The car ride was quiet.
Bakugo drove. She sat in the passenger seat. Hands in her lap. Watching the city give way to residential neighbourhoods.
Nicer neighbourhoods. The kind with actual houses instead of apartment complexes. Trees lining the streets. Parks.
"Your parents still live in your childhood home?" she asked.
"Just my mom. Dad travels for work. Fashion design. He's in Milan right now."
"Oh."
More silence.
She looked at him.
His jaw was tight. Hands steady on the wheel. But something in his posture was—
Tense.
Different from his usual operational tension.
This was personal tension.
"Are you—" She stopped. "Are you nervous?"
"No."
"You look nervous."
"I'm not nervous."
"Your jaw is doing the thing."
He glanced at her. "What thing."
"The tight thing. When you're stressed."
"I'm not stressed."
"Okay."
Another block.
"She's going to embarrass me," he said.
"What?"
"My mother. She's going to—" He exhaled hard. "She's loud. And she doesn't have a filter. And she's going to say things to embarrass me because that's what she does."
Amaya looked at him.
He was nervous.
Great Explosion Murder God Dynamight was nervous about his mother meeting her.
Something about that was—
Endearing.
Deeply, unfairly endearing.
"I can handle it," she said.
"You don't know what you're walking into."
"I declared marriage intentions to you in front of thirty people. I think I can handle your mom."
He looked at her.
Something in his eyes softened.
Just slightly.
"Fair point."
They pulled up to a house.
Two stories. Traditional style. Neat yard. A car in the driveway that had clearly been modified for performance.
"That your mom's car?" she asked.
"Yeah."
"It's fast."
"She used to race. Semi-professionally. Before she had me."
Amaya filed that information away.
Mitsuki Bakugo: Former racer. Fashion designer husband. Raised the number five hero.
They got out.
Walked to the front door.
Bakugo had a key. Started to use it.
The door opened before he could.
A woman stood there.
Tall. Sharp features. Spiky ash-blonde hair. Red eyes.
She looked exactly like Bakugo.
If Bakugo was a woman in her late forties wearing designer jeans and a casual blouse.
"You're late," she said.
"We're five minutes early—"
"I said three. It's 3:02."
"That's not—"
She hit him.
On the head.
Not hard. Just a smack.
Casual. Affectionate violence.
Bakugo didn't even flinch. Just scowled.
"Stop hitting me."
"Stop being late." Mitsuki turned to Amaya. Her expression transformed immediately. Warm. Delighted. "You must be Amethyst. Come in, come in. Don't stand in the doorway like an idiot."
The last part was directed at Bakugo.
She ushered them inside.
The house was beautiful. Clean. Modern but warm. Photos on the walls. Family photos. Bakugo as a child. Teenager. Various stages of awkward.
Mitsuki led them to the living room.
"Sit. Both of you. I made tea. Katsuki, go get the tea."
"I just got here—"
"And now you're getting tea. Go."
He went.
Like a scolded child.
Amaya sat on the couch.
Mitsuki sat across from her. Leaning forward. Eyes bright.
"So," Mitsuki said. "You're going to marry my son."
Amaya's brain stuttered.
"I—that's—it's more of a long-term goal—"
"I watched the video twelve times."
"Oh god."
"You ruffled his hair."
"I did."
"In public."
"Yes."
Mitsuki grinned.
Wide. Delighted.
"I like you already."
Bakugo returned with a tray. Tea. Cups. He set it down with more force than necessary.
Mitsuki didn't react. Just poured.
"So how long have you been working at his agency?" she asked.
"Two months."
"Two months and you're already declaring marriage. That's bold."
"Mom—"
"I'm asking questions, brat. Be quiet." She handed Amaya a cup. "What's your quirk?"
"Crystal manipulation. Emitter-class with variable density control."
"Useful. Combat?"
"And defense. Rescue applications too."
"Good. Well-rounded." Mitsuki sipped her tea. "What's your ranking?"
"Sixty. As of two days ago."
"Sixty." Mitsuki looked at Bakugo. "She's climbed fast."
"Yeah."
"Because she's good or because you're going easy on her?"
"I don't go easy on anyone."
"True." Mitsuki looked back at Amaya. "So what made you decide you wanted to marry him? Besides the obvious."
Amaya blinked. "The obvious?"
"He's attractive. Successful. Rich now that he's top five. Girls have been throwing themselves at him since high school. What makes you different?"
"Mom—"
"I'm not wrong."
She wasn't wrong.
Amaya knew girls threw themselves at Bakugo. She'd seen it in the fan clubs. The way people talked about him.
She was one of them.
Except—
"I've wanted to marry him since I was fourteen," she said.
The room went silent.
Mitsuki's eyebrows went up.
Bakugo's cup stopped halfway to his mouth.
"What," he said.
Oh no.
Oh no she'd said that out loud.
"I—" Amaya looked at her tea. "The Sports Festival. When you were—when you fought Todoroki in the final match. I was fourteen. Watching on TV. And I just—I decided then."
"You decided at fourteen," Bakugo said slowly.
"Yes."
"You decided at fourteen that you wanted to marry me."
"Yes."
"Based on one fight."
"It was a really good fight."
Mitsuki started laughing.
Full-body laughing.
Slapping her knee.
"Oh my god," she managed between laughs. "Oh my god you've been planning this for nine years?"
"I—it wasn't planning exactly—"
"You were fourteen."
"I was a very determined fourteen."
"You watched one fight and decided marriage."
"It was the screaming. And the winning. And the—" Amaya gestured vaguely. "The intensity."
Bakugo was staring at her.
Actually staring.
His face was doing something complicated.
Shock. Confusion. Something else she couldn't name.
"You've been—" He stopped. Started again. "You've had a poster of me. Haven't you."
She looked at her tea.
Didn't answer.
"Tsukino."
"I'm rank sixty—"
"Do you have a poster of me."
"...Yes."
"How many."
"...Define many."
"Amaya."
"Three. I have three."
"Three."
"One is signed."
"How did you—"
"Fan meet. Two years ago. You were doing a commission-mandated public appearance. I waited in line for four hours."
Mitsuki was crying.
Actually crying from laughing.
"I love her," she said to Bakugo. "I absolutely love her. You're bringing her back."
"Mom—"
"She's been planning this since she was fourteen, Katsuki. Since you were sixteen. Before you were even a professional."
"I didn't—it wasn't a plan—" Amaya tried.
"Sweetie," Mitsuki said. Still grinning. "You had three posters and you waited four hours for a signature. It was a plan."
Fair.
Extremely fair.
Bakugo put his tea down.
Ran both hands through his hair.
"You're—" He looked at her. "You're a fan."
"Was. Am. Kind of." Amaya's face was on fire. "I'm also a professional hero who's worked very hard to get where I am independently of—of that."
"But you've been—"
"Obsessed?" Mitsuki offered helpfully. "Dedicated? Committed?"
"Mom."
"What? I think it's sweet."
"It's not sweet. It's—"
"It's commitment," Mitsuki said firmly. "She decided what she wanted at fourteen and she worked toward it. Got herself into U.A. Became a hero. Climbed the rankings. Joined your agency. And now she's declared it publicly." She looked at Amaya. "That's impressive."
"Thank you?"
"You're welcome." Mitsuki refilled her tea. "So let me ask you something serious."
Oh no.
Here it comes.
"Why now?" Mitsuki asked. "You've wanted this for nine years. You joined his agency two months ago. Why declare it now?"
Amaya thought about it.
Really thought about it.
"Because I couldn't keep pretending," she said honestly. "I was—I was trying to be professional. To keep it contained. To just work and climb and not—not make it weird. But then I saw him with someone and got jealous even though I had no right to. And I slapped him."
"You slapped him?" Mitsuki looked delighted again.
"She was on her period," Bakugo muttered.
"And then I kissed his cheek."
"You what."
"After All Might's funeral. He was—he was grieving. And I just—I kissed his cheek and ran away."
Mitsuki was staring at her.
"And he didn't fire you."
"No."
"And then you declared marriage."
"After ruffling his hair, yes."
"And he brought you here instead of firing you."
"...Yes."
Mitsuki looked at her son.
"Katsuki."
"What."
"You like her."
"I don't—"
"You like her or you would've fired her after the slapping. Or the kissing. Or the hair ruffling. Or the public declaration."
"It's complicated—"
"It's not complicated. You like her."
"Mom—"
"Do you or don't you?"
Silence.
Amaya held her breath.
Bakugo looked at his mother.
Then at Amaya.
His expression was—
She'd never seen that expression.
Open. Raw. Honest.
"Yeah," he said quietly. "I like her."
The world stopped.
Actually stopped.
Amaya's brain went completely blank.
"I tried not to," he continued. "She's rank sixty. I'm top five. She works for me. It's unprofessional. But she—" He looked at her. "You're good at the work. You push yourself. You ask the right questions. You notice things. And you're—"
He stopped.
"Stubborn," he finished. "You're stubborn and insane and you declared you were going to marry me in front of thirty people."
"And you like that," Mitsuki said.
"I don't know what's wrong with me."
"Nothing's wrong with you. You like a girl who's not afraid of you. Who challenges you. Who's been dedicated to you since she was fourteen." Mitsuki stood up. "I'm getting snacks. You two sit here and figure your shit out."
She left.
Into the kitchen.
Leaving them alone.
Amaya stared at Bakugo.
Bakugo stared back.
"You like me," she said.
"Apparently."
"Since when."
"I don't know. Gradually. I kept trying to stop and you kept—" He gestured vaguely. "—doing things."
"Things."
"The storage room. The ramen. The way you look when you're coordinating operations. The—" He stopped. "All of it."
She was going to cry.
She was absolutely going to cry.
"I'm rank sixty," she said.
"I know."
"You're top five."
"I know."
"There's a gap."
"You said you'd close it."
"I will."
"I know."
They looked at each other.
Mitsuki came back with a plate of cookies.
Set them on the table.
Looked at them both.
"Are you two going to sit there staring or are you going to actually talk?"
"Mom—"
"I'm just saying. She's been in love with you for nine years. You apparently like her. The math is simple."
"It's not simple—"
"Why not?"
"Because she works for me—"
"So promote her. Give her to another team."
"—and there's a ranking gap—"
"She's closing it."
"—and the media will have opinions—"
"Fuck the media." Mitsuki looked at Amaya. "You're committed to this?"
"Yes."
"To climbing and getting better and being someone he can't dismiss?"
"Yes."
"And you're going to keep working even when it's hard?"
"Yes."
"Good." Mitsuki looked at Bakugo. "She's committed. What are you?"
"I—"
"Are you going to date her or are you going to be an idiot about it?"
"I can't just—we work together—"
"So transfer her."
"She just got to the agency—"
"Then wait. But tell her you're waiting. Don't leave her hanging." Mitsuki crossed her arms. "I didn't raise you to be a coward."
Bakugo looked at Amaya.
"You're okay with waiting?"
Was she okay with waiting?
She'd waited nine years already.
"How long?" she asked.
"Six months. Maybe less. Until you hit fifty. Then we can—" He stopped. "Then we can see. Officially."
"See."
"Date. Try. Whatever you want to call it."
She stared at him.
Six months.
Not nine years.
Not forever.
Six months.
Until rank fifty.
Until she'd proven she could close the gap.
"Okay," she said.
"Okay?"
"Yeah. Okay."
Mitsuki clapped her hands.
"Wonderful. That's settled. Now eat your cookies and tell me more about this poster situation."
"Mom—"
"I want to know everything. Did you have the calendar too?"
"I—" Amaya looked at Bakugo. "There was a calendar?"
"Limited edition," Mitsuki said. "Two years ago. We got royalties. It was very lucrative."
"Mom—"
"Did you get the calendar?" Mitsuki asked Amaya.
"...Yes."
Bakugo put his face in his hands.
"I'm leaving."
"You're not leaving. Sit there and accept that your future wife was a dedicated fan."
"She's not my—we're not—"
"Six months," Mitsuki said. "And then she's your girlfriend. And knowing her commitment level, she'll probably be your fiancée by next year."
"Mom—"
"Am I wrong?"
She wasn't wrong.
Amaya smiled into her tea.
Small.
Private.
Bakugo saw it.
Made a noise somewhere between a groan and a sigh.
"You're all insane," he said.
"We're committed," Mitsuki corrected. "There's a difference."
She grabbed a cookie.
Handed it to Amaya.
"Welcome to the family, sweetheart. You're going to fit in perfectly."
Amaya took the cookie.
Looked at Bakugo.
He was watching her.
Something in his eyes was—
Soft.
Resigned.
Maybe a little bit fond.
She smiled.
He almost smiled back.
Almost.
And that—
That was enough.
For now.
...
Six months.
She could do six months.
She'd done nine years.
What was six more months?
Nothing.
Six months was nothing.
And then—
And then they'd see.
Officially.
...
She bit into the cookie.
It was good.
Really good.
Everything was good.
She was sitting in Bakugo's childhood home.
His mother liked her.
He'd admitted he liked her.
They had a timeline.
Six months.
Rank fifty.
Then they'd see.
She could work with that.
She could absolutely work with that.
...
Best day off ever.