering campers announcing the game was over.

Rosie startled in his arms, eyes wide. “Oh my god.”

Katsuki groaned, letting his forehead fall to her shoulder. “Shit.”

They both laughed, still out of breath. He reluctantly pulled back, smoothing a thumb over her cheek, then down to the edge of her shirt again. She looked up at him, flushed and glowing. He swore under his breath again and grabbed her hand. “Let’s go, princess.”

They slipped out of the boat house hand in hand, the moonlight painting long shadows on the trail. Neither said a word. They didn’t have to. Their fingers stayed laced together as they walked back through the woods.

It wasn’t until they were just outside the clearing, the glow of lanterns and bonfires within sight, that they let go—reluctantly, silently, brushing fingers one last time before slipping back into their roles as counselor and counselor. The smiles they wore were still there, quiet and secretive, as they joined the rest of the group.

The campgrounds buzzed with the usual chaos of summer—kids shrieking, counselors shouting over each other, the faint smell of sunscreen and lake water lingering in the air. Katsuki stood at the edge of the dock with his arms crossed, scowl fixed in place, glaring at a group of rowdy brats who were splashing each other instead of listening.

“I said line up for the damn canoe lesson, not turn the lake into a war zone!” His voice boomed like an explosion. Immediately, a dozen kids scrambled into a crooked line, dripping and wide-eyed.

From behind him came a light laugh.

“Language, counselor,” Rosie chimed, walking up with a clipboard hugged to her chest. Her pink hair was braided back, a whistle dangling around her neck. The camp T-shirt was a little too big on her, sleeves rolled up, tucked neatly into her shorts. She looked every bit the perfect counselor—bright, approachable, and in control.

Katsuki side-eyed her, grunting. “They don’t listen unless you scare the crap outta them.”

“They’ll listen if you’re kind, too,” Rosie countered, crouching down to adjust a little camper’s life jacket. The kid beamed at her, already calmer. “See? Gentle works.”

“Tch. Waste of time.”

But when the same kid looked up at Katsuki nervously, he sighed through his nose and muttered, “Straps are loose. Tighten them, idiot, you’ll fall in otherwise.” Then, almost gruffly, he knelt and fixed it himself, tugging the straps secure.

The kid blinked up at him. “Uh… thanks?”

“Don’t drown,” Katsuki grumbled, straightening up.

Rosie’s smile only widened.

Chapter Text

The alarm blared through the firehouse, jolting the squad into motion. “House fire, residential area,” the dispatcher’s voice crackled through.

Bakugou was already tugging on his jacket, jaw tight. “Move it, extras!”
“On it!” Sero called, sliding his helmet on with a grin. Kirishima pumped his fist with a “Let’s go, bros!” while Denki half-tripped pulling up his boots. Shoto and Izuku followed in their usual calm pace, though their eyes were sharp, ready.

The truck roared down the street, sirens screaming. When they arrived, they braced for flames and smoke, but what greeted them made everyone falter. The front yard was covered in a mess of flour footprints. Sugar dust floated in the air like snow. A group of girls stood barefoot in their pajamas, sticky with icing, their faces pale but eyes wide as they gawked up at their house. The scent of something burned cookies hung faintly in the night air.

Kirishima blinked. “Uh…this doesn’t look like a fire.”

Denki snorted. “Looks like a baking competition gone boom .”

Sero grinned. “Messy, but I dig it.”

But Katsuki didn’t hear them. His eyes zeroed in on one girl kneeling in the grass. She clutched a tiny white dog, cradling it against her chest. Flour in her pink hair, pink icing smudged her cheeks, brown dust streaked through her clothes, and tears ran silently down as she rocked the little fluffball, murmuring in the softest baby voice. “Oh, my poor sweet girl, mommy’s so sorry—did the loud alarm scare you? Oh, sweetheart, shh, shh, it’s okay. You’re safe now.”

Katsuki froze mid-step, the chaos fading to static around him. His chest tightened, not from adrenaline, but from the strange warmth bubbling there. He’d seen people cry at emergencies before—but never like this . Never with that soft, unfiltered tenderness.

The dog yipped, pressing its nose into her neck, and she hiccupped out a watery laugh. “Yeah, that’s mommy’s brave girl. You’re okay, you’re okay.”

Bakugou’s heart did a stupid flip. He hated it.

Shoto finally spoke, “There’s no fire. Just…smoke from the oven.”

Izuku bent to inspect the porch. “Yeah, looks like they dropped flour on a hot burner. No danger.”

Relieved sighs came from the pajama-clad group, a few of them laughing awkwardly. But Bakugou didn’t laugh. 

The call was technically over—no flames, no danger, just a ruined oven and a group of pajama-clad girls who looked like they had wrestled a bakery. Most of the squad was chatting with them, laughing at the story of a trendy baking video gone wrong.

But Katsuki’s eyes were still locked on her . The girl with flour-dusted hair, red-rimmed eyes, and the tiny white dog cuddled in her arms. She was fussing with the pup’s fur when she noticed him watching. Her cheeks pinked, and she tried to smooth sugar off her sleeve like it mattered.

He found himself crouching without thinking, towering presence now lowered to her level. “Oi.”

The girl blinked up at him, eyes shimmering. “Y-yes?”

“The dog’s fine. You’re fine. Quit cryin’.” His voice came out gruff, but softer than usual.

She sniffled, hugging the pup tighter. “I just—I thought she was so scared, and I couldn’t—”

“Tch. Dumbass,” he muttered, scratching the back of his neck. “She’s tougher than she looks. Like her owner.” ​​

The words slipped before he could stop them. Kirishima, behind him, had to choke down a laugh. Denki elbowed Sero with a grin, and Izuku smiled knowingly.

The girl’s lips curved, a shy little smile under the flour smudges. “Thank you…sir.”

Bakugou grunted, standing quickly to hide the heat creeping up his neck. “Keep your oven on low next time. Idiots.” Katsuki scowled—not at her, but at the streak of pink icing smeared across her cheek. Before he could stop himself, he reached out. “Hold still, dumbass,” he muttered, moving closer.

Before she could ask, his calloused thumb swiped across her cheek, collecting the streak of frosting. She froze, wide-eyed, the dog squirming between her arms as if even it was shocked.

Katsuki glanced at the bit of icing on his finger. Without thinking twice, he popped it into his mouth. Sweet vanilla. His brows lifted just a fraction. “…Not bad. You can actually bake, huh?”

Her jaw dropped. “Y-you just—!”

“You’re the one walkin’ around with dessert on your face.” His lips tugged into the faintest smirk. “Sweet stuff suits you.”

Her face went crimson. She stammered, hugging the dog like a shield. “I—I wasn’t—oh my god—”

Behind them, Sero whistled low. “ Daaaamn , Bakugou, smooth.”

“Who knew you had game, bro?” Kirishima howled, nearly dropping his helmet.

Denki was doubled over, cackling. “Licked it right off his finger! Straight rom-com move!”

Izuku rubbed the back of his neck, cheeks pink but smiling. “Kacchan…”

Shoto, deadpan as ever, added, “That was…intimate.”

“SHUT THE HELL UP!” Katsuki barked, spinning around to glare at all of them. The tips of his ears were flaming red.

The girl was laughing now—soft, breathless giggles she tried to hide behind the dog’s fluffy ears. But her eyes shone, and when she peeked at him again, her lips curved into a small, grateful smile.

Katsuki clenched his fists, trying to ignore how warm his chest felt. Damn idiots. Damn flour. Damn pink icing. But most of all—damn her smile for sticking in his head. 

As they packed up, the girls waved sheepishly, still dusted like walking pastries. But Katsuki’s eyes slid back once more—at the girl, still rocking her dog gently, whispering soft little coos and for the first time in a long while, his chest burned with something other than fire.

Chapter Text

The bell above the flower shop door chimed as Katsuki shoved it open, his leather jacket still warm from the ride. The smell of roses and lavender wrapped around him instantly, sweet and soft—the exact opposite of the motor oil and ink that clung to his skin.

Rosie was out front, her pink hair pinned loosely, blue eyes sparkling as she held up a bouquet for the man standing much too close. The guy was smiling wide, leaning on the counter with his elbow like he thought he had a chance.

Katsuki’s jaw ticked. He knew that smile. He hated that smile.

“…these ones are perfect,” the guy said smoothly, brushing his fingers against Rosie’s as she handed him the stems.

Katsuki stalked forward, boots thudding against the wood floor. “The hell are you still doing here? You buyin’ flowers or wasting her time?”

Rosie blinked, startled, cheeks flushing. “Katsuki—”

The man straightened, clearly caught off guard by the sight of the tattooed, broad-shouldered storm that had just walked in. “I was just—uh—shopping for flowers. For my mother.”

“Yeah?” Katsuki sneered, stepping closer until the guy had no choice but to move back. “Then grab the damn flowers and beat it. She’s busy.”

The customer fumbled for his wallet, muttering thanks to Rosie, and scurried out, the little bell above the door jingling frantically in his wake.

Rosie turned on Katsuki with wide eyes. “You didn’t have to scare him like that!”

“The hell I didn’t,” Katsuki growled, peeling off his gloves and tossing them on the counter. “He was staring at you like you were some kind of free sample. I don’t like it.”

Rosie sighed, but she couldn’t hide the smile tugging at her lips. “You’re impossible.”

“Damn right,” he muttered, finally meeting her eyes. The heat there softened, just slightly, as he leaned against the counter, arms crossed. “What can I say? I don’t like sharing.”

Her cheeks flushed a deeper pink, and she tried to busy herself rearranging some peonies in a vase. “So… did you come here just to chase off my customers?”

He smirked, leaning down until his breath stirred the loose strands of her hair. “Nah. Came to see my favorite florist.” His voice dropped, rough and low. “Wanted to know if she’s free after work. Thought I’d take her on a ride.”

Rosie froze, heart skipping a beat, and then glanced up at him from beneath her lashes. “You’re incorrigible.”

Katsuki chuckled, tugging gently at her apron strap. “Maybe. But you like me anyway.”

“No, I will not go out with you tonight.” Rosie’s voice was firm, even though her heart skipped at the intensity of his gaze. She picked up the vase of freshly arranged peonies and carried it carefully to the counter behind her, the glass cool against her palms. It was a delivery order—something safe and simple she could focus on, unlike the heat crawling up her neck.

“Rosie, doll, come on.” Katsuki’s voice dropped lower, that rough, teasing edge sending a shiver down her spine. He leaned against the counter like he owned the place, tattoos peeking out from under his rolled-up sleeves, smirk lazy but deliberate.

She rolled her eyes, trying to cover the flutter in her chest. “That isn’t happening. I know about guys like you, and I’m frankly not a fan.”

He arched a brow. “Guys like me?”

Rosie busied herself tying a neat ribbon around the bouquet, fingers a little too tight as she yanked the bow into place. “The type that shows up on a motorcycle, all leather and attitude, who flirts with anything that breathes because it’s fun.” She glanced up at him then, catching his grin, and it made her stomach swoop in a way she despised. “You’re not exactly… relationship material.”

Katsuki snorted. “That what you think?”

“That’s what I know .” She set the bouquet down and folded her arms, forcing herself to look unimpressed even though his golden eyes were practically burning holes in her. “Guys like you don’t settle down. You get bored. You break hearts.”

The truth she didn’t say—couldn’t say—was that she did like him. More than she wanted to admit. He had this raw gravity, this energy that pulled her in every time he walked through her shop door. When he wasn’t being infuriatingly cocky, he was unexpectedly sweet in these tiny ways, bringing her coffee without asking, fixing the squeaky hinge on her shop door, glaring down any creep who lingered too long.

But that didn’t change the fact that she couldn’t see him as someone serious. Not when he looked like trouble wrapped in muscle and ink, with a smirk that promised chaos. Not when he was the kind of man who seemed like he’d burn bright and fast and leave ashes in his wake.

“You really think that?” Katsuki asked at last, arms crossed, gaze sharp.

She scoffed, though her chest felt tight. “I know that. Have you even been in a relationship?”

He stayed silent, jaw tight, refusing to answer.

“Point proven,” she sighed, brushing her hands against her apron as if to dust him off along with the conversation. Without waiting for him to argue back, she turned and disappeared into the back of the shop, leaving him standing there in silence.

A couple of hours later, she emerged again, clipboard in hand. Shinso was leaning against the counter, eyes flicking down at the order sheets. He looked tired as always, violet hair hanging into his eyes, but dependable in the way that soothed her nerves.

“Will you be able to do all of these deliveries on your own?” Rosie asked, handing him the clipboard and searching his face for any sign of hesitation.

Shinso glanced over the addresses, then gave a single nod. “Yes, of course I can. Don’t worry.”

“You’re a lifesaver,” she smiled softly, watching as he carefully stacked the prepped bouquets into the delivery van. She stood at the doorway, apron strings brushing against her legs in the faint breeze, and lifted a hand to wave as he pulled off.

Just as she turned back toward the shop, a flash of pink caught her eye. A bubbly voice squealed from across the sidewalk.

“Kiri, look! That’s the shop!”

Rosie blinked as she recognized the girl bouncing her way across the pavement, pink hair swishing like cotton candy, practically dragging the tall redhead beside her. The redhead she knew instantly—Kirishima. He was one of the tattoo artists who worked in the parlor next door with Katsuki.

“Oi, Mina, slow down—” Kirishima laughed, letting himself be tugged along.

“This is where you got me my bouquet, right?” Mina beamed, pointing at Rosie’s little storefront as if it were the grandest sight in the city.

Kirishima’s grin was toothy and proud. “Yeah, this is the place. Rosie’s the one who put it together for me.”

Mina turned those bright, sparkling eyes on Rosie, hands clasped under her chin. “Oh my god, thank you so much! That bouquet was gorgeous ! I couldn’t stop staring at it all week—it made me feel so special.”

Rosie’s cheeks warmed, taken aback by the girl’s enthusiasm. She brushed her hands nervously against her apron, smiling shyly. “I’m glad you liked it. That’s exactly what I hope for when I make them.”

“Liked it? I loved it,” Mina insisted with a grin. “Can I place another order with you? Something just as pretty, but maybe… a little pinker?”

Rosie’s heart softened at the request. “Of course you can,” she said warmly. “Come by whenever you like, I’ll be happy to make you something new.”

Mina clapped her hands, bouncing on her toes. “Yay! You’re officially my flower girl now.”

Rosie laughed, caught up in her bright energy, though out of the corner of her eye she noticed movement through the parlor window next door—a familiar broad-shouldered silhouette leaning lazily in the frame, golden eyes fixed in her direction. Katsuki, watching and for reasons she’d never admit out loud, the sight made her pulse quicken.

Chapter Text

Rosie was a fan of horror—all things horror. It was a trait she’d inherited straight from her dad, who had practically raised her on films of monster, slasher, and haunted VHS tapes. Which was why she was currently planted in the horror section of a dusty old vintage movie shop, the kind of place that smelled like popcorn grease, cardboard sleeves, and faint mildew from decades of rentals.

She chewed on the straw of her obnoxiously large cherry cola, eyes narrowed in deep concentration as she scanned the shelves. This was ritual. Every Friday night she came here and picked through the horror releases, deciding which films would get her weekend attention.

“Did you find what you wanted?” Maerya’s voice cut through her bubble. She was holding two movies, both with dramatically posed lovers drenched in shadows. Dark romance, obviously.

Akira snorted beside her, arms already full of snacks and two brightly colored films. “Don’t even ask her that, Rosie takes forever to choose. It’s, like, a whole production.”

Brushing a strand of pink-silver hair behind her ear, Rosie shot both of them an unimpressed look. “Maybe I just have standards.” She plucked two slasher films off the shelf, sharp red titles promising blood and chaos, and tossed them into the little basket with a satisfying thunk.

The three girls headed to the counter, falling into easy chatter about their picks, until a sharp snort broke from behind Rosie, low and amused.

Her brow shot up. She turned, cherry cola still dangling from her hand, and found herself staring at the culprit: a tall, broad-shouldered blonde with crimson eyes that practically glowed under the dim store lights. He had that careless, cocky smirk of someone who thought the world should revolve around him.

“What?” Rosie demanded, jabbing her drink in his direction with a pointed glare.

“Nothing,” he drawled, smirk widening.

“Bakugou, don’t start, man,” his friend groaned beside him, a red haired guy who looked like he had already resigned himself to dealing with his buddy’s antics.

“Oh, I’m starting,” the blonde, Bakugou said, folding his arms across his chest as he nodded toward the slasher films in her basket. “You’re really wasting your time with that crap ? Horror movies are trash. Predictable. Dumbass characters running upstairs when they should run out the door. Action movies, that’s real entertainment.”

Rosie’s jaw dropped, a disbelieving laugh bubbling out of her throat. “Excuse me? Trash? ” She stepped closer, fire already sparking in her eyes. “At least horror makes you feel something. Suspense. Dread. A good scare stays with you, rattles your bones. Action movies are just—what? Explosions and sweaty dudes flexing their muscles every five minutes?”

Bakugou scoffed, stepping in too, refusing to back down. “Shows what you know, doll. Action takes skill, choreography and precision. You think it’s easy to make a scene where every punch and explosion lands perfectly? Hell no. At least action heroes actually fight back, your horror characters just scream and die like dumbasses.”

Her lips curved into a sharp smirk. “That’s the point , genius. Horror’s about the psychology, the fear of not knowing what’s in the dark, not some meathead flexing in the light and don’t even pretend action isn’t just male wish-fulfillment fantasies on steroids.”

His grin turned wolfish. “At least people actually remember the heroes in action movies. Name one final girl who isn’t Laurie Strode.”

Rosie gasped like he had personally insulted her family bloodline. “Are you kidding me? Nancy Thompson? Sidney Prescott? Julie James? Should I keep going?”

“Don’t bother,” Bakugou sneered, “none of ‘em hold a candle to John McClane or Mad Max.”

By now, people in line were starting to glance over, sensing the sparks flying between the two. Maerya sighed deeply, muttering to Akira, “Why does she always attract the loud ones?”

Akira just smirked, munching her candy. “This is better than the movie we’re about to watch.”

Rosie crossed her arms, smirk pulling at her lips. “You talk a big game, blondie, but I’m not convinced you’ve ever actually watched a decent horror film.”

“Ha. I don’t waste my time on garbage.”

She tilted her head, eyes narrowing. “Then how do you know it’s garbage?”

For once, he hesitated.

Just long enough for her to notice. Her smile turned smug. “You’re bluffing,” she accused.

His jaw clenched, crimson eyes flashing like firecrackers. Then, suddenly, his smirk returned—slow, dangerous. “Fine. You think you’re so damn smart? Let’s make this interesting.”

Rosie raised a brow, pulse skipping at the shift in his tone. “Interesting how?”

“A challenge.” He leaned in close enough for her cherry cola to bump against his chest, his voice low and heated. “You pick a horror movie for me. I’ll pick an action flick for you. We sit through both. No whining. No backing out. Whoever admits theirs sucked first—loses.”

Her heart kicked against her ribs, not that she’d let him see it. Instead she mirrored his smirk, meeting fire with ice. “And what exactly does the loser owe the winner?”

That grin of his sharpened, a little too sharp. “I’ll think of something.”

Rosie’s lips curved into a daring smile. “You’re on.”

Chapter Text

The flashing bulbs of the paparazzi never seemed to stop. Even behind tinted glass, Rosie could feel the strobing chaos outside as her car rolled up to the back entrance of the concert hall. Her manager was already on the phone, barking about schedules, security, and late deliveries. Rosie, meanwhile, adjusted her oversized sunglasses and smoothed down her pale pink dress, trying to summon the same perfect smile she wore on stage.

The door opened.

There he was.

Broad-shouldered, arms crossed, a black suit stretched over muscle. His ash-blond hair looked like it had been run through with impatient fingers a hundred times that day, and his crimson eyes narrowed the second they landed on her.

“Bakugo Katsuki,” he introduced himself, though the gravel in his voice sounded more like a warning than a greeting. “I’m your new bodyguard. Don’t slow me down.”

Rosie blinked, startled. “That’s… one way to say hello.”

“Not here to be friendly, princess,” he grunted, holding out his hand to help her out of the car. His grip was firm, rough with calluses that spoke of combat, not courtesy.

Her heels clicked against the pavement as she stepped out, the world erupting again with camera flashes. Instantly, he shifted, moving his body between hers and the screaming chaos behind the gates. His presence was so solid, so immovable, she almost forgot the crowd existed.

“You don’t smile, do you?” she teased softly, tilting her head up at him as they moved briskly toward the doors.

“Not for free,” he muttered. “Keep walking.”

Rosie’s lips quirked despite herself. She wasn’t used to this. Most of the men hired to “protect” her were soft-spoken, overly polite, sometimes too eager to impress. Katsuki was none of those things. He wasn’t even trying to impress her—if anything, he seemed irritated to be here.

Yet, when a camera operator leaned too far over the barricade, nearly toppling into her path, Katsuki reacted instantly. One strong arm came around her shoulders, yanking her against his chest as his other hand shoved the man back with a growl.

“Back the hell up,” he snarled, and the cameras faltered under his glare.

Rosie’s breath caught. Not from fear—no, from the steady thrum of safety she felt in his hold. “...You’re intense,” she said once they were inside, her voice light but her heart racing.

“You’ve got a target on your back. I’m not here to babysit you—I’m here to keep you alive.” His crimson eyes bored into hers, raw and unflinching.

For a moment, she forgot how to breathe. Then she smiled, soft and teasing despite the tension crackling in the air. “Well,” she murmured, brushing invisible lint off his suit, “I guess I should get used to you being around, then.”

Katsuki only grunted, but she swore she saw his ears turn red.

Rosie sat in the makeup chair, trying not to fidget as the stylist pinned back loose curls of her pink hair. The foundation smoothed, the blush dabbed, the gloss pressed to her lips. She was used to this part of tour life—the endless hours of prep before she even stepped out of a hotel room. Still, today her mind wandered elsewhere.

“Tour life suits you,” Maerya teased from across the room, typing furiously on her phone. “Even when you’re tired, you shine like you were made for this.”

Rosie smiled faintly, fingers drumming on her knee. “Maybe. But I’d kill for a night in my own bed again.”

Akira looked up from adjusting the jewelry laid out on the counter. “You’ll get there. For now, you’ve got fans waiting to meet you.”

The stylist gave one last spritz of hairspray before stepping back. “Done. Go melt their hearts.”

That was when the door opened, and Katsuki stepped in.

He didn’t bother with polite knocks—he never did. Dressed in black slacks and a fitted suit jacket, his tie undone like he couldn’t be bothered, he scanned the room with sharp, restless crimson eyes before landing on her.

“Ready?” he asked gruffly.

Rosie met his stare in the mirror, lips twitching. “Do you ever say anything besides ‘ready?’”

“Do you ever stop talking?” he shot back, stepping aside so she could stand.

“Oh, we’re doing this again?” She rose gracefully, smoothing the skirt of her pale dress. “Fine. Let’s keep score. You’re at, what—ten grunts, six scowls, and two unnecessary insults for the day?”

His lip curled in the faintest smirk as he moved closer, offering his hand to steady her off the chair. “Make that three.”

She took his hand, rolling her eyes as her stomach fluttered anyway. He didn’t let go until she was steady in her heels.

As he escorted her down the hotel hall toward the waiting car, Rosie glanced up at him, the teasing edge in her voice returning. “You know, people are supposed to think you’re approachable, warm and likeable.”

“That’s your job,” he said flatly, opening the door for her. “Mine’s making sure none of those screaming idiots out there get close enough to breathe on you.”

Her laugh bubbled out before she could stop it, light and unguarded. “Screaming idiots? You mean my fans.”

“Same thing.”

She slid into the car, still smiling despite herself. He followed, sitting across from her, arms crossed, eyes sharp.

By the time they reached the venue, Rosie could already hear the roar of voices waiting outside. The moment she stepped out, the crowd erupted, hands waving, cameras flashing. Katsuki instantly shifted at her side, a solid wall of muscle and presence.

“Smile, princess,” he murmured under his breath, leaning close enough that only she heard. “This is the part you like.”

Rosie tilted her head up at him, eyes glittering. “And what part do you like?”

He didn’t answer, just guided her forward through the crowd, his hand brushing the small of her back to keep her close.

Her heart skipped anyway.

Chapter Text

The backstage of Paris Fashion Week was chaos from hair dryers humming, stylists darting about with pins clenched in their teeth, racks of gowns gleaming under harsh lights. Rosie sat perfectly still in the makeup chair, the embodiment of serenity in silk, her doe-blue eyes half-lidded as a brush dusted shimmer across her cheekbones.

She wasn’t nervous, not anymore. She’d walked for the best in the world, but tonight was different. Tonight, it was his show.

Katsuki Bakugou, the enfant terrible of the fashion world, a storm wrapped in couture. Every collection he unleashed on the runway turned the industry on its head, and every critic who dared to underestimate him ended up eating their words.

Rosie? She was his muse.

“You’re staring again,” she murmured softly without turning her head, the corners of her mouth curving.

He scoffed from behind her, where he stood with his arms crossed, dark eyes narrowed like he was critiquing a battlefield instead of a dressing room. “I’m checking for flaws, dumbass. Don’t get cocky.”

“Mm,” she hummed, unbothered. “Then I suppose I’ll take it as a compliment you haven’t found any yet.”

Katsuki bristled, shoving his hands into the pockets of his black blazer, custom-tailored just like everything else he wore. “Tch. You’re my top model, of course you look good. But don’t slack—tonight makes or breaks this line.”

Rosie turned her head then, catching his reflection in the mirror. His hair was its usual controlled mess, his expression sharp enough to cut glass, but his gaze, when it lingered on her, softened in ways no one else ever saw.

Her voice dropped low, teasing. “You could just admit I’m your favorite. Everyone knows that already.”

His jaw tightened, and for a long second, he said nothing. Then he leaned down, bracing his hands on the arms of her chair, his face close enough that she could feel the warmth of his breath on the shell of her ear.

“You already know you are,” he muttered, the words rough and reluctant, as if dragged from his throat.

Rosie’s heart skipped, but her smile was practiced, composed. “Then I’ll make sure the world knows why.”

The show had ended in thunderous applause, cameras flashing like lightning as the models took their final walk. Rosie led the line, as always, the crown jewel in Katsuki Bakugou’s empire.

Now, the backstage frenzy had quieted. Assistants packed up garment bags, stylists cleaned brushes, and the lights dimmed to a calmer hum. Rosie was still in her final gown, the midnight silk clinging to her like shadows, starlight sewn into every stitch.

She slipped past the chatter and found him in his usual place, alone, back against a pillar, his blazer abandoned somewhere, shirt sleeves rolled to his elbows. He looked tired, restless and when his eyes found her, something in them shifted, sharp edges dulled by pride. “You killed it,” he said, voice low, almost rough.

Rosie tilted her head, smiling softly. “You designed it. I just walked.”

“Bullshit,” he muttered, pushing off the pillar. He stalked closer, and her pulse quickened with every step. “That dress doesn’t work on just anyone. You make people believe it. You make me believe it.”

Her throat went dry, but she stood her ground. He stopped right in front of her, close enough that the scent of smoke and clean leather wrapped around her.

“You’re staring again,” she teased, softer this time, almost a whisper.

Katsuki’s eyes flicked down to the way the silk hugged her waist, the neckline dipping just enough to tease, then back to her face. His jaw tightened. “Hard not to.”

For a moment, silence stretched between them, charged, heavy. She felt the warmth of his body, the heat radiating off him like he was fire contained in skin. Her fingers itched to reach out, to smooth the wrinkle forming in his shirt from how tightly he was clenching his fists.

But she only tilted her chin up, lashes low. “You should tell me to change before I ruin your masterpiece.”

His breath caught, barely noticeable. Then he leaned in, close enough that his lips nearly brushed the shell of her ear, his words a growl that made her knees weak. “Leave it on. Just… a little longer.”

Her heart thundered, and when she finally turned her head, their faces were inches apart—blue eyes meeting crimson fire.

Chapter Text

Rosie tried to keep her focus on the next autograph, on the next smiling fan, but her brain? Absolutely useless.

Every time she scrawled her name in pink ink, she thought of the other signature burned into her memory. Every time someone asked for a photo, she swore she could still feel the heat of his shoulder brushing hers. Every time she lifted her water bottle to her lips, she was convinced she could still hear his voice—low, smug, didn’t know witches signed autographs with hands that shook.

“Rosie,” Akira said flatly from behind the cash box. “You just signed that book as MurderGod.”

Rosie nearly dropped the pen. “WHAT?!”

The poor fan blinked, looking down at the open comic. Sure enough, the inside cover now read: To Hana, Stay magical! — MurderGod

Her stomach plummeted. “Oh my god, I’m so sorry! I’ll—let me fix it, I’ll—”

But the girl giggled, clutching it like treasure. “No, this is amazing! My brother is obsessed with MurderGod, he’s gonna freak!”

Rosie slapped both hands over her face the second the fan walked away. “I want the floor to eat me alive.”

Maerya leaned casually on the merch stand, grinning. “Or you could just let him eat you alive.”

Rosie shot her a glare so sharp it could cut glass. “Do not.”

“Oh, I absolutely will,” Maerya sang. “Rosie, he was into you.”

“Yeah,” Akira added, counting bills without looking up. “I saw the way he leaned in. Man doesn’t crowd like that unless he’s marking territory.”

Rosie made a strangled noise, somewhere between a whine and a scream. “He’s MurderGod!”

“And he finds you yummy.” Maerya said sweetly.

“Maerya.”

“What? You’re the one with the crush!”

“I do not—” Rosie started, only for both of them to arch identical knowing brows. She wilted instantly. “…Okay maybe a tiny crush.”

Akira finally looked up, deadpan. “You turned the exact color of your cape when he winked at you. That wasn’t tiny.”

Rosie groaned into her sleeves. Her heart was still doing gymnastics, her head full of platinum hair and wolfish smirks. How was she supposed to sign autographs, pose for photos, function as a human being when Katsuki freakin’ Bakugou was wandering around the same con floor?

Maerya tapped her fingers against the table like she was hatching a plan. “Here’s the thing. Tonight, after we pack up, we’re grabbing dinner. Drinks, maybe karaoke. You should invite him.”

Rosie’s head snapped up. “Are you insane?! I’m not inviting him anywhere!”

“Why not?”

“Because he’s—he’s him! He’s gorgeous and terrifying and probably busy being famous and—”

“—already here for you,” Maerya cut in, smug as ever.

Akira smirked faintly, sliding another signed comic into a bag. “She’s right. If he wanted to be anywhere else, he would be. Instead, he bought half your merch and basically admitted you inspired your own character.”

Rosie opened her mouth. Closed it. Opened it again. Her brain was just static.

Maerya leaned in, wicked grin widening. “So, dinner? Yes? Yes.”

Rosie squeaked, burying her face in her hat. “I’m going to combust.”

By late afternoon, the impossible had happened. Every comic, every enamel pin, every sticker sheet, every painstakingly assembled keychain—gone. The booth was officially sold out.

Akira nearly cried with relief. Maerya declared it was because of Rosie’s “cosmic-level hotness in cosplay.” Rosie herself? She just sat blinking at the empty display stands, stunned.

“You three should take a victory lap,” one of the neighboring artists grinned as Rosie adjusted her cloak. “You’ve earned it.”

So, with nothing left to sell, Rosie wandered out into the convention floor.

It was overwhelming in the best way—bright banners, vendors hawking everything from foam swords to rare figurines, the thrum of music from the gaming stage, cosplayers striking poses every few steps. Rosie clutched the tote bag Maerya had pressed into her hands for “emergency shopping” and let herself breathe for the first time all day.

She bought a glittery enamel pin of a black cat. A packet of sparkly stationary shaped like wands. A print of her favorite JRPG character that was so beautiful she nearly squealed. Every so often, a fan would recognize her, rushing up with wide eyes and a phone clutched tight.

“Magicka Moon girl, right? Can I get a photo?”

“Of course!” Rosie chirped, striking the character’s pose with her wand raised. The flash went off. The fan thanked her breathlessly before darting away, leaving Rosie warm with pride.

She was halfway through debating whether she could justify splurging on a giant plush fox when a ripple of recognition swept through the crowd. Excited whispers, heads turning, phones rising.

She followed the shift in energy then froze.

There he was.

Katsuki Bakugou, better known to the streaming world as Dynamight, better known to her as MurderGod was weaving through the aisles like he owned them, hands shoved in his pockets, mouth set in that permanent scowl that somehow made him look even hotter up close.

Her stomach flipped again.

He stopped at a booth selling collector figures, picking up a box, examining it with sharp eyes. The crowd kept sneaking glances, too shy (or too intimidated) to approach. Rosie lingered a few steps away, clutching her tote bag like a shield.

She should walk. She should absolutely walk awa—

“Oi.”

Her head snapped up.

He was looking right at her.

Her heart leapt into her throat. “Y-Yes?”

A smirk tugged at his lips. “Still cute.”

Rosie nearly dropped the plush fox she hadn’t even bought yet. “Oh—uh—thank you,” she stammered, cheeks blazing.

A few people nearby started whispering, recognizing her too. Someone asked if they could take a picture of them together.

Before she could answer, Katsuki slid an arm casually around her waist, pulling her in like it was the most natural thing in the world. “Yeah, fine,” he muttered, but his smirk deepened when Rosie squeaked softly under her breath.

Camera flashes popped. Phones clicked. Rosie raised her wand half-heartedly, trying not to combust as his heat pressed against her side.

“Don’t tell me you’re shy now,” he murmured low enough for only her to hear.

“I’m not shy,” she whispered back, though her flaming cheeks betrayed her. “I just… didn’t expect to see you again.”

He arched a brow. “Why the hell not? I’m not done at the con.” His gaze flicked to her tote bag, stuffed with pastel merch and glittery stickers. “Neither are you, apparently.”

Rosie laughed nervously. “I might’ve gone a little overboard.”

“Tch. Looks good on you,” he said, like it was obvious.

Her heart did a dangerous little lurch.

Another fan rushed up, breathless. “Can I get one more photo? Please?”

Rosie looked at him uncertainly. He just shrugged, then leaned closer, his gravelly voice curling over her ear: “Your call, witch.”

Her breath hitched, before she swallowed and finally nodded. They posed again, his arm snug around her, her wand raised high and this time, Rosie’s smile came easier, softer.

When the fan darted off, Katsuki released her slowly, hands sliding back into his pockets. But his eyes never left hers. “Not bad,” he said. “Think I’ll keep running into you.”

Rosie swallowed, pulse hammering. “…I wouldn’t mind.”

That wolfish grin broke across his face, quick and dangerous. Then he nodded toward the main hall. “Dinner after this. Don’t make me drag you.”

Her jaw dropped. “Wait—what?”

“You heard me.” He tipped his head, eyes glinting. “Drinks, too, if you can keep up.”

Rosie still wasn’t entirely sure how she’d agreed. One moment she was clutching a giant fox plush in the middle of Tokyo Comic Con, the next she was standing outside her hotel, fingers twisting the strap of her bag, waiting.

When a low rumble of an engine cut through the evening noise, she looked up, only for her heart to skip.

Katsuki’s car, sleek, black, and aggressive, slid to the curb. He leaned across the console, window rolled down, crimson eyes gleaming in the streetlight. “Get in, witch.”

Her breath stuttered. Casual. Play it casual. “Uh—hi. Right. Okay.” She climbed in, trying not to notice how good he smelled, caramel and smoke, something sharp and warm.

The ride was quiet, but not uncomfortable. His music, gritty rock filled the silence, and she kept sneaking glances at him, at the strong line of his jaw, the way his hand rested loose but steady on the wheel. By the time they pulled up to the restaurant, Rosie felt like she’d been holding her breath the entire drive.

The place was… nice. Not too fancy, not too casual. Dim lights, polished wood tables, quiet chatter instead of the roar of a crowd. She followed him inside, cheeks warming as the hostess immediately recognized him.

“This way, Sir,” she said, leading them to a tucked-away booth.

Rosie slid in, smoothing her dress, while Katsuki sprawled opposite her, broad shoulders taking up more space than should be legal. The moment the waitress left them with menus, he leaned forward, forearms on the table, eyes locked on her like she was the only thing worth looking at.

She fiddled with the corner of her napkin. “So… this is unexpected.”

“Unexpected?” His smirk curved. “I told you I’d run into you again.”

“That’s not the same as dinner,” she said softly, though her lips twitched with a smile.

He tilted his head, studying her. “What, you didn’t think I was serious?”

Rosie bit her lip, lowering her gaze. “You’re famous for your gaming content not for… asking you girls you just meet.”

“Yeah, well.” He leaned in closer, voice dropping to that low, gravelly rumble that made her toes curl in her boots. “Guess I only ask out the ones I really like.”

Her face went up in flames. “Th-that’s not—” She laughed nervously, hiding behind her hands. “That’s not fair.”

“It’s true.” His grin was wolfish, sharp. “You’re fun to mess with, not to mention fun to watch. Even better up close.”

She peeked at him through her fingers, heart hammering. “You’re really doing this, huh? Flirting with me?”

He arched a brow. “You gonna stop me?”

Rosie shook her head quickly. “Nope.”

“Didn’t think so.”

The waitress returned with drinks, sparkling water for her, whiskey for him. Rosie sipped just to ground herself, but it didn’t stop the fizz of excitement in her chest.

“So, what’s the deal, huh?” he asked, leaning back now but still watching her like she might disappear. “Streamer, cosplayer, comic book muse. You planning on conquering the whole damn nerd world or what?”

Rosie laughed, soft but real. “Not conquering. Just… trying things I love, I guess.” She fiddled with her glass, cheeks pink. “Didn’t think anyone like you would notice.”

His expression softened, just a flicker. “Been noticing a long time, witch.”

The words hit like a spark to her veins. She sat back, stunned, heart fluttering wild. “Now,” he drawled, smirk returning, “tell me what you’re ordering before I do it for you.”

The night wound down in a blur of laughter, teasing, and far too much ice cream. Rosie couldn’t even remember what flavor she’d ordered, only that Katsuki had leaned across the tiny shop table, stolen a spoonful, and smirked when she squeaked in protest.

Now, hours later, he was walking beside her through the quiet hotel hallway, his steps unhurried, hands shoved in his pockets. The fluorescent lights overhead hummed softly, and Rosie’s heart felt like it was echoing the sound.

They stopped in front of her door.

Rosie turned, clutching the strap of her bag, trying to find words that didn’t sound ridiculous. “Um… thanks. For dinner. And—uh—dessert and everything.”

Katsuki tilted his head, eyes glinting under the dim light. “That’s a lot of thanks.”

She laughed nervously, tucking a curl behind her ear. “I just… had a really good time.”

He stepped closer. Not much, but just enough that she had to tilt her chin to keep his gaze. His hand brushed the wall beside her head, knuckles grazing the plaster as he leaned in. “Good, ’cause I’d be pissed if you didn’t.”

Her breath caught. “You’re… really close.”

“Am I?” His voice was low, teasing, and the faintest brush of his arm against hers made her shiver. He let his free hand drift to the strap of her bag, tugging it lightly before letting go. “You shake less when you’re not signing autographs.”

Rosie’s cheeks burned. “I’m still shaking,” she whispered, realizing too late she’d said it out loud.

His grin was slow, wolfish, but softer at the edges. He let his fingers trail down her arm—barely there, just a ghost of contact until his hand rested at her elbow. “Yeah. I can tell.”

They stood there, suspended in the hush of the hallway, like neither of them wanted to break whatever was happening. Rosie’s pulse thundered. Her hotel keycard felt like lead in her palm, but she couldn’t bring herself to move. Finally, she found her voice, small but earnest. “So… good night?”

Katsuki’s thumb brushed her arm in a lazy stroke, his eyes locked on hers. “If that’s all I get.”

Her stomach somersaulted. “What else…what else would you want?”

His smirk deepened, but instead of answering, he leaned in close, close enough for her to feel the heat of him, close enough that his breath grazed her ear. “I’ll let you figure that out, witch.”

Her knees nearly gave out.

Then, with infuriating calm, he stepped back, hands sliding into his pockets again like nothing happened. “Get some sleep. Tomorrow’s gonna be loud as hell.”

Rosie blinked, heart still rattling around her chest. “R-right. Sleep. Got it.”

He started down the hallway, boots echoing, before glancing back over his shoulder. “And don’t forget—next time, you’re ordering dessert for both of us.”

The wink he tossed her nearly knocked her flat.

Rosie fumbled the keycard, finally getting her door unlocked, and slipped inside on shaky legs. The moment it clicked shut behind her, she pressed both hands to her face and let out a muffled scream into her palms. 

Why had she not kissed him?

Chapter Text

To say Rosie was excited about this concert would’ve been the understatement of the century. Excited wasn’t even the word, she was vibrating, buzzing, practically electric with anticipation.

She had spent hours hunched over her laptop the day tickets went live, biting her nails as the little loading wheel spun endlessly on the screen. Her heart, hammering as she sat in the dreaded online queue. Thousands of fans fighting for a chance at tickets, her fingers cramped from refreshing the page again and again. The moment she made it to checkout and saw that celebratory shower of confetti flash across her screen, she had screamed so loud she nearly woke the entire sorority house. Her roommates had stumbled in, bleary-eyed, only to find her spinning around her desk chair, clutching her phone like a holy relic.

That had been two months ago.

Now here she was, standing in line outside the massive arena, the buzz of the crowd and the thrum of bass-checks from inside making the pavement feel alive beneath her boots. She had splurged for front-row tickets, an impulsive but necessary decision. If she was going to see them live, really see them, she wanted nothing between her and the stage.

The neon sign of the venue glowed against the night sky, fans in band t-shirts and ripped denim buzzing around her. Rosie tugged at the hem of her black corset top, smoothing it over her ripped black shorts, her nerves twisting tight and giddy in her stomach. All around her, fans chattered and screamed and waved homemade signs. The air smelled faintly of food trucks and summer asphalt. She barely heard any of it. 

For years now, their music had been the soundtrack to her late-night study sessions, her long drives, sleepless nights, her heartbreaks, finals,  and her little triumphs. Each album felt like it had grown with her, their lyrics echoing things she could never put into words. 

And her favorite?

The drummer.

Katsuki Bakugou.

She’d memorized every performance, every behind-the-scenes interview, every half-smile he gave the camera before ducking his head. The way his sticks blurred in his hands, muscles taut with raw power, the sweat-slick hair sticking to his forehead as the spotlight caught the sharp lines of his jaw. His energy was feral, alive, like the entire stage bent around him.

Rosie had loved them all, the whole band, the music itself, the pounding lyrics that made her heart race, but it was Bakugou she always found her eyes drifting to. Even when he wasn’t the one speaking. Even when the camera wasn’t on him. Something about him burned brighter.

Tonight, she’d be close enough to see it in person. Close enough to feel the thunder of his drums in her bones. Her heart stuttered at the thought, fingers clutching her ticket tighter. She’d waited years for this moment.

She clutched her phone tighter, bouncing on the balls of her feet as the line shifted forward. Her nerves tangled with giddy joy, and she whispered to herself with a grin, This is going to be the best night of my life.

By the time Rosie made it through security and into the arena, her heart was pounding so hard it felt like part of the rhythm itself. The air inside practically buzzed with electricity—glowing wristbands, neon signs, and the hum of thousands of voices blending together into a chaotic, beautiful noise.

She found her spot right against the barricade, front row, the stage looming like a promise just a few feet away. The drum kit gleamed under the stage lights, already set up at the back, and Rosie swore her knees went weak just staring at it. 

That’s where he’ll be…

A squeal beside her snapped her out of her daze. The girl next to her was bouncing on her toes, clutching her own VIP ticket lanyard like it was treasure. “Can you believe this? Front row! We’re gonna die,” she gasped, her eyes sparkling as she leaned closer to Rosie.

Rosie grinned, instantly falling into the easy camaraderie only fangirls could build in minutes. “Right? I still can’t believe I actually got the ticket. I thought the site was going to crash.”

“Same!” the girl laughed before lowering her voice conspiratorially. “So, who’s your favorite?”

Rosie bit her lip, already knowing the heat was crawling up her neck. “The drummer. Katsuki. He’s just… unreal.”

The girl squealed louder. “Oh my god, you’re a Dynamight girl! That’s perfect because I’m—” she pressed a hand to her chest dramatically, “Denki all the way.”

Rosie laughed. “Denki? Really?”

“Um, yes,” the girl said as though it were obvious. “Have you seen him play bass? And don’t even get me started on how he flips his hair—” she stopped, narrowing her eyes in mock seriousness. “I don’t care what the rumors say about him and Jirou. I ship them, but if he makes eye contact with me tonight? Game over. I’ll faint. I’ll die.”

Rosie giggled, shaking her head. “Honestly, I think they’re cute together. Jirou’s voice and Denki’s whole… chaotic energy? It kind of works.”

“Oh, it totally does,” the girl agreed, then leaned closer, eyes glinting. “But I can dream and trust me, I will dream. Until he’s married with five kids, I’ll be holding out hope.”

Rosie clutched her stomach, laughing harder. “Fair enough. He does have a smile that could short-circuit someone.”

They fell into a rhythm of chatter, the pre-show excitement fueling their words. Rosie found herself swept up, yapping about the band as if they’d been friends for years.

They gushed over Momo’s elegance at the keyboard, her long fingers gliding like magic across the keys. They admired Tokoyami’s mysterious stage presence on guitar, dark, brooding, and yet somehow magnetic.

When Jirou’s name came up, they both sighed in unison. “Her voice live is going to wreck me,” Rosie admitted.

“Ugh, me too,” the girl agreed. “But the way Denki harmonizes with her, don’t get me started.”

Rosie’s eyes kept straying toward the drum kit, gleaming in the low stage lights, her chest tight with anticipation. She could hardly believe that in a few minutes, she’d hear the opening crash of the drums, feel the sound waves through her ribs, and watch Katsuki Bakugou in the flesh.

For the first time, she let herself imagine what it would be like if, just maybe, his fiery gaze landed on her, even for a second.

The arena plunged into darkness.

For a split second, the only sound was the thunder of thousands of voices screaming, whistles and cheers echoing off the walls. Rosie’s heart leapt to her throat, and before she could blink, the girl beside her grabbed her arm and shrieked, “It’s starting!”

Rosie screamed back, the two of them bouncing on their toes as the stage lit up in a blaze of crimson and gold. The opening guitar riff ripped through the air, Tokoyami’s silhouette sharp and commanding, and the roar of the crowd grew deafening.

Jirou’s voice cut in, low and sultry, making the hair on Rosie’s arms rise. Denki sauntered onto the stage with his bass slung low, grinning like he owned the place, blowing a kiss into the crowd that sent the girl beside Rosie into another squeal. Momo glided to her spot at the keyboard, calm and composed, a contrast to the chaos erupting around her.

The spotlight snapped to the drum kit.

There he was.

Katsuki Bakugou strode onto the stage, black ripped jeans hugging his legs, heavy boots pounding against the riser, and a sleeveless, torn-up shirt that showed off lean muscle under the harsh stage lights. His blonde hair was spiked messy, like he’d run his hands through it a hundred times and hadn’t cared. Dark liner smudged his eyes, making the sharp crimson of them burn all the brighter as he scanned the screaming sea of fans.

Rosie felt her chest tighten. God, he looked like sin.

He twirled a drumstick between his fingers with casual arrogance before settling into his seat, jaw clenched, expression sharp and focused like the stage belonged to him.

The second his sticks crashed against the cymbals, the arena shook.

Rosie and the girl beside her screamed, jumping up and down so hard Rosie thought her boots might come flying off. Her heart raced with every thundering beat of the drums, her voice hoarse already from cheering, but she couldn’t stop smiling, couldn’t stop watching him.

Her eyes never left Katsuki.

Every crash of the cymbals, every roll of the drums felt like it rattled through her bones. He was all raw energy, sweat already beginning to glisten at his temples, strands of blonde hair falling into his face. And the way he smirked as he played, lips curled like he thrived on the chaos, made her legs go weak.

“Holy shit,” Rosie gasped, clutching the barricade with both hands, eyes wide, breathless. “He’s—he’s insane.”

The girl next to her screamed back, “Denki is hot, but Bakugou is a whole other thing! Look at him!”

Rosie didn’t need to be told. She already was. 

By the fourth song, Rosie’s throat was raw from screaming lyrics at the top of her lungs, but she didn’t care. The music pulsed through her, through every bone and vein, and Katsuki, God, Katsuki, was a storm behind the drums.

Sweat dripped down his temple, his arms flexing with every strike of the sticks, veins popping under the bright white lights. He looked like pure chaos in motion, but every move was controlled, precise, masterful and then, just for a heartbeat, his eyes flicked up from the kit.

Straight into hers.

Rosie froze, clutching the barricade as if she’d imagined it. But no, his smirk widened, cocky and deliberate, like he knew exactly the effect it had on her.

Her knees nearly buckled.

The girl next to her screamed in her ear, grabbing her arm. “Oh my god, did you see that?! He looked at you! Do you think—you think you’ll be the girl tonight?”

Rosie’s face burned as she laughed, giddy and breathless. “God, I hope I’m the girl tonight.”

They both squealed like teenagers, clutching each other before breaking apart to keep screaming, singing every lyric Jirou belted into the mic, their voices joining the thousands echoing through the arena.

After ten more songs, the show thundered toward its end.

The bass shook the floor, the guitar wailed, the lights pulsed like lightning overhead. Jirou stepped forward, mic in hand, her voice smooth as smoke. “Tokyo—you’ve been amazing tonight! But you all know what’s coming. It’s tradition. We gotta choose our girl!”

The arena went wild.

Rosie’s heart hammered against her ribs. No way. No—no, it won’t be me. There are thousands of girls here.

Then the spotlight snapped on. Blinding, hot and right on her.

Her breath caught as the roar of the crowd somehow grew louder. A security guard appeared in front of her, leaning down. “Come on.”

“What—wait—?” Rosie squeaked, but before she could think, his strong hands lifted her up and over the barricade like she weighed nothing. She caught the girl’s grin and thumbs-up before she was swept away.

The guard steadied her on her feet, keeping her close as he led her backstage, the thunder of the crowd pressing against her back like a tidal wave. Her heart felt like it might burst.

She barely registered that she was chosen when she was on stage.

The heat of the lights washed over her, the sound deafening, overwhelming. Thousands of eyes and voices all locked on her. Rosie’s face flushed deep pink as she raised a trembling hand in a little wave, trying to smile through her nerves.

The crowd lost their minds.

Her gaze darted instinctively to the back of the stage, to the drum kit. Katsuki was there, smirking through his sweat, drumstick twirling between his fingers as if this had all been part of his plan.

Rosie’s stomach flipped so hard she thought she might actually faint.

“Now, what is your name?” Jirou grinned into the mic, voice echoing through the arena.

“R–Rosie,” she stammered, her voice barely audible over the roaring crowd.

“Everyone!” Jirou’s smile widened, turning to the crowd with a sweep of her arm. “Welcome to the stage, Rosie!”

The audience erupted, chanting her name like they’d known her all along. Rosie felt her knees go weak, but before she could completely dissolve, Tokoyami appeared at her side, dark and gentlemanly as always.

He extended his hand, bowing slightly. “This way.”

Rosie swallowed hard, placing her trembling hand in his. His grip was steady, grounding, as he guided her across the stage, each step a blur of light and sound until they reached the back.

Katsuki Bakugou, behind the drum kit, sweat dripping down his jaw, hair wild from the heat of the set. He adjusted in his seat, sharp red eyes pinning her like she was the only person alive in that moment.

He smirked. “Nice to meet ya, Rosie.”

Her heart nearly stopped. He extended one hand, expectant. She hesitated, just for a second, before slipping her much smaller hand into his.

In an instant, he yanked her forward, pulling her straight onto his lap. A startled gasp tore from her lips as she stumbled, instinctively bracing her hands against his chest. The crowd went absolutely feral, the noise hitting a fever pitch.

Katsuki didn’t flinch. His grip was firm, confident, his big hands sliding to her hips and adjusting her easily, until she straddled him on the drum throne. Her thighs trembled as he dragged her flush against him, their bodies pressed tight together.

Rosie was burning, her face red as hell, her breath shaky. She tried to hide it, ducking her head a little, but the smirk tugging at his lips only widened.

“Shy thing, huh?” Katsuki muttered low enough for only her to hear, voice husky and teasing, sending shivers down her spine.

Her fingers curled into his shirt, flustered beyond reason, and she shook her head in protest even as the crowd screamed for more.

He chuckled darkly, drumming one hand lazily against her hip as if keeping tempo just for her. “Too late, princess. All eyes are on you now.”

The lights dimmed, the crowd roaring as Jirou announced the last song of the night. Katsuki rolled his shoulders, sticks poised in his hands, but he never let her go.

Instead, his grip only tightened on her hips as the spotlight hit the kit, before he then started drumming.

The sound exploded, pure fire and adrenaline, his arms moving at a speed that made the crowd lose its mind. Rosie sat perched in his lap, clinging to him at first as her body bounced with the rhythm. But as the beat pounded, she loosened up, her nerves melting into the music, into him.

“You nervous, doll?” Katsuki muttered between beats, voice low and smug even as his hands blurred over the drums.

She glanced up at him, cheeks flushed. “I—I mean, kind of! This is insane.”

“Better than the front row?” he smirked, snapping a stick down so hard the cymbal shrieked.

Her lips quirked despite herself. “Way better. Guess I lucked out.”

Katsuki barked a laugh, shifting under her as if reminding her exactly where she was sitting. “Damn right you did.”

The heat of the moment consumed her. The pounding bass, the screaming fans, the way his body thrummed with each strike, it all made her head spin. She thought, fleetingly, that this would probably be her only night this close to him, her only chance.

So she decided to make it count.

Her hands slid up his chest for balance as she shifted her hips, grinding against him in time with the music. At first subtle, then bolder, bouncing slightly with each hit of the bass drum. The crowd had no idea what was happening but Katsuki did.

His smirk turned downright wicked.

“You really tryna kill me mid-set, sweetheart?” he growled under his breath, never missing a beat as his sticks pounded the snare.

Rosie’s cheeks burned, but she held his gaze, emboldened by the chaos around them. “Just…making memories.”

“Tch,” he scoffed, eyes narrowing even as he dragged her tighter against him. “You’re gonna regret teasing me like this when I’ve got you alone.”

Her heart stuttered, but she forced a teasing grin, leaning closer so only he could hear. “Who says you’ll ever get me alone?”

Katsuki let out a low chuckle, one hand leaving the kit for just a second to squeeze her hip hard. “You’re already on my lap, doll. Too late for that.”

He snapped his sticks back to the drums, playing like a man possessed while she danced in his lap, both of them tangled in a moment that felt reckless, fleeting, and utterly exciting.

Chapter Text

The alleyway reeked of rain-soaked asphalt and cigarette smoke, the only light a flickering streetlamp that barely held back the shadows. Rosie leaned against the brick wall, her coat drawn tight, hood up, blending into the night like she was born for it. Her fingers toyed with the slim manila file tucked under her arm, the paper inside far heavier than its weight suggested.

Footsteps echoed, confident and sharp. She didn’t even need to look up.

“On time for once, huh?” Katsuki’s voice broke through the quiet, gruff and unimpressed. His trench coat swayed around him as he stepped into the alley, his badge glinting briefly beneath the streetlight.

Rosie smirked, pushing off the wall. “Well, I wouldn’t want to keep the great Detective Bakugou waiting.”

“Don’t start with your shit,” he muttered, though his crimson eyes swept over her, sharp and assessing. He didn’t trust her—never would. But that didn’t stop him from needing her.

She stepped closer, heels crunching against gravel, before pressing the folder against his chest. “Names. Dates. Places. Everything you need to bury a few very powerful people for that case of yours”

He caught it, glancing down at the file, then back at her with a scowl. “You kill people for a living, sweetheart. Why the sudden change of heart? Why hand me this?”

Her lips curved into a sly smile, though her pulse raced at the closeness between them. “Maybe I’m tired of cleaning up other people’s messes. Maybe I just like watching you squirm, detective.”

He snorted, flipping the folder open just enough to scan the top page. His jaw tightened. “Shit… this is big.” He snapped it shut, shoving it under his arm. “If you’re lying, I’ll—”

“You’ll what?” she cut him off, stepping into his space until the faint heat of his body bled into her. “Arrest me? Put me in handcuffs? We both know if you were gonna do that, you’d have done it months ago.”

His eyes narrowed, his voice dropping low, gravelly. “Don’t push me, Rosie. You think I won’t?”

“Please,” she whispered with a smirk, tilting her head. “You like this game too much.”

For a moment, the alley was silent save for the hum of the broken streetlight above them. Then Katsuki growled under his breath, backing a step but not looking away. “Get the hell out of here before I change my mind.”

Rosie brushed past him, the faintest trace of her perfume lingering in the cold air. Over her shoulder, she tossed, “Careful, detective. Play with fire too long, and you’ll get burned.”

Then she vanished into the shadows, leaving Katsuki standing alone with the file clutched tight, his jaw clenched, and his heart pounding harder than he’d ever admit.

The warehouse district was dead quiet at night, just the faint hum of electricity and the occasional creak of metal as the wind cut through. Katsuki leaned against the hood of his car, cigarette burning low between his fingers, eyes narrowed at the shadows ahead. He didn’t like calling her in—every time he did, she got under his skin a little more.

He didn’t have to wait long. Rosie slipped out of the dark like she owned it, coat swaying around her legs, a wicked smile tugging at her lips.

“Detective,” she purred, tilting her head. “Miss me already?”

Katsuki exhaled smoke through his nose, unamused. “Cut the shit. I need information.”

“Ooo, so demanding,” Rosie teased, stopping a few feet in front of him. She folded her arms under her chest, eyes glinting. “Who’s the lucky bastard you want me to dig dirt on this time?”

“Dabi,” he said flatly. “Name ring a bell?”

That earned him a sharp laugh. Rosie tossed her head back, pink hair spilling from beneath her hood. “Oh, detective… you really don’t know how deep that rabbit hole goes, do you?”

“Don’t play games.” He ground the cigarette out against the hood, tossing it aside. “What do you know?”

She leaned in closer, enough that he could catch the heat in her gaze, the playful curl of her lips. “Mmm, that depends.” She dragged a finger across his chest, tracing the lapel of his coat. “What’s it worth to you?”

Katsuki caught her wrist before she could pull away, holding it firm but not rough. “You don’t get to set the rules here.”

“Don’t I?” she whispered, stepping into his space, her perfume flooding his senses. “You called me. You need me. That means I hold all the cards.”

His jaw tightened. “You’re a pain in my ass, you know that?”

Her smile widened, playful and infuriating. “And yet… you keep coming back for more.”

They stared at each other, tension wound tight as a drawn bow. Finally, Rosie broke the silence with a soft laugh, brushing her lips close to his ear as she pulled her wrist free. “I’ll get you your information, detective,” she whispered. “But it’ll cost you and I’m not talking money.”

She tapped his chest lightly, then spun on her heel, sauntering away with a sway of her hips that was definitely intentional.

“Don’t keep me waiting,” she called over her shoulder, voice dripping with amusement.

Katsuki muttered a curse under his breath, dragging a hand through his hair. Damn her. Damn her for making this game feel less like work and more like temptation.

Chapter Text

The apartment was quiet except for the low hum of the TV. Katsuki had passed out on the couch, one arm thrown over his eyes, chest rising and falling steadily. His hair was messy, his shirt slightly rumpled, and there was the faintest trace of a scowl on his lips even in sleep.

He had come in after a long night and morning of patrol. 

Rosie tiptoed into the room, her phone already recording. Her grin was mischievous as she whispered to the camera. “Okay guys, Katsuki’s asleep, so I’m gonna do the ‘my boyfriend’s coming over’ trend. Let’s see how he reacts.”

She set the phone propped up on the coffee table, angling it perfectly to catch both her and him while also staying hidden. Padding over on her toes, she leaned down close to his ear and whispered, voice all soft and sweet, “Pomchi… my boyfriend’s coming over.”

For a second, nothing happened. His breathing stayed steady. She bit back a laugh, pulling away to whisper it again—louder this time.

That did it.

Katsuki’s eyes snapped open, crimson flashing as his hand shot out lightning fast, wrapping around her waist before she could bolt. He hauled her right onto his chest, his voice rough and sleep-rasped. “The fuck you just say?”

Rosie squealed, half-laughing but keeping up the act, smacking his chest. “I said my boyfriend is coming over—you need to hurry up and hide before he catches you.”

For one rare, priceless moment, Katsuki’s face went completely blank. Then his entire body tensed. His grip on her waist loosened as he immediately sat up, muscles rippling under his shirt. “The hell do you mean your boyfriend—”

He was already pushing her off his lap, feet planting firmly on the floor as though ready to fight someone. “Where is he? Who the fuck—” His eyes darted around the apartment, jaw ticking, his palms already sparking faintly.

Rosie doubled over, laughing so hard she could barely get the words out. “Katsuki, wait—oh my god—”

But it only made him scowl harder. He grabbed her arm and pulled her back to him, glaring daggers. “You think this is funny? You’re tellin’ me some bastard is coming here, into my apartment, for you—”

Rosie’s laughter bubbled over, tears pricking at her eyes. She pointed at the coffee table where her phone was recording. “It’s a trend! TikTok, Katsuki, relax! You should’ve seen your face!”

For a long moment, all he did was stare at her, chest rising and falling with barely contained fury. Then his expression twisted into something caught between exasperation and disbelief. “You’re fucking kidding me.” He groaned, dragging a hand down his face before gripping her waist again and hauling her flush against him. “Woman,” he growled low in his throat, “you’ve got a death wish.”

Rosie, still hiccupping with laughter, looped her arms around his neck. “You fell for it!”

His brows twitched, lips curling. “Tch. Trend or not, you think that’s funny? Dumbass.” But his voice had softened into that rare, gruff affection he saved only for her. He buried his face against her neck, muttering into her skin, “You’re lucky you’re cute.”

Rosie giggled, pressing a kiss to his hairline before whispering to the phone still recording, “Yup. Totally worth it.”

Katsuki cracked one crimson eye open, spotting the blinking red light on the phone, and let out a sharp, humorless laugh. “Turn that shit off before I blow it up.”

Rosie scrambled to grab it, giggling uncontrollably, while Katsuki dragged her right back down onto his chest, holding her tight as though to make sure no imaginary “boyfriend” was ever going to take her aw

The video didn’t even take a full hour to blow up. Rosie had posted it while still curled up against Katsuki’s chest—safely after he passed out again, just to avoid him blowing up her phone along with the internet.

When she woke up the next morning, her notifications were chaos. Her phone buzzed endlessly as likes, shares, and comments poured in.

@SoftHeroEdits: “Rosie really got the Dynamight himself with the ‘my boyfriend’s coming over’ prank 😭😭😭”

@BoomBoomFan: “No way that’s how he acts off duty. Man looks like he was about to burn the apartment down.”

@WitchyRosieFan: “He really said: WHERE’S THIS BASTARD?? 💥💥💥”

@BakugouKinnie: “Nahhhh him growling ‘woman’ with his face in her neck?? I’m feral.”

Rosie scrolled, covering her face as she laughed, while beside her Katsuki stirred, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. “The fuck are you giggling about this early?” he grumbled.

She turned the phone toward him. “You’re trending.”

He blinked blearily at the screen, reading the captions that were already becoming memes. People were stitching his part of the video, re-enacting the way he’d jumped to his feet, sparks ready, before growling “woman” into Rosie’s neck.

Katsuki’s face went red. “Are you fucking kidding me?!” He snatched the phone, scrolling furiously. “They’re making me into—what the fuck—GIFS?!”

Rosie was giggling so hard she had to hide under the blanket. “You’re the internet’s feral but secretly soft boyfriend now.”

He glared down at her. “Soft?! I’ll show ‘em soft—”

But then she peeked her head out, eyes sparkling with mischief, and kissed his cheek. “You are soft, for me.”

His scowl faltered, for a second. Then he groaned, shoving her back into the pillows and flopping on top of her. “Tch. Dumbass. Delete it.”

“I can’t,” Rosie teased, running her fingers through his messy blond hair. “The internet already owns it.”

Katsuki let out a long suffering growl against her neck. “I hate you.”

“No you don’t.” She giggled, hugging him close. “And besides—now everyone knows how much you love me.”

He muttered something sharp under his breath, something about “blowing up TikTok headquarters” but he didn’t let go of her.

Chapter Text

Rosie’s head throbbed. Her tongue felt like sandpaper, her stomach rolled every time the sunlight sliced through the hotel curtains. Groaning, she pushed herself upright in the bed, hair sticking in every direction, mascara smudged beneath her eyes.

The first thing she noticed was the glitter. There was so much glitter. Strewn across the sheets, the carpet, even the lamp shade like a bomb had gone off. The second thing was the heap of clothes scattered across the floor—her own sequined dress, a crumpled white veil, empty champagne bottles tipped over on the dresser.

But what she noticed most was how heavy her left hand felt all of a sudden. Her breath hitched. On her left hand sat a massive diamond ring, catching the light like it wanted to mock her. Her eyes went round as saucers.

“N-no… no, no, no, no, no,” she whispered, clutching her pounding head.

That’s when she looked to her right.

There was a man, in her bed.

A very broad-shouldered man, sprawled out with his suit jacket hanging half-off, tie loose, shirt collar smeared with unmistakable red lipstick. His cheeks, lips, and throat bore the same red marks, his blond hair sticking up like he’d been through a wind tunnel.

Rosie froze. “AAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!” Her scream pierced the room.

The man bolted upright, eyes wild, voice rough. “THE FUCK?!” His crimson eyes locked on her, and for a moment the two of them just gaped at each other in stunned silence, breathing hard.

Her wedding dress crinkled as she tugged the covers up to her chin, shaking her head in disbelief. “Wh—what the hell happened last night?! Why am I—why are you—” She pointed at his lipstick-smeared collar, at her giant diamond ring, at the veil tossed across the lamp.

His expression shifted from confusion to dawning horror. “No. Fucking. Way.”

They sat there, staring at each other with wide eyes, the messy chaos of their hotel room a glaring testimony to a night they couldn’t remember.

Rosie’s voice cracked, almost hysterical. “Tell me we didn’t just—”

He dragged a hand down his face, groaning. “Shit.”

Chapter Text

Engines roared all around him, neon lights bleeding across cracked asphalt and the crowd buzzing with anticipation. Katsuki leaned against his car, arms crossed, expression hard and sharp as always. He’d been waiting for this, his first official underground race. Tonight was his chance to prove himself.

But for the first time, doubt gnawed at the edges of his chest.

Then she appeared.

Out of the noise, smoke, and chaos, a girl with soft pink hair and glittering blue eyes stepped toward him, the starlight itself caught in her gaze. She was out of place here, too bright, too delicate for the grit of the back alley, yet she walked straight up to him as if she belonged.

“You’ll win.”

He blinked at her, thrown off. “The hell do you know about that?”

Her lips curved into the kind of smile that could burn through steel. “Because I can tell. You’ve got the fire in your eyes. You won’t settle for anything less.”

His chest tightened. He’d been told he was reckless, arrogant, obsessed, but never that.

Before he could answer, she leaned up on her toes, brushing her lips against his cheek in a featherlight kiss. The crowd, the smoke, the noise, all of it vanished in that instant.

“For luck,” she whispered. Then she slipped back into the sea of people before he could even ask her name.

The race itself was a blur. He drove like hell, victory burning in his veins the whole time, that kiss seared into his skin. When it was over, when he crossed the finish line and the crowd erupted, she was gone.

“Oi, Bakugou!” Denki clapped him on the back, laughing as Katsuki scowled, scanning the crowd for a flash of pink hair. “Quit looking around, you won. Focus!”

“There was a girl,” Katsuki muttered. “Pink hair, blue eyes. Who the fuck was she?”

Denki smirked knowingly. “Ohhh, her? That’s Rosie Aizawa. Senator’s daughter. Goes to that fancy-ass all-girls school on the upper side.”

Katsuki’s jaw tightened. Senator’s daughter? All-girls school? That explained why she didn’t belong in this world.

Denki snorted. “Yeah, sorry bro. You don’t have a shot with her. She’s way out of your league.”

Katsuki shoved him off with a glare, teeth gritted. “If she’s too good for me, then why the hell was she at a back-alley street race kissing strangers for luck?”

Denki had no answer. But Katsuki already knew one thing for sure—he needed to find her again. 

Chapter Text

The firehouse was loud with chatter, the clang of weights in the gym, and the hum of voices drifting from the rec room. The heavy garage doors were rolled up, letting in warm afternoon sunlight.

Rosie hesitated at the threshold, clutching the plate in both hands. The smell of buttercream followed her in, sweet against the faint scent of smoke and ash that seemed to cling to the walls of the place.

“Uh… hi,” she said, stepping inside. “I—um—brought these for you guys.”

Every head turned.

Kirishima was the first to react, his grin splitting wide. “No way, cupcakes? For us?” He practically bounded forward, red hair bouncing as he leaned down to peer at the spread. “Oh man, they smell amazing.”

“Figured it was the least I could do,” Rosie said, a little shy but still smiling. “After… you know. Coming to my house last week. I probably would’ve lost half my kitchen if you guys didn’t show up.”

Denki whistled low. “Cupcakes are the best thank you gift ever. Ten out of ten, approved.”

“Oi, dumbass, you’re not even in charge of scoring,” came a rough voice from the back. Katsuki emerged from the kitchen, a towel slung over his shoulder, his blond hair sticking up even messier than usual. He looked like he’d just finished washing soot off his hands.

The moment his eyes landed on Rosie, his scowl softened by a fraction—though he’d never admit it. “You didn’t need to do that,” he muttered, eyeing the plate.

Rosie tilted her head, her smile widening as she caught his stare. “Maybe not. But I wanted to.”

Kirishima groaned. “Dude, she even made red velvet. Your favorite.”

Rosie’s brows lifted. “Really?” She glanced at Katsuki, who was glaring daggers at his friend.

“I didn’t say that,” he snapped. But his ears were pink, and he snatched one of the red velvet cupcakes anyway, tearing into it with a rough bite.

Rosie giggled softly, setting the plate down on the counter as the others swarmed. “Well, I’m glad I guessed right then.”

Katsuki chewed, slow and deliberate, eyes never leaving hers.

Crumbs clung to the corner of his mouth, and Rosie had the sudden, ridiculous urge to reach out and brush them away. Instead, she just tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, her voice soft. “Guess I’ll have to bring more by sometime.”

He swallowed, smirk tugging at his mouth. “Yeah. Guess you will.”

Rosie laughed as Kirishima and Denki grabbed their cupcakes like kids at a birthday party, frosting already smudged on their fingers. She tucked the now-empty plate under her arm and took a step back toward the door. “Well, I’ll let you all enjoy,” she said, giving a little wave. “Thanks again—for everything.”

“Thank you!” Denki called around a mouthful of vanilla cake.

“Seriously, you didn’t have to, but we appreciate it,” Kirishima added, licking frosting from his thumb.

Rosie’s smile softened. She lifted her free hand in one last wave before stepping out into the sunlight, the door swinging closed behind her.

For a moment, the firehouse was quiet—until Sero’s voice rang out. “So,” he drawled, arms crossing as he leaned against the counter. “When were you gonna tell us you had a cupcake girl, Bakugou?”

Denki nearly choked on his cupcake, snickering. “Oh man, you’re so right. Cupcake girl! That’s adorable.”

“Sounds domestic as hell,” Jirou added from her spot on the couch, one brow raised in amusement. “Didn’t think you had it in you.”

Katsuki froze mid-bite, crimson eyes snapping toward them like lit dynamite. His ears turned red first, then the tips of his cheeks. “Shut the hell up.”

Kirishima smirked, clearly unbothered by the danger in his tone. “Come on, man. She made you red velvet. Out of all the flavors. If that’s not girlfriend energy, I don’t know what is.”

“She’s not my girlfriend!” Katsuki barked, but the way he shoved the rest of the cupcake into his mouth was way too defensive.

“Not yet,” Denki sing-songed, dodging the towel Katsuki threw at his head. “Our boy’s got a sweet tooth and a sweetheart. How cute.”

“I said shut up!” Katsuki roared, shoving his chair back with a scrape. “She’s just—just thankin’ us, alright? Nothing else. So back the fuck off before I blow this whole damn plate sky high!”

The others only laughed harder, trading knowing looks. Katsuki’s jaw clenched, fists sparking faintly as he turned back to the counter. He grabbed another red velvet cupcake with way too much force, growling under his breath. Still, when no one was looking, his lips twitched into the faintest of smirks.

Chapter Text

The fight outside the club had already drawn a crowd when Rosie stumbled into the middle of it, glitter sparkling in her pink hair like stardust. But unlike everyone else, who were either screaming or swinging fists, she wasn’t fighting. She was giggling.

That was because Rosie had stolen the microphone from the DJ booth inside before security had managed to drag her out.

Now, tottering in her heels on the pavement, she waved the mic around like she was headlining her own concert. “Helloooooo, beautiful people!” she slurred, voice screeching through the speakers she’d somehow managed to keep connected via Bluetooth. “Rosie is in the house, baby! Who needs drinks when you’ve got me?”

The crowd roared with laughter, more entertained by her antics than the brawl.

Then came the sirens.

Police cars whipped into the street, red and blue flooding everything in strobe-light chaos. Most people scattered. Rosie? She stayed right in the middle of it, still talking into the mic. “Ohhh shit! The cops are here! You all look guilty as hell!”

Katsuki Bakugou, Chief of Police, stepped out of his cruiser with his usual thundercloud expression. He scanned the street once, eyes immediately narrowing when they landed on her.

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me,” he muttered under his breath.

Rosie, glitter sticking to her sweaty cheeks, gasped theatrically into the mic. “Ladies and gentlemen, the law himself has arrived! Damn, officer, you look fine tonight.”

The crowd whistled, egging her on.

“Drop the mic,” Katsuki barked, voice carrying like a shot through the chaos.

Instead, Rosie giggled and leaned closer to the mic, her lipstick-smeared mouth brushing the foam top. “Make me.”

That was it.

Katsuki’s stride was long, angry, and deliberate. The crowd parted like the Red Sea. By the time Rosie tried to stumble backward, he was already on her, yanking the mic from her hands and tossing it to the pavement where it squealed out one last pathetic burst of feedback.

“Hey!” Rosie yelped, pouting. “I was putting on a show! You can’t just—”

His palm pressed firmly against her back, bending her over the hood of his squad car with practiced efficiency. “Show’s over, glitter bomb,” Katsuki growled, already snapping the cuffs over her wrists.

“Hey!” she squealed, though her tone was more delighted than offended. “At least buy me dinner first, officer!”

Katsuki’s mouth curved, equal parts exasperated and amused, as he reached for his cuffs. “You’re drunk off your ass, causing a scene, and resisting arrest. Dinner isn’t on the fucking table.”

Rosie squirmed, the glitter in her hair catching the lights as she craned her neck back to look at him, lips parted in a sly smile. “But I’d look so cute across from you at a candlelit table…”

Rosie gasped, then burst out laughing. “Oh my god, are you really arresting me right now? For what? Being too sparkly?”

“Public disturbance. Disorderly conduct. Theft of private property.” Katsuki listed each one off like bullets.

“It was just a microphone!” she giggled, turning her head enough to flash him a grin. “Don’t be such a grump. I was killing it out here. Admit it, you were a little impressed.”

He leaned down, voice low and gravel-rough in her ear. “The only thing I’m impressed by is how fast you’re racking up charges.”

Rosie squirmed against the hood, still smiling like this was all some big joke. “Mmm, you sound so serious when you say that. Almost like… you enjoy cuffing me.”

Katsuki snorted, shaking his head as he dragged her upright by the cuffs. “Keep talking, sweetheart. See how long I keep your ass in holding tonight.”

She swayed into him, glitter shimmering as she whispered with a tipsy giggle, “Best night ever.”

Chapter Text

Katsuki Bakugou slouched against the chain-link fence, scuffed laced boots scraping the gravel as he kicked at the dirt. His hoodie was too baggy and jeans covered in pen and sharpie, and he probably smelled like cigarette smoke and energy drinks. 

He didn’t care.

Across the field, Rosie Aizawa laughed with her friends. Her long pink-silver hair caught the sunlight like spun candy, cascading down her back in soft waves. Her blue eyes sparkled with flecks of gold, like tiny stars trapped in glass. Even from here, Katsuki could see the way the sunlight hit her just right, how she moved like she owned the world without even trying.

He tugged at his hoodie, muttering under his breath. “Stupid… why do you even look at me like that?”

He didn’t know why he was talking to himself. He knew she’d never notice someone like him. Some loser musician who barely passed his classes and spent most of his nights blasting music too loud and breaking stuff in the garage.

But tonight… maybe tonight was different.

Because he saw her glance over, and for a brief second, their eyes met. Just a flicker, a spark that made his chest hurt and his brain short-circuit. She smiled, a little, almost imperceptibly, but it was enough. Enough to make him imagine holding her hand, sneaking off to the bleachers, and maybe, just maybe, being someone worthy of her stardust-filled eyes.

“Yeah… right,” he muttered, kicking the dirt again. “Like that’d ever happen.”

Still, he couldn’t stop staring.

Katsuki Bakugou leaned harder against the fence, pretending to tie his shoelace, though he wasn’t actually doing anything. He could feel the heat crawling up his neck every time Rosie laughed with her friends. Why did she have to be that perfect? Hair like spun sugar, skin glowing, eyes like… like actual stars.

“Hey,” a voice called, soft but clear, cutting through the noise of the courtyard. Katsuki’s head snapped up. 

Rosie. 

Rosie Aizawa. 

Walking toward him, a hesitant smile tugging at her lips.

He wanted to say something cool, something that would make her notice him as more than a dirtbag, but all that came out was, “…Uh. H-hey.” His voice cracked, and he cleared his throat, shoving his hands in his pockets.

She tilted her head, studying him for a moment. “I… uh, saw you sitting here alone and I thought I’d say hi.”

Alone. Yeah, because the “cool kids” were over there laughing. He opened his mouth to say something witty, but instead it came out as a low, “Hmph.” Great. Way to charm her, Bakugou.

Rosie giggled, soft and airy, like wind chimes. “You don’t… talk much, huh?”

“Nope,” he muttered, kicking at a pebble. “Not really my thing.”

“Yeah?” She leaned a little closer, like maybe she actually wanted to hear him. “I kinda like that. Quiet people are… nice.”

He blinked. She actually said that? His chest started hammering. “N–nice, huh? Hah. Sure.” His tone was gruff, but inside he was screaming.

There was a pause. Rosie’s hair fell over her shoulder, shimmering in the sunlight. She tucked it behind her ear, her smile small but genuine. “Well… I hope we can hang out sometime. Even if it’s just… sitting around being nice together.”

Katsuki’s brain short-circuited. “Yeah… yeah, maybe.” He rubbed the back of his neck, trying not to look like a total mess. “Cool.”

She smiled again, and then, just like that, she turned and walked back toward her friends, leaving him leaning on the fence, heart racing, wondering if maybe… just maybe… he wasn’t completely invisible to her after all.

Katsuki Bakugou slammed his locker shut with a little more force than necessary, earning a wide-eyed look from Kirishima. “Dude… chill,” Kirishima said, grinning. Denki leaned casually against the lockers, earbuds hanging around his neck.

“Chill?!” Katsuki barked, throwing his hands up. “I can’t chill!”

“Bakugou,” Denki said slowly, “you’ve been pacing like a caged tiger for the past ten minutes. What’s up?”

Katsuki huffed, spinning to face them, his hoodie slipping a bit off one shoulder. “I saw her.” His voice dropped, low and almost dangerous. “Rosie Aizawa.”

Kirishima blinked. “Uh… that’s… great, man?”

“Great?!” Katsuki growled. “She was smiling… smiling at me. But then—” He turned sharply just in time to catch the sight of her walking down the hall, Rosie, all light and stardust and impossible hair… with her boyfriend, Touya Todoroki.

Touya’s arm was slung possessively over her shoulder, his face calm but icy, until their eyes met. That’s when Touya’s jaw tightened and he shot Katsuki a glare that could cut steel. A low, warning snarl escaped his lips, and Katsuki felt his stomach twist.

Rosie’s smile remained bright, effortless, and completely unbothered by the tension, but it was directed at him. Just a little nod, a flicker of acknowledgment, like she was trying to reassure him without causing a scene.

Katsuki’s fists clenched in his hoodie pockets. “Damn it… how can such an asshole like him get a girl like her.” His voice was harsh, but Kirishima and Denki exchanged knowing glances.

“Bakugou… don’t—” Kirishima started, but Katsuki ignored him. He leaned against the locker, jaw tight, staring after her as she walked away with Touya. He could feel the heat of frustration and something… something else, bubbling under his skin.

Denki nudged him. “Uh… dude? You okay?”

Bakugou’s glare softened slightly, just enough to be dangerous. “No,” he muttered, low and guttural. “I’m not okay.”

Chapter Text

Katsuki Bakugou was already regretting agreeing to “exercise” the damn dog. His husky puppy, all legs and teeth and energy, bounded ahead on the leash, practically dragging him down the path. “Oi, slow down, you dumb mutt!” he barked, but the dog only barked louder, tongue lolling, eyes gleaming with mischief.

People stared. Some smiled. Some got out of the way real quick.

“Great. Just what I need—lookin’ like an idiot in public,” Katsuki muttered, adjusting the hood of his sweatshirt as the husky decided now was the perfect time to zigzag through a patch of grass.

That’s when he saw her.

A woman with long, soft pink hair that shimmered like cotton candy under the sunlight, dressed in a flowy skirt and sweater. Her eyes were a delicate blue, wide and bright, like starlight reflecting in water. She was holding a leash attached to the tiniest, fluffiest white poodle Katsuki had ever seen.

The poodle walked daintily at her side, until it caught sight of his husky.

In an instant, chaos.

The husky yelped with excitement and charged forward, barreling toward the poodle. The poodle barked back, surprisingly fierce for something that could fit in Katsuki’s backpack. In a matter of seconds, the leashes tangled, wrapping around his legs, then hers, pulling them both together in a mess of fur, rope, and limbs.

“Wait—damn it—HEY!” Katsuki shouted, stumbling forward as his husky tugged like a sled dog in a race. The pink-haired woman gasped, losing her balance.

Whump. They both toppled into the grass, the dogs bouncing happily on top of them like this was all a game.

Katsuki blinked, stunned, only to realize his face was inches from hers. She smelled like berries and rainwater, her hair brushing against his cheek.

“I—uh—shit,” he muttered, ears burning bright red. “Sorry! This stupid mutt doesn’t know how to act.” He struggled against the leash, his husky still tugging excitedly.

The woman laughed, light and airy, her hand brushing grass from her skirt. “Don’t apologize. Honestly… I think my poodle started it.” She smiled at him, soft, radiant, like she wasn’t upset at all. “I’m Rosie.”

Katsuki stared for a beat too long, then blurted, “Katsuki.” His husky barked like it was introducing him too.

Rosie giggled, reaching over to pet the husky’s head. “Well, Katsuki… I think our dogs just decided we needed to meet.”

His heart lurched in his chest, and for once, he was completely speechless.

Katsuki gritted his teeth, wrestling with the knot of leashes around his legs. The husky wasn’t helping—tail wagging like a propeller, tongue lolling as if this was the best game ever invented. Rosie’s dainty little poodle, meanwhile, yipped indignantly, twisting and tangling the mess even more.

“Hold still!” Katsuki barked, fumbling with the straps. His hands brushed against Rosie’s as she tried to work out the knot too, and he froze, ears burning.

“Sorry,” she murmured, giggling softly. “I think they want us to practice teamwork.”

“Yeah, well, they’re damn idiots,” he grumbled, yanking the last strap free.

Finally, the two dogs bounced apart, Rosie scooping up her poodle while Katsuki hauled the husky back by the collar. For a second, they stood there, him with grass stains on his hoodie, her with her hair mussed from the fall, both a little breathless.

“Uh,” he muttered, rubbing the back of his neck. “Guess… I’ll get outta your way.”

Rosie smiled, a little wistful but polite. “It was nice meeting you, Katsuki. Maybe we’ll bump into each other again.” She turned, her poodle trotting neatly by her side. Katsuki exhaled and tugged his husky in the opposite direction.

But the husky had other plans.

The moment Katsuki tugged the leash, the dog planted its paws firmly in the grass and then yanked, hard, barreling straight toward Rosie. “HEY—damn mutt!” Katsuki growled as he stumbled forward, nearly tripping over his own feet.

Rosie squealed in surprise as the husky practically dragged him right back to her, circling around her legs like he was tying them together again. She laughed, covering her mouth. “Oh my gosh, I think he likes us together.”

Katsuki’s face went hot. “Don’t say stuff like that!” he snapped, but his dog barked loudly, as if in full agreement with her.

Rosie tilted her head, still smiling, her cheeks faintly pink. “Well… maybe we should walk them together? At least until your husky decides you’re allowed to go home.”

Katsuki stared at her, then down at his dog—who was staring right back up at him with the smuggest, tongue-lolling grin. “…Tch. Fine. But only because he’s a pain in the ass.”

Rosie’s laughter chimed like wind through bells. “Of course, Katsuki. Only because of the dogs.”

The husky barked again, victorious.

Chapter Text

Not an update lol

So I have tallied up the votes on AO3 along with those on Tumblr and we are at a tie between Camp Councelors and What happened in Shibuya with 8 votes. 

Here are the honorable mentions of the other votes!

Slasher Katsuki got 5 votes

Hero Students got 5 votes 

Celebrity x Bodyguard got four votes

Divorced got 3 votes

Streaming for You got 2 votes

Rock Star Drummer got 1 vote

Witch Hunter got 1 vote

So now I will have you guys break the tie between Camp Councelors and What happened in Shibuya :)