selfish | bakugo x reader

Epilogue

Bakugo hit the rooftop hard, boots skidding over gravel as the villain stumbled from the billboard below. His gauntlet hissed, smoke curling off the metal. "You call that a run? DIE!"

The blast cut the alley in half and sent the bastard cartwheeling into a wall. He landed in the wreckage a second later, chest heaving, red eyes already scanning for the next threat. His comm crackled.

"End of the block is clear," Kirishima said. Bakugo could hear the happy grin that plagued his friend's face every single day. "Civilians are moving."

"Tch. Obviously."

He turned, expecting the usual cleanup, the usual noise, the usual city.

Instead, he caught sight of a small line of children outside the fenced playground across the street, tiny backpacks, bright hats, one teacher kneeling to tie a shoelace.

Y/N.

Not a healer in a hospital bed. Not a trapped kid in a syndicate house. A kindergarten teacher, hair tied back, sunlight on her face, surrounded by kids who looked at her like she was the safest thing in the world.

Bakugo's scowl shifted into something far less dangerous and far more dangerous to his pride.

"Tch of course you're tying shoelaces now," he muttered, wiping soot from his jaw with the back of his hand. Then, into the comm, he muttered, "I'm taking five. Don't get yourselves killed."

Without waiting for anyone to argue, he shoved through the fence gate and crossed the street toward her. The kids spotted him first and went wide-eyed at the pro hero in full costume.

Bakugo stopped just short of the playground, gaze locked on her. "Y/N."

"Dynamight!" The kid gasped as soon as Bakugo stepped closer. He was vibrating from energy so Y/N let the kid go, she was hoping she could do a double knot on his shoe.

Her kindergarteners approached Katsuki, all trying to get his attention but his eyes were on her.

As they always were.

"Hey you." She greeted him as she smoothed out her blouse. Hanging around her neck was a memorial pendant, she touched it unconsciously. "Are you on patrol right now?" She asked, which judging by his hero costume, he must be.

"Yeah, I'm on patrol," he grunted. He looked down as a small child literally bounced off his reinforced shin guard. "Oi, watch the gear, kid. You'll dent your head."

He stood there, the fiercest pro hero in the top charts acting as a temporary guard for a group of five-year-olds.

He looked back at Y/N, his gaze softening in that way that only ever happened when the world wasn't looking.

"The hell are you wearing?" he muttered, reaching out to flick a stray sticker, a sparkly sun, off her shoulder that one of the kids must have planted there. "You look like a damn craft project."

It had been ten years, and yet every time he saw her like this, unburdened, healthy, and choosing her own path, it hit him harder than a physical blow.

"Parents are late for pick up again," he rolled his eyes, crossing his arms over his chest. This happened a lot. "I'll wait until the last brat is gone. I don't like the look of that alleyway across the street. Too many shadows."

He glanced at her, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. "Then you're coming with me. I found a place that does that spicy ramen you like. And no, you're not paying. I'm the one with the hero salary, remember?"

"Mmmm, sounds good." Y/N nodded as she looked at her wrist watch. Before she helped the kids with their jackets and bags, she looked back at him, "Hey Katsuki? Maybe after we'll have ice cream?"

"Tch. Whatever," he grumbled, "Ice cream in November. You're still as weird as the day I met you."

He turned his back to her, but stayed firmly planted at the gate. He felt the kids staring at him, whispering about how cool Dynamight was, but his focus was entirely on the sound of Y/N laughter behind him as she herded the last of the "brats."

He watched a parent pull up, his eyes instantly scanning the driver, the car, and the surrounding rooftops out of habit. Ten years later, and the instinct to shield her hadn't faded, it had just evolved. He wasn't protecting a victim anymore; he was protecting his life.

"Hurry up, Y/N," he called out, his smirk returning, sharp and confident. "The shop closes at eight, and I'm not waiting in line behind some extras."

She rolled her eyes at him.

Ten years. Y/N has finally learned to roll her eyes at him. Bakugo often blamed himself for the sassy attitude, the snarky commentary, and the facial expressions she has.

But then again, he was the one who taught her all these. He had been adamant and now, she's using it to annoy him.

When finally, Y/N waved the last parent off, she turned to him. "I'm ready to go." She reached out a hand to their five year old, who finally came back from the bathroom. "Come on Ichiro."

Bakugo stared down at the small boy, Ichiro, who was currently latched onto Y/N's hand. The kid had the same messy, gravity-defying hair and a look of stubborn determination that was a mirror image of the man standing in the hero suit.

"Tch. About damn time, brat," Bakugo grumbled, though his hand moved instinctively to the back of the boy’s head, ruffling the spiky locks with a gruffness that masked a decade of softened edges.

He looked at Y/N, his red eyes narrowing. "He spent ten minutes in there? What was he doing, building a bomb? He's definitely yours." Bakugo picked up their kid with a one armed swoop.

He reached out, his large, calloused hand enveloping her free one, pulling her close as they stepped out onto the sidewalk. The contrast was striking, the explosive, battle-hardened hero and the woman who had traded healing quirks for storybooks, but the way their fingers intertwined was seamless.

"Ice cream first," Ichiro demanded, looking at Bakugo with a challenge in his eyes.

"Don't push your luck, mini-me," Bakugo barked, though he was already steering them toward the shop. He glanced at Ayumi, his expression settling into a rare, quiet peace. "Fine. Ice cream first. But if he gets it on my gear, you're the one scrubbing it, Y/N."

"You wish." She rolled her eyes again. Her favorite.

Ten years ago, he’d promised she would be empty of pain. Looking at her now, walking through the sunset with their son, he knew he’d finally filled that space with something worth fighting for.