#Mitsuki's parent

[sugawara--san]

why is this actually funny as fuck

[hatsunevita]

if we don’t get a post-war moment of inko and bakugo talking by deku’s bed and inko asking bakugo to keep looking after her son cuz she knows katsuki’s the only one who can keep him safe, and bakugo agreeing and smiling with determination cuz there is literally no way he’s NOT gonna protect the nerd. if we don’t see a scene like that then horikoshi obviously just forgot to add it to the final draft because i know this WILL happen.

[yutxsgf]

Reader meets the Bakugous

Cw; Fluff, established relationship, Aged up AU, Fem!Reader

"Baby, calm down, they're not all that bad." He lightly comforted, kissing the top of your head with a concerned frown as his thumb caressed your hip.

"But what if they don't like me?" You deeply frowned at the thought.

"They'll love ya, swear it." He whispered.

You hummed, still concerned, but wanting to get this over with already. It's better to deal with it than fret more than needed.

Katsuki put his large hand on the small of your back as he coaxed you closer to his home, where he lived before becoming a hero.

He glanced down at you when the both of you were directly in front of the door, rubbing his thumb against your waist instead.

"You ready, princess?"

You hesitated before taking one final shaky deep breath,

"Yeah."

"Katsuki!"

The both of you flinched at the loud, booming voice from within the house followed up by the sound of padded feet sprinting towards the door.

BAM

You stared dumbfoundedly at the Katsuki-looking woman, watching as the rabid look on her face quickly shifted to one of sharp yet fond.

She glanced back and forth between Katsuki and you, seeming to examine what was going on before an exaggerated gasp left her lips.

"Katsuki, is this your new little girlfriend??"

"Fiancée." He corrected, looking down at you with the same loving gaze you've learned to love.

The woman squealed before taking your arm and bringing you inside with haste, dragging you towards the living room couch.

Katsuki chuckled behind you before making his way after you after closing the door behind him.

"So, how has he been treating you? Has he ever yelled at you? What're your thoughts on having kids?"

She continued to bombard you with questions with an eager-ish face, cupping your hands in hers as she sat beside you.

Katsuki blinked before lightly scowling at his mother, followed up with a sigh as he pinched the bridge of his nose.

"Damn it, old hag, you're scarin' 'er."

"Quiet." She retorted, glaring over her shoulder at the large hero.

His eye twitched with annoyance before he glanced behind him at the sound of sniffling, looking slightly down to see his father looking proudly up at him.

"Dad." He said simply before enveloping him in a hug,

You and her watched this bondful moment unfold with a soft smile, the sharp features mostly disappearing as she practically melted at the sight.

"I've missed you, son."

"I've missed you both, too."

"Damn it, Katsuki! Just had ta burn the chicken cutlets, didn't you!?"

"Wasn't my fault, you old hag!"

"Hey, hey, let's all calm down now."

"Shut up!"

You watched in silence as the family bickered, gently fiddling with the utensils as you awkwardly stared.

You flinched when you heard a slap, gaping when you saw your Fiancée's head lightly bowed down.

"FUCK OFF."

"WATCH YOUR MOUTH!"

"Language everyone–"

You sigh, shaking your head before clicking your tongue and smiling lovingly once more.

Maybe they aren't all that bad afterall.

[kimmie2me]

Lasagna Drama

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀𓂅⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀Pro Hero!Bakugou x AFAB!Pro Hero!Brat!Reader

.....

You’ve been beat up enough times to know when you’ve hit your limit, but today? You feel like you’ve crossed some invisible threshold. Every single bruise, every single cut feels like it's been painted with the loudest, most obnoxious color of exhaustion. Villains really do have the worst timing—especially when you're just one bad decision away from completely losing your shit.

There’s something about fighting solo, about handling every explosive attack and every screaming villain on your own that drains you. But being the hero that you are, you keep pushing through, doing the job. The second you finish cleaning up the mess, though, the press—fucking press—are there, asking their stupid fucking questions like always.

They’re practically vultures, swarming around like they’re starving for something to tear into, but you can’t bring yourself to care. Every question is like they’re poking at an open wound.

Questions..questions..blah, blah blahh.

"So, are we invited to you and Dynamight's wedding?" the reporter asks, voice overly enthusiastic.

What.

You tilt your head slowly towards them at the speed of a snail, your exhausted eyes narrowing with so much venom it could melt through steel. A bleeding cut on your forehead sends a reminder of how badly you want to snap, but you hold back, fighting for just one last ounce of control. "Can you come to the wedding? CAN YOU. COME. TO THE WEDDING?" Your voice is slow and deliberate, every word dragging with the weight of your exhaustion and irritation. "NO THE FUCK YOU CAN’T! AND WHO SAID I’M GETTING MARRIED, HUH??"

You’re practically spitting, the anger bubbling up as you point a shaky finger at the reporter—though it's less for dramatic flair and more because you're trying not to pass out from your head throbbing. The crowd watches, stunned by your bluntness. The blood dripping down your face is probably the cherry on top of this glorious shitshow.

"MATTER OF FACT, GET THE HELL OUTTA MY FACE!"

Another reporter, some idiot you didn't try to locate in this sea of absolute buffoons trying to ask about your condition, gets a response that’s just as brutal. "AND WHOEVER ASKED IF I'M OKAY—" You gesture to the bruises, the cuts, the swelling on your face. The swelling in your brain too, probably. "ARE YOU FUCKING BLIND? ‘CAUSE YOU MUST BE TO ASK ME THAT SHIT QUESTION."

The PR team, their faces pale, looks like they’ve seen hell itself. They try to rush in and intervene, but it's too late. They’ve all seen this before—this version of you, who doesn’t take shit from anyone, even when she’s on the brink of collapse.

But this moment? It’s a whole new level.

A disaster.

A train wreck.

And it’s all caught on camera.

.....

Hours later, you walk into the apartment, expecting to finally see Bakugou at work on the lasagna, or at least close to being done. Because, god, you're hungry. You've been requesting (read: begging) him all week and it took a while, but you finally got him to say yes. Even if it was very reluctant.

Instead, you’re met with the sight of him lounging on the couch, his arms behind his head like he’s been living the life while you were off doing actual work. And today was his day off! He had all day to make it!

You freeze in the doorway, your eyes narrowing. “What the hell is this?” you snap, voice dripping with annoyance.

He doesn’t even look at you, just casually glancing at the TV where your earlier press meltdown is playing on loop. You’re there, in full glory, flipping the camera off and shouting at the reporters like you’re about to spontaneously combust from frustration. The volume’s up, and you can hear yourself getting progressively louder, each sentence punctuated by Bakugou’s quiet laughter.

"Did you seriously not even start yet?” you seethe, already feeling the heat of frustration building. "Where's the lasagna?"

“Yeaahh about that," he drawls "Yer not gettin’ that lasagna,” he says, his tone flat but with the faintest hint of amusement.

The weight of his words hits you like a ton of bricks, and you nearly stumble, caught off guard. “Wait—what? No,no, no. You said—..! But why!?”

His smirk deepens, and though he doesn’t laugh, there’s a glint in his eyes. “You go shoutin’ yer mouth off on national TV, actin’ like a brat, and you think I’m gonna reward that with lasagna? No way, Cupcake. Gotta teach you some self-control.”

Your heart plummets. The devastation is real, and you’re .3 seconds from a meltdown. "But—'Suki! They kept asking me stupid questions! Plus, I'm bleeding and hurt and in pain!” You point at your bruises, your puppy-dog eyes in full force, desperate to sway him. “You’re just gonna hold my lasagna hostage?”

He raises an eyebrow, his mouth flattening into a look that’s somehow both deadpan and amused. “Yup. Sucks, don’t it?” His tone is full of mock sympathy, but he can barely keep himself from chuckling when he catches the absolute betrayal written across your face.

Every ounce of bratty energy in you rallies to make your case, to somehow earn back the lasagna you’ve waited for. And you swear, from the way his shoulders shake, that he’s one second from cracking up, even if he’ll never admit it.

You start with the tried-and-true techniques, laying it on thick with a pout that would break any heart softer than Bakugou’s. He’s still ignoring you, now scrolling through comments about your press conference antics on his phone, his lip twitching as he takes in the spectacle you’d made of yourself.

“Kaaaaatttsukiiiii,” you draw out his name in a long, syrupy whine, leaning against the couch in a way that has you looking small and weary. “Look at me—don’t you feel even a little sorry for me?”

One look at you, with your bruised cheek and dark circles, and he does soften for a second, but only a second. His mouth tilts into something of a smirk, his eyes glinting with deadpan amusement. “Nah,” he says, shaking his head. “You dug this hole yourself, Cupcake. Gotta learn somehow, right?”

“Learn?” you gasp, clutching your heart dramatically. “I saved a whole block of people! And all I wanted was some lasagna.”

He only raises an eyebrow, nodding at the TV where a rerun of the press conference plays. “Maybe if ya kept that pretty mouth shut, you’d be eating it by now.”

You press your lips together and shoot him a glare.

Fine. Time to step up your game.

You drag yourself into the living room and flop onto the couch, sighing loudly enough for him to hear. Then, even louder, you moan, “Can’t believe I’m starving in my own home.”

Still nothing. He doesn’t even look up from his phone. What a meanie. So, you ramp up the theatrics, muttering all kinds of melodramatic things under your breath, but every attempt only earns you a muttered, “Yer not starvin’, drama queen. Eat some leftovers or somethin'.”

With a scoff, you sink back onto the couch, dramatically placing your hand over your face as if you might pass out any second. “Fine, then! I guess this is how it ends... Left to waste away, bruised and abandoned. And hungry.”

Bakugou snorts, completely unmoved. “You’re such a pain,” he mutters, shaking his head. But he’s only encouraged by the little grin he’s barely hiding, scrolling through the comments online with a wicked kind of enjoyment.

You’re about to give up—but not just yet. So, you put on your best big, teary eyes and head over to his side of the couch, tugging on the sleeve of his shirt. “'Suki, please,” you say in a soft, pitiful voice. “Do you really want me to suffer after the day I’ve had?”

Without even looking down at you, he flicks your hand off, murmuring, “Don’t pull that pitiful act on me. Told ya, I’m not makin’ you shit.”

A few agonizing minutes pass, with him still ignoring your efforts as he scrolls on his phone like what he's watching is just the best thing in the world. Finally, with all your usual tactics exhausted, you pull out your last resort—the one card guaranteed to make him surrender his holdout. You hated (not really) to pull out the trump card when things didn't go in your favor, but hey. Desperate times call for desperate measures.

Behold: The Mitsuki card.

A smirk plays on your lips as you grab your phone and sneak into the bedroom. Bakugou doesn’t even notice you’re gone, too busy scrolling through comments, probably snickering at people analyzing every part of your outburst.

You dial the number, and Mitsuki picks up on the second ring, her voice bright and full of concern. “Hey, sweetheart! You alright? I saw that press video today—those reporters looked like they’d been scolded by the damn principal!”

You sigh dramatically, just enough to paint the picture. “Oh, I’m fine… just a little sore, really. Sorry you had to see that. I took some hits, had a rough day. And now…” You add a slight quiver to your voice, “… now I’m barely getting by, Mitsuki ma'am. Katsuki refuses to feed me after everything I went through today. Said I don’t deserve it. He promised me too. It's okay though..I'll just have some leftovers. I wanted to just talk to someone who's on my side.”

There’s a deadly silence on the other end of the line, and you can practically feel Mitsuki’s rage building. “Wait, wait. He refuses to feed you?!” Her voice spikes with indignation. “That little brat. You tell him if he doesn’t get his act together, I’m coming over there right now! And of course, I'm on your side! Hell, I would've done exactly the same!”

“Thank you and, believe me, I’ve tried.” You sigh, putting every ounce of your frustration into it. “All I wanted was some lasagna, but he’s acting like I committed some crime.”

“Well, he won’t be actin’ smug when I’m done with him.” Mitsuki’s tone is so sharp, you almost feel bad for him. Almost. “You just hang tight, sweetheart. I’ll take care of it.”

You thank her sweetly, ending the call and walking back to the living room with a triumphant smile, watching as Bakugou continues to chuckle at his phone. He raises an eyebrow as you sit down, looking suspicious. “What’re you so happy about?”

“Oh, nothing,” you reply, a little too casually.

He gives you a long, side-eyed glance before turning back to his phone, mumbling something under his breath. He’s still grinning like a smug cat as he reads through more comments, clearly reveling in the mayhem you’ve caused. The seconds tick by, and you’re waiting, barely containing the anticipation.

Then—buzz buzz buzz. His phone starts ringing. His dumb grin drops at it, sees “Ma🤦🏼‍♂️” flashing on the screen, and he mutters something unintelligible. He lets it ring a few times, thinking she’ll give up, but Bakugou Mitsuki is nothing if not persistent.

Ring… ring… ring.

Finally, with a huff of exasperation, he answers. “What, old hag?”

“What?! That’s how you answer your mother? Especially after starvin’ that poor girl who’s had a rough day?” Mitsuki’s voice is so loud, you’re sure even the neighbors can hear it. Bakugou pulls the phone back from his ear, wincing, and you’re fighting every instinct not to burst out laughing.

“Ma, she’s fine—”

“Fine?! Fine, is she?!” Mitsuki snaps. “I saw that press video on the news! The girl’s out there practically bleedin’ her guts out, and you won’t even give her a plate of lasagna? You selfish little punk!”

Bakugou groans, rubbing a hand over his face. “Ma, she doesn’t need—”

“Listen here, Katsuki. You’re gonna give that girl a big ol’ plate of lasagna, and you’re gonna get her some damn ice cream to go with it, too, or so help me, I’ll come over there and make it for her myself!”

He tries to stammer a response, but she’s already launched into another tirade, laying it on thick about the importance of compassion, especially to those who put their lives on the line for others. By the end, his face is a mix of annoyance and exhaustion.

Finally, she hangs up, and Bakugou stands there, completely defeated. “You just had to go and pull in the old hag, huh?”

You give him the sweetest, most innocent smile you can muster. “All I wanted was dinner, 'Suki.”

With a begrudging sigh and glare, he stomps over to the fridge, grabs the ice cream, and scoops a heaping bowl.

Bakugou thuds the bowl of ice cream down in front of you. “Here,” he says, and his tone drips with irritation. “Happy now?”

You flash him a saccharine smile, knowing he’s gritting his teeth behind that scowl. “Getting there,” you say, taking a huge spoonful of ice cream. You savor it slowly, letting him watch as you relish every bite. "This will help me stay alive while I wait on that lasagna you’re finally making.”

Rolling his eyes, he mutters something about “goddamn brats” and stomps back to the counter to get started on the lasagna from scratch. He’s measuring ingredients with an irritated efficiency, muttering curses as he moves between the stove and the counter, clearly making a point to be loud with every spoon clang and pan scrape. You can’t help but smirk, lounging at the table with your ice cream while he seethes his way through the prep.

“Y’know, you could just admit you’re glad to make me dinner,” you tease, trailing a finger around the rim of your ice cream bowl.

“Shut up,” he growls, not even looking at you. “Only doin’ this ‘cause you’re about two seconds from callin’ my mom back.”

You laugh, knowing you’ve won. He knows it, too, and you can tell by the way his jaw tightens. But he’s still at it, chopping, stirring, and layering with perfect precision. He even throws in extra herbs like he’s really trying to impress you—or maybe it’s just his stubborn pride refusing to serve you anything less than perfect, even if he’s fuming the whole time.

When the lasagna finally slides into the oven, he gives you a long, exasperated look, as if you’re personally responsible for the next forty minutes he’ll spend waiting for it to cook. Because you were. Meanwhile, you’re content, scraping the last of the ice cream and smiling as sweetly as possible.

“Looks like you’re the real MVP tonight, 'Suki,” you say with a grin, earning a deadpan glare as he slouches in the couch besides you, crossing his arms.

“Yeah, yeah. Don’t get used to it,” he mutters, but he’s got a reluctant smirk, that little glint in his eyes betraying him.

As you savor the victory lasagna, taking big, dramatic bites and humming with exaggerated satisfaction, Bakugou watches you with a mixture of grumpy defeat and faint amusement. You’re absolutely eating it up—literally and figuratively—relishing how the whole thing turned out exactly the way you wanted. You even add a contented sigh, just to drive the point home.

“Happy now?” he mumbles, feigning irritation as he leans back in the couch.

“Completely,” you reply, all too pleased. “Though... later I might need a few cuddles to really recover from today.”

He gives you a look that could curdle milk. “Okay, now you’re pushin’ it.”

But you just grin, because you know damn well you’ll probably get your way. After all, you got ice cream, lasagna, and a little victory over Bakugou and his mom tonight. Cuddles? That’s just a matter of time.

All in a day’s work.

[theloveinc]

Whenever Mitsuki gets on Bakugo about doing more to discipline his kids, he pulls whichever one of them has been naughty into his parents office or bedroom and slaps his palms to pretend he's spanking them while they root around and mess up their desks

[gemgdynamight0]

A pro hero uncle kudo would have fixed him😭

In a serious note, I think one factor that had a big impact on Katsuki's development in the beginning, was the fact that he went to UA and meet lots of ppl who were equal or stronger than him (both teachers and students) . This humbled him because before that he never were in a place like that so he thought he's the god of the universe. I wonder what would happen if he had a strong pro hero uncle from the start that he looked up to.

His dad didn't do anything about his behavior because he thought it's a phase and it's gonna pass while his mom thought violence is the answer. None of them obviously worked. I think a strong person like the uncle I described could have helped him improve his view exactly like how him, shoto, inasa, and camie did with those kids later when they told them let's fight and were acting impressed by their quirks (the pictures) . Which would be really good for Katsuki since you can see in the first Pic (above) he is challenging his dad and wants to see who is stronger, his dad or himself.

[consideredahazard]

Sweet snake moment 🐍❤️

[spacebunniesmha]

“Mitsuki is abusive!!” shut up

[kingkatsuki]

We always talk about how Bakugou would be on his first date, but do you ever think about Mitsuki’s reaction?

She finds out her son has his first ever date in his late twenties, after years of trying to set him up with random women or pushing him towards dating sites she’d given up hope that he’d even look at another person. So of course she goes into overbearing mother mode.

She’s instantly hounding him about what he’s going to wear, where he’s taking you, what you’re doing. Trying to dress him again as though he’s not aged a day over five. Ignoring Masaru’s pleas to give their son some space, and let him make his own choices. A request that ends with Mitsuki glaring daggers at him as she questions if he really wants grandchildren or whether he’s trying to sabotage their future. Asking when Bakugou is going to introduce you to them, and when he’s inviting you around for dinner— when the first date might not even go well. His nerves swirling around in his tummy as he watches his parents begin to bicker softly about letting him wear what he wants and take you where he had planned.

Bakugou wasn’t even planning to buy you flowers or chocolates, hoping to have a casual first date so you could both see how things went. But now he’s standing outside Musutafu’s main station with a huge bouquet of roses as he waits for your train to come in.

[rain-coat-killer]

At the playground after school.

[bicheetopuff]

So there’s only two canon straight ships (that haven’t either died or crashed and burned) that have showed up more than once in the manga

and both of them are bkdk in different fonts

[ellaphnt]

Tbh I just wanted to draw the all might popsicle

[yah1dka]

okay

i'm back in the fucking building again

so, even loving parents can treat you wrong and be bad. even when it's showed as "funny gig" it still doesn't have to be considered normal. yk, i love my mum and dad with all my heart, they definitely love me and wish only the best for me, but there's still things i'm gonna think about for the rest of my life cause this events greatly negatively impacted my behaviour and world perception.

and when mitsuki hits katsuki for the sake of joke and blames him for the kidnapping, and after that katsuki repeats this same things while crying to midoriya... that isn't right.

like, wonder why he's so determined to deal with everything by himself and his basic way to solve any problems is his fists. yeah, society as all formed katsuki's behaviour by constantly praising him, but mitsuki's personal impact also is very much there. ofc she wouldn't speak about it with aizawa cause neither kats nor mitsuki can easily admit they're wrong, but she's his mother. parents usually affect their kids the most.

notice how mitsuki is saying that everyone was putting katsuki on the pedestal and nothing about what she and masaru were doing with all of this. they definitely couldn't entirely change his world views but that's still somehow strange for me that she didn't take any credit for how katsuki turned out.

like, we all agree that mineta's shit is entirely wrong even when horikoshi doesn't, so why can't we understand that mitsuki's ways of parenting aren't right.

[artsycooky13]

top 3 fave bbys in the burrito show (bonus SUPER LONG tags on how i feel bout the characters)

[haztory]

sorry for being absent literally always, but i had to get this out of my drafts.

goddess!reader x mortal!bakugou; warnings: blood, mentions of sex, murder, unhappy relationships, unhinged reader and bakugou (tiny bit), not beta’d

(w.c. 2.1k)

Rapacious, your father would call you were he to see you now. Salacious, acting in behavior once thought deterred; The kind that he meant to have stamped out of you in an effort to cultivate you into the pious cog in of his senseless grandeur. His promise of destiny. 

Your father’s lips would be turned in that virtuous frown, eyes narrowed as he sat from his throne in the great pantheon of Gods. Validated by their fealty. The model figure that is woefully negligent as he speaks of the sanctity of commandments that have seen his betrayal one too many times before. Sanctimonious in his rectitude, righteous in his hypocrisy, your father is.

He meant to cage you, raging at your freedom and its significance—angry that you were wild, changing the tides of human wars with the gentlest of smiles and lulling whispers; Rampaging that fellow Gods, his own brothers, were victim to the whims of your games with the mortals; Furious that the power you wielded began to rival that of his own; Murderous that you were too much like him: untamed, greedy, victorious and still, adored. 

You have never known his anger to be long-lasting, especially not in a manner of great meaning when you could falsely promise your way out of it. Batting eyelashes in truce—but, this is beyond punishment for the defiance of a rule. He means to break you. 

A husband. 

One bound to you without your consultation, much less knowledge. Promised in hand and divinity to be half of a whole to this pitiful excuse of God. 

There was hardly an expectation of satisfaction within the marriage on a good day, much less pleasure in the ways that physically mattered; Could such a thing ever truly be expected from a man who only knew how to hammer metal? Up, down, up, down until the glowing steel was forged.

Your husband is a man of great fortitude, who knows and will only know that of the fire he works with. The flames reflected in the dullness of his irises being the only exciting thing about him. He is monotonous within his construction. Routined and boring. 

How could there ever be the expectation of fidelity from you, the Goddess of Love? 

How could you be shackled to the bedside of a man who has never known the strength of the sea from which you are born? How can you love a man who does not know the impact of the tide and draws no desire from its power? How can you be with a man who does not know and adore you as you are? For a millenia, nonetheless! 

You've come to know of this arrangement as a curse; A woeful attempt to tame you from the wild and lustful by forcing you to make acquaintance with the bland and boring. Binding you to the shore, never to make acquaintance with the push and pull of the forceful nature. 

Credit must be paid your way. You had tried. In the depths of shame and sorrow, you tried to do as your brothers and sisters and settle. Gave in and let yourself  believe that love and happiness could be found within routine, eventually. It is your novelty, after all. And yet, it still finds you. This yearning for more, the urge to love and be loved. Your nature still rises from the swaying tide and dares to edge the coast. 

Your father would not approve were he to see you now, watching from your high plane in the heavens to the happenings of the mortal world. Surely, your husband would violently disapprove too, convinced that he has you loyal. 

You shouldn’t fixate; Had promised in low lights and empty words in your husband’s grimy embrace that you have seen the errors of your ways; That you have and will change. For his sake. But he does not know what happens when he is away in his cave of brimstone. 

Your attention is caught. And the object of your fascination is a marvel.

Sculpted from clay himself, you have half a mind to believe that one of your siblings has had a part in his creation. Broad and muscular, sharp and angular in all the places that deem him a man. This mortal has caught your eye since his ascension from boy to man. He is a village soldier. Fiercely protective and eager for a fight, and yet always looking to the heavens. As though there was something there waiting for him, beckoning him closer. You suppose he isn’t wrong, as you peer down to him just as he looks up. 

There have been whispers of his fate amongst the crowds since he was a boy, certainty issued in his great destiny.  No one is more sure of it than he. 

Which may be what finds him in your temple. 

Sanctuaries have never known themselves to be exclusive, but you must admit that it is certainly strange to have a man of his designation pray to the Goddess of Love. Surely he must have found some alignment more towards that of your stoic sister, emboldened by the desire for courage and brawn. And yet he is here, treading the halls in the stillness of night and giving small offerings to each of your priestesses and holding one large offering basket for your statue.

He stands beneath the colonnade, staring pensively at the intricate designs of your image on marble. He speaks only when the room has been cleared, the priestesses giving him the space to pray in solace.

“I hear you.” His timbre is gruff yet smooth. Commanding as it echoes. “You are calling to me.”

You remain still, almost taken aback at his forwardness. The waves of temptation creep at your feet. 

“I intend to find you, whether you show yourself or not.” He speaks again. He looks up, and although you know it improbable, you swear eyes of vermillion have pinpointed your location in the sky. And so, it comes crashing.

It has been so long since you have last appeared before a mortal, and appearing before him transcends all relatability. To see the fixation, your desire, and to have him see you. If he is surprised by your arrival, he doesn’t show it. Eyes strong in their stoic gaze, lips almost curled in a sneer. One would think you were his enemy, but you know such a charge to be false. It’s a charge of electricity, the cooling nighttime air suddenly warming at the meeting of your gaze. 

He is no enemy to you, and you are certainly no stranger to him.

“No one has ever commanded me so directly. How did you know?” You ask. of genuine curiosity.

“I dream of you.” He says the answer so plainly, as though it were a common occurrence. You can’t help but raise a brow. 

“Oh?” 

“I have for years. It was only a matter of time before you showed yourself.”

The chains forged by your husband suddenly feel the lightest that they have ever felt. Metal rattling against each other, pushing and pulling as something brews within you. You wonder what this mortal thinks of you. If he finds you as beautiful as you find him; If the power within him is as strong as you think it is. 

If he is strong enough to cut through steel.

“And what did you dream of?” You ask, taking a step forward. Feeling elation fill you like the swirling breeze as his eyes quickly watch you step forward.

“Tch. Like you don’t know.” His jaw flexes and with it comes the bloom of a subtle blush on his cheeks. “Didn’t you plant the damn things?” 

No, you didn’t. You could certainly look to see what it is he dreamed of, but this is more fun. Finally, finally, you feel the remnants of yourself pulse alive. 

“Have you come to give me a greater purpose?” He asks quickly, in diversion. You let him, too satisfied with the newfound freedom to care much about his attempt at modesty. 

You step closer to him, watching as his eyes cascade down the sheer chiton adorning your body. “Is that what I did in your dreams? Fill you with purpose?”

You find yourself almost chest to chest with him, his eyes never leaving yours, “Or did you fill me?”

You laugh when his eyes widen, turning to take a chocolate from the offering basket held still in his hands and plopping it into your mouth. Marveling at its taste, deciding that it must be homemade.  “Is that what you are in search for? A greater purpose? How about a culinary artist? Your skills are impeccable.”

He doesn’t laugh. “I am destined for more.” 

He knows he is. You know he is. Have not eyed him for so long to have not known. He stands firm before you, a soldier waiting for instruction. In any other instance you would rebuke such a stand, revolt at the rigid and serious, and yet with him—

Well, in devotion to you, who can fault you for testing its limits? Especially when there is something that has sat within you, waiting for the opportune moment. 

You meet his gaze, deciding to no longer tease. “How much more?”

“Anything you will give me.” He quickly responds. 

“And this destiny you seek, do you do it for pride or service?”

“I am your loyal follower and patron, Goddess Divine. What I do is for you.”

“A man like you, patron to me. How lucky am I?” You smile, but it is quickly assumed by the sneaking tendrils of your dark desire. Your voice stills, “The task I have for you is very arduous. Unyielding, difficult, and not aimed for the weak. Destiny setting, to be sure.”

The man seems to preen at those words, a smile finally finding its way to his face. It curls, dangerously, hungrily. “Name it.”

“Once it is spoken, it cannot be undone.” You warn.

“The task is mine alone.” He insists.

You find yourself before him again, and he leans in to listen closely. You can sense the fight in him, smell his musk. The promised freedom teeters on the edge of your words. 

“...kill Hephaestus. Free me from the shackles of my constricting punishment.”

He doesn’t blink, doesn’t balk, doesn’t shy away from the treasonous words. He does as you have seen him do and stands firm, almost vibrates with his desire to act. 

You can almost feel the brush of the sea on your skin again. 

“And my reward?” He asks, confidently.

“Is my eternal patronage and favor not enough?” You laugh, eased in his presence rather than tight at the admittance of your evil. Circling around him, you drag your finger across the broadness of his bare and unmarred shoulders. You wonder if the purity of his skin is a reflection of his valiance. Wonder if your desires are steered correctly, that he is the one to have the strength to carry him to victory. 

He glances to you over his shoulder, “Surely, the Goddess has more in plan for the man set to kill her husband than bragging rights?”

Curiosity clouded with the tendrils of lust at the man who holds your fate in his hands, you place your chin on his shoulder, meeting his vermillion gaze as your nose scarcely brushes the smooth expanse of his sculptured chin. Intimacy with a man who isn’t your husband, intimacy that is natural and wanted rather than forced.

“Cheeky.” You murmur, and his grin widens. A veil of clouded air blurs his vision before you reappear in front of him, your weight placed onto him as you wrap your arms around his neck. 

“Bring me the head of my oppressor,” You begin, said so airily it could be mistaken as a light conversation rather than a plot for murder, “And I will make you a God in his place. Meant to enact your own destiny, made to rule beside me.”

You lean your forehead closer, meeting him as your noses brush in meeting. Tracing one another, you whisper, “Can you do it?”

Without hesitation, he breathes into you. “I am yours, Goddess Divine.”

“And your name, O Great Warrior?”

“Bakugou.” A storm brews mightily in his irises and you can taste the salt of the spray, feel the ocean beckoning you home. 

Your release from the cage is so close to the touch, the hilt of the sword dealing the victory blow to your freedom held by him. 

You smile, wide, and true, and lustful for blood. “A fitting name for a God.” 

It comes as no great surprise when the mortal appears at your temple a few weeks later. He is limping through marbled halls and dripping with blood, the key to your cage held in his hands. Your husband's severed head held by his bloodied and mangled fingers, a wicked smile on his face as he beckons you down from the heavens. You find yourself once again, marveling.

And finally, in love.

[millidew]

like mother like son (can't help but brag)