The Akatani household was a fortress of routine, its walls steeped in the mundane rhythm of suburban life. But tonight, in the quiet hum of a late summer evening, chaos brewed behind the closed door of Mikumo Akatani’s bedroom. The air was thick with the scent of lavender body wash, steam still curling lazily from the bathroom door left ajar. Mikumo, fresh from a scalding shower, stood in the center of her room, a towel barely clinging to her damp curves, her dark hair plastered to her shoulders like ink spilled over porcelain.
A piercing shriek had just ripped through the house, sharp enough to rattle the framed photos on the hallway wall. The door handle jiggled violently, followed by a familiar, no-nonsense voice.
“Mikumo! What in the world was that? Are you alright?” Inko Akatani’s tone was a mix of concern and exasperation, the kind only a mother who’d raised a whirlwind of a daughter could muster.
Mikumo’s heart jackhammered in her chest as she lunged for the door, pressing her weight against it just in time. “I’m fine, Mom! Just—uh—just saw a huge bug! Freaked me out, that’s all!” Her voice was a pitch too high, betraying the lie, but she forced a laugh. “I’ve got it under control. Promise!”
There was a pause, heavy with suspicion, before Inko sighed through the wood. “A bug, huh? If I hear another scream, I’m coming in there with a can of raid and no mercy. You hear me?”
“Loud and clear, General Akatani!” Mikumo quipped, her grin tight as she listened to her mother’s retreating footsteps. Only when the sound faded did she exhale, slumping against the door—until a low, gravelly chuckle snapped her back to reality.
“General Akatani, huh? Didn’t know you were such a kiss-ass,” came the taunt from behind her.
Mikumo whirled around, her towel slipping an inch as she glared daggers at the source of her earlier shriek. There, perched on her windowsill like some delinquent cat, was Katsuki “Kacchan” Bakugo. His spiky blonde hair was a mess, his trademark scowl softened by the smear of whipped cream—yes, whipped cream—streaking across his cheek. He looked like he’d lost a fight with a dessert cart, and yet, he had the audacity to smirk at her.
“You absolute idiot!” Mikumo hissed, storming toward him with all the fury of a woman scorned. Her bare feet slapped against the hardwood, water droplets trailing in her wake. “What the hell are you doing sneaking in here? Do you have a death wish, or are you just that stupid?”
Bakugo didn’t flinch, his crimson eyes raking over her with a boldness that made her skin prickle. “What, no ‘welcome home, Kacchan’? I’m hurt, Deku.” His voice dripped with mockery as he swung his legs over the sill, fully entering her room like he owned the damn place. “Besides, I didn’t sneak. Your window was practically begging for me to climb in. You should lock it if you’re gonna parade around like that.”
Mikumo’s face flamed as she clutched her towel tighter, suddenly hyper-aware of how little it covered. “Parade around? I just got out of the shower, you perv! And don’t call me Deku. I’m not some helpless kid anymore.” She jutted her chin out, stepping closer to him, her emerald eyes flashing with defiance. “And what’s with the cream on your face? Lose a fight with a bakery?”
Bakugo’s smirk faltered for half a second before he wiped at his cheek, only smearing it further. “Tch. Got ambushed by some dumbass at the diner. Not my fault they can’t handle a little explosion.” He leaned in, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial growl. “But let’s talk about you, huh? Still rockin’ those polka-dot panties? Real mature, Deku.”
Mikumo’s jaw dropped, mortification and rage warring for dominance. She glanced down instinctively, realizing with horror that the edge of her childish underwear—hidden beneath the towel—was just barely peeking out. “You—! How dare you!” she sputtered, her hand shooting out to cover his mouth before he could say another word. Her palm pressed against his lips, warm and surprisingly soft, and for a fleeting moment, she felt the heat of his breath against her skin.
Bakugo froze, his eyes widening a fraction as he stared at her. The room seemed to shrink, the air between them crackling with something unspoken, something dangerous. Mikumo’s heart thudded so loudly she was sure he could hear it, but she didn’t pull away. Not yet. Instead, she leaned in closer, her voice a low, commanding whisper. “You’re gonna keep your mouth shut about this, Kacchan. Or I swear, I’ll make you regret ever climbing through that window.”
His gaze flickered, a storm of emotions brewing behind those crimson depths. Slowly, deliberately, he reached up and pulled her hand away from his mouth, his calloused fingers lingering on her wrist. “Big talk for someone who’s still half-naked and shaking like a leaf,” he shot back, but his voice was quieter now, rough around the edges. “You think you’re tough, huh? Prove it.”
Mikumo bristled, yanking her hand back as if burned, but she didn’t step away. “Oh, I will. Just wait and see. I’m not the little crybaby you used to push around. I’m gonna be someone you can’t ignore, Kacchan. Someone you’ll—” She cut herself off, biting her lip as if she’d said too much.
Bakugo tilted his head, studying her with an intensity that made her squirm. Then, unexpectedly, he reached out, his rough fingers brushing through the damp strands of her hair, tucking a lock behind her ear. The gesture was so gentle, so unlike him, that Mikumo’s breath caught in her throat.
“I’ll wait,” he murmured, his voice a low rumble that sent a shiver down her spine. “But don’t take too damn long, Deku. I’m not a patient guy.”
For a moment, they just stood there, the tension between them a live wire, buzzing with heat and unspoken promises. Mikumo’s lips parted, a retort on the tip of her tongue, but before she could fire back, Bakugo stepped back toward the window, his smirk returning full force.
“Better cover up before your mom comes back with that raid can,” he teased, nodding at her towel. “Wouldn’t wanna explain this to the General.”
“Get out!” Mikumo snapped, grabbing a pillow and hurling it at him. He dodged with a laugh, already halfway out the window, but not before shooting her one last, lingering look—a look that promised this was far from over.
As the window clicked shut behind him, Mikumo sank onto her bed, her heart still racing, her skin still tingling where his fingers had grazed her. She clutched the towel tighter, a mix of irritation and something hotter, something forbidden, simmering in her chest.
“Damn you, Kacchan,” she muttered under her breath, a reluctant smirk tugging at her lips. “This isn’t over.”
And deep down, she knew it was only the beginning.
Want to know how it ends?
This is just the opening chapter. Continue the saga — or write a steamy tale starring you.