Chapter 1: The Duchess
Chapter Text
The whispers began as a murmur, a barely audible hum that Izuku could ignore. But over time, the murmurs turned into voices, and the voices into outright gossip.
"Five years, and still no heir."
"Perhaps the duchess is barren."
"The Duke deserves someone more capable."
Seated in the grand hall during a noble gathering, Izuku kept his hands folded on his lap, nails digging into the fabric of his gown. The conversations carried across the opulent chamber, their words sharp despite the genteel manner in which they were spoken. He pretended not to hear, pretended it didn't matter, but the weight of expectations settled on his shoulders like an iron cloak.
He had never once questioned his role as the Duke Bakugo's wife. Although they once shared a genuine love, their relationship has since changed into a political marriage arranged for convenience The marriage had been arranged between noble families, a union forged in duty rather than love. And yet, Izuku had grown to admire his husband. Katsuki Bakugo was a hero, a warrior of unmatched skill who had led their kingdom to countless victories. He was a man respected by all, trusted even by the king himself.
But he was also a man who never spared him more than a few moments of his time after marriage.
Izuku had accepted the lack of affection, had supported Katsuki from the shadows as a proper duchess should. But now, the burden of an heir loomed over him like a storm cloud, and it was no longer just the nobility whispering about it. Even the Duke’s own parents had begun pressing the matter, their disapproving stares piercing through him like daggers.
That night, Izuku made his way to Katsuki’s study, his heart pounding. He knew his husband had just returned from a meeting with the king, and exhaustion would likely weigh on him, but he needed to speak now before his courage wavered.
Standing before the heavy wooden door, he took a deep breath before knocking.
"Come in." Katsuki’s voice was firm, commanding as ever.
Izuku stepped inside, greeted by the sight of his husband seated behind a mountain of parchment. The glow of candlelight cast sharp shadows on his face, making him appear even more formidable than usual.
"What is it?" Katsuki asked without looking up, his attention fixed on a war report.
Izuku hesitated. "I wanted to talk. About… us. About an heir."
Katsuki finally lifted his gaze, golden eyes narrowing slightly. "Not this again."
Izuku swallowed, fingers tightening around the folds of his robe. "People are talking, Katsuki. They think—"
"I don’t care what they think." He cut him off, his tone dismissive. "You know my priorities, Izuku. I have a kingdom to protect. I don’t have time for meaningless gossip."
"But it's not meaningless!" Izuku’s voice trembled despite his best efforts to remain composed. "Your parents… the nobles… even the king. They all expect us to—"
"Tch." Katsuki exhaled sharply, rubbing his temples. "This isn’t the time for this discussion. We have a meeting with the king tomorrow. If you’re so worried about what people say, then act like the duchess you are and ignore them."
Izuku felt his chest tighten, the sting of his husband's words settling deep. "Is that really all I am to you now? A duchess in name? A title to uphold?"
Katsuki’s eyes flickered with something unreadable, but he didn't answer. Instead, he turned back to his reports, effectively dismissing him.
Izuku lingered for a moment longer, hoping for something—anything—that would make him stay. But the silence between them stretched, cold and unyielding.
With a quiet bow, he turned on his heel and left.
And with each step he took away from Katsuki, the weight of his own loneliness became unbearable.
The whispers had turned into demands.
Izuku sat across from the Duke’s parents in the dimly lit parlor, his hands curled into his lap as the Duchess, a formidable woman with piercing eyes, slid a small vial across the table. The liquid inside shimmered under the candlelight, deceptively innocent.
“This,” she said, voice firm, “will help you fulfill your duty as the Duchess.”
Izuku’s throat tightened. “I don’t—”
“You’ve been married to Katsuki for five years.” The Duke’s father cut him off, his deep voice carrying the weight of expectation. “Yet you remain childless. The nobles talk, the king listens, and soon, this family’s name will be questioned. We won’t let that happen.”
Izuku clenched his hands together. He knew his place. He knew his role. And yet, the burden grew heavier each day.
“Your duty is simple,” the Duchess continued, her tone softening just slightly, as if she were offering a kindness instead of a command. “Take it. Let it ease things between you and Katsuki. It will ensure that you both… enjoy each other as a married couple should.”
Izuku hesitated. He and Katsuki had never spoken of intimacy, let alone pursued it. But the pressure clawed at him, the weight of the entire noble society crushing his shoulders. Was he truly so unworthy? If this was the only way he could prove himself—
With a quiet nod, he took the vial and held it tight.
That night, as Katsuki entered their shared chamber, exhausted from yet another war council, Izuku stood by the bedside, fingers trembling. He had mixed the liquid into his own tea, feeling the warmth spread through him, his body awakening in a way it never had before.
When Katsuki approached, however, his sharp gaze flickered with suspicion.
“Izuku?” he murmured, stepping closer. “What’s wrong?”
Izuku reached out, touching Katsuki’s chest, something he had never dared to do so boldly. His face burned. “Kacchan… just for tonight, can we—”
The moment his hands slid up, Katsuki grabbed his wrists—firm, unyielding. His crimson eyes darkened, not with desire, but with fury.
“What the hell did you take?”
Izuku froze. “I—”
Katsuki yanked him back, staring hard at him. “This isn’t you.” His voice was low, dangerously so. “You would never—”
Realization dawned. His grip tightened. “Who gave it to you?”
Izuku swallowed back the lump in his throat, shame washing over him. “It… it doesn’t matter. I just—”
“Doesn’t matter?” Katsuki snarled, his voice sharp like a blade. “You think I’d let anyone turn you into some puppet just because they’re whispering bullshit about an heir?”
Tears burned at the corners of Izuku’s eyes. “I just wanted to be enough for you,” he whispered.
Katsuki flinched, his anger faltering for just a second.
Izuku pulled his hands free, stepping back. “I know I’m unqualified to be your wife. I know people are waiting for me to fail. But I thought… if I could just give you a child, maybe… maybe you’d look at me longer than a few minutes.”
Silence stretched between them, suffocating. Katsuki opened his mouth, but for the first time, he had no immediate retort. No sharp words. No explosive anger.
Just silence.
Izuku turned away, shoulders trembling. “I’m tired, Katsuki.” His voice broke. “So, so tired.”
Then, without another word, he left the room, leaving Katsuki standing in the cold emptiness of their marriage, holding nothing but the weight of what he had just done.
Chapter 2: The King's Event & Resignation
Chapter Text
The grand palace was buzzing with activity, servants rushing to prepare for the evening event. Izuku sat quietly in their shared dressing room, beads scattered across the table before him, his fingers moving mechanically as he worked on a new bracelet. The beads were something he had always gathered—each one a small, colorful token from around the palace. He’d made a habit of it, weaving them into intricate designs while waiting for Katsuki, trying to pass the time in silence. But today, there was a tension in the air, a heavy weight pressing down on his chest.
Izuku knew the king had summoned Katsuki. He knew the event was a formal gathering, a diplomatic one, where alliances would be made and bonds forged. He had heard whispers of a princess from another kingdom attending, a marriage proposal being discussed. It was no secret that the king had longed for Katsuki to take a new bride, someone who could fulfill the role of wife, and, more importantly, provide an heir.
He wasn’t invited.
The Duke was the star of the evening, his strength and fame eclipsing everything else. But the silent implication—that Izuku wasn’t worthy to stand by his husband’s side—was what crushed him. He wasn’t even considered. It wasn’t just the snubs from the nobles or the whispers behind his back; it was the realization that he was losing Katsuki, bit by bit, to something he couldn’t even touch.
Izuku had been patient, had stood by Katsuki’s side in silence. But now, his patience was thinning.
Katsuki walked into the room, sharp, polished, and looking every bit the powerful Duke he was. The glint of his armor caught the light as he descended the stairs, and Izuku’s breath caught in his throat. He looked every inch the man everyone admired, the hero of the kingdom. But it was in that moment, as his husband walked past him without even a glance in his direction, that Izuku felt the true weight of his absence.
Katsuki was going alone.
His heart thudded painfully in his chest. Izuku’s fingers trembled on the beads, the bracelet half-finished. He looked up, eyes meeting Katsuki’s back, and stood up quickly, his movements frantic.
“Wait, Kacchan,” Izuku said, his voice soft but filled with a quiet urgency.
Katsuki paused, his shoulders tensing, but he didn’t turn around. “What is it, Izuku?” His tone was curt, as if distracted.
Izuku felt a lump form in his throat, a frustration he hadn’t realized he was holding back spilling out in a single breath. “You’re going?” he asked, the words falling out before he could stop them. “Even without me?”
He hated how desperate it sounded, how vulnerable. He had been trying so hard to remain the dutiful wife, to accept his role in silence. But the pain of being overlooked, of being left behind once again, made his voice tremble with emotion. He couldn’t hide it anymore.
Katsuki’s back remained to him, his expression unreadable. “It’s not like I have a choice, Izuku. It’s part of my duty. The king is expecting me.”
Izuku bit his lip, trying to hold back the tears that threatened to spill. “But…” His words faltered. “But I’m your wife. Aren’t I supposed to be beside you? Isn’t that what this marriage is about?”
Silence lingered, thick and suffocating. Izuku’s hands dropped to his sides, feeling empty, useless. He had never asked for much. Just to stand beside Katsuki. Just to be noticed. Just to be… enough.
He wanted to shout. He wanted to beg. But instead, he stood there, letting the silence speak for him.
Finally, Katsuki turned to face him, his gaze harsh and unreadable. “It’s about duty.” His voice was sharp, almost accusing.
Duty. The word echoed in Izuku’s mind, a reminder of everything he could never be.
Izuku tried to keep his face composed, but inside, it was crumbling. “I see,” he whispered, turning away from Katsuki. “I understand.”
As Katsuki walked away, leaving Izuku standing alone in the room, the knot in his chest tightened. He didn’t want to feel this way. He didn’t want to feel abandoned, ignored. But as he gazed down at the half-finished bracelet, it became clear: he was no longer just the Duchess. He was someone who had faded into the background of a life that no longer had room for him.
And as the door closed behind Katsuki, Izuku’s heart broke just a little more.
The palace was silent. Hours had passed since Katsuki had left, and Izuku sat alone in their chamber, surrounded by the soft glow of candlelight. His hands worked tirelessly, threading beads onto thin strands, his collection of bracelets growing larger. He had lost count of how many he had made tonight. His fingers moved on their own, finding solace in the small, repetitive motions—something to distract himself from the loneliness creeping in.
But no matter how many bracelets he finished, the ache in his chest didn’t fade.
With a quiet sigh, Izuku stood, brushing his hands over his gown. The weight of the fabric felt heavier than usual, as if pressing him further into the floor. He walked to the balcony, the cold night air embracing him like an old friend.
The sky was endless above him, stars twinkling in a vast, indifferent darkness. Below, the palace gates stood tall, the roads leading out stretching into the distance. His gaze searched desperately for any sign of Katsuki’s return—a flicker of torchlight, the distant sound of horses’ hooves, anything to tell him that his husband was coming home.
But the roads remained empty.
Izuku swallowed hard, tightening his grip on the cold balcony railing.
"Five more minutes," he told himself. "Just five more minutes, and I’ll try again. I’ll face him again."
But the weight of everything—of the whispers, the accusations, the silent rejection—settled heavily in his chest. The nobles said he was unqualified, that he was a disgrace to his title. Even the king no longer saw him as part of Katsuki’s life. And worst of all, Katsuki himself had begun to shut him out, as if Izuku’s presence no longer mattered.
Tears welled up in his eyes, slipping down his cheeks in silent surrender. He had tried so hard to be strong, to be the wife Katsuki deserved. But maybe… maybe he wasn’t meant for this role. Maybe he had been a fool to think love alone was enough to secure his place beside Katsuki.
His trembling fingers wiped at his tears, but they kept falling.
I love him so much.
But I can’t keep fighting for a place in his life if he won’t fight for me.
Izuku turned away from the balcony, his heart finally making a decision he had feared for so long.
In the dim candlelight, he sat at Katsuki’s desk, pulling out a sheet of parchment. His hands shook as he dipped the quill in ink, but his strokes were precise as he wrote the words that would end everything.
A divorce decree.
A release.
A resignation.
When it was done, he stared at the parchment for a long time. His vision blurred from the tears, but he forced himself to sign his name. A final act of surrender.
Taking the document, he clutched it tightly in his hands as he walked through the silent halls of the palace. The night was cold, the stone floors chilling his bare feet as he made his way to the entrance. He didn’t stop. Not when the guards gave him puzzled looks. Not when his breath came out in soft, shaky gasps.
At last, he reached the palace gates.
And there he stood, in the cold night air, the signed document clutched tightly in his trembling fingers.
Waiting.
Even now, even after making the decision to let go, he still waited.
Because some foolish part of him still hoped—hoped that before the night ended, Katsuki would come home and stop him.
But if he didn’t…
Then at least Izuku would know.
That it was truly time to walk away.
Chapter 3: Weight of Expectations
Chapter Text
The first thing Izuku felt was warmth—too much of it. It was suffocating, heavy against his skin, yet his body trembled uncontrollably beneath the thick blankets. His mind was foggy, his breath weak, and when he tried to shift, pain bloomed deep within his bones.
It took a moment to realize he was in bed.
His bed.
The palace ceiling loomed above him, familiar and cold. His throat was dry, and his lips felt cracked from the night air. Vaguely, he could hear the muffled voices of the palace staff moving around him, but everything felt distant.
Then, a voice—sharp, furious, and unmistakable—cut through the haze.
"WHAT THE HELL HAPPENED?!"
The roar echoed through the halls, sending a tremor through the very walls of the palace. Izuku’s fingers curled weakly into the sheets. Even in his fevered state, he knew that voice.
Kacchan.
Footsteps stormed into the room, followed by the hushed, panicked whispers of the attendants.
"Why the hell was he out in the cold for hours?! And why the fuck didn't anyone tell me?!" Katsuki’s voice was a dangerous growl now, demanding, furious.
Silence.
Not a single servant dared to answer him. They all looked away, faces pale with fear.
Cowards.
Katsuki gritted his teeth, his crimson eyes blazing with frustration. He had come back exhausted from the king’s banquet, only to find his wife—his Duchess—unconscious, burning up with fever.
He had never been this angry in his life.
His fists clenched as he turned away from the staff, his rage barely contained. But just as he was about to demand answers again, something on the bedside table caught his attention.
A single parchment, neatly placed, its ink dry yet screaming volumes.
A divorce decree.
Katsuki's breath hitched. His hands trembled as he picked up the paper, scanning the words written in the all-too-familiar, delicate handwriting. His throat tightened, his vision blurring with something dangerously close to disbelief.
"This is a joke."
"This has to be a joke."
A cold, unshakable weight settled in his chest, twisting painfully around his ribs. His grip on the parchment tightened until it crumpled beneath his fingers.
He didn’t hear the quiet stir behind him until a weak, broken voice cut through the silence.
"...Kacchan...?"
Katsuki spun on his heel, his heart lurching as he met Izuku’s half-lidded, feverish eyes. His cheeks were flushed from the heat of his illness, his emerald gaze dull yet still carrying that same gentle depth.
But when Izuku's gaze fell upon the crumpled divorce papers in Katsuki’s hands, something shifted.
Katsuki saw it.
The way Izuku's expression faltered, the way his lips parted slightly—hesitation, guilt, resignation.
And it infuriated him.
"Are you fuckin’ kidding me, Izuku?" His voice was low, dangerously quiet. His grip on the paper tightened. "You wrote this? You signed this?"
Izuku closed his eyes, a slow, tired exhale leaving his lips. "I had to..."
"You had to?!" Katsuki’s voice cracked, his anger barely held back. He took a step closer, glaring down at the man who had dared to think leaving was an option. "You had to what? Run away?!"
Izuku flinched, but his gaze remained unwavering. "Kacchan, I—"
"Shut up!" Katsuki snapped, his chest heaving. "You’re my wife! Do you think some fucking rumors, some stuck-up noble bastards, or some bullshit from my parents can change that?!"
Izuku stared at him, his fevered body trembling, but his voice remained soft. "Then why won’t you fight for me...?"
Katsuki froze.
The anger in his veins turned ice cold.
Izuku swallowed thickly, his lashes damp from unshed tears. "You let them talk, Kacchan. You let them whisper. You let them question me—question us—and you never once said anything." His voice broke, but he didn’t look away. "Even that event, you left without a word... I was nothing more than an afterthought."
Katsuki’s fists clenched, his jaw tightening. "You—"
"You don’t even deny it." Izuku’s voice was barely a whisper now, but the pain in it was sharper than any blade. "You knew what the king was doing. You knew why I wasn’t invited on it."
Silence.
Katsuki couldn’t breathe.
Izuku let out a small, broken laugh, the sound bitter. "So tell me, Kacchan... Am I wrong for wanting to let you go?"
Katsuki’s chest ached, but he refused to back down.
"Shut the fuck up, Izuku," he growled, stepping closer, his hands gripping the sides of the bed as he leaned over him. "You don’t get to decide that. You don’t get to just fucking leave me." His voice dropped to something raw, something vulnerable. "I won’t let you."
Izuku's eyes widened slightly, but before he could say anything, Katsuki turned away, his hands still shaking.
He threw the crumpled divorce papers into the fire.
The flames swallowed them whole.
And as the last ashes crumbled away, Katsuki turned back to Izuku, his eyes burning with something deeper than just anger.
"You’re mine, damn it," he whispered, voice thick. "So don’t you dare leave me behind."
Izuku could only stare, the warmth of the fever and the weight of Katsuki's words crashing over him all at once.
And in that moment, despite everything, he realized—
Maybe he is too blind to see and understand Katsuki anymore unlike before.
The clinking of teacups echoed through the lavish garden, delicate and refined, yet it did nothing to mask the underlying venom in the voices around Izuku.
“I must say, five years is quite some time,” Lady Camilla mused, stirring her tea idly. “And yet, still no heir?”
A soft giggle followed from another noblewoman. “Perhaps His Grace simply prefers to look elsewhere.”
Izuku’s fingers tightened around his porcelain cup, knuckles turning white.
He shouldn’t have come.
He had known the moment he stepped into this gathering that he would be a spectacle—a source of whispered ridicule behind gloved hands and polite smiles.
But to hear it so plainly…
To hear them question his place, his worth—
A gentle hand touched his. “Duchess, you mustn’t mind them,” a softer voice reassured, though even she could not meet his eyes. “They’re merely concerned about the future of the Duchy.”
Concerned?
No.
This was cruelty.
Izuku forced a smile, nodding politely as if he hadn’t heard every daggered word. His heart pounded in his chest, but he swallowed his humiliation down like bitter tea.
When he returned home, the suffocating weight of judgment still clung to him like a curse.
But there was no time to dwell—because waiting for him inside the palace were his in-laws.
Mitsuki and Masaru stood firm in his chambers, an ornate bottle of amber liquid in the Duchess’s hand.
“Izuku.” Mitsuki’s tone left no room for argument. “Drink.”
Izuku’s stomach churned. “What… is that?”
Masaru sighed, looking exhausted. “Something to help with your condition.”
“My condition?” Izuku whispered, ice crawling up his spine.
“You’re not sick,” Mitsuki said sharply. “You just need a little push. You want to give my son an heir, don’t you?”
Izuku stiffened.
The teaparty. The whispers. The judgment.
It had reached even them.
“I…” His throat tightened. “I don’t need this. I will not drink this again.”
But Mitsuki was already stepping closer, eyes cold and unyielding. “You will drink this, Izuku. You’ve failed for years. This is the least you can keep working on.”
Her words struck deeper than any blade.
Years. Failed.
Izuku’s breath hitched as his hands trembled at his sides.
“No…” he whispered, stepping back.
Mitsuki’s eyes darkened. “Izuku.”
“I said no!”
And before they could stop him, he turned and ran.
He barely made it to his chambers before locking the door behind him, pressing his weight against the wood as if the walls could shield him from everything.
His breath came in ragged gasps. His heartbeat pounded like war drums in his skull.
It was too much.
The gossip. The humiliation. The expectations. The failure.
Izuku stumbled toward the vanity, his vision swimming and blurring. His skin felt aflame, heat crawling beneath the surface. He realized—too late—that the drug had already been seeping into his veins, mixed quietly in his tea long before Mitsuki even tried to hand it to him. Whether through touch or breath, he couldn’t tell.
His body throbbed with pain. His instincts screamed in desperate warning.
And still—Kacchan would be coming home soon.
Kacchan, exhausted.
Kacchan, tired of hearing complaints about him.
Kacchan, who had already stopped listening.
Izuku would not show him this.
Desperately, he curled up against the cold floor, his fingers clawing at his own skin as he tried to suppress the unnatural heat curling in his stomach.
He bit his lip hard enough to bleed, but even that pain wasn’t enough to ground him.
The voices in his head wouldn’t stop.
“You’re not fit to be a duchess.”
“A burden.”
“Just step aside.”
The whispers mixed with the drug-induced torment inside him, twisting and squeezing until all he could do was sob.
Izuku curled into himself, his body shaking violently.
And then—
A sharp pain in his stomach.
His body lurched, and he barely made it to the nearest basin before vomiting.
Again.
And again.
He coughed, chest heaving, bile burning the back of his throat. His body felt like it was being torn apart from the inside.
It wouldn’t stop.
It wouldn’t stop.
His vision swam. He clutched his head. His heart was screaming.
It was too loud. It was too much.
And then his hand found something cold in the drawer.
A small, delicate sword.
His breath hitched as he grasped it, fingers tightening around the hilt.
The metal glinted under the dim candlelight, sharp and unforgiving.
Izuku’s entire body trembled as he raised it, the blade barely an inch from his throat.
Would it hurt?
Would it silence the voices?
Would it make it stop?
Tears blurred his vision.
And then—
A memory.
Kacchan.
A young boy, golden in the summer sun, grinning down at him with reckless confidence. “Deku, you’re my mate now, got it?”
It was one of the happiest moments of his life.
His grip loosened.
And for the first time that night—
Izuku let out a sob.
Chapter 4: A Ghost in a Bride’s Body
Chapter Text
Warm light filtered through the sheer curtains, casting golden hues over the lavishly decorated chamber. The air smelled faintly of lilies and fresh linens.
Izuku’s eyes fluttered open, his body feeling strangely light—too light.
Soft murmurs surrounded him. “Ah, she’s waking up,” a voice whispered in excitement.
“She must be nervous. It’s her wedding day, after all,” another chimed in, laced with amusement.
Wedding…?
Izuku’s breath caught in his throat.
As his vision cleared, unfamiliar faces smiled down at him. Women dressed in fine silk and delicate lace stood around the bed, their eyes filled with admiration.
“Congratulations, my lady,” one of them said warmly. “Today, you become the Duchess of Bakugo.”
Izuku’s heartbeat pounded painfully in his chest.
Duchess?
His lips parted, but no words came out.
Something was wrong.
Everything was wrong.
He shot up from the bed, the heavy fabric of an intricate gown shifting around him. The weight was suffocating. The movement caused strands of unfamiliar silver-blonde hair to fall over his shoulders.
He froze.
Slowly, his gaze drifted downward.
Slender hands—soft, unscarred. Delicate fingers adorned with rings he had never worn before.
A body—smaller, thinner, yet undeniably not his own.
A mirror stood across the room, its reflection stealing the last breath from his lungs.
The person staring back at him was not Midoriya Izuku.
It was a woman.
A bride dressed in an elaborate wedding gown.
He barely managed to hold in the gasp clawing up his throat. His hands trembled as they reached up, touching an unfamiliar face, smooth and foreign beneath his fingertips.
This wasn’t real.
This couldn’t be real.
His stomach twisted violently.
“Are you alright, my lady?” one of the attendants asked, stepping closer.
Izuku flinched.
“I—” He choked on his own voice, softer and higher-pitched than he remembered.
His heart was racing. His mind screamed at him to wake up—to escape from whatever cruel illusion this was.
But then the doors creaked open.
A butler bowed respectfully. “The ceremony is about to begin.”
The attendants beamed, clapping their hands together. “It’s time, my lady.”
Izuku barely registered them helping him stand, guiding him toward the grand doors. His legs moved on their own, his breaths coming out uneven and shallow.
His mind reeled with questions, with panic—
And then he saw him.
Bakugo Katsuki.
Standing tall and proud at the center of the grand hall, his golden hair catching the warm glow of the chandeliers above.
Dressed in a regal black and crimson suit, he exuded power and confidence, his usual scowl replaced with an unreadable expression.
His crimson eyes, sharp and piercing, were focused straight ahead—waiting for her.
Waiting for his bride.
Izuku’s breath hitched as he took a step forward.
His body, foreign and unfamiliar, moved toward the man he had loved for years. The man who now stood at the altar, ready to wed someone else.
The weight of it crushed him.
Bakugo wasn’t waiting for him.
He was waiting for her.
The woman Izuku now inhabited.
A stranger.
And in that moment, as he stood frozen at the threshold of a life that was no longer his own—Izuku realized.
He was watching his own husband marry another woman.
And no one even knew he was there.
The grand carriage rocked gently as it traveled along the cobblestone path, carrying the newlyweds away from the extravagant ceremony. The city lights flickered through the window, casting faint golden patterns over Izuku’s borrowed hands—small, pale, unfamiliar.
He couldn’t stop staring at them.
This isn’t mine.
The weight of the wedding gown pressed heavily on his body, the delicate lace feeling like chains binding him to a reality that made no sense. His mind screamed at him to wake up—to snap out of it—but everything was too vivid, too tangible.
Across from him, Bakugo Katsuki sat in silence, his broad frame leaning against the plush seat, arms crossed, gaze turned toward the window. He hadn’t looked at him since they left the ceremony.
Izuku felt his breath hitch.
Déjà vu.
This happened before.
His mind reeled back to the past—his past—when he had first married Bakugo in his own body. Back then, he had hoped for warmth, for even the faintest acknowledgment that they were partners in life.
But the Duke never touched him.
Not on their wedding night. Not the nights after.
Now, in the body of the Princess—the stranger he had become—history repeated itself.
Izuku clenched his trembling hands together, his nails digging into the white silk of his gown.
Kacchan doesn’t love her either.
A strange, bitter relief settled in his chest. He still won’t touch her. Just like he never touched me.
But why?
Izuku swallowed hard.
None of this made sense.
Why was he here? Why was he in her body?
Reaching up, he pressed his fingers to his throat. It felt… whole. Smooth. No signs of the blade that should have ended everything.
But he knew he died.
His memories were sharp—the suffocating agony, the voices of judgment echoing in his mind, the loneliness that had driven him to the edge. The image of Bakugo’s face, the last thing he had clung to before everything went black.
Yet, here he was.
His pulse pounded in his ears. He needed answers.
“Duke,” he whispered, his voice soft, hesitant.
Bakugo’s crimson eyes flicked toward him for the first time that night.
Izuku froze.
There was something unreadable in that gaze. Tiredness, maybe? Or something heavier, something darker?
“Speak,” Bakugo finally said, voice gruff and indifferent.
Izuku hesitated before asking, “How long has it been since… your last marriage?”
A muscle in Bakugo’s jaw twitched. His gaze turned back to the window, as if he didn’t want to answer.
Izuku’s fingers curled against his lap.
Seconds stretched into eternity before Bakugo finally muttered, “Three years.”
Izuku’s breath caught.
Three years.
It took three years before the kingdom demanded another marriage for the Duke.
Three years since Midoriya Izuku was declared dead.
The realization hit him like a crashing wave.
He had been gone for three years.
And now he was back—trapped in the body of another woman, sitting across from the husband who had let him go.
But why?
Why was he here?
Izuku’s hands trembled as he stared at Bakugo’s distant form.
And more importantly…
Why did he still look like he was haunted by a ghost?
Chapter 5: Duchess's Resolve
Chapter Text
Izuku had thought it would be different.
That perhaps, in this new body, Bakugo would at least pretend to acknowledge his wife.
But it was worse.
Much worse.
Bakugo Katsuki, his husband—no, her husband—acted as if he didn’t even have a wife.
It wasn’t just the distance. It wasn’t just the silence.
It was the way he wouldn’t look at him.
Izuku watched from across the dining table as Bakugo ate in quiet indifference. His golden eyes never once flicked toward him—not even out of obligation. The last time they had spoken was in the carriage when Bakugo had begrudgingly admitted it had been three years since his last marriage.
Not once since then had Bakugo even tried to talk to him.
Izuku swallowed. So it’s true.
It wasn’t just him. Bakugo hadn’t ignored him in the past because of who he was.
No.
Bakugo simply didn’t want a wife at all.
The realization stung more than it should have.
But Izuku clenched his hands into fists beneath the table, forcing himself to push the bitterness down.
He wouldn’t let himself break again. Not after everything.
The tea party was far too familiar.
The same garden. The same noblewomen. The same delicate cups clinking against porcelain plates.
Only this time, Izuku wasn’t himself.
He was her now. The new duchess.
He sat quietly, hands folded neatly on his lap as the noblewomen gushed over the wedding, pretending to be delighted with their shallow words.
It was suffocating.
And then, as expected, the conversation took a turn.
“You know, the late duchess was such a delicate thing,” one woman mused, swirling her tea.
Another noblewoman sighed wistfully. “Yes, yes. So meek, though. Hardly fit for a duchess, if we’re being honest.”
Izuku froze.
Meek?
Another scoffed. “Five years of marriage, and not a single heir. Such a shame. No wonder they had to replace him.”
The sound of laughter rippled through the group.
Izuku’s fingers twitched against his lap.
They don’t even know he’s sitting right here.
They continued.
“I heard the Duke barely paid him any attention,” one whispered, as if sharing a scandalous secret. “What kind of spouse doesn’t even earn their husband’s affection?”
Another chuckled behind her fan. “One that wasn’t worthy of it, obviously.”
Izuku exhaled slowly.
In the past, he had endured this.
Sat quietly. Lowered his gaze. Allowed himself to be talked about like he was less.
But not this time.
This time, they weren’t speaking ill of him.
They were speaking ill of the dead.
And Izuku had nothing left to lose.
He reached for his teacup, lifting it delicately as he spoke.
“How interesting,” he mused lightly, letting his voice carry across the table. “To hear so much gossip about the deceased.”
The laughter stilled.
Eyes turned toward him, surprised by the interruption.
Izuku smiled—graceful, poised. But his eyes were sharp.
He placed his cup down gently, fingers barely making a sound against the porcelain.
“I do wonder,” he continued, tilting his head. “Does speaking ill of the dead bring you amusement? Or do you simply enjoy tarnishing the name of someone who can no longer defend themselves?”
Silence.
The women shifted uncomfortably in their seats.
One coughed awkwardly, fidgeting with her spoon.
Izuku took a slow sip of his tea.
“I would suggest,” he said smoothly, “that we focus on the present instead.” His gaze swept over them, unwavering. “After all, we wouldn’t want people to assume we have nothing better to discuss than ghosts of the past.”
No one dared speak after that.
Izuku lowered his teacup, satisfied.
If he was going to be the Duchess again—if he was going to be trapped in this body—then he refused to be the same fragile thing they once mocked.
This time, he would stand his ground.
For himself.
And for the one he left behind.
Izuku had spent the last few weeks keeping himself composed. Pretending. Smiling where necessary. Responding with grace.
It was exhausting.
But if he was to continue living in this borrowed body, then he had to do something more than just exist.
And so, after finishing breakfast, he made his way to the Duke’s study.
He knocked once before stepping inside.
Bakugo barely looked up from his paperwork. “What?”
Izuku exhaled slowly. “May I use the library?”
There was a pause.
Then, without hesitation, Bakugo answered, “Do whatever you want.”
Izuku blinked.
“As long as it doesn’t affect our titles,” Bakugo continued, voice indifferent. “That was part of our agreement.”
Izuku stiffened.
Agreement?
His fingers twitched at his sides.
What agreement?
There had never been such an agreement before—not when he had been the duchess.
Izuku’s mind raced. Had the real Princess Michell made such a deal before he took over her body? Or… had Bakugo himself pushed for it?
The way Bakugo spoke was as if he was reminding her of something she should already know.
But Izuku didn’t know.
Because he wasn’t the original Princess Michell.
He clenched his hands and bowed his head slightly. “I understand.”
Then he left.
The first thing he did was summon the butler.
It wasn’t until the older man arrived that Izuku realized his mistake.
He had called him in the same way he always had before his death.
The butler hesitated only for a second before bowing. “How may I assist you, Your Grace?”
Izuku exhaled, pushing his thoughts aside. “I need assistance with my studies,” he said. “I want to learn about everything I have missed these past three years.”
The butler blinked.
Then, with an unreadable expression, he nodded.
“As you wish.”
Days passed, and Izuku absorbed everything like a sponge.
History. Economics. The affairs of the kingdom.
But that wasn’t enough.
He needed more.
He needed to be stronger.
And so, after ensuring his permission to use the library was granted, he took another step forward.
Swordsmanship.
It was an absurd thought. A princess learning how to fight.
But Izuku was no ordinary princess.
He had been the duchess before.
And this time, he refused to be powerless.
Bakugo wasn’t supposed to return until later in the evening.
But the moment he stepped into the palace courtyard, what he saw made him stop in his tracks.
His wife—Princess Michell—was sparring with the swordsmanship leader.
The strikes weren’t perfect, but they were sharp.
Precise.
And despite only being a few weeks into training, her movements were already becoming refined.
Bakugo narrowed his eyes.
“When did she start?” he asked his secretary.
The man hesitated before answering, “About three weeks ago.”
Bakugo’s gaze didn’t waver.
A princess. A woman.
And yet, in just three weeks, she was moving like someone who had been at it for much longer.
Something about it didn’t sit right.
Something about her was too familiar.
And Bakugo hated that he couldn’t figure out why.
Chapter Text
Bakugo didn’t mention the training when he returned to the palace that evening.
But he didn’t forget.
That night, as he sat in his study, his mind kept replaying the image of her—of Princess Michell—moving with a sword in hand. The way she shifted her weight. The way she reacted to attacks. The way she looked.
It wasn’t normal. It wasn’t something a noble princess would learn so quickly.
But more than that—
It reminded him of Izuku.
That realization left a bitter taste in his mouth. It made him clenched his jaw and leaned back in his chair, staring at the ceiling.
Why the hell am I thinking about that now?
It had been three years.
Three years since his wife—his real wife—had left this world.
Three years since he found him, body cold, barely recognizable in his final moments.
Three years since the regret, the guilt, the anger, had settled deep in his bones.
He had locked all those emotions away.
He had buried them beneath duty, beneath expectations, beneath the walls he had built around himself.
And yet—
Why… does she remind me of him?
Bakugo exhaled sharply.
He was probably overthinking it.
Meanwhile, Izuku continued his daily routine as if nothing was wrong. He studied in the mornings. trained in the afternoons, and in the evenings, he sat alone in the duchess’s chambers, flipping through the books he borrowed from the library.
But something was wrong.
He could feel it.
Bakugo was watching him.
Subtly, but consistently.
At first, Izuku thought it was just his paranoia, but the more he observed, the more he knew.
Bakugo had noticed something.
Izuku gripped the book in his hands. He had to be more careful.
Not yet.
The Next Day
The duchess was expected to attend another tea party, this time hosted by a noblewoman from the royal family. It was the perfect opportunity to test something. To test and see if his presence alone would stir more rumors.
Izuku arrived on time, dressed immaculately in a flowing gown of pale green—his signature color from his previous life.
The moment he stepped into the garden, the whispers started.
“They say the new duchess is more refined than the last one.”
“Of course she is. A true royal. Not like that pathetic commoner from before who just got adopted to be with the duke.”
Izuku kept his face neutral.
Pathetic commoner?
So that’s how they spoke about me when I was gone.
The thought was bitter, but expected.
He took his seat and accepted the tea offered to him.
The conversation drifted, polite and controlled, until—
“I must say, Your Grace,” one of the women started, “you handle yourself much better than the late duchess. Truly, it is a relief to see the duke married to someone of proper standing.”
The others hummed in agreement.
Izuku smiled.
Then, in a tone as smooth as silk, he said, “Perhaps it would be wise to refrain from speaking ill of the dead, lest we invite misfortune.”
The table fell silent.
A few of the women exchanged glances while Izuku just took a slow sip of his tea.
“Let us focus on the present,” he continued, “rather than dwell on comparisons.”
It was a warning.
A gentle one.
But a warning nonetheless.
The conversation shifted after that, moving on to harmless gossip. But Izuku could feel the tension.
He had made his point. This time, he wouldn’t be trampled over.
That evening, Bakugo was waiting for him in the hallway leading to their chambers, his presence sharp and still like a blade poised to strike. Izuku almost stopped walking when he saw him—it was rare for Bakugo to seek him out so directly, and rarer still to find him lingering in silence, as if he were wrestling with thoughts too heavy to say aloud. Swallowing the sudden tightness in his chest, Izuku composed his features and continued forward, offering a respectful nod as he approached.
“Good evening, Your Grace,” he greeted, voice calm and polite, smooth with practiced distance.
Bakugo’s eyes stayed fixed on him, unreadable, dissecting. For a long, tense moment, he said nothing, and Izuku could feel the weight of that silence pressing against his ribs. Then, finally, Bakugo spoke—his tone low and uncertain, more observation than accusation.
“You’re different.”
The words struck harder than Izuku expected, catching somewhere between his lungs and his throat. His heart stumbled for a beat, but he forced himself to remain still, to keep the practiced mask firmly in place. He met Bakugo’s gaze without flinching.
“How so?” he asked, his tone light but carefully neutral.
Bakugo’s eyes narrowed slightly, his expression shifting into something more focused, more suspicious. “You just are,” he said, not bothering to elaborate, as if the vague discomfort he felt should be explanation enough.
Izuku held his breath, pulse quickening just beneath the surface. Then, after a few seconds that stretched too long, Bakugo scoffed and turned away.
“Tch. Whatever. Do what you want.”
And with that, he was gone—disappearing down the corridor without a second glance.
Izuku didn’t move until the sound of his footsteps faded. Only then did he exhale quietly, his fingers trembling as he curled them into fists by his sides. Bakugo was starting to notice, and the realization sent a chill crawling up his spine. It had only been a matter of time, and now that time had come faster than expected. He would have to be even more careful, sharper with his words, steadier with his expressions. Because if Bakugo ever truly began to suspect the truth—if he ever connected the pieces and saw past the surface—then everything Izuku had rebuilt, everything he was trying to become, would fall apart in an instant.
Chapter 7: Duchess's Sword
Chapter Text
Izuku had always been adaptable. Even in his past life, as a duchess trapped in the delicate cage of nobility, he had learned how to navigate the expectations placed upon him with grace. He had learned to wear silence like armor, to bow without bending. But now—now, in this unfamiliar body, in this new name, this new skin—he was struggling more than he expected.
Everything felt off. The way his limbs moved, the unnatural lightness of his steps, the subtle shift in his center of gravity—it all threw him off balance. He had been an omega before, yes, but not like this. His former body had been strong in its own quiet way, conditioned through years of hidden endurance. There had been muscle beneath the velvet, determination beneath the stillness. But this new body was smaller, finer, and more fragile in every sense. Even holding a sword felt foreign, almost absurd. Yet he refused to let that stop him.
He trained in secret, away from curious eyes, sparring with the castle’s sword instructor under the guise of better preparing herself—as the new duchess, of course. It was a convenient excuse, one no one questioned too deeply. And truly, it was the only thing anchoring him these days. When everything else felt distant or hollow, the burn of muscle and the sting of sweat reminded him he was still alive. Still fighting.
That afternoon, the sun hung low over the Duke’s training grounds, casting long shadows over the worn earth. Izuku wiped the sweat from his brow and rolled his sore shoulder as he gathered himself to leave for the day. His muscles ached from repeated strain, and his fingers stung from gripping the blade wrong too many times. And yet, despite the pain, he felt the smallest flicker of satisfaction curling in his chest. He was improving—slowly, quietly.
Just as he turned to go, a sharp clang of steel on steel echoed across the yard, freezing him in place.
His eyes lifted, landing on two figures locked in combat near the center of the field. One was the swordmaster. The other—
Kacchan.
A sharp, involuntary jolt passed through him. His breath caught before he could stop it. Even now, after everything, watching Bakugo fight still stole the air from his lungs. Every movement was as familiar as it was foreign—his precision, his strength, the way his stance never wavered. It stirred memories better left buried: quiet training sessions in their youth, playful challenges that once hinted at something tender, before titles and duty pulled them apart. Before silence replaced affection.
Izuku forced the thought aside and stepped back, ready to disappear before he was noticed—when Bakugo’s voice rang out across the yard.
“Princess Michell.”
He froze.
His name—his borrowed name—sounded strange coming from Bakugo’s mouth. Slowly, stiffly, he turned. The swordmaster lowered his blade and stepped back as Bakugo fixed his gaze on him, sharp and unreadable.
“Come here,” the duke ordered.
Izuku hesitated for the briefest moment, then moved forward, heart pounding in his chest. Bakugo’s stare didn’t waver. Without a word, he tossed a wooden sword toward him.
Izuku caught it on instinct.
“You’ve been training,” Bakugo said—an observation, not a question.
Fingers tightening slightly around the hilt, Izuku offered a careful nod. “A little.”
Bakugo tilted his head, the way he always did when he was testing someone. “Let’s see it.”
Izuku blinked. “...What?”
“Let’s spar.”
He nearly choked. “S-Spar?” he echoed, eyes wide in carefully measured surprise.
“You’re holding a sword like someone who’s actually used one. Might as well put it to action.”
Izuku’s mind raced. This was dangerous—far too dangerous. Bakugo was observant. If Izuku moved too well, too naturally, it would raise questions. But to refuse outright would be even more suspicious.
He took a breath. He would have to play the part. A beginner. Eager, but clumsy.
He nodded. “Very well.”
Bakugo lunged without warning.
Izuku reacted a moment too late—on purpose. The impact rattled down his arms as their swords clashed, the shock forcing him to stumble back. He gritted his teeth and forced his stance into something unbalanced and awkward, adjusting his grip with the deliberate clumsiness of someone who didn’t quite know what they were doing.
“Too slow,” Bakugo muttered, circling.
Strike after strike followed. Each time, Izuku let himself falter just enough—not too much to be useless, but enough to appear inexperienced. Inside, his instincts screamed to move correctly, to counter, to fight. But he resisted, swallowed it down, and played the role.
By the end, his breath came fast and shallow, sweat dripping down his temples. Bakugo finally lowered his sword, studying him again with that unreadable intensity. Then, with a soft scoff, he turned away.
“Not bad for a princess.”
Izuku swallowed hard. He didn’t know if Bakugo had bought the act or if the seeds of suspicion had already been planted. But he knew one thing for certain—Bakugo was watching him now. And if he wasn’t careful… if he slipped, even once…
He would figure everything out.
The grand ballroom of the Luthier estate shimmered with candlelight and polished opulence. Nobles moved like clockwork across the marble floor, their laughter lilting through the air as they celebrated the Marquess’s eldest son's birthday. The scent of wine and perfume mingled in the air—sweet, cloying, and laced with something sharper: ambition.
Izuku, now living as Princess Michell, walked beside Bakugo as they entered, immediately drawing every pair of eyes in the room. Conversation faltered. Fans fluttered to mask whispers. Polished smiles greeted them with thinly veiled hunger.
The men bowed with practiced charm. The women curtsied, their gazes flickering with calculation. Some admiration was genuine, perhaps—but most were watching a duchess, not a person.
Izuku knew that well enough by now.
The evening unfolded with smooth, ceremonial elegance. Polite laughter, exchanged pleasantries, subtle jabs hidden behind compliments. Everything moved like a game of chess—until dinner.
It began innocently.
A compliment here. A toast there. Praise for the Duchess’s swift adaptation. Words laced with admiration—until one voice rose above the others, too loud, too careless.
“It’s quite remarkable how quickly Your Grace has adjusted. One might even say you surpass the late Duchess in every way.”
The words landed like a blade buried in the table.
Silence fell. The air thickened. Glasses stilled mid-air.
Izuku’s grip on his wine tightened. He had heard it before—his own name, tossed about like a piece of idle gossip now that it no longer had a face. They said it so easily, like he hadn’t lived it.
He was preparing to speak, to shut it down with the quiet precision he’d learned—but the crack of flesh against wood beat him to it.
Bakugo’s palm slammed against the table, rattling plates, tipping goblets. The room froze.
His red eyes burned with quiet fury as he rose from his seat. “The next person who brings up my late wife like she’s fodder for dinner talk will be dead.”
The words were calm. Measured. Terrifying.
He didn’t need to raise his voice. The silence that followed was absolute.
He adjusted his gloves with deliberate movements, preparing to leave.
Then, before he could even call for her—
A chair scraped softly behind him.
Izuku stood.
All eyes turned.
“His Grace is generous,” he said smoothly, voice like velvet laced with steel.
Bakugo’s gaze shifted, brow arching. The room barely dared to breathe.
“Despite my husband’s warning, it seems many of you have yet to learn respect.” Izuku’s fingers traced the rim of his glass with idle elegance, but his eyes were sharp—measured.
“If I’m not mistaken, the title of Duchess is not one easily erased,” he continued, tilting his head slightly. “So when you insult the former Duchess, you are not simply offending a person—you are undermining the title itself. The very institution the crown upholds.”
Murmurs rippled through the hall.
He smiled.
It didn’t reach his eyes.
“I would hate to assume any of you are questioning the judgment of the royal family.”
The tension rose like a tide.
“You expect me to be meek,” he said softly, setting his glass down with deliberate care. “To sit here in silence while you speak so carelessly of a person who once held the very title I now bear.”
A pause.
“I can be kind.”
A colder pause.
“But I can also be ruthless.”
That landed.
The nobles flinched, some paling. No one dared to speak.
Izuku turned toward Bakugo, composure intact. “If you wish to leave, Your Grace, I will follow.”
Bakugo stared at him—no, studied him. Not with irritation, but with something sharper. Amusement. Suspicion.
This wasn’t charm. This wasn’t poise.
This was power.
Without a word, he turned and strode from the room. Izuku followed without giving attention to the change of atmosphere behind them.
The nobles parted for them like the sea.
And as they walked, Bakugo glanced sideways at the woman who now bore the name "Princess Michell"—but carried herself like something far older, far deeper.
Something he could no longer explain.
Who the hell are you really, Princess Michell?
Because whoever she was…
She was not the same woman he had married.
Chapter 8: The Lying Duchess
Chapter Text
Life in the palace had changed. Not in any grand or visible way that outsiders would immediately notice, but within its quiet halls and familiar routines, the shift was undeniable. The servants, the knights, the staff—those who lived and breathed the rhythm of the estate—felt it in subtle, unmistakable ways. And the reason was her.
Princess Michell, the new Duchess, carried herself with the grace and poise expected of her title. But unlike other noblewomen who often wore their status like armor, she wasn’t distant, or cold, or indifferent to the people around her. She spoke to them with warmth, met their eyes when she addressed them, listened when they spoke. More than that, she understood them. She knew which corridors buzzed busiest before dawn, she remembered the names of the kitchen hands without being reminded, and she recognized when someone was struggling before they ever voiced a word. It was uncanny—almost as if she had always been there.
When she lifted a tray of tea with practiced ease, a maid named Mira, one of the older staff who had served the estate longer than even the current Duke, hurried forward with concern. “Your Grace, you shouldn’t concern yourself with carrying that.”
Izuku offered a gentle smile as he set the tray down. “It’s just tea,” he replied, calm and unbothered. But when he turned to her, something in Mira froze. The curve of his smile, the quiet patience in his voice, the familiarity in how he moved—it was all too much. Too familiar.
This woman—the Duchess—was nothing like the nobles who had passed through these halls before. She was not a replacement. And yet, there was something unmistakably, heartbreakingly similar.
It was in the warmth of her presence. The unspoken understanding. The way she treated them not as background furniture, but as people. It was the same feeling Mira had long buried with the death of the last Duchess—the one they had mourned in silence, the one none of them had been allowed to speak of again. The one Mira had prayed would not be forgotten, even if the world moved on.
And yet, here stood Princess Michell, unknowingly—or perhaps not—reviving that ache. Mira’s throat tightened. Her hands trembled at her apron.
“…Thank you, Your Grace,” she whispered.
The Duchess blinked, puzzled. “For what?”
Mira’s voice broke as she spoke. “For… for being kind to us. For not making us feel like we have to forget.” Her words hung heavy between them.
Izuku felt his heart twist. He knew. He understood exactly what Mira meant. For three years, the people of this palace had swallowed their grief in silence. For three years, they had served a Duke who locked away the past like a wound too deep to face. For three years, they had been expected to move on without ever truly mourning.
And in that moment, Izuku stepped forward—and embraced her. Without ceremony. Without hesitation.
Mira tensed, shocked at first, but then her hands slowly clutched at the Duchess’s back. Her body trembled, and after years of holding it in, she wept—not loudly, not desperately, but with the quiet devastation of someone who had carried too much for too long.
Izuku closed his eyes, voice barely a whisper. “Thank you, too.”
Above them, unseen but watching from the second-floor balcony, Bakugo stood frozen. He hadn’t meant to linger; he had been on his way to a war council meeting. But he’d paused at the sound of Mira’s voice—so shaken, so raw—and when he saw the woman holding her like that, he couldn’t look away.
This wasn’t performative kindness. This wasn’t some duchess charming the staff to gain favor. What he saw… was different. Real.
The way Mira wept in her arms. The way the other servants didn’t look surprised, but quietly moved around them with a reverence that was almost mourning. The way Princess Michell held herself, as if she already knew this pain. Knew this place. Knew them.
Bakugo’s jaw tightened. His hand curled into the fabric of his coat.
This woman. This duchess.
She wasn’t just anyone.
There was something about her that went beyond noble etiquette and practiced grace. It was the kind of familiarity that couldn’t be learned. It was instinctive, lived-in.
And for the first time in three years, Bakugo felt something stir deep in his chest.
It wasn’t grief. Nor was it rage.
It was far more dangerous.
Suspicion.
And worse—
Hope.
The grand hall of the royal palace was nothing short of magnificent. Towering marble columns stretched toward a vaulted ceiling where golden chandeliers bathed everything below in a warm, flickering glow. Shadows danced across polished floors, gliding beneath the long banquet table where the most powerful figures of the kingdom had gathered. At the head of the table lounged King Daichi, his golden crown resting askew on his brow, a goblet of wine swirling in one hand. His expression, deceptively relaxed, betrayed a sharpness in his eyes—a calculating gleam that had not dulled with age.
Seated across from him was Duke Bakugo Katsuki, rigid and silent, a wall of disciplined composure. Beside him, the new Duchess—Princess Michell—sat with hands folded neatly in her lap, spine straight, and a pleasant, composed expression carefully arranged across her face. Inside, Izuku simmered beneath the surface of that calm exterior. Because this wasn’t just dinner. It was a performance. A duchess was expected to be graceful. Pleasant. Pleasing in the eyes of the King. She was expected to be everything Izuku was not.
The King’s voice broke through the din of gentle conversation, warm but laced with something heavier.
“Tell me, my dear Duchess,” he said, setting down his goblet with a soft clink, “how much do you know of your husband’s achievements?”
Izuku blinked, tilting his head in feigned innocence, while Bakugo remained unmoved, the tightness in his jaw the only hint of reaction. The King didn’t wait for an answer.
“Our Katsuki has done more for this kingdom than most know,” he went on, eyes gleaming with a kind of nostalgic pride. “A warrior without peer. A strategist who turned the tides of war more than once.”
Izuku nodded along politely, a gentle smile on his face as though hearing these stories for the first time. But inside, he almost laughed. More than once? He remembered every campaign. Every impossible battle. Every decision that had reshaped the kingdom’s fate. He had been there.
Before his death.
Before he became this—this body.
This title.
This princess.
And now he sat beside Bakugo, pretending not to know the very history he helped build. The King wasn’t telling these stories for entertainment. He was reminding her—reminding him—of the power she was now bound to. Of the legacy she was expected to serve. A warning, cloaked in praise.
Then the conversation shifted.
“But of course,” the King continued with a thoughtful sigh, “as much as the Duke has done for this kingdom, there is still one matter left unfinished.”
The temperature seemed to drop. Izuku went still, and Bakugo exhaled slowly through his nose.
The King’s eyes gleamed. “A child,” he said smoothly. “An heir, Duchess.”
The words hit like cold steel against skin. Izuku didn’t move, but the twisting in his stomach made it hard to breathe. He had known this would come eventually. It was inevitable. The Duke needed an heir. The title demanded a future. The kingdom required security. And so it was expected—of him—to provide it. To bear it.
His skin crawled at the thought. I can’t. I won’t. He was not some princess born to bear royal heirs. He was Izuku Midoriya—a man. A warrior in soul, even if the body no longer agreed. His pulse thundered in his ears. And Bakugo, ever perceptive, noticed. Of course he did. Izuku could feel the weight of his gaze.
Before the Duke could say anything, Izuku spoke. His voice was calm, unshaken.
“Your Majesty,” he began, lifting his chin, “while the prospect of an heir is indeed important, I believe there are more pressing matters at hand.”
The King raised a brow, curious. Izuku placed a hand gently over his heart.
“As Duke Bakugo’s wife, it is my duty to understand him first and foremost. A family should be built with patience and love—not just for duty’s sake.”
The answer was elegant. Controlled. Bakugo’s expression didn’t shift, unreadable as always.
The King, however, leaned back with mild amusement.
“And if duty demands it?” he asked. Izuku didn’t blink.
“Then if the gods bless us with an heir, I will inform Your Majesty without hesitation. But for now, my devotion remains to the kingdom… and to you, my King.”
It was a masterful reply—polite, deferential, and impossible to argue with. The King chuckled, swirling the last of his wine.
“You’re certainly more clever than most noblewomen,” he mused. “Very well, Duchess. I shall allow you your time.”
Izuku bowed his head, hiding the bile rising in his throat. Every word, every saccharine phrase of loyalty made him sick. But he had no choice. He needed this power. Needed to stay in control. He had to be the Duchess they expected—until he could take back what he lost. And for that, he would play the role perfectly.
As they left the palace, walking in silence side by side, it was Bakugo who spoke first.
“You hate this.”
His voice was low.
Not cruel.
Not mocking.
Just… certain.
Izuku didn’t deny it. He met Bakugo’s gaze briefly, then murmured,
“…And?”
Bakugo didn’t answer immediately.
Then, a small smirk tugged at the edge of his mouth—dry, amused.
“You’re a damn liar when you need to be, Princess,” he muttered, shoving his hands into his coat pockets.
Izuku huffed lightly. “Not a liar,” he said.
“A Duchess.”
Bakugo snorted. Izuku didn’t look back at him. Because this was only the beginning. And no matter what happened next, he would not let them decide his future—not the King, not the nobles, not even Bakugo.
He had played many roles before.
Now, he would play this one.
Until he had everything he needed to win.
Chapter Text
The grand ballroom of the Bakugo Estate was in its final stages of preparation. At its center stood Izuku, composed and commanding, orchestrating the finishing touches with a quiet intensity that left no room for doubt.
A party—especially one hosted within a noble estate—was not merely a celebration. It was a political instrument. A subtle battleground where alliances were forged, reputations built or broken with a glance, a misstep, a single misplaced flower or poorly seated guest. Izuku knew this. He had learned it the hard way, long before he wore a gown, long before the world saw him as a Duchess. And now, as Princess Michell, he would wield this night like a blade.
“The floral arrangements must be balanced—roses in the center, lilies and orchids framing the edges,” he instructed without looking up.
“They’re meant to accent the table, not block the view of the guests.” He turned, taking in the positioning of the chandeliers. “Dim the lights slightly before dinner begins. Too much brightness is abrasive, especially under crystal.” He moved to the place settings.
“Keep the Marquess of Ethelwood away from the Viscount of Lorne. Their families have been feuding since the last generation. We won’t fan those flames here.” He paused at the wine display, fingers brushing over a label. “And ensure the Red Vescalis is served. The Countess of Devon will expect it. She’s well-liked among the Queen’s Ladies, and her approval spreads like wildfire.”
The staff listened, a mix of stunned silence and hurried obedience trailing in Izuku’s wake. They had anticipated a delicate noblewoman leaning heavily on her steward or chief maid—timid in decision-making, hesitant in presence. What they found instead was a mistress unlike any they had known: assured, analytical, and precise. She didn’t ask questions.
She gave answers.
She anticipated critiques before they were voiced. Solved problems before they emerged. She didn’t oversee the event. She owned it.
And from the shadowed balcony above, Bakugo was there.
Leaning against the second-floor railing, arms crossed loosely over his chest, he watched the ballroom unfold beneath him. He had expected—perhaps even hoped—to see his wife falter. A foreign princess, no matter how well-trained, should have been overwhelmed by the intricacies of noble expectation in a foreign court. But Michell was anything but overwhelmed.
There was no hesitation in her step, no doubt in her instructions. She moved like someone who had done this a hundred times before. And not just anyone—someone familiar.
It wasn’t simply her confidence. It was the nature of her decisions. Her precision. Her instincts. The aesthetic balance of the décor, the diplomatic subtlety in the seating, the restraint in luxury. Nothing gaudy. Nothing desperate to impress. Elegant, measured, and sharp. Just like him.
Just like Izuku Midoriya.
Bakugo’s jaw clenched as a flicker of something—cold, restless—ran down his spine.
Because a princess shouldn’t have known this. A princess shouldn’t have known him. And yet the party… it felt tailored. Elegant but unpretentious. Sophisticated but accessible. It was, in every possible way, what Izuku would have created.
And it scared the hell out of him.
Unaware of the scrutiny from above, Izuku stepped back from the center of the ballroom and took in the finished work. It was perfect. Every element in place. Every variable accounted for. The guests would find no fault. The nobility would admire the new Duchess. And more importantly, he would begin to shift the tides of power in his favor. He inhaled slowly, steadying himself.
The game was beginning.
And he had every intention of winning.
Still watching in silence, Bakugo exhaled slowly, a rare unease settling beneath his skin. His eyes never left the figure below.
Who the hell are you, Princess?
The large mirror in the Duchess’s chambers reflected an image unlike anything noble society had ever seen. Standing before it, Izuku smirked—not out of vanity, but out of satisfaction. Gone were the suffocating layers of silk and lace, the ornamental cages passed off as fashion. Tonight, he would not be molded by their expectations.
Tailored trousers clung to his frame, sharp and fitted, highlighting the elegant lines of a woman's body without sacrificing the freedom of a warrior's stance. A corset hugged his torso, but not in the cruel, bone-crushing way of tradition. It was designed for movement—for breath. A flowing outer coat draped over his shoulders, embroidered subtly with the Bakugo crest, regal and commanding without screaming for attention. At his feet were knee-high boots, polished to a sheen, chosen not for aesthetics but for purpose. Practical. Powerful.
It was bold. It was deliberate.
It was him.
When he stepped into the grand ballroom, the response was immediate. The atmosphere shifted like the change in wind before a storm. Conversations halted. Gasps echoed faintly, followed by the buzz of low whispers. Eyes turned. Jaws slackened.
Noblewomen stared with wide eyes, their expressions caught between scandal and awe. Their gazes drifted down to the pants, the boots, the subtle strength woven into every detail. Noblemen, too, fumbled for composure—bewildered by the quiet authority exuded by a Duchess who looked nothing like the fragile ornaments they were used to seeing draped on a Duke’s arm.
A Duchess in pants? Unthinkable.
And yet—there he was.
Izuku moved with such assured grace that their shock had no choice but to dissolve into intrigue. There was no apology in his stride, no hesitation in his posture. He did not shrink beneath their scrutiny. He met it—commanded it—and carried it with poise. He did not act as though he had defied a rule. He simply acted as though there had never been a rule to begin with.
“How… unconventional,” someone murmured.
“But look at her posture. She moves so freely…”
“She’s not even straining in that corset. How is that possible?”
The murmurs shifted, transformed, evolved. What had begun as quiet judgment bloomed into admiration—and then envy.
“I wish I could move like that at these events.”
“She looks so comfortable. So... powerful.”
“Do you think I could wear something like that next time?”
Across the ballroom, Bakugo stood silent, observing with narrowed eyes. He wasn’t surprised—not entirely. He had, after all, granted permission when Michell requested modified attire for sword training. But this… this wasn’t just practicality. This was presentation. Precision. Power.
She wore that outfit not as rebellion, but as strategy.
Everything about it was deliberate—the subtle embroidery, the structured elegance, the way it balanced between tradition and defiance without tipping too far in either direction. And more than the clothes, it was the way she wore them. With presence. With pride. With purpose.
Bakugo’s mouth curved into the faintest smirk. His eyes lingered on the way the crowd shifted to make room for her, the way conversations resumed only after she passed by, the way even the most influential lords took a second glance.
“Tch. That woman’s a menace,” he muttered under his breath, the edge of amusement curling around his words.
Then, across the room, Izuku caught his gaze.
Their eyes met.
Izuku tilted his head ever so slightly, an unspoken challenge glinting in his gaze.
And Bakugo, unable to stop himself, let out a quiet laugh—low and genuine.
This Duchess was going to shake the kingdom to its foundations.
And damn it all…
He was starting to look forward to it.
The murmurs in the ballroom had yet to settle before Izuku raised his voice. “If the Duke permits, I would like to entertain our esteemed guests with a demonstration.” The hush that followed was immediate. Nobles glanced at one another, confused.
A Duchess?
Demonstrating swordsmanship?
Some scoffed, others whispered in thinly veiled disapproval.
“How improper.”
“A woman wielding a sword… What a disgrace to the noble tradition.”
“She should learn her place.”
But before any objections could be properly voiced—a low chuckle echoed across the room. “Heh.” Every head turned as Bakugo Katsuki—the Duke himself—stepped forward. He exuded his usual unshakable dominance, but there was something else in his stride tonight—something that made even Izuku momentarily freeze.
With his hands casually in his pockets, Bakugo tilted his head, eyes gleaming with a mixture of amusement and something deeper, something unreadable. “Fine,” he said lazily.
“I’ll spar with her.”
A collective gasp rippled through the crowd. Even Izuku felt his breath hitch.
What?
For almost a year of their marriage, Bakugo had never once publicly involved himself in his wife’s affairs. He had let her navigate the political world alone, without lending her his direct support. And now—now he was doing this? Supporting her. Voluntarily. In front of everyone.
It was… unfair.
Unfair because—if he had done this in the past, would he have done the same for Izuku?
The sparring ground was set. Torches burned brightly in the evening air, illuminating the courtyard as nobles gathered on the surrounding balconies, eagerly watching the match unfold. Izuku tightly gripped his sword. Something about this—about Kacchan standing there, waiting for him—felt like an unspoken challenge, not just between Duke and Duchess, but between past and present. And suddenly, rage bubbled up within him. Before he knew it—his body moved. He lunged forward, blade slicing through the air in an arc of raw, unrestrained force.
CLANG!
Bakugo’s sword met his effortlessly, blocking the strike with ridiculous ease. Izuku’s eyes widened. His body had moved out of instinct, but Bakugo—Bakugo had read him perfectly.
“Tch—”
Izuku gritted his teeth and twisted his wrist, aiming a sharper, faster thrust. Again—
CLASH.
And again.
CLANG.
And again—
Bakugo did not even flinch. But then—the rhythm changed. Bakugo was no longer just defending. His blade pressed forward, testing, teasing—coaxing a response from Izuku that he barely had time to think about. And so, for the first time—they danced. Not in the stiff elegance of a ballroom, but in the fluid harmony of battle.
Step.
Dodge.
Counter.
Twist.
The clash of swords echoed through the courtyard in a rhythm that was almost hypnotic. Bakugo was stronger. Bakugo was faster. But Izuku—Izuku was relentless. And as their blades met, as their movements synchronized in an almost unnatural familiarity, the crowd could see it. The difference in their strength was undeniable—but the Duchess was extraordinary. She was not just holding her own—she was matching the Duke’s rhythm, adjusting, adapting, becoming untouchable. It was breathtaking.
The Duke and Duchess of the House of Heroes. One, an untouchable warrior. The other, a Duchess who defied expectations. Together—they were unstoppable.
From the balcony, the King watched in stunned silence. His gaze flickered between the two warriors, and something unspoken settled in his expression. Perhaps—just perhaps—he had underestimated his Duchess.
As the spar came to an end, Bakugo stilled. He let the last exchange linger, his blade steady against Izuku’s, before tilting his head and smirking.
“…Heh. Not bad, huh?”
Izuku—breathing hard, sweat glistening on his skin—stared at him. There was something in Bakugo’s voice. Something that almost felt like… approval.
Izuku swallowed.
And despite everything—he smirked back.
Notes:
This chapter was inspired by manhwas Empress Cesia Wears Knickerbockers and Beware of the Villainess . If you enjoy stories that go beyond just romance—with strong characters, clever politics, and bold fashion choices—you might enjoy it as much as I did.
Chapter 10: King's War
Chapter Text
The whispers began as idle gossip.
“Have you seen the Duchess’s new attire?”
“A woman in tailored pants and corsets that allow movement—how scandalous!”
“Yet, she looks… breathtaking.”
What started as murmurs of disapproval soon shifted into admiration. More noblewomen began experimenting with the newfound freedom of movement. Tailors started mimicking the Duchess’s cuts. Young ladies envied the confidence she exuded, and even commoners took notice of her presence. By the end of the season, Duchess Michell’s name was not just whispered—it was declared. The trend had become unstoppable.
The moment Izuku saw an opportunity, he seized it. With her growing influence in fashion, she established her own clothing shop under the House of Bakugo’s name. But it was never just about clothing. Izuku used it as a cover.
The shop became a sanctuary for the less fortunate, a training ground for tailors from orphanages, a safe haven for displaced scholars who had nowhere to go. And with its earnings, Izuku funded academies open for all, regardless of class.
The King did not interfere. Why would he? As far as he was concerned, his Duchess was simply bringing harmony to the kingdom, strengthening the trust between nobles and commoners alike.
But behind the illusion of charity—Izuku was working. And unraveling the truth.
Late into the night, Izuku often found himself watching Katsuki. The Duke had been restless. His presence in the estate was scarce, his hours filled with meetings and paperwork that he barely spoke about. But Izuku was not blind. He had listened—to the way Katsuki grumbled about pointless orders, to the way his jaw clenched when he spoke of the King. He had seen—how Katsuki’s once unwavering loyalty to the crown had begun to crumble.
The King wanted war. And just like before, he sought to expand his authority by using the House of Bakugo. But this time—Katsuki was refusing. He was resisting. And Izuku needed to know why.
One evening, the Duchess stood outside the Duke’s study. The door was slightly ajar, and inside, she could hear Katsuki's low voice.
“The bastard’s gettin’ greedy.” A deep sigh. “He thinks he can just use us again. Like we don’t know what he’s doin’.”
A rustling of papers. “…Tch. I ain’t lettin’ this kingdom fall into his hands. Not this time.”
Izuku’s fingers curled against the doorframe. “Not this time.”
A quiet determination settled in his chest. If Katsuki was going to fight back—then Izuku would make sure he wouldn’t fight alone.
The tension in the Duke’s study was thick. Izuku stood before Katsuki, his expression unwavering.
“I want to be at the exhibition.”
Katsuki’s brows furrowed, his jaw tightening. “Tch. And what the hell does a princess know about war?” His voice was sharp—not with malice, but with frustration.
“I’m not a princess,” Izuku corrected, stepping closer. “I’m the Duchess of Bakugo.”
Katsuki exhaled through his nose, his arms crossing. “You know how to hold a sword now. Great.” His gaze hardened. “But that doesn’t mean you can handle a real fight. You’re talkin’ about standin’ in front of armies, not some nobles at a party.”
Izuku’s lips curled into a smirk. “I never said I would fight an army.”
Silence.
Katsuki’s eyes narrowed.
“The exhibition will be held before the kingdom, before the nobles, and most importantly—” Izuku’s voice dropped, firm and sharp, “—before the King.”
Katsuki’s fingers twitched. Izuku leaned in. “You and I both know what this is really about.”
“The King doesn’t want an exhibition,” Izuku whispered, “he wants a show of force. He wants to prove to everyone that his army is strong enough to wage war.”
Katsuki’s expression darkened.
Izuku continued, “But we can turn this in our favor.” He took a step forward, his presence commanding.
“Start the war, Katsuki.”
Katsuki’s breath hitched. But Izuku wasn’t finished.
“Not against the enemies. Against our own kingdom.”
Katsuki’s fists tightened.
He understood.
If they participated in the exhibition, if the Duchess of Bakugo—the foreign princess—stood before the people and the King, they wouldn’t just be proving their strength. They would be shaking the foundation of the monarchy itself.
The King wanted power. But the House of Bakugo had more power than he realized. And Izuku was going to make sure he knew it.
Katsuki exhaled sharply, running a hand through his hair. “You really are a damn problem,” he muttered.
Izuku grinned. “But I’m your problem, aren’t I? I'm your Duchess, Duke”
Katsuki clicked his tongue, but there was a ghost of a smirk on his lips. “Fine.” His voice was low, dangerous. “Let’s start a war. Duchess.”
The House of Bakugo had always been a place of discipline, power, and unwavering loyalty—but for the first time in years, it felt alive.
The Duke and Duchess had become the heart of it.
Izuku spread his wings. The Duchess no longer confined herself to the grand halls of the palace. Instead, she walked among the people, her presence felt in the markets, the academies, and even in the training grounds where she observed the knights. Her name was gaining power—not just as a foreign princess who married the Duke, but as a figure of strength. The nobles whispered about her boldness, the common folk admired her, and the military watched her with growing curiosity.
She was no longer just Duchess Michelle. She was becoming a legend.
Meanwhile, in the shadows… Bakugo Katsuki was at work. While his wife commanded attention outside the palace, he focused on what truly mattered—the war behind closed doors. Secret messages were exchanged. Letters sealed with Bakugo’s personal crest found their way to trusted allies and rival kingdoms alike. He wasn’t just preparing for battle; he was building alliances, ensuring that when the time came, they wouldn’t just be fighting against the King—they’d have the power to overthrow him.
The King wanted war? Bakugo would make sure he got exactly that.
And amidst it all… the House of Bakugo began to change.
The servants noticed it first. The way the Duke and Duchess had grown closer, how they now shared their meals in the grand dining hall, their soft conversations filling the once-empty space. They saw the way the Duke’s eyes followed his wife, the way a smirk always tugged at his lips before he teased her, and the way the Duchess—formerly so composed—now easily fired back with her own sharp wit. They sparred in the courtyards, blades clashing, their footwork in perfect sync. A deadly, elegant duet that left the knights in awe.
The House of Bakugo had seen this before. A powerful couple. A love that burned through the halls like an unyielding fire. They had seen it random days in the late Duchess Izuku and Duke Katsuki. And now… they saw it again in Duchess Michelle and Duke Katsuki.
And for the first time in years, they missed Izuku. Missed what he had been. Missed the kindness, the strength, and the unbreakable bond he had shared with the Duke.
They missed him… even as they stared at him now. For deep in their hearts, something felt familiar.
Chapter 11: Royal Bloodline
Chapter Text
The moment Bakugo suggested they visit the royal palace, Izuku felt a sense of dread settle in his chest. “Do you want to go? The King and Queen are here.”
At first, he didn’t understand why it mattered.
“And? Why should I?” he asked, brows furrowed.
Bakugo gave him a look—that look, the one that silently screamed,
Are you serious?
“What, do you have a bitter relationship with your parents now?” he scoffed.
That was when it hit Izuku. He had parents now.
A King.
A Queen.
People he had never met but who were supposed to be his mother and father. His stomach twisted. How was he supposed to act around them? Did they dote on the real Princess Michelle? Did they treat her coldly? Did they even care about her at all?
For the first time since arriving in this world, Izuku realized—this was going to be a problem.
When they arrived at the royal palace, Izuku did what he did best—he adapted. He moved with practiced grace, his demeanor polished and polite. He wielded his title like armor, letting the formalities build a quiet wall between himself and everyone else. The King and Queen seemed pleased.
At dinner, they spoke of Michelle’s rising reputation with mild approval. The King, at least, looked satisfied, believing that their daughter had finally brought prestige to the royal family.
But the Queen watched him too closely. Her gaze lingered, not in fondness, but in scrutiny. It made Izuku uneasy.
After dinner, needing air, Izuku slipped out to the balcony. The cool night settled around him, offering a brief moment of peace. Then—footsteps. Soft, deliberate. He turned just as the Queen approached and took her place beside him, her face angled toward the stars.
For a while, she said nothing. Then her voice broke the silence, low and unreadable. “I'm happy to see that you've adjusted to your role as Duchess.”
Izuku offered a tight smile. “It was my duty to adapt, Mother.”
She hummed. “Funny, isn’t it? Considering how much you refused this marriage before. You were so adamant about escaping it. But now…” Her eyes drifted toward the palace doors, where Bakugo had disappeared moments earlier.
“…You seem quite fond of your husband.”
Izuku’s breath hitched. Was this what the real Michelle had felt—trapped, desperate, lost in expectations she couldn’t meet?
The Queen tapped her fingers gently along the balcony railing. Then she turned to him, and the softness in her voice vanished. What she said next made his blood run cold.
“You are not my daughter, are you?”
The silence that followed the Queen’s words was heavy, thick with unspoken truths and quiet realizations. Izuku could feel his pulse pounding, yet he held himself together, keeping his expression as neutral as possible.
"What do you mean, Mother?" he asked carefully, though he knew his hesitation was all too telling.
The Queen exhaled slowly, as if weighing her words. Before she could answer, the sound of steady, measured footsteps echoed through the open corridor leading to the balcony.
The King had arrived.
He was a tall man, his presence commanding even without words. His golden hair, streaked with silver at the temples, gleamed under the moonlight, and his deep-set eyes, much like the Queen’s, held wisdom and warmth.
A soft, knowing smile graced his lips as he reached for his wife's hand, holding it gently against his chest. The Queen’s expression softened as she leaned into him slightly—a display of closeness that Izuku hadn’t expected.
"So you’ve realized it as well?" the King murmured, glancing at his wife.
The Queen nodded. "How could I not? The daughter I raised would never have planned a grand event with such precision, nor carried herself with such confidence and awareness. Michelle was always a dreamer, a girl who longed for a life beyond the palace walls, yet never truly knew how to grasp it."
She turned back to Izuku, eyes filled with a bittersweet melancholy. "We have come to understand what has happened. Our daughter’s soul…" She faltered for a moment before continuing, "She exchanged her soul during her days of separation from us."
Izuku felt something cold settle in his chest. "You… knew about the exchange of souls?"
The King nodded. "It is a rare, but not unknown, tradition within our bloodline. Our family has always had an affinity for the unseen, for the mystic threads that weave fate together. We do not fully understand it ourselves, but we know it happens. I, too, am a result of such an exchange."
Izuku's breath caught. "You… are not the original King?"
The King chuckled. "No, child. My soul once belonged to the late King before me. Unlike you, however, I did not come from another kingdom. My exchange was within the same lineage, and thus, my adjustment was easier. But you… you are different."
The Queen studied Izuku, her eyes soft yet intent. "You do not carry memories of a life in this palace, do you? You are not a child of this land. And yet, you wear Michelle’s skin with such dignity that it almost feels as though you have always belonged here."
A lump formed in Izuku’s throat. For the first time since arriving in this world, since waking up in a body that was never his, someone acknowledged the truth without hatred, without accusation. There was no anger in their voices, only a quiet sadness.
The King sighed. "If we had known… if we had realized it sooner, we would have spent our time with her more wisely. We would have held her close, cherished her, given her the freedom she longed for. It pains us to think that our daughter is gone, but we also understand that life moves forward, and fate has its own designs."
The Queen tilted her head slightly. "Tell me, child. What is your true name? The name that belonged to the soul now within our daughter’s body?"
Izuku hesitated. He had long since accepted that he could never return to his past life, but speaking his name aloud felt like setting it in stone. A confirmation that Midoriya Izuku was truly no more.
He took a breath, lifted his chin slightly, and answered with quiet certainty.
"Midoriya… no, Bakugo Izuku."
The King and Queen exchanged a glance before smiling, their eyes filled with understanding.
"No wonder," the Queen murmured, "you carry yourself with such strength and independence. You are a duchess unlike any other—a duchess who forged her own path."
The King nodded. "It is almost poetic, in a way. The late Duchess, whose name now graces the House of Bakugo, has come once more to grant our daughter’s body the freedom she never had."
Izuku felt something stir within him—an emotion too complex to name. Perhaps it was relief, perhaps grief, or perhaps a quiet acceptance that, in this world, he was no longer just Izuku. He was Duchess Michelle, the wife of Duke Bakugo Katsuki, and now, the adopted daughter of a King and Queen who had accepted his truth without question.
The Queen’s hand reached out, resting gently over Izuku’s. "We do not know where our daughter’s soul has gone, nor if she will ever return, but if she has chosen to give her body to you, then we will honor that choice. You may not have been born our daughter, but you are the one standing before us now. And that is enough."
The King gave him a small nod. "Welcome home, Duchess Bakugo Izuku."
For the first time since arriving in this world, Izuku felt like he truly belonged.
Chapter 12: Behind Closed Door
Chapter Text
The week following the revelation of Princess Michell’s soul being exchanged was unlike anything Izuku had expected. Rather than hostility or suspicion, the foreign king and queen embraced him with understanding, acknowledging that their daughter had made her own choice—one that led to her freedom. They spent the next days together, exploring the duchess’s newfound life and witnessing how much of an impact she had already made within the kingdom.
Izuku guided them through the bustling streets of the capital, where the stores he had established flourished. Nobles and commoners alike had embraced his modern yet elegant clothing styles, and the success of his business ventures was undeniable. As they walked through the districts, the queen, dressed in a gown more modest than what she usually wore in her own kingdom, turned to Izuku with a small smile.
“It is truly astonishing how well you have integrated yourself here,” she remarked, watching the interactions between the shopkeepers and the duchess. “I must admit, I never thought Michell would take such an interest in business and the well-being of the people.”
Izuku smiled, choosing his words carefully. “Perhaps, being away from home gave her a new perspective. The kingdom has given her the chance to build something meaningful, beyond the constraints of being a princess.”
The king nodded approvingly, his sharp eyes scanning the busy marketplace. “And yet, you are not just playing the role of a duchess. You are leading.”
Izuku remained silent, knowing well that his actions spoke louder than any false humility. His efforts were never meant to simply fulfill a noblewoman’s duties; he had been strategically building influence, gaining the trust of the people, and subtly shifting the power dynamics within the kingdom.
Their tour ended at the grand estate of the House of Bakugo, where Katsuki had already arranged for the king and queen’s comfortable stay. Despite the surprise of the royal couple’s extended visit, the duke hadn’t raised any objections. He knew better than to question his wife’s decisions when they served a purpose beyond mere sentiment.
As the servants welcomed the foreign king and queen with the utmost respect, Izuku took the opportunity to introduce them to the Bakugo household, including the loyal knights and the trusted members of their army. The sight of the duchess walking so effortlessly among warriors, discussing tactics and even exchanging ideas with them, was a revelation for the foreign monarchs.
During dinner, in the grand dining hall of the estate, the conversation took a more serious turn.
“You have done more than just settle into your role as a duchess,” the king said, his gaze sharp yet filled with a silent pride. “You are preparing for something greater, aren’t you?”
Izuku placed his utensils down carefully, glancing at Katsuki, who had been listening silently while drinking his wine. The duke smirked slightly, already anticipating what his wife would say.
“I am securing my place in this kingdom,” Izuku finally admitted, meeting the king’s gaze directly. “The House of Bakugo has long been the sword and shield of this land, but the king here has grown too comfortable using us as his personal weapon. That must change.”
The queen, who had remained quiet for most of the meal, exchanged a glance with her husband before speaking. “And how do you plan to change that, daughter?”
Katsuki let out a short laugh at that. “By making the damn king realize he no longer holds all the power.”
The foreign king leaned back in his chair, stroking his beard thoughtfully. “You wish to break the hold this kingdom’s monarchy has over the House of Bakugo? To lessen the absolute control of the king?”
“Yes,” Izuku said firmly. “I intend to ensure that the duke and his house are no longer just a tool for war but a governing force in their own right. A noble house should not exist merely to serve. It should rule.”
The silence that followed was thick with unspoken understanding. Finally, the king chuckled, shaking his head. “No wonder the people admire you. You speak like a ruler yourself.”
Izuku’s lips curled into a small smile, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “I merely speak of what is necessary.”
The queen reached for her daughter’s—Izuku’s—hand, her expression more motherly than it had been before. “We will support you in this. As long as you remain safe, we will stand behind the House of Bakugo.”
Katsuki scoffed, though there was no real bite to it. “Don’t expect her to stay safe. This idiot has a habit of throwing herself into the fire.”
Izuku grinned at that, his green eyes glinting with a familiar determination. “Then I’ll make sure to rise from the flames even stronger.”
The alliance had been sealed, not just in words but in understanding. The House of Bakugo now had the silent backing of a foreign kingdom, and with that, their plans for reshaping the power structure of this land were one step closer to reality.
The morning of their departure arrived with a crisp breeze rolling through the grand halls of the Bakugo estate. Izuku stood with the king and queen in the courtyard, the gentle rustling of leaves accompanying their farewell. The carriage prepared for them was adorned with the royal emblem, a reminder that despite the bonds they had forged, duty would inevitably call them back to their kingdom.
The queen turned to Izuku with warmth in her gaze, reaching forward to clasp both of his hands in hers. “My dear, you have given us a gift beyond words. Though we may not share blood, you have given our daughter's body the freedom and life she longed for. Thank you.” Her voice was soft, yet heavy with emotion.
Izuku swallowed the lump forming in his throat and nodded. “It is I who should thank you,” he murmured, squeezing her hands. “For accepting me as I am, and for trusting me to carry her name.”
The queen hesitated for a moment, then leaned in, whispering into Izuku’s ear. “Does the duke know? About your soul… about who you once were?”
Izuku pulled back slightly, eyes widening before he composed himself. He glanced at Katsuki, who stood a few steps away, arms crossed, his usual scowl in place as he observed their farewell.
“No one knows,” Izuku admitted quietly. “Not even him. He has no suspicions, nor does he question who I was before.”
The queen and king exchanged a knowing look, a silent conversation passing between them. They had assumed the duke knew—his gaze toward their daughter held something deeper than mere obligation or duty. But they chose not to voice this thought. Instead, the king stepped forward, placing a firm hand on Izuku’s shoulder.
“You will understand in time,” he said, his tone light yet laced with something unspoken. “What matters now is that you live as you wish, that you forge your own path, Duchess.”
With a final, lingering glance, the queen and king each pressed a kiss to Izuku’s forehead, a farewell filled with gratitude and affection. Then, with regal poise, they stepped into their carriage, disappearing down the road as the duchy’s banner fluttered in the wind.
Izuku exhaled slowly, watching until the carriage became a speck on the horizon. Just as he turned, a voice broke the silence beside him.
“So, you were never close with them, huh?” Katsuki’s voice carried its usual roughness, but something about the way he said it made Izuku glance up at him with curiosity.
“What makes you say that?” Izuku asked, tilting his head slightly.
Katsuki narrowed his eyes. “The way you acted when they first arrived. Like they were strangers.” He crossed his arms, looking away as if he were trying to hide his expression.
“But now? You looked like you wanted to go with them.”
Izuku chuckled softly. He wasn’t sure which was amusing him more—the slight irritation in Katsuki’s voice, the hint of disgust, or was it… jealousy? The idea made Izuku smirk.
“Oh?” Izuku teased, stepping closer. “You sound like you wouldn’t like that idea.”
Katsuki scoffed, turning his head away. “Tch. Do whatever you want.” But the tips of his ears betrayed him, tinged with the faintest shade of red.
Izuku decided not to press further. Instead, he allowed himself to bask in this rare moment of casual conversation between them. The walls between them had not completely crumbled, but there were cracks—small openings where light seeped through.
For now, that was enough. He would enjoy these simple days, savoring every stolen moment of ease between them, before the storm they were preparing for would finally arrive.
As the days passed, Katsuki and Izuku found themselves slipping into an unspoken routine—one that felt too natural, too easy. It wasn’t something they discussed, but it was there in the way they moved around each other. The way they sat together during meals, how Katsuki would reach for Izuku’s teacup absentmindedly to refill it, or how Izuku would adjust Katsuki’s collar before he left for his duties. The way their conversations flowed effortlessly, without the guarded tones they once carried.
Izuku noticed it first. He realized that their lives had blended so seamlessly that they were behaving like a long-married couple. The thought was both comforting and unsettling. He tried to push it away, to remind himself that this was just part of his role as the duchess, but the warmth in his chest lingered. He saw the way the servants looked at them, whispering to each other about how the house of Bakugo was finally healing.
Katsuki, on the other hand, was dangerously comfortable. It crept up on him slowly, this feeling of familiarity, of home. He wasn’t supposed to feel this way.
Princess Michell was supposed to be a stranger in his life, a forced union he would tolerate. Yet, she was anything but. Every little thing she did—her calculated strategies, her strength in the face of noble scrutiny, the way she moved with an ease that didn’t belong to a sheltered royal—reminded him of someone.
It was unsettling.
One night, as Izuku finished reviewing documents in their shared study, he noticed Katsuki wasn’t there. Normally, by this time, he would be seated across from him, silently working through his own reports. A small frown tugged at his lips as he stood up and wandered the halls.
That’s when he saw it.
Katsuki stood in front of a door that had remained locked for as long as Izuku had lived in this palace. Without hesitation, the duke turned the handle and stepped inside, disappearing into the darkness beyond.
Curiosity gnawed at Izuku, and he turned to one of the passing servants. “That room… I’ve never seen it open before. What is it?”
The servant hesitated, clearly uncertain whether they should speak of it. But after a moment, their expression softened with a quiet sorrow. “That room has been closed since the day the late Duchess Izuku passed. The Duke never allowed anyone inside. He put everything she owned in there and hasn’t touched it since.”
Izuku felt his breath hitch.
Katsuki had kept an entire room sealed away?
For him?
For the late duchess?
The realization weighed on his chest, heavy and suffocating. His hands curled into fists at his sides as he stared at the door Katsuki had just vanished behind.
He had believed that Katsuki had long since moved past his grief, that he had accepted his new reality. But this… this room, this silent shrine of sorrow, told a different story.
For the first time in a long while, Izuku felt truly uncertain.
Did Katsuki love the late duchess that he couldn't let go?
And if so… where did that leave Princess Michell?
Chapter 13: A Reflection Unseen
Chapter Text
The duchess was making herself quite at home within the Bakugo estate. The servants had grown accustomed to her presence, even fond of her peculiar habits. Princess Michell, or rather, the Duchess of Bakugo, had an energy that was infectious. She laughed freely, sparred with the knights as if she were one of them, and wandered the grounds with an ease that made it seem as though she had belonged there all along.
Katsuki observed her from a distance, arms crossed over his chest as he leaned against the railing of the upper terrace. He had always thought that noblewomen—princesses especially—were fragile things, trained only in etiquette and grace, but Michell defied every expectation.
It was small things at first that caught his attention. The way she giggled—it was the same as Izuku’s. That bright, almost mischievous sound that had once echoed through the halls. The way she cracked jokes while sparring with the knights, the exact kind of playful teasing that Izuku used to throw at him when they trained together. Her interest in medicinal herbs and their uses, a knowledge she wielded as naturally as breathing. It was strange, eerie even, how her mannerisms mirrored someone who was supposed to be long gone.
And then came the final straw.
Katsuki had been searching for her. It was late in the afternoon, and she had vanished from sight. When he asked one of the servants where the duchess had gone, the answer nearly stopped his heart.
“It’s her bead hunting time, Your Grace. She should be in the west fields.”
Bead hunting.
Katsuki froze. His chest tightened. That was something only Izuku did. A strange habit he had picked up in childhood, collecting small beads or smooth stones during his free time, often using them to craft little trinkets or charms. It was something Katsuki had never questioned, had even teased him for once, only for Izuku to stubbornly continue the practice with a smile.
And now, Michell was doing it?
It was no longer just an odd coincidence. These weren’t just small resemblances. They were intentional. Too many things lined up too perfectly. The familiarity in the way she moved, the way she spoke, the things she enjoyed—everything about her seeped into his mind like a slow-acting poison, wrapping around his heart until he could no longer ignore it.
He clenched his fists, his breath coming out uneven.
Why did it feel so right to be near her?
Why did his body react with such instinctive comfort whenever she was around?
Katsuki wasn’t a fool. He had never been. And now, he was beginning to suspect that the woman he had taken as his wife, the woman who had invaded his space, his mind, and his heart—
—was someone he thought he had lost forever.
The moment Izuku returned to the palace, he sought solace in a quiet corner of his chamber, weaving delicate threads into intricate bracelets. The rhythmic motion of his hands brought a strange sense of comfort, one he had long since forgotten. The simple act of crafting something by hand reminded him of a time before everything became complicated.
But Katsuki had been watching.
The sight of the duchess, sitting there with the same level of concentration, making the same kind of bracelets that once adorned his wrist, was unbearable. It was impossible. It was a mockery.
Without thinking, he stormed forward, his heavy boots announcing his approach before his hand wrapped tightly around Izuku’s wrist. The sudden grip startled Izuku, making him drop the bracelet he was working on.
“Who ordered you to do this?” Katsuki’s voice was dangerously low, his crimson eyes burning with unrestrained fury. “Who the hell told you to act like this?”
Izuku’s eyes widened, confusion flashing across his face before he furrowed his brows. “What are you talking about, Duke?” he asked, forcibly pulling his wrist away from Katsuki’s grasp, wincing at the pressure. “I don’t take orders from anyone.”
“Bullshit.” Katsuki’s hands clenched into fists at his sides. “You—everything you do—it's all too fucking familiar. The way you laugh, the way you talk, the way you—” He exhaled sharply, running a hand through his unruly hair. “You’re not him.”
Izuku’s heart pounded. He knew exactly what Katsuki was saying, but he couldn’t—he wouldn’t—let this go where it was inevitably heading. Not now. Not yet.
“I am Duchess Michelle of this kingdom,” Izuku stated firmly, standing his ground. “Everything I do, everything I’ve chosen—this is my life. You have no right to question it.”
Katsuki let out a humorless laugh, his anger only intensifying. “You expect me to believe that? That all of this is just coincidence?” He took a step closer, his presence overwhelming. “You’re lying. You learned this. You studied every little thing just to deceive me.”
Izuku flinched. It wasn’t Katsuki’s words that hurt him—it was the disbelief in his eyes. The frustration. The desperation.
“I don’t need to deceive you,” Izuku spat back, his own voice rising now. “You think I’d go through all of this just to gain your trust? For what? For power? For control? I don’t need any of that! I have my own responsibilities, my own life to live!”
Katsuki scoffed. “Then explain it.” His voice was sharp, almost pleading. “Explain why everything you do reminds me of him. Explain why it’s driving me insane just looking at you.”
Izuku bit his lip. He couldn’t. There were no words that could satisfy Katsuki’s demand, and even if there were, would he even believe them? The truth was right in front of him, but it was a truth too cruel to be spoken aloud.
When Izuku remained silent, Katsuki’s patience snapped. He grabbed Izuku’s arm again, harder this time, his grip unforgiving. “Tell me the fucking truth!”
A sharp pain shot up Izuku’s arm, making him gasp. “Let go,” he hissed, struggling against Katsuki’s grasp.
“Not until you—”
“You’re hurting me, Kacchan!”
The words tore through the air like a thunderclap.
Silence fell between them, thick and suffocating.
Katsuki’s eyes widened in horror, his grip instantly loosening. Izuku’s chest heaved as he clutched his now-throbbing wrist, tears forming at the edges of his emerald eyes. It wasn’t just the pain—it was the memories, the fear, the overwhelming emotions that had been buried deep inside him.
Kacchan.
No one called him that. No one else even knew that name.
Katsuki staggered back as if he had been physically struck, his breath catching in his throat. He stared at the duchess—no, at Izuku—with something unreadable in his gaze. Fear? Guilt? Realization?
Izuku took a shaky breath, his voice barely above a whisper. “Why… why do you always do this?”
Katsuki remained frozen, unable to tear his eyes away from Izuku’s tear-streaked face. His mind screamed at him, demanded that he put the pieces together, but his heart was unwilling to accept the conclusion it was reaching.
Izuku wiped his tears away hastily, his expression hardening. “I won’t let you break me again.” His voice wavered, but the resolve in his eyes was unwavering. “Not this time.”
With that, he turned and walked away, leaving Katsuki standing there, haunted by the echoes of a name he thought he’d never hear again.
Chapter 14: Let Me Go
Chapter Text
Katsuki stood frozen in the dimly lit hallway, his breathing uneven, chest rising and falling with each deep inhale. His mind was screaming, rationality warring with the impossible reality before him.
"You—" his voice cracked, and he clenched his jaw, fists trembling. "You called me that name. Say it again."
Izuku—no, Duchess Michell—was standing a few steps away, his hand still clutching his arm where Katsuki had gripped him too tightly. His emerald eyes shimmered with tears, his lips slightly parted as if he, too, was struggling with the weight of his own words.
"Say it again!" Katsuki demanded, stepping forward, the sound of his boots echoing through the corridor. "Say my name like that again!"
Izuku took a step back, shaking his head, trying to compose himself. "I don't know what you're talking about, Duke. I am Duchess Michell. You are misunderstanding—"
"Bullshit!" Katsuki snapped, his voice laced with desperation. "No one calls me that! No one except—" He swallowed hard, his throat burning. "Except Izuku."
The name hung in the air between them, suffocating, pressing down on both their chests.
Katsuki exhaled sharply and ran a hand through his hair, gripping the strands as if trying to pull himself together. "I can't— I can't handle this. I can't fucking handle this! Izuku is dead! For almost five goddamn years, I—" His voice wavered before he forced himself to steady it. "I buried him. I mourned him. I cursed myself for failing him!"
Izuku flinched, his breath hitching, but Katsuki didn’t let up. He took another step closer, his crimson eyes searching, pleading. "Tell me. Tell me how you know things only Izuku knew. Tell me why you move like him, speak like him, joke like him, even fucking hunt beads like him. Tell me why you called me 'Kacchan' just now."
Silence.
Izuku was trembling now, his lips pressing into a thin line, his fingers digging into the fabric of his dress. He didn’t answer.
"Tell me!" Katsuki roared, slamming his fist against the stone wall beside them. "Are you fucking Izuku?" His voice cracked. "How?"
The duchess remained still, not daring to meet his gaze. His silence was answer enough.
Katsuki let out a sharp, pained laugh. "Damn it! Damn it, Izuku, look at me! I don't care if it sounds crazy! I don’t care if it doesn’t make sense! If there's even the slightest chance that you—" His breath hitched. "That you’re really him… Then I need to know! I need you more than anything."
Izuku squeezed his eyes shut. "Katsuki…"
The sound of his name, spoken so softly yet carrying years of longing, nearly shattered him.
"Just tell me the truth…" Katsuki whispered. His anger had melted away, leaving only raw desperation. "Please."
For the first time, Izuku lifted his gaze, emerald eyes locking onto crimson. And in that moment, Katsuki knew—no matter what the explanation was, no matter how impossible it seemed—this was Izuku.
His Izuku.
Izuku’s breath was shaky, his hands trembling at his sides as he forced himself to stay still. He had to be composed. He had to deny it.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he whispered, his voice hoarse, but even to his own ears, the words were weak. He could feel the weight of Katsuki’s gaze, burning into him, peeling back every layer he had built, every lie he had told himself.
Katsuki took a step forward, his hands clenched into fists. His voice was raw, desperate. “Stop it. Just stop this bullshit! I know it’s you—I fucking know it, Izuku!”
Izuku flinched. His name—his real name—slipping from Katsuki’s lips felt like a blade slicing through his chest. He turned his head away, as if avoiding Katsuki’s eyes would make this easier. But nothing about this was easy. Nothing about this had ever been easy.
“I am Princess Michell,” Izuku forced out, his voice more of a breath than a statement. “I married into the House of Bakugo. That’s all there is to it.”
“Bullshit,” Katsuki spat, stepping even closer. He was towering over Izuku now, his entire body trembling, his jaw clenched tight as if he was barely holding himself together. “Then why are you crying?”
Izuku’s eyes widened, and for the first time, he realized—the tears were falling freely. He lifted a hand to his face as if to confirm it, but it was pointless. He already knew. His body was betraying him in the worst way possible.
Katsuki’s breath hitched, his voice lowering into something broken, something that shouldn’t have existed in someone as strong as him. “Why can’t you just tell me the truth?”
Izuku shut his eyes tightly. “Because the truth doesn’t change anything.”
“The fuck it doesn’t!” Katsuki snapped. His voice cracked, and Izuku hated how much it hurt to hear. “If you’re Izuku—if it’s really you—then why didn’t you say anything? Why the fuck are you pretending to be someone else?”
Izuku’s fingers curled into the fabric of his dress, his nails digging into his palms. “Because you didn’t care when I was myself,” he whispered.
Katsuki froze.
Izuku let out a shaky breath and finally looked up, his green eyes filled with unshed tears, staring straight into Katsuki’s shocked red ones. “You’re acting like losing me was the worst thing that ever happened to you, but where was this before? Where was this when I was still me? When I was just Izuku?”
Katsuki’s mouth opened, but no words came out. He looked absolutely wrecked, like Izuku had just taken everything he thought he knew and shattered it in front of him.
“I waited,” Izuku continued, his voice trembling but gaining strength. “I waited for you to see me. To care. But you never did. And now, suddenly, when I’m someone else, when I’m a duchess who fights with you now, when I have a real title and power—you care? Why?” His voice cracked. “Why now?”
Katsuki shook his head rapidly, his breathing uneven. “That’s not—That’s not true! I always—” He swallowed hard, like the words were choking him. “I always cared, damn it! I just—I thought you knew! I thought—” He let out a frustrated growl, dragging a hand through his hair. “I thought you understood me, Izuku!”
Izuku laughed, but it was hollow, empty. “Understand what? That I didn’t matter to you? That you had your own life, your own duties, and I was just—there?”
Katsuki looked physically pained. “That’s not what it was. That’s not what I—”
“Then what was it?” Izuku snapped, stepping forward, his voice rising. “Because all I ever saw was someone who treated me like an afterthought. And now, suddenly, I’m supposed to believe that I meant something to you?”
Katsuki’s breathing was ragged. His hands were shaking. “You did. You do. And I—” He clenched his fists at his sides, his entire body tense. “I can’t lose you again.”
Izuku inhaled sharply. The weight of those words pressed down on him, suffocating. Katsuki wasn’t just desperate—he was terrified.
But that only made Izuku’s heart ache more.
“I already died once, Katsuki.” His voice was softer now, barely above a whisper. “And you survived.”
Katsuki flinched like he had been struck. His lips parted, but nothing came out.
Izuku swallowed the lump in his throat. “So why does it matter now?”
Katsuki’s expression twisted into something broken. “Because I didn’t fucking know—I didn’t realize what I had until I lost it! And I can’t—I can’t do it again, Izuku. I can’t go through losing you again.”
Izuku looked away, his chest tightening. “But I’m not yours to lose anymore.”
Silence stretched between them, heavy and suffocating.
Then, in a voice barely above a whisper, Katsuki spoke. “Then tell me to let you go. Ask me again to let you go.”
Izuku’s breath hitched.
Katsuki took a shaky step closer. “If you really want me to move on—to stop believing in this—then tell me. Tell me you’re not Izuku. Look me in the eye and tell me to let you go.”
Izuku’s lips trembled. His heart was pounding so loudly in his chest that it felt deafening.
But he couldn’t say it.
Because he couldn’t let go, either.
Katsuki exhaled shakily. He lifted a trembling hand, hesitant, like he wasn’t sure if he was allowed to touch. But when Izuku didn’t move away, his fingers brushed against Izuku’s cheek, warm and familiar.
“Izuku,” he breathed, and the way his voice broke shattered Izuku completely.
A sob ripped out of Izuku’s throat as he collapsed forward, his forehead pressing against Katsuki’s chest, his hands gripping at the fabric of his coat like it was the only thing keeping him standing.
Katsuki wrapped his arms around him instantly, holding him tight, like he was afraid Izuku would disappear if he let go.
Neither of them spoke.
Because in that moment, they both knew.
And neither of them were ready to let go.
The weight of the moment settled heavily in Bakugo's chest as he carried the woman he knew, the woman who had been his partner, his heart's only refuge—Izuku. His hands were trembling slightly as he gently lifted her—no, him—into his arms, his mind swirling with the whirlwind of emotions he couldn't fully understand.
Izuku's body, delicate in a way that was foreign to him, rested against his chest, still warm despite the cold night air. The soft rhythm of his breathing soothed Bakugo's anxiety, but it also served to amplify the confusion and the ache that had settled deep within him. He had never imagined seeing Izuku in this form, in a body that was not his own but still so painfully familiar. His mind couldn’t wrap itself around how this could be real. It was too much, too sudden.
The duchess’s soft, feminine features, the same eyes that he had seen countless times in his memories, were now staring back at him through the woman’s face. He had spent years by Izuku’s side, had fought beside him, loved him, and yet now, here they were—strangers in a way he had never thought possible.
He slowly laid her down on the bed, the silk sheets cool against her skin, but the warmth of his hands lingered, caressing the curve of her body. He could feel the tension in her muscles, the exhaustion that clung to her, and he couldn't help but feel a protective instinct surge through him.
As Izuku’s body settled into the bed, his chest rising and falling in a peaceful slumber, Bakugo felt a pang of longing that was so intense it was almost unbearable. Izuku, his late wife—no, his Izuku—was here. In this form. And all Bakugo could do was watch as the woman who had been his strength, his anchor, now lay before him in an unfamiliar guise.
His hands, once so sure and steady in their purpose, now hovered in hesitation, unsure of what to do. But one thing was clear: he needed to be close to her. He needed to understand this, to accept it, to believe it.
His heart ached with the desire to touch her, to feel her presence close to him as it had been before. But more than anything, he wanted to hold her as he had always done—without the confusion, without the fear. He wanted to take her in his arms and promise her that he would never let go, not this time, not again.
"Dammit, Izuku..." Bakugo whispered hoarsely, his voice shaking with unspoken words. He felt like he was drowning in a sea of confusion. How is this possible? Why now?
He bent down slowly, pressing his forehead to hers, feeling the warmth of her skin against his. The quietness of the room seemed to stretch around them, a stillness that felt too suffocating.
His mind screamed with questions, but no answers came. His heart, however, only knew one thing—he didn't care how Izuku was here or why. He only knew that he needed him. He needed to be with him, to hold him.
“If this is a dream, I don’t ever want to wake up,” he whispered into the quiet, his voice raw and desperate. He wasn’t sure if the words were meant for himself or for Izuku, but they spilled out regardless.
Bakugo closed his eyes, pressing his lips gently to Izuku’s forehead, the way he used to do when he wanted to reassure him, when he wanted to make everything okay. His hands rested on either side of her, holding her close as though the very act of touching her would make everything real.
“I want you back, Izuku,” he murmured softly, more to himself than anyone else. “I want you to be here with me. As my wife… as you.”
For a moment, Bakugo allowed himself to sink into the warmth of that thought, the idea that Izuku was truly with him again, even in this new form. He could feel the heaviness in his chest start to lift, though just barely. He wasn’t ready to let go of this, not this time. Not after everything they had been through.
He watched her sleep for a long time, not daring to move or disturb her, as if afraid that the moment would slip away from him. His heart pounded in his chest, his thoughts swirling with the knowledge that Izuku—no, his Izuku—was here again, in front of him, safe, in his arms. But the silence felt suffocating, and the truth still hung in the air like a thick fog.
Bakugo exhaled deeply, the weight of the past few years pressing down on him. He wasn’t sure how they had gotten here or what it all meant, but one thing was for sure: he wasn’t letting go again. Not now. Not ever.
As the night stretched on, Bakugo stayed by her side, feeling the soft rise and fall of Izuku’s chest, finding solace in the simple fact that she was there. He wouldn’t be leaving her. Not now. Not when he had finally realized just how much he needed her.
“Stay with me, Izuku,” Bakugo whispered again, his voice soft, begging, and filled with a longing that only those who had lost their love and found it again could understand.
Chapter 15: Duchess of Bakugo
Chapter Text
The estate of Bakugo was in an uproar, the usual peaceful atmosphere disturbed by the arrival of an unexpected invitation. It was from the king—an invitation for Duke Bakugo to attend a grand party, a lavish event, though the absence of Duchess Izuku was glaringly obvious.
Izuku stood in the middle of the room, staring down at the letter, confusion gnawing at his insides.
What had he done to offend the king this time? he wondered.
His thoughts ran wild as he tried to make sense of it, but no answer came. It was so unexpected. Why would the king send an invitation to Katsuki without even extending the courtesy to the duchess? After everything that had happened, this felt like a slap in the face.
As he stood there, lost in thought, he overheard the quiet whispers of the servants behind him. His name caught his attention.
“Will Duke Katsuki attend the event again?” one servant murmured. “Will he go on a rampage again, like last time?”
Izuku’s brow furrowed, and he couldn’t resist asking, “What do you mean? What rampage?”
The servants exchanged looks, clearly uncomfortable, before one of them answered, “The king... he never invited the late Duchess Izuku to the parties, you see. The Duke didn’t tolerate that disrespect. Last time, he... he caused quite a scene at the event. Everyone thought he was going to tear the place down.”
The servant’s voice lowered, as though recalling something dangerous.
“He didn’t want to attend without the Duchess, but the pressure to go, to represent the house, was too much. So when the king insulted the Duchess by not inviting him... Duke Bakugo went mad.”
Izuku’s heart skipped a beat. He had no idea. He thought Katsuki had just gone along with his duties, attending the events alone as the head of the house, not caring whether or not Izuku was included. He had thought that maybe Katsuki had grown distant, even indifferent, to him.
But now, hearing the servants' words, a small flicker of understanding sparked in his chest.
The servant sighed and continued, “The Duke has always been protective of the late Duchess. Even when no one spoke of it, the Duke never once disrespected his wife. He never opposed the king’s orders, not until they started pressuring and disrespecting the Duchess.”
The servant hesitated, clearly trying to find the right words. “The late Duchess didn’t even know how far the Duke would go for him. He didn’t know how deeply the Duke cared. If the Duke had known how much Izuku meant to him, maybe... maybe things would have been different.”
Izuku's chest tightened at the words. He didn’t know how much Katsuki cared?
The realization hit him hard, as though a door to a past he had never fully understood was slowly creaking open. Izuku had believed, deep down, that Katsuki had never truly needed him, that he was just fulfilling his role as a duke. He had felt neglected, dismissed, in the shadows. But hearing this now, the truth came crashing down around him.
The servant continued, “After that event, the Duke was locked up by the king. He didn’t get home until late, but by then, it was too late. The Duchess had fallen ill from waiting outside for him all night.” The servant lowered his voice again, almost as if speaking in fear. “That night... that was one of the most frightening moments for everyone. The Duke’s rage, his ruthlessness... it became known throughout the kingdom. When it came to the Duchess, no one dared to cross the Duke.”
Izuku’s mind raced, trying to piece together the fractured memories.
Bakugo had cared for him that much?
The thought both comforted and terrified him. He had never truly known how deeply Katsuki had been affected by the way the king had treated him, or by the pressure he had been under. But now, knowing this, everything seemed to fall into place. He had been so focused on his own feelings of neglect that he had missed the signs that Katsuki had been silently fighting for him all along.
The servants exchanged worried glances, their fear palpable.
“They’re worried, Your Grace,” one of the servants whispered. “If the Duchess is excluded again... if the King does this again, the Duke may not be able to control his anger. It could... it could lead to another rampage.”
Izuku’s heart ached at the thought.
Katsuki had done all of that—gone so far—out of love, out of a desire to protect him. But now, with his mind clouded by the fear of another outburst, Izuku felt helpless. He couldn’t let that happen again. He couldn’t let Katsuki destroy himself over this, not again. He had to stop it, whatever it took.
Later that evening, the tension in the house grew thicker as preparations for the event continued. Izuku found Katsuki in his study, brooding over the invitation, clearly wrestling with his own thoughts. Izuku hesitated for a moment before approaching, his hand resting lightly on the doorframe.
“Kacchan,” he began, his voice steady but with an edge of concern, “you’re not going, are you? Not to that party.”
Katsuki’s head snapped up, his golden eyes flashing with a mix of frustration and determination. “I have to go,” he muttered. “It’s my duty.”
Izuku felt his stomach twist at the word. His duty. The same excuse he had heard so many times before. But this time, something inside him snapped. He stepped into the room, walking towards Katsuki, his expression firm.
“What duty are you talking about, Kacchan?” he asked, his voice growing stronger. “I heard about what happened last time. You went on a rampage because the king didn’t invite me. Because you wanted to protect me.”
Katsuki’s face faltered for just a moment, a flicker of something unfamiliar crossing his features. He looked away, uncomfortable under Izuku’s gaze. “I...” he hesitated, his voice low. “I didn’t want to go, but I had to. The house had to be represented.”
Izuku stepped closer, his gaze softening. “But that’s not why, is it?” he asked quietly. “You went because you felt it wasn’t right. You went because you couldn’t stand seeing me be treated like that.”
Katsuki swallowed hard, his eyes darting away, but his lips trembled slightly. “It’s... it’s my duty, Izuku. As the Duke... as your husband.”
Izuku’s heart skipped a beat.
Husband.
That one word sent a shiver down his spine. For a moment, everything felt clearer than ever. It all clicked into place—the reason why Katsuki had acted so fiercely, so protectively.
He had never stopped caring for him, never stopped fighting for him, even when Izuku hadn’t known the truth.
Izuku chuckled softly, a bittersweet smile curving his lips. “You should have said that before, Kacchan,” he murmured. “So we could have avoided all these misunderstandings.”
Katsuki looked at him, confusion crossing his features, but there was a spark of something deeper in his eyes. “You... You’re right.” His voice was barely a whisper.
“I should’ve said it sooner. I should’ve said how much you meant to me.”
Izuku reached out, his hand brushing lightly against Katsuki’s arm, offering comfort, and something more.
“It’s okay,” he whispered, feeling the weight of everything they had both been through. “Just... let me stand by your side this time, okay?”
Katsuki stared at him, a mixture of emotions flickering across his face—love, regret, longing—and for the first time in so long, he nodded, the tension in his shoulders slowly easing.
“I’ll take you with me,” he said quietly, his voice filled with conviction. “This time... I won’t let you be left behind.”
The grand hall of the royal palace was alive with dazzling lights and elegant decor, a place where nobles gathered in resplendent attire, their conversations flowing like fine wine. However, despite the grandeur, an underlying tension wove itself into the fabric of the evening—the result of the unexpected yet now-corrected invitation blunder.
Duke Katsuki Bakugo and Duchess Izuku stood at the entrance, their presence immediately commanding the attention of everyone in attendance. Izuku, adorned in an exquisite ensemble that highlighted his noble grace, was a vision of influence and quiet strength. The sheer aura he exuded, combined with his title as Duchess Michell, sent waves throughout the hall. It was not merely his beauty but the way he carried himself, the way he engaged, the way he represented the house of Bakugo with unwavering confidence that made people truly understand the power of his presence.
A hush fell over the crowd as Izuku gracefully made his way toward the king. His demeanor remained poised, his expression polite yet unreadable. When he reached the throne, he bowed respectfully before addressing the ruler.
"Your Majesty," he began, his voice smooth and deliberate, "I must express my gratitude for the opportunity to attend this evening’s gathering. I do hope that the invitation’s mishap was nothing more than an unfortunate oversight."
The king stiffened slightly, though he quickly composed himself. "Ah, Duchess Michell, it was indeed an oversight on my part," he said, forcing a genial smile. "I deeply regret the mistake and extend my apologies to the esteemed House of Bakugo. I assure you, it was never my intention to show any disrespect."
Katsuki, standing beside Izuku, narrowed his crimson eyes. His expression remained controlled, but the warning in his gaze was undeniable. It was clear that neither he nor Izuku believed the king’s words. The exclusion had been intentional, a quiet yet calculated move to test the strength of the duchess's standing. But with Izuku now standing before him, unshaken and regal, the king was forced to retreat under the weight of the duchess’s influence.
Izuku offered the king a serene smile, one that carried an unspoken message. "I understand, Your Majesty," he said smoothly, as if accepting the excuse, though the glint in his green eyes made it clear that he was far from deceived. "I am relieved that it was simply a misunderstanding."
The nobles watched in fascination, the tension in the air shifting. Though they did not speak of it aloud, many had been unsettled upon hearing that Duchess Michell had not been invited. Izuku was not just the Duchess of Bakugo—he was a symbol of progress, an individual who had touched countless lives through his influence in various fields. His absence would have left an unspoken void in the evening, and now, seeing him here, many felt a renewed sense of admiration and respect for him.
The event, now infused with a newfound sense of appreciation, carried on with grandeur. Conversations flourished, music played, and yet, eyes continuously drifted toward the Duke and Duchess. The sight of them together was a powerful statement, a testament to their strength and unity. While no one dared to openly voice their concerns about the king’s prior actions, the sentiment lingered in the air.
Katsuki, ever the protector, remained close to Izuku’s side throughout the evening, his sharp eyes scanning the room, ensuring that no further disrespect would befall his beloved. He had made it clear before that any slight against Izuku would be met with consequences—tonight, that warning remained unspoken but understood.
As the night continued, nobles and dignitaries sought out Izuku, eager to converse and express their admiration. The duchess, with his natural grace and intelligence, handled each interaction with ease, further cementing his place as not only a noble of high standing but a true force within the kingdom.
Though the king had attempted to manipulate the situation, he had failed. Instead of diminishing the Duchess’s presence, he had only succeeded in elevating it further. And standing at his side, unwavering and proud, was the Duke—ready to burn down the world if anyone dared to threaten what was his.
The royal family may have hosted the event, but the night belonged to the Duchess of Bakugo.
Chapter 16: Crown Prince
Chapter Text
The grand hall buzzed with conversation and laughter, yet Izuku felt an unusual weight in the air. His gaze drifted toward the young crown prince, seated alone by the far end of the ballroom, his shoulders hunched and his expression somber. The boy, barely in his teenage years, looked utterly detached from the grandeur surrounding him.
Without hesitation, Izuku quietly excused himself from the event and slipped through the side doors into the garden. Under the moonlight, he found the prince seated on a stone bench, his hands clasped together tightly. The boy startled at his approach, immediately rising to bow deeply.
"Your Grace," the prince murmured, his voice polite yet weary.
Izuku smiled before bowing in return, a gesture that made the young prince widen his eyes. "A prince should never bow his head to anyone below his rank," Izuku said gently.
The boy hesitated before slowly sitting back down. Izuku took the space beside him, watching as he fidgeted with the hem of his royal tunic.
"You don’t seem to be enjoying the party much, Your Highness," Izuku observed.
The prince let out a hollow chuckle. "I find it suffocating. These people look at me and see only my title, my future role as king. I love this kingdom—I truly do—but my father never listens to my ideas. Every time I speak, I am dismissed, like I am merely a puppet waiting for my strings to be pulled."
Izuku leaned forward slightly. "That sounds… painfully familiar."
The prince turned to him, curiosity flickering in his youthful eyes. "You understand?"
Izuku nodded. "More than you know. The late Duchess once lived under the same pressure. Being forced into a role that others deemed fitting, with no room to grow outside their expectations. It is a heavy burden to bear."
The prince hesitated before admitting, "I had always wanted to meet the late Duchess. I felt… perhaps if I had, I would have found a friend. But then I heard he… he had taken his own life." The boy’s voice lowered to a whisper. "And now, there is a new Duchess, but this one is different. Duchess Michell seems like someone free, untouchable, unlike the late Duchess. Unlike me."
Izuku chuckled, shaking his head. "Different, you say?" He then leaned in slightly, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "Do you want to hear a secret?"
The prince blinked. "A secret?"
Izuku grinned. "I am not Princess Michell." He placed a hand on his chest. "I am the late Duchess."
The prince’s mouth fell open. "You… you are—?"
"The very same," Izuku confirmed, watching as understanding, disbelief, and an odd kind of relief passed through the prince’s features.
"Then… I can still be your friend? Even though you are now Duchess Michell?" The boy's voice was almost hopeful, as if he had found something he had lost before he even had a chance to grasp it.
Izuku nodded. "Of course. Titles change, forms may shift, but a heart that seeks understanding will always find companionship."
The prince lowered his head, this time not in deference, but in gratitude. "Then… please, may I confide in you?"
Izuku smiled warmly. "Always."
Bakugo had been keeping a close eye on Izuku throughout the party, and when he saw him seated beside the crown prince, speaking in hushed tones, his instincts flared. He didn't interfere immediately, choosing instead to watch from a distance, but when he saw the prince's eyes widen in disbelief, he knew Izuku had told him something significant.
As the conversation ended and Izuku stood to leave, Bakugo stepped out from the shadows, arms crossed. "Why the hell did you tell him that?" His voice was sharp, but Izuku could hear the underlying concern rather than anger.
Izuku turned to face him, tilting his head slightly with a playful smile. "What? You worried, Kacchan?" he teased, folding his hands behind his back. "You’re not really mad, are you? I know you like the crown prince."
Bakugo scowled. "That's not the damn point."
"Oh, but it is," Izuku grinned, stepping closer to him. "You’ve always been fond of him, haven't you? Even before?"
Bakugo clicked his tongue, looking away. "Tch. He’s a good kid."
Izuku chuckled. "And you’re planning to make him the king sooner rather than later, aren't you?"
At that, Bakugo stiffened, his sharp red eyes darting back to meet Izuku’s. "Don’t go running your mouth. You don’t know what you’re talking about."
But Izuku only smirked, eyes gleaming with amusement. "Come on, Kacchan. You can’t fool me. You know the king is unfit to rule, and you’ve probably been working behind the scenes to strengthen the prince’s position."
Bakugo exhaled sharply through his nose, glaring, but there was no real heat behind it. He ran a hand through his hair before finally conceding with a sigh. "Damn nerd, always too sharp for your own good."
Izuku chuckled. "It’s a good plan. He’ll be a better king than his father. And it’s nice to know House Bakugo is supporting him."
Bakugo was silent for a moment before he stepped forward, looking the crown prince in the eye. Then, in a rare moment of solemnity, he bowed deeply before him. "House Bakugo declares its loyalty to the rightful heir."
The young prince gasped softly, eyes widening at the sight of the formidable Duke Bakugo bowing before him. But before he could speak, Izuku nudged Bakugo with his elbow.
"See? Was that so hard?" he teased.
Bakugo huffed, straightening up. "Shut up, dumbass."
Izuku only laughed, warmth filling his chest as he watched the moment unfold.
The crown prince chuckled softly, his amusement dancing in his eyes as he processed Izuku’s words. He had known of the late duchess, the rumors surrounding Izuku’s tragic death, but to hear the duchess—his duchess—say those words so casually, as though they were a simple confession, took him by surprise. He had been skeptical, even a bit incredulous when Izuku had first mentioned it, but now, seeing the way the duke doted on his duchess, there was no longer any doubt in his mind.
Bakugo’s gaze had softened when he looked at Izuku, a possessive tenderness there, a protectiveness so strong it almost radiated. It was clear now, without any further explanation needed: Izuku wasn’t just his wife in name, but his Izuku—the late duchess. The crown prince leaned back slightly, a mixture of admiration and disbelief in his expression.
“How?” the crown prince whispered, more to himself than anyone. His voice betrayed a deep curiosity, something he had never felt toward his own royal family.
He found himself looking at the House of Bakugo not with the usual skepticism or sense of duty he reserved for the royal family, but with genuine awe. In his eyes, the House of Bakugo was more than just a noble house; it was the foundation of the kingdom. They had strength, loyalty, and power. The king’s rule often felt so limited, so constricted within the walls of the palace, while the duke and duchess—Izuku—exuded a kind of freedom, a force of nature that was impossible to ignore. They were the heart of the kingdom, far more than his own royal blood ever could be.
“I don’t understand how this could be…” the prince continued, his voice full of thought, as he turned his gaze back to Bakugo. “But the House of Bakugo is… it’s a foundation to this kingdom, more than my own family. I have seen that now. The king is… different. He’s constricted by his title, his position. But you…”
He looked from Bakugo to Izuku, his voice almost reverent. “You both—you're the true power here. You care for this kingdom more than anyone else.”
Bakugo glanced at Izuku, an unreadable expression on his face, but there was a spark of acknowledgment in his eyes. It was a rare thing for him to hear such words, especially from someone of the prince’s status.
But the truth was undeniable.
He had always known that his relationship with Izuku had been the cornerstone of his strength, and now, seeing the prince finally recognize it too, there was a sense of confirmation in that.
Izuku’s lips curved into a small smile, acknowledging the crown prince's words. "You may be right, Your Highness. The House of Bakugo is the foundation, but it is built on loyalty and love for this land, not just power or title," he said, his voice steady and confident. He could feel Katsuki’s hand brush lightly against his own, and the simple gesture filled him with a warmth he hadn’t expected.
The crown prince, still wrestling with his own emotions, let out a quiet sigh. “I… I never knew the late duchess was like this. You are nothing like the others. But, perhaps that is why… why I’ve never been able to relate to my own family the way I do to the House of Bakugo."
Izuku’s smile softened, and his voice took on a more serious tone. "Sometimes, the true power lies in those who know how to fight for something more than themselves. This kingdom, its future, depends on the choices we make. And I know Bakugo and I will stand by this land, no matter what."
His gaze met Bakugo’s, the bond between them clear and undeniable. "But remember, Your Highness, you too can stand for more. You don’t have to be bound by the chains of your family’s expectations."
The prince looked between them, a mixture of admiration and gratitude in his eyes. He didn’t know if he could follow in the steps of the House of Bakugo, but he did know one thing for sure: the foundation of this kingdom wasn’t in the title, nor in the royal blood that ran through his veins. It was in the strength of loyalty, in the love for the land, and in the power of bonds stronger than any crown.
Izuku’s words had planted a seed in the prince’s mind, a seed of hope. Maybe, just maybe, there was more he could do for his people, even if he couldn’t escape the confines of his royal blood. And in that moment, he understood—perhaps he could befriend the duchess. He had a long way to go, but he wasn’t as alone as he once thought.
Bakugo’s gaze never wavered from the prince, his voice firm, but with a hint of pride. "Just don’t expect us to do everything for you, kid. You’ll need to figure some of it out on your own."
The crown prince chuckled at that, a small but genuine smile crossing his face. "I’m beginning to understand that," he said, glancing at Izuku once more. "Maybe… we could work together after all."
Izuku smiled knowingly, his eyes glinting with a mix of mischief and sincerity. "I think that would be a wise choice, Your Highness."
And so, with a newfound understanding between them, the crown prince finally rose to his feet, a little more confident, a little more sure of himself. As he left the garden, he couldn’t help but glance back at the duke and duchess, wondering what the future held for all of them.
For the first time in a long while, he felt a spark of hope.
Chapter 17: She Who Was Me To You
Chapter Text
Izuku noticed it more and more with each passing day—how Kacchan was watching him with a different kind of intensity, how his touches lingered, how he instinctively reached for him in small ways, guiding him through the halls, shielding him from wandering eyes.
Katsuki had always been protective, but this was different. It wasn’t the guarded, tense way he had been toward Princess Michell, nor the distant reverence he had held for Duchess Izuku of the past. It was something more familiar, something closer to what Izuku had longed for years ago but had never quite been able to reach.
Kacchan knew now. He knew who he really was—Izuku. And since then, his walls had cracked, his distance had faded, and he had begun acting like the Kacchan Izuku had loved all his life.
At first, it had made Izuku happy. It made his heart race, filled with warmth and relief. But as the days passed, doubt began creeping in. Why now? Why was Katsuki suddenly being so open? Was it just because he had Princess Michell’s body now? Because it was easier, more acceptable?
The thought made something twist painfully in Izuku’s chest.
That night, as they sat alone in their shared chambers, the weight of the question pressed too heavily on him to ignore. Izuku turned to face Katsuki, his emerald eyes sharp yet uncertain.
"Kacchan."
Katsuki, who had been reclining near the hearth, looked up immediately. "What?" His voice was relaxed, casual, like he had no idea what was coming.
Izuku hesitated, but then forced himself to speak. "Why are you acting like this now?"
Katsuki blinked, confusion flickering in his crimson eyes. "Hah?"
"You’re…" Izuku clenched his hands into fists against his lap. "You’re more open with me now. More… attentive. More like how we used to be before—before everything happened. Why?" He took a breath, forcing himself to meet Katsuki’s gaze. "Is it because I have this body now? Because I look like Princess Michell?"
The moment the words left his mouth, Katsuki visibly stiffened.
"The fuck?!" Katsuki’s voice came out sharp, defensive, but the raw panic in his eyes betrayed him. "What kind of shitty question is that?!"
Izuku didn’t back down. "A real one. One I deserve to ask, Kacchan."
Katsuki’s jaw clenched, and his hands curled into fists at his sides. He looked… scared. Guilty.
"No. No, it’s not like that! Fuck—how could you even think that?!" He stood abruptly, pacing like a caged animal. "You think I—what—only care now ‘cause you’re in a woman’s body?! That I wouldn’t have—damn it, Izuku!"
Izuku flinched slightly at the desperation in Katsuki’s voice, but he held his ground. "Then tell me, Kacchan. Why now?"
Katsuki turned to him then, his expression wrecked, his hands trembling. "Because I know it’s you." His voice cracked. "Because I thought I lost you forever. And when I found out you were here, alive, breathing, right in front of me—I just… I just couldn’t fucking hold back anymore."
Izuku’s breath hitched.
"I don’t give a shit about the body you’re in," Katsuki went on, voice raw. "I don’t care if you’re Princess Michell, the late duchess, or some random fucking knight. Hell, even if your soul got thrown into that bastard king’s body, I’d still—" He exhaled shakily, running a hand through his hair. "I’d still want you. Because it’s always been you."
Izuku’s eyes widened, his heart pounding in his chest.
Katsuki swallowed hard, his voice thick. "I fucking told you before, didn’t I? That you’re my everything." His fingers clenched at his sides, his breathing uneven. "You think I’d throw that away just because of some fucking body? You think I’d need you to be a woman just to finally love you the way I should’ve?!" His voice cracked slightly on the last words, and Izuku felt his breath catch.
"Kacchan…"
Katsuki let out a shaky, frustrated breath, rubbing at his eyes. "Shit, I—fuck, I probably sound insane right now, but you have to believe me, Izuku." His voice wavered as he lowered his hands, meeting Izuku’s gaze directly.
"It was never about this body. Never. It’s you. Just you. And I swear, if I had known—if I had even thought there was a way to get you back, I would’ve torn the world apart looking for you."
Izuku felt something inside him crack—something deep, something painful, but something hopeful too.
Kacchan’s voice was shaking. His hands were shaking.
For the first time in years, Izuku saw it—saw the raw, unfiltered emotion Katsuki had tried so hard to bury. Regret. Fear. Love.
And suddenly, his doubts didn’t seem so heavy anymore.
Katsuki was still pacing, his breath coming out in ragged bursts, his entire body tense like he was holding back something that was going to tear him apart from the inside. "You don’t fucking get it, do you?!" he snapped, running both hands through his hair, gripping at it like he wanted to rip it out.
"I spent years thinking you were dead, thinking I lost you—for fucking ever. I was supposed to just live with that. Supposed to just move on, let it go, be the fucking duke they wanted me to be."
He let out a short, bitter laugh, but it wasn’t amused—it was broken. "But I couldn't. I couldn't fucking do it, Izuku. Because every goddamn second, I kept thinking about you. About what I could've done. What I should've done."
He turned sharply, staring at Izuku with wild, desperate eyes.
"And then you show up, and I don’t even know it’s you at first, and I—fuck, I was so fucking stupid! I thought I had to push you away because I couldn’t—" He choked on his words, exhaling sharply, then forced himself to continue.
"And then I find out it’s you. That you were right there in front of me the whole time."
His voice cracked, and his fists clenched so hard his knuckles turned white.
"You think I’d hesitate if I knew from the start?! You think I wouldn’t have dropped every fucking thing the moment I realized it was you?"
Izuku just sat there, watching him, his throat tight.
Katsuki let out a shuddering breath, then pressed a hand over his face, his shoulders trembling. "I’m so fucking scared, Izuku."
His voice had dropped, raw and unguarded.
"Scared that I’ll fuck this up again. That I’ll lose you all over again. That one day, I’ll wake up and you’ll be gone, and this time, there won’t be a second chance."
He lowered his hand, looking at Izuku, eyes shining with something dangerously close to tears. "So yeah. I’m being more open. I’m holding on tighter. Because I have to. Because if I don’t, I might lose you again, and I can’t—I can’t fucking survive that twice."
He took a shaky step forward, his voice barely above a whisper. "I don’t care what body you have. I don’t care what name you wear. You are mine. And I will spend the rest of my goddamn life making sure you never feel like I only want you now just because it’s easier."
Katsuki exhaled sharply, his chest rising and falling unevenly. "So please—please—don’t fucking doubt me on this. I love you, Izuku. And I don't care if you believe it right now. I’ll just keep proving it to you until you do."
Izuku barely registered the warmth trailing down his cheeks until his vision blurred, and he felt the tremble in his own breath.
"Kacchan…"
His voice came out broken, fragile, almost unrecognizable to himself. Never—not once—had he heard Katsuki say those words to him so directly, so desperately.
I love you.
It echoed in his mind, over and over again, until it drowned out everything else. He couldn't breathe past the warmth of it, the sheer, overwhelming weight of hearing what he'd longed for—what he'd never thought he'd have.
His lips parted, but no words came. Nothing. His body shook with the weight of it, his knees weak, his heart a wild, erratic beat against his ribs.
And then—warmth.
Katsuki pulled him in, his arms tight, strong, unwavering, surrounding him in something so safe, so undeniably real that it shattered whatever resistance Izuku had left. A choked sob tore past his lips, his fingers clutching onto Katsuki’s coat like it was the only thing keeping him from falling apart completely. He pressed his face into Katsuki’s chest, the scent of him—familiar, grounding—only making the tears come faster.
"I’m sorry—" Izuku managed to whisper between shaky breaths. "I’m so sorry, Kacchan. I—" He swallowed, his body still trembling. "I should’ve understood. I should’ve seen it. I was so stubborn, so focused on what I thought I needed to know that I—" His voice hitched, his grip tightening. "I didn’t see how much you were hurting too."
But before he could say anything more, Katsuki pulled back just enough to cup Izuku’s face in both hands, his thumbs brushing away the tears that wouldn’t stop falling.
"No," Katsuki murmured, voice firm but gentle. "Don’t. Don’t fucking apologize, Izuku."
His forehead pressed against Izuku’s, warm breath mingling between them.
"I’m the one who should be apologizing. I should’ve been clear from the start. I should’ve—" He inhaled sharply, closing his eyes for a second before opening them again, raw with guilt. "I should’ve been stronger for you. For us. But I let everything—my own fucking fears—get in the way. I let you think you weren’t enough, when you’ve always been everything."
His grip on Izuku tightened, as if he could somehow hold them together with sheer will alone.
"I should’ve held on tighter. I should’ve fought for you instead of being too much of a coward to admit how much I—" He broke off, shaking his head. "I thought I lost you forever, Izuku. And I know I don’t deserve a second chance, but—"
Izuku sniffled, his breath uneven. "Kacchan…"
"I should’ve been better for you, not for anyone else." Katsuki’s voice was hoarse, strained. "And I swear—I swear to you—I will be. No more running. No more holding back. No more letting you go. Never again."
Izuku’s breath hitched. The way Katsuki held him, the way his voice cracked with the weight of his own emotions, the way he was here—it was too much. It was everything.
So he didn’t think. Didn’t hesitate.
He just clung tighter, burying himself in Katsuki’s embrace, letting his tears soak into the warmth of his husband’s clothes. "Okay," he whispered, voice trembling but sure. "Okay, Kacchan."
Because for the first time in forever, he believed him.
Chapter 18: House of Bakugo
Chapter Text
The morning sun barely peeked through the curtains when a soft knock echoed against the heavy wooden door of the duchess’s chamber. The maid, nervous but determined to perform her morning duties, patiently waited.
When the door creaked open, she nearly gasped.
Standing before her, tousled hair and bare-chested, was none other than the duke himself. His expression was calm, but there was a slight furrow in his brows, as if irritated by the interruption. His golden eyes flickered down at her, making her gulp.
"The duchess is still asleep," Katsuki stated simply, voice husky from sleep. "She needs to rest. Don’t disturb her."
The maid immediately nodded, hands tightening on her apron. "O-Of course, Your Grace! Please excuse me!" She bowed hastily and retreated down the hall, her heart racing.
As soon as she turned the corner, she spotted a few fellow maids preparing for the morning. "You won’t believe what I just saw!" she whispered excitedly, dragging them closer. "The duke himself, answering the duchess’s door—half-naked!"
Gasps erupted among them.
"Wait—does that mean…?"
"They spent the night together?"
"They made up!"
The murmurs spread like wildfire among the servants. It wasn’t long before every maid, footman, and cook in the estate heard the news.
"Last night, weren’t they arguing?" one servant recalled. "I heard sobbing. From both of them."
"Maybe they were trying to fix things or be better for each other?" another guessed. "And… it looks like they did."
A collective sigh of relief washed over them. The tension that had filled the estate for days seemed to have lifted overnight. The duke and duchess—finally reconciled.
But amidst the excitement, a shadow of sadness settled over some of the older staff. One of the housekeepers, who had served the Bakugo estate for years, sighed softly.
"It’s wonderful news, truly…" she said, voice wistful. "But it does make me think of the late Duchess Izuku."
A quiet hush fell.
"The duke truly loved him," another murmured. "And now… it seems he has finally moved on."
A bittersweet silence lingered. None of them knew the truth. None of them realized that Duchess Michell was Duchess Izuku. That the duke had never moved on—because he had never needed to.
And as the servants continued their morning duties, the house slowly came alive with warmth again. The duke and duchess were together, and for them, that was enough.
Izuku sat at the vanity, brushing through the ends of his long hair when his personal maid, the one who had been assigned solely to serve Duchess Michell, suddenly burst out with a heartfelt, trembling voice.
"Congratulations, my lady."
Izuku blinked, turning his gaze to the maid in surprise. "For what?" he asked, tilting his head.
The maid’s face flushed with emotion, but her eyes were earnest. "For gaining the love you truly deserve from the duke." Her hands were clenched at her sides, but her voice remained steady.
"Everyone can see it now. The way he looks at you, the way he cherishes you." She exhaled shakily before dropping into a deep bow. "Please… please allow me to stay by your side until the very end."*
Izuku’s chest tightened at the raw devotion in her words.
"If everything becomes too heavy, please, rely on me. Or the other servants. The entire House of Bakugo’s people are on your side, always." The maid’s voice wavered. "So please, never think of taking your own life… like the late duchess did."*
Izuku inhaled sharply. His hands trembled for a moment before he reached out and grasped the maid’s hands gently. The warmth of her grip, the desperation behind her plea—it all made his heart ache.
Before he could respond, the door creaked open.
Katsuki stood in the doorway, arms crossed, golden eyes sharp as he observed the scene before him. He had clearly heard every word.
Izuku turned to him, his grip on the maid’s hands tightening slightly. He met Katsuki’s gaze, silently asking for permission.
Kacchan… can I tell her?
Katsuki exhaled through his nose, tilting his head slightly before shrugging his shoulders. He wouldn’t interfere. The choice was Izuku’s to make.
Izuku smiled softly before turning back to the maid. His fingers squeezed hers reassuringly.
"Then listen carefully," he murmured.
Izuku held the maid’s trembling hands, his fingers curling gently around hers as he took a deep breath.
"There’s something you need to know," he said softly, watching as the maid looked up at him in confusion, uncertainty flickering in her eyes.
Katsuki remained by the door, arms still crossed, but his gaze was fixed on Izuku, sharp yet unreadable.
"I am not who you think I am," Izuku continued, his voice steady yet gentle. "Or rather… I am both Duchess Michell and the late Duchess Izuku."
The maid froze. "My lady…?" she whispered, her voice barely audible.
Izuku let out a soft chuckle, shaking his head. "I know it sounds impossible. But I am Izuku. The same Izuku who once lived in this house, who once stood by Kacchan’s side, and who—" his throat tightened for a moment "—who once thought he had lost everything."
The maid’s lips parted slightly, her hands gripping Izuku’s as if trying to ground herself. "But… Duchess Michell…"
"Is just a name. A body. But the soul inside? It has always been me," Izuku said, pressing a hand against his chest. "I never truly left this house. Even in death, somehow, I returned."
She stared at him, disbelief warring with something deeper—recognition.
"That’s why," Izuku continued, "I understand your fears. I understand why you’re afraid of history repeating itself. But I promise you—I will not leave this time." His voice, though gentle, carried an undeniable strength. "I will never make that choice again. Because now, I know I am not alone. Even before."
The maid let out a soft, broken sound, tears gathering in her eyes. "Then…!" She sucked in a breath, struggling to find her words. "Then it was truly you, all along. The one who loved the duke. The one the duke—"
Her eyes darted to Katsuki, realization dawning in them.
Katsuki sighed, rubbing the back of his head. "Yeah. It took me a while to get it too," he muttered, scowling slightly as if irritated by his own delay in realizing the truth. "I only confirmed it days ago."
The maid covered her mouth with both hands, trying to contain the overwhelming emotions washing over her. "But this… this means…" She looked between them, something akin to joy, sorrow, and relief all blending in her gaze. "The duke never moved on from the late duchess. He—he truly—"
"Never did," Izuku finished for her, smiling through the slight sting of old wounds. "And I never stopped loving him either."
Katsuki clicked his tongue. "Like I’d ever love anyone else, dumbass," he grumbled, stepping forward at last.
Izuku turned his head up to meet him, a soft smile playing on his lips.
"Then…" The maid swallowed hard before slowly lowering herself to her knees. "Then please allow me to renew my vow to you, Duchess Izuku."
Izuku’s breath caught.
"No matter the name, no matter the form you take, I will always serve you," she whispered. "I will follow you, protect you, and stand by your side, just as I should have before. Please… let us atone for not seeing your pain sooner."
Izuku’s heart clenched at her words, but he reached out, placing a hand gently atop her head. "Then stand, my friend. Because I no longer need servants who kneel. I only need people who will walk beside me."
The maid looked up at him, eyes shining with fresh tears, before she finally nodded and stood.
Behind them, Katsuki let out a short huff, reaching for Izuku’s wrist and pulling him close. "You’re really good at making people cry, you know that?" he muttered against his ear.
Izuku chuckled, leaning into him slightly. "Well, Kacchan… that’s because you’re not the only one who loves me."
Katsuki stiffened slightly, but then he let out a quiet breath, wrapping an arm around Izuku’s waist. "Damn right, you nerd."
The maid watched them, a small, warm smile blooming on her face. The duchess had returned, not just in name, but in spirit. And this time, they would make sure he would never be alone again.
Word spread quietly, not through gossip, but through carefully chosen confessions. Izuku, with Katsuki’s silent approval, began revealing the truth to those he trusted most within the House of Bakugo.
It wasn’t an easy task. Each revelation carried weight—memories, regrets, and emotions that had long been buried. But Izuku had made up his mind. If he was to truly live again, he would not do so in isolation.
Among those who learned the truth was Sir Aldric, the swordsman who had once trained Duchess Izuku personally. He had always been a stern yet protective figure, treating his duchess not as a delicate noblewoman, but as a warrior in her own right.
When Izuku revealed himself to Aldric, the man’s reaction was unlike any other. His weathered hands trembled, his usually sharp eyes widening in shock before sorrow overtook him.
"Duchess… No. Izuku…" His voice cracked, as if saying the name after all these years brought both relief and unbearable pain. "You were alive all this time? I—"
Izuku smiled gently. "Not in the way you think. But yes… I came back, somehow."
Aldric took an unsteady step forward, his fists clenching. "Then why—" He cut himself off, his expression contorting. "Why didn’t I protect you? Why didn’t I see what you were going through?" His voice was filled with anguish, self-loathing. "I swore to protect you, to stand by you no matter what! And yet—"
Izuku reached out, grasping his wrist. "Aldric, it wasn’t your fault."
"It was!" Aldric’s voice rose. "I trained you, taught you how to defend yourself, yet I failed to protect you from the worst battle of all—your own pain." He looked down, his breaths uneven. "What good is a sword if it cannot cut through despair?"
Katsuki, who had been leaning against the wall silently, finally spoke. "Then use it now," he said gruffly.
Aldric’s gaze snapped to him.
"I failed too," Katsuki admitted, his voice low but steady. "But we have a second chance now. Izuku is here, and I won’t let him carry everything alone this time." He met Aldric’s eyes. "And neither should you."
Aldric exhaled sharply, a mixture of grief and determination flashing across his face. Slowly, he dropped to one knee before Izuku, his head bowed. "Then let me make my vow again."
Izuku’s breath hitched.
"This time, I will not fail you," Aldric swore. "Not as your swordsman, not as your friend. Whatever form you take, whoever you are in this life or the next, my blade will always be at your service."
Tears pricked at Izuku’s eyes, but he smiled through them. He placed a hand atop Aldric’s bowed head. "Then rise, Aldric. Not as a servant, but as my sworn protector. And my friend."
The older man stood, his eyes glistening, but the fire in them burned brighter than ever.
The House of Bakugo was beginning to remember who they had sworn their loyalty to. And this time, they would not let him go.
Chapter 19: Leash and Blade
Chapter Text
The war was inevitable. Katsuki and Izuku had long prepared for this moment, knowing it was the only way to bring the corrupt monarchy down. But Katsuki had never anticipated that Izuku would take his place on the battlefield.
When the king gave the final order, announcing that Duchess Michell—not Duke Katsuki—would lead the House of Bakugo’s army, the court fell into a stunned silence.
For a moment, Katsuki’s mind blanked. Then the fury set in.
"What the fuck did you just say?" His voice was low, dangerous.
The king leaned back on his throne, a cruel smirk playing on his lips. "You heard me, Duke Bakugo. Your duchess has graciously volunteered to take your place in this war. And as king, I find her proposition quite… fitting."
Katsuki barely noticed the guards stepping in front of him to block his path. His vision was red, his body tensed like a coiled spring.
"You think I'm gonna just sit here while my wife fights in my place?!" His voice was pure venom. "You—!"
He took a step forward. The guards flinched but held their ground.
"Duke Bakugo!" the king snapped, his voice sharp. "Stand down. You forget your place."*
Katsuki bared his teeth. "You forget mine."
The guards moved to restrain him, but it was futile. Katsuki exploded. In a blink, he had three of them on the ground, gasping for air. His rage was uncontrollable, the sound of his own heartbeat roaring in his ears. He had to get to Izuku. He had to stop this madness before it was too late.
But then, the king spoke again.
"Your duchess is not as helpless as you think, is she?" His voice was mocking, arrogant. "She has already taken command. The army marches at dawn."
Katsuki’s breath hitched.
He had been played.
The king knew.
He had known about Katsuki’s growing ambitions, about his careful moves to take control of the kingdom’s forces. He had known that Katsuki was orchestrating a rebellion beneath his nose.
And now, he had found the perfect way to put a leash back on him.
"You’re using her," Katsuki realized, his voice nearly a growl. "You’re using her to keep me in line."
The king’s smirk widened. "Of course. The duchess is the only thing keeping you from turning your back on the throne. And now, she is the one leading my war." He leaned forward, voice dripping with false amusement. "So tell me, Duke Bakugo… will you betray me now?"
Katsuki’s fists clenched so tightly his nails bit into his palms. His mind raced.
Izuku had orchestrated this.
But why?
They had agreed—Izuku was supposed to stay behind, to infiltrate the palace and expose the corruption within while Katsuki fought alongside their hidden allies outside.
They had spent months preparing this.
Izuku knew his role.
So why the hell had he switched places with him?
Katsuki wasn’t an idiot. He knew Izuku wasn’t doing this for the king. This wasn’t about loyalty. This was about their plan.
But it didn’t matter.
Because Katsuki didn’t give a damn about their plan anymore.
He wasn’t going to let Izuku step onto that battlefield alone.
"You fucking bastard," he spat, eyes burning with barely contained fury. "This isn’t over."
The king chuckled. "Oh, I know."
The army was already marching.
And Katsuki was about to break every rule in the kingdom to get to Izuku before it was too late.
Katsuki stormed out of the palace, his mind a whirlwind of rage and panic. The king’s laughter still rang in his ears, but he shoved it aside. He had no time for the bastard’s games.
Izuku was already moving with the army.
Their army.
The House of Bakugo’s forces were unmatched, trained under Katsuki’s ruthless command. They would follow orders without hesitation.
But did they know?
Did they understand that the duchess was leading them not in service of the king, but in defiance of him? That Izuku had no intention of returning as a loyal subject, but rather as the force that would shatter the throne?
It didn’t matter.
Katsuki would not let him do this alone. They might have been informed... or not.
The warfront was a storm of movement. Soldiers marched in organized lines, banners of House Bakugo rippling against the wind. Their armor gleamed under the dying sun, the weight of battle pressing heavy on their shoulders.
At the head of them all, Izuku stood on horseback, draped in regal armor—a sight no one would have ever imagined for a duchess. He looked nothing like the delicate royal they had once bowed to.
He looked like a ruler.
Strong. Fearless. Unyielding.
Izuku’s gaze swept over the men before him, his heart pounding. He had spent years planning for this moment, dreaming of the day he would lead not as a trapped duchess, but as himself. As someone who would carve out justice from the corruption that had long plagued the kingdom.
But then, a familiar explosion rang through the air.
"DEKU!"
The bellow was unmistakable.
Izuku turned just in time to see the chaos unfold—Katsuki bursting through the ranks, shoving past soldiers, eyes wild with rage.
The troops scrambled in confusion as their duke stormed forward, his usual sharp control nowhere to be found. His armor was hastily thrown on, not fully secured, his gauntlets sparking with pent-up aggression.
And his eyes—they burned with something raw.
"STOP THIS SHIT RIGHT NOW!" Katsuki roared, voice carrying across the battlefield.
Izuku felt his breath hitch.
Katsuki wasn't supposed to be here.
He was supposed to stay in the shadows, fighting their war from behind enemy lines. He wasn’t supposed to—
The grip on his reins tightened. "Kacchan—"
"Get the fuck off that horse, right the fuck now!" Katsuki’s voice cracked with sheer frustration. "We agreed, damn it! We had a fucking plan!"
Izuku swallowed, staring down at him.
The soldiers were watching. Their men—his men—stood frozen, unsure whether to intervene.
"The plan changed," Izuku said, trying to steady his voice. "This is what has to be done."
Katsuki snapped.
In a flash, he grabbed the reins of Izuku’s horse, yanking it harshly to make Izuku face him fully.
"Bullshit!" Katsuki spat. "You think I don’t fucking know why you did this? You’re trying to protect me, aren’t you?!" His grip trembled with barely restrained emotion. "You think I wouldn’t fucking notice?"
Izuku hesitated, but Katsuki knew.
He always knew.
"You should be the one staying behind," Katsuki seethed, his voice dropping lower, dangerous. "You were supposed to be safe, damn it."
Izuku looked at him, his expression unreadable. "And let you throw yourself into the fire alone?"
"YES!" Katsuki snarled, the desperation finally breaking through. "YES, I FUCKING WOULD! BECAUSE I CAN TAKE IT! BECAUSE I KNOW WHAT I’M DOING! BECAUSE—" He exhaled shakily. "—Because if something happens to you again, I won’t survive it."
Izuku’s heart clenched.
The battlefield was silent now.
Katsuki was breathing hard, his grip still tight on the reins, his hands trembling.
For the first time in years, Izuku saw something in Katsuki’s eyes that he had once thought impossible.
Fear.
Real, undeniable fear.
"Kacchan..."
"Come back with me," Katsuki whispered, his voice barely audible. "Please."
Izuku’s fingers twitched.
For a moment, just a brief moment, he wanted to listen.
But then, he steeled himself.
"I can’t."
Katsuki’s body tensed.
"I’m doing this for us, Kacchan." Izuku’s voice was firm, but gentle. "This kingdom will never be ours if we don’t fight for it. If we don’t take it."
Katsuki’s jaw clenched and glared. "I don’t give a shit about the kingdom if it means losing you again."
Izuku smiled softly, despite the tension. "You won’t lose me."
"You don’t fucking know that!"
Katsuki’s voice cracked, his frustration at its peak. "You—"
"I trust you, Kacchan."
Katsuki froze.
Izuku reached out, resting a hand over his. "I trust you to win. I trust you to come back to me. Just like I’ll come back to you."
Katsuki’s lips parted slightly, his expression torn between rage and heartbreak.
The war horns blared in the distance. The signal to move.
Izuku squeezed his hand one last time, then pulled away.
"Wait for me, Kacchan."
Then, before Katsuki could stop him, Izuku turned his horse and led the army forward.
Katsuki stood there, fists clenched so hard his nails dug into his skin.
Watching as Izuku disappeared into the storm of war.
And for the first time in his life—
Katsuki felt truly powerless.
Chapter 20: The Other Battlefield
Chapter Text
Katsuki stormed through the marble halls of the House of Bakugo’s estate, his heavy boots echoing like thunder across the silent corridors. Servants scattered at the sight of his burning crimson eyes, but he paid them no mind.
His mind was razor sharp, cutting through the grief and panic trying to claw at him.
If Izuku was risking his life on the battlefield, then Katsuki damn well wasn’t going to sit here and fucking wait.
He had a job to finish.
"Gather everyone," he barked at the nearest knight. "Now."
The man didn’t hesitate. The urgency in Katsuki’s voice brooked no argument.
Minutes later, the grand war room was packed—knights in gleaming armor, grizzled generals who had survived countless campaigns, and noble allies they had spent years carefully courting in secret.
The tension in the room was suffocating. No one dared speak first.
Katsuki stalked to the head of the massive war table, his cloak trailing behind him like a shadow. He braced his hands on the cold surface, glaring at the gathered assembly.
"The king thinks he can use Izuku to control me," he began, voice low, each word laced with venom. "But he made a fucking mistake."
A cold silence fell.
His gauntleted fists slammed down against the table with a resounding crack. A few of the younger nobles flinched.
"We were never fighting for the king," he snarled. His eyes burned like molten steel as he scanned the room. "We fight for the kingdom. We fight for the future of this land, not for the corrupt bastard who has sat on that throne for too long."
A few glances were exchanged, uncertainty flickering in the eyes of some.
But Katsuki straightened, his voice cutting through the tension like a blade.
"The war outside is Izuku’s battlefield." His voice dipped lower, the words heavy with iron resolve. "This one is mine."
A murmur rippled through the assembly.
Then, one of Katsuki’s most trusted knights—a battle-hardened captain with a scar across his jaw—stepped forward. Without hesitation, he dropped to one knee, fist thudding against his chest.
"Duke Katsuki." His voice was steady. "We have always followed the strongest. The House of Bakugo has always led with power and honor. If you say the king must fall, then we will strike him down."
One by one, soldiers knelt.
The hesitant nobles exchanged glances… then followed suit, bending knee before the duke.
Katsuki allowed himself a small, grim smirk.
"Then let’s fucking end this."
Nightfall cloaked the royal capital as the House of Bakugo’s forces surged through the outer defenses.
The gates of the palace, once thought impenetrable, were flung open from within by Katsuki’s allied nobles. Screams rang through the moonlit courtyards as battle erupted. Loyalist forces, caught off guard by the sudden betrayal, scrambled to mount a defense.
It was too late.
Katsuki led the charge himself, an unstoppable force clad in blackened armor, gauntlets sparking with raw energy.
Each explosion was calculated, brutal. His blade sang through the air, leaving ruin in its wake. Walls that had stood for centuries cracked and crumbled beneath his fury.
"FOR THE DUKE!" came the roars of his men, echoing through the blood-soaked halls.
Katsuki’s world narrowed to a single goal:
Reach the throne room.
End this.
Every second wasted here was another second Izuku was out there, in danger.
By the time they reached the inner sanctum of the castle, the loyalist forces were broken, their will shattered.
Katsuki kicked through the heavy doors of the throne room—only to find it empty.
A snarl twisted his features. "Coward."
He turned on his heel, barking at his closest lieutenants. "He’s running. Search the hidden passages. Block every fucking escape route."
Moments later, a scout returned breathless. "Duke! He’s in the eastern corridor—one of the secret passages!"
Katsuki was already moving.
The hidden passage was narrow, carved into cold stone beneath the eastern wing. Flickering torchlight cast long shadows across the damp walls. The air was thick with the scent of dust and desperation.
And there—staggering ahead, robes torn, crown long since discarded—was the king.
His face was a pale mask of fear.
He froze as Katsuki’s armored form appeared at the end of the corridor, gauntlets crackling with restrained fury.
"D-Duke Bakugo—"
Katsuki didn’t let him finish.
A deafening explosion burst from his right gauntlet, the shockwave slamming the king back against the stone with bone-crunching force. The monarch crumpled to the floor with a pained gasp, blood blooming beneath his embroidered tunic.
Katsuki stalked forward, step by deliberate step, his gaze cold and merciless.
He stood over the king’s broken form.
"You fucked with the wrong person, old man," he said softly—each word sharper than any blade.
The king coughed violently, blood flecking his lips as he tried to push himself upright. His voice shook.
"If... if you kill me... the kingdom will—"
Katsuki’s eyes narrowed, voice dropping to a lethal growl.
"The kingdom will finally fucking thrive."
He raised his gauntlet one last time.
The blast echoed through the corridor.
When the smoke cleared, the king’s lifeless body lay slumped against the stone—broken, silent, irrelevant.
Katsuki stood over it for a long moment, chest heaving. But there was no satisfaction in his victory—only a sharp, gnawing urgency.
Izuku was still out there.
Still fighting.
And every second spent here was one more second too long.
He spun on his heel, stalking back through the corridor.
"Secure the crown prince!" he barked to his approaching lieutenants. "He’s to be on the fucking throne by morning. Stabilize the capital. Take the council. I don’t care how."
His voice was a whip, snapping the stunned soldiers into motion.
Then, without pausing, he strode toward the great gates of the palace.
"We leave for the battlefield tonight."
There was no time to rest.
No time to celebrate.
Izuku was still fighting.
And Katsuki was going to bring him home.
Chapter 21: The Heart of Battle
Chapter Text
While the kingdom’s revolution reached its climax, the battlefield outside had already become a massacre.
Izuku stood at the helm of the House of Bakugo’s forces, his sword heavy with the blood of his enemies. Despite being in Duchess Michell’s body, his stance, his commands—everything screamed Duchess Izuku Midoriya.
His soldiers fought with unwavering loyalty, knowing they were not simply following a noblewoman but a leader who had lived and died for them once before.
But Izuku was exhausted.
His magic, borrowed from the Duchess’s body, was not limitless. His hands trembled as he barely dodged another attack, barely parried another strike.
The enemy forces were relentless. The longer the battle stretched, the clearer it became—something was wrong.
Then he saw it.
The second wave of soldiers approaching from the east—their supposed allies.
A trap.
The king had planned this from the start.
It wasn’t just about using him as bait to control Katsuki. It was about getting rid of both of them.
Izuku’s breath hitched. If they didn’t retreat now, they would be wiped out.
"Fall back!" he commanded, voice sharp.
His knights hesitated.
"NOW!"
They obeyed, but it was too late. The enemy’s reinforcements surged forward, closing in on them like a tide. Izuku grit his teeth, preparing for the worst.
But then—
A deafening explosion shook the field.
"GET THE FUCK AWAY FROM HIM!"
Katsuki’s voice roared through the chaos.
Izuku turned, eyes widening as he saw an entire flank of the enemy forces obliterated in an instant.
Through the smoke, a figure emerged.
Katsuki.
Dressed in his battle-worn coat, his gauntlets sparking, his eyes wild with fury. Behind him, the rest of the House of Bakugo’s army—those who had fought in the kingdom—charged in like a vengeful storm.
He was here.
He made it.
Izuku’s knees almost buckled in relief.
But there was no time for that.
The real battle was just beginning.
"Midoriya!" Katsuki barked, forcing his way through the battlefield toward him. "Don’t you fucking dare die before I get to you!"
Izuku let out a breathless laugh, even as he raised his sword once more.
"Then hurry up, Kacchan!"
Katsuki tore through the battlefield like a living storm. The air around his gauntlets ignited with every explosion, sending shards of scorched earth and shattered weapons flying. His breath came heavy, each step shaking the ground beneath him as he blasted through waves of enemy soldiers.
The cries of pain and rage blurred into a relentless roar, but Katsuki’s focus was unbreakable. His eyes burned with a fierce determination as he searched desperately through the chaos, locking onto the one person who mattered above all else—Izuku.
Since the king’s order had come down, Katsuki had barely breathed. Panic and fury clawed at him from inside, driving him forward with brutal urgency. The thought of Izuku, out there on the front lines, risking everything, tore at his chest like a wildfire.
Now, he saw him—green eyes sharp with resolve, hair wild and plastered with sweat and grime, armor battered and stained with fresh blood. Izuku was standing tall amid the carnage, stubborn and unyielding, just as always.
“Izuku!” Katsuki’s voice shattered the chaos, a raw mixture of relief and anger.
Izuku’s head snapped toward him, their eyes locking instantly—red burning into green. For a single, suspended moment, the battlefield fell away. The thunder of clashing steel, the screams of the wounded, even the acrid smoke fading as if the world had shrunk to just the two of them.
Izuku looked exhausted, his chest rising and falling raggedly, but he was still alive. Still standing. Still fighting. Katsuki’s heart thundered in his ears as he closed the distance in a blur. Without hesitation, he grabbed Izuku by the collar of his bloodied armor, yanking him close until their foreheads pressed together.
“You—fucking—idiot,” Katsuki hissed, his voice thick with a strange blend of fury and desperate relief. His gauntlets twitched, sparks crackling at his fingertips as he fought to keep control. “What the hell were you thinking?!”
Izuku blinked up at him, dazed but with a crooked smile tugging at his lips. “Winning the war, obviously.”
Katsuki’s fingers curled tighter around the fabric, nails biting into Izuku’s skin. He wanted to scream, to shake him, to hold him so tight that the fear and madness of the battlefield couldn’t touch them. But there was no time—not yet.
“We’re talking about this later,” Katsuki growled through clenched teeth.
“If we survive.” Izuku’s grin was stubborn, fierce despite everything.
Katsuki exhaled sharply, tension coiling in his muscles. “Like hell I’m letting you die again.”
His warning barely left his mouth before a soldier lunged at Izuku’s back with a blade. Without missing a beat, Katsuki spun, gauntlet flaring to life, and blasted the attacker backward in a shower of sparks and broken bone.
Izuku barely flinched, smirking through the blood and dirt. “Guess I have my back covered then.”
Katsuki bared his teeth, a grim grin flashing across his face. “You always did, dumbass.”
They fell into motion together—back to back—moving as one through the storm of steel and flame. Katsuki’s explosions cleared the path while Izuku’s sword danced through the enemies with precise, deadly strikes. Their movements were seamless, a brutal choreography born from years of trust and shared battles.
Every time Izuku faltered, Katsuki was there to steady him. Every time Katsuki was threatened, Izuku shielded him with swift, unyielding defense. They were an unbreakable force, relentless and fierce.
Around them, their soldiers roared, inspired by the sight of their leaders fighting side by side. The enemy’s confidence wavered, and soon the tide began to turn. The opposing forces, once pressing hard, started to retreat, breaking under the weight of Katsuki and Izuku’s combined fury.
But Katsuki’s gaze never left Izuku’s battered form. The exhaustion was plain to see—dark circles under his eyes, shallow breaths—but Izuku’s spirit refused to yield. When Izuku spoke, voice rough but steady,
“We push forward,” Katsuki knew they had no choice.
He glanced sideways, noting the weariness dragging at his friend’s limbs. “Tch. Fine,” Katsuki muttered, voice low but firm. “But you’re not dying on me, got it?”
Izuku’s tired smile was full of quiet determination. “As long as you don’t either.”
Katsuki rolled his eyes, the corner of his mouth twitching upward despite the weight of the moment. “Idiot.”
Still, his hand found Izuku’s wrist, gripping it tightly but briefly—a silent promise. “Stay with me.”
Izuku’s fingers squeezed back with equal strength. “Always.”
Together, they surged forward, ready to carve their path through the heart of the war. The future of the kingdom rested on their shoulders, but neither would falter—not while they fought side by side.
Chapter 22: Beneath Scars
Chapter Text
The battlefield had transformed from a grim scene of death and destruction into a landscape of fragile victory. The air, once thick with smoke and the metallic scent of blood, now carried the mingled sounds of laughter, sobs, and the tentative embraces of soldiers who had survived the carnage. Despite the countless corpses strewn across the war-torn earth, a sense of relief washed over the survivors like a tentative dawn after a long, brutal night.
But Katsuki barely noticed the celebrations. The cheers, the slaps on the back, the exhausted smiles—it all faded into a dull roar in the back of his mind. His heart pounded relentlessly in his chest, an unforgiving drum that urged him forward. His boots churned up clods of dirt and bloodied grass as he sprinted across the battlefield, eyes scanning desperately through the fading light.
“Izuku—where the fuck are you?!” His voice cracked, raw with panic and urgency. He had last seen Izuku in the final charge, their forces clashing with overwhelming odds. But then, fate had torn them apart, and now Katsuki was alone, desperate to find him.
And then, beneath the burning glow of the setting sun, he saw him.
There, kneeling quietly on the ground, bathed in the golden light, was Duchess Michell. But more importantly—there was Izuku.
Izuku’s head was tilted back, eyes closed, a faint, weary smile touching his lips. His sword, still stained with the blood of countless enemies, lay loosely in his hand, the fingers barely gripping the hilt. To any observer, this might seem like a moment of peace—a warrior finally savoring the sweet release of victory.
But Katsuki’s vision betrayed him. It was not the victorious Izuku that knelt there. It was the broken boy from his darkest nightmare.
He saw, instead, a young figure clad in royal silks, sprawled out on cold stone, a dagger lodged deep in his stomach. Blood—dark, glistening blood—soaked his hands, his clothes, and pooled beneath him, staining the ground like a cruel reminder of loss.
His face was calm. Too calm.
Lifeless.
The memory hit Katsuki like a tidal wave, crashing into him with unbearable force. His chest tightened painfully, breaths growing shallow and ragged. His legs faltered beneath him, but still he stumbled forward, driven by a desperate hope that this wasn’t real.
“No—no, no, no—” Katsuki choked out, voice trembling as tears welled unbidden in his eyes. His hands felt numb, his knees weak, but he forced himself onward. “Izuku—” his voice cracked, a strangled plea, “I’m here. I’m right here.”
His mind wavered between past and present, caught in a terrifying limbo. He saw blood, heard screams, felt the coldness of death—and yet, there was Izuku.
But the Izuku he now saw was alive.
His eyes snapped open, the smile vanishing instantly as they locked with Katsuki’s desperate gaze.
“Kacchan?”
The soft call pulled Katsuki back from the edge. He could see the concern shining in those emerald eyes—the same eyes that had haunted his nightmares and now anchored him to reality.
Katsuki’s body swayed, unsteady, as Izuku hurried to his side. His husband’s presence was solid, warm, grounding.
“Kacchan!” Izuku’s voice held both alarm and tenderness as he scrambled to reach him.
Katsuki barely registered anything beyond the trembling of his own hands. One shaking hand found Izuku’s wrist, gripping tightly as if afraid to lose him again. His other hand moved without thought, clutching at Izuku’s sword.
“Give it to me,” Katsuki gasped, his voice raw, trembling under the weight of his fear and desperation. “Izuku, please—”
Izuku froze, reading the pain etched into Katsuki’s every movement.
The shaking in Katsuki’s voice made Izuku’s heart ache. It was a silent plea not to lose him again.
“Don’t—” Katsuki swallowed hard, struggling against the storm of memories and panic crashing inside him. His body trembled uncontrollably. “Don’t die on me. I’m here now. Don’t—” His voice cracked under the strain. “Don’t do it again, Izuku.”
Izuku’s heart clenched painfully. This was no longer about the battlefield or the war—they had already won that fight.
This was something far deeper.
A trauma that trapped Katsuki in a past he refused to leave.
Katsuki was here in body, but his mind was still lost in the moment he thought he had lost Izuku forever—the moment when he held a lifeless, broken boy and screamed his name until his voice gave out.
“Kacchan,” Izuku whispered softly, his voice full of love and sorrow, “I’m right here.”
He reached up, fingers brushing gently against Katsuki’s sweaty, trembling face, trying to pull him back from the edge.
But Katsuki’s gaze was distant, haunted.
He let out a bitter, breathless laugh—a sound void of humor.
“I—I thought—I thought I could handle it,” Katsuki confessed, voice hoarse and fragile. “I thought I could let you fight... let you win...”
He sucked in a sharp breath, fighting to hold the pieces of himself together. “But seeing you there—kneeling, covered in blood—”
His whole body shook violently.
“I c-can’t—” He clenched his eyes shut, shaking his head in denial. “I can’t go through that again, Izuku. I just can’t—”
Izuku’s own throat tightened, aching with a mixture of compassion and heartbreak.
He had never seen this side of Katsuki—the unbreakable warrior now breaking down, drowning in memories of a pain that refused to heal.
With gentle care, Izuku pried the sword from Katsuki’s unsteady grip.
Katsuki exhaled shakily as the weapon slipped from his hands, fingers twitching as if afraid to let go.
Izuku set the sword aside and put his hand to Katsuki's mouth to let him breathe better and pulling him close.
“It’s okay,” he whispered soothingly, his voice soft and steady. “You’re safe now. I’m here.”
Katsuki still trembled against him, his breaths uneven and shallow, his body stiff as though fighting an invisible weight.
Izuku ran his fingers through Katsuki’s sweat-damp hair and pressed a gentle kiss to his forehead.
“Kacchan,” he murmured with tenderness, “I’m not going anywhere. I’m here. I’m alive.”
Katsuki’s breath hitched, his fingers clenching Izuku’s cloak as though it was a lifeline.
“You’re here,” he echoed, voice weak and uncertain, as if he needed to convince himself.
Izuku smiled softly, pressing their foreheads together. “I’m here.”
For a long moment, they simply stayed like that—Izuku holding Katsuki, grounding him, and Katsuki clinging to Izuku as if he were the only thing keeping him from falling apart.
And then, slowly, Katsuki’s body relaxed, his knees giving way.
Izuku barely caught him before he collapsed, his husband’s entire weight sinking into his arms.
“Kacchan!”
His heart clenched painfully as Katsuki passed out, breath shallow.
Izuku held him close, brushing sweat-soaked hair back from his face, his own hands trembling with worry.
“I’m so sorry, Kacchan,” Izuku whispered, lips brushing Katsuki’s temple.
You’re strong, but even the strongest have wounds that never fully heal.
The sun dipped lower behind the horizon, casting long shadows over the battlefield. The war might have ended, but a new battle had just begun—one fought in the heart and mind.
Izuku tightened his hold, promising silently, “I’ll never leave you again.”
Chapter 23: Love Beyond Flesh
Chapter Text
Darkness surrounded him.
Katsuki’s mind was drowning in the weight of exhaustion, but somewhere in that void, a light flickered. A memory.
The scent of sun-warmed grass. The laughter of a young boy. The feeling of small, soft hands reaching for his own.
"Kacchan!"
His breath hitched as he saw it—him.
A field stretched out before them, bright with wildflowers swaying under the summer sun. And in the middle of it all, an omega boy with messy green curls and freckles, beaming up at him.
"You’re so slow!" Izuku giggled, his emerald eyes glowing with mischief as he reached out and tugged at Katsuki’s hand. "You promised to play with me today!"
Katsuki huffed, his younger self crossing his arms. "Tch, I am playing with you, nerd."
Izuku pouted before his expression softened. He suddenly lowered his gaze, his fingers squeezing Katsuki’s hand. "You know… when we grow up, let’s mate, okay?"
Katsuki blinked, his younger self caught off guard.
"W-What the hell, Deku!" his past self sputtered, face flushing red.
Izuku grinned sheepishly, tilting his head. "Well, don’t you want to? I wanna be with you forever, Kacchan."
The memory wavered—shifting. Time was passing.
Izuku’s hands were still warm, but Katsuki’s were different now—calloused, rough from training. The boy who once ran through flower fields with Izuku was no longer a mere child, but the next heir to the House of Bakugo.
A duke-in-training. A warrior of the kingdom.
He had less and less time to see Izuku, but he still tried.
Sneaking out in the middle of the night. Finding hidden places in the palace gardens where they could meet. Holding onto fleeting moments of warmth before duty called him away.
“You’re always so busy now,” Izuku murmured one night, his voice quiet, yet understanding. “But… you always come back to me.”
Katsuki had no words then. He only squeezed Izuku’s hand tighter.
He cherished those moments.
Every. Single. One.
Until they started talking about his marriage.
Katsuki’s stomach twisted at the memory. He had refused every person they suggested, had pushed back at the very idea of wedding a stranger. He had even volunteered for battles just to escape the suffocating discussions.
And yet…
One day, when he returned, the decision had already been made.
The king had chosen his duchess.
Katsuki had been ready to fight, to destroy the arrangement—until he saw Izuku.
Standing there.
In a duchess’s wedding dress.
His heart had stopped.
Izuku looked radiant—painfully beautiful. But all Katsuki could think was—
Not like this.
He had planned to marry Izuku, had dreamed of it since they were kids. But not like this. Not as an arrangement. Not as a duty.
Their wedding night had been silent. Katsuki couldn’t even touch him.
Not with his hands still stained with blood. Not with the weight of his disappointment pressing down on him.
He had spent his entire life wanting Izuku. And yet, now that he was his husband, his duchess, all Katsuki could feel was guilt.
Guilt that he had let things end up this way.
Guilt that Izuku had accepted it, for his sake.
Guilt that he couldn't let himself love it—love them again—not like this.
Not when Izuku deserved something more.
But even with those doubts, even with his feelings of unworthiness, Katsuki swore.
He swore to protect Izuku. To stand by him. To never let anything harm him.
Because if there was one thing he knew, one thing he had never questioned—
It was that Izuku Midoriya had always been his.
The dream shifted again.
A grand courtyard. The heavy weight of armor on his shoulders. The scent of iron and steel in the air.
Katsuki was leaving. Another battle. Another war.
He stood before the gates of the House of Bakugo, soldiers lined behind him, waiting for his command.
And behind him—
Izuku.
Standing at the top of the steps, his head bowed, his hands clenched at his sides.
He wouldn’t look up.
Wouldn’t meet Katsuki’s gaze.
But Katsuki knew. He knew that if Izuku did, his eyes would be filled with unshed tears.
He would want to run to him. Would want to stop him. Would want to beg him not to leave again.
But he wouldn’t.
Because he was the Duchess of Bakugo. And a duchess did not cry.
Katsuki clenched his fists.
He had to go.
He had to.
Even if it meant leaving Izuku behind again.
Even if it meant missing the moment Izuku finally broke—
Finally let a single tear fall as the gates closed behind him.
Katsuki stood amid the wreckage of his memories, each one a jagged shard tearing through him, drawing fresh blood from wounds he thought had long scarred over.
He had once believed his love for Izuku was pure—fierce, protective, unwavering. But standing here in the silence of his mind, Katsuki saw it for what it had become: selfish. Controlling. A love that suffocated rather than freed.
At first, he had only wanted to protect him. To shield Izuku from the vile politics of the court, from the sneering nobles who whispered that a common-born scholar had no place beside a duke. From the crushing weight of a crown neither of them had truly asked for.
But somewhere along the way, protection had twisted into possession.
Katsuki had built walls around them, brick by brick, until Izuku stood trapped behind them. Alone.
He had kept secrets, thinking it would spare Izuku pain. He had fought every battle in the shadows, believing it was his burden to bear alone. And when Izuku had reached for him, desperate to stand beside him, Katsuki had pushed him back—again and again.
And the words—
Gods, the words.
They echoed now like poisoned arrows through his mind. Barbs he had flung in anger, too proud to swallow them down.
"You’re too sensitive."
"Stay out of it—you’ll only get in the way."
"You wouldn’t understand."
"Just let me handle it."
Each one had carved another crack into the fragile foundation between them.
And when Izuku had tried to speak of the growing pressure—of the whispers, the stares, the endless, aching question of why they had no heir—Katsuki had turned away. Had refused to speak of it, as though silence could hold back a storm.
He hadn’t seen how it crushed him. How the hope in Izuku’s eyes had slowly dimmed, year by year. How the warmth in his voice had faded into brittle pleasantries. How the boy who had once burned so brightly had begun to flicker, barely holding on.
And now—
Now it was too late.
The scene shifted without mercy, hurling Katsuki back into the moment that would haunt him forever.
The air reeked of iron and ruin. The scent burned his lungs as he staggered forward, each step leaden with dread.
“Izuku?” he called, voice hoarse, breaking on the name.
No answer.
Then he saw him.
And the world shattered.
Izuku lay sprawled across cold marble, his wedding robes soaked in crimson. The rich fabric—once a vibrant symbol of their union—was torn and ruined, clinging to a body that no longer moved.
A dagger was still gripped in Izuku’s shaking fingers—its blade dark with blood.
Not once.
Not twice.
Again and again.
The wounds in his stomach were savage, desperate. The cuts of someone who had long given up hope of being saved.
Katsuki collapsed, the floor rushing up to meet him as he fell to his knees. His hands—calloused, bloodstained, trembling—reached for Izuku with a helplessness that stole his breath.
“No,” he whispered, voice cracking. “No, no, no, Izuku—please—”
He gathered Izuku into his arms, heedless of the blood soaking into his own clothes. His hands pressed frantically against the wounds, as if sheer will could hold the life inside. As if the warmth seeping from Izuku’s body could somehow be stopped.
“Izuku—wake up—wake up—!” The words tore from his throat in a rising wail.
“Izuku…” His voice was barely above a whisper at first, but then it broke into a sob. “Izuku, wake up.”
No response.
“This—this isn’t funny, dumbass,” Katsuki choked out, his grip tightening around the body that had once been so full of life. “Come on… you’re messing with me, right?” His voice wavered, the words turning into desperate pleas. “Please, Izuku… please…”
Katsuki sobbed, rocking him. “Why… AHHH! Why didn’t you tell me? Why didn’t you scream at me? Why?”
But he knew.
He knew why.
Because Katsuki had never listened.
His grip tightened, knuckles white. “You’re not allowed to leave me. You hear me? You’re not allowed!” His voice rose to a raw scream. “I won’t let you go—I won’t—I won’t—”
But Izuku was already gone.
No breath stirred his lips. No light remained in his eyes.
And Katsuki—
Katsuki shattered.
A guttural, broken scream ripped from his chest—a sound so raw that the stone walls seemed to recoil.
He pressed his forehead to Izuku’s cold brow, sobbing as if he could weep him back to life.
“I’m sorry—I’m sorry—I’m so fucking sorry,” he gasped over and over. The words were meaningless, pitiful. Far too late.
He had been too late.
Too blind.
Too proud.
And now all he held was a broken body—and a love he could never speak again to the one person who had needed it most.
In the silent chamber, Katsuki rocked him, drowning beneath the crushing tide of regret.
But no apology could reach the dead.
As Katsuki’s consciousness slowly began to return, a voice echoed in his mind, soft and warm, calling his name with such gentle affection, "Kacchan..." He blinked a few times, his eyes heavy, not fully understanding the voice that stirred him from the depths of his nightmare. The tears he hadn’t even realized he had shed still stained his face as he wiped them away in a swift motion, trying to gather himself.
He blinked a few more times, squinting against the dim light inside the carriage. At first, he was disoriented, his heart still pounding from the vivid memories of the past that haunted his dreams. As his vision cleared, he found himself resting against a soft lap, the warmth of a person radiating through. His gaze quickly snapped upward, and what met him was not the comforting sight of Izuku’s familiar eyes, but the face of a woman—a stranger to him.
His heart dropped in confusion. His hands instinctively reached for the edge of the seat as he quickly sat up, wiping the remnants of his tears. The confusion clouding his mind only grew when he fully realized who was sitting beside him.
Princess Michell.
He froze for a moment, processing the situation. Izuku’s soul—his Izuku—was within the body of this woman. A powerful wave of disbelief crashed over him, as he tried to reconcile the reality of the situation. Here, in front of him, was his wife. Yet, not in the form he had known, not in the body he had spent years loving.
"Why are you crying?" Izuku’s voice, now coming from the woman in front of him, asked gently. She looked at him with concern, her brow furrowed in soft worry. She placed a hand on his shoulder, her eyes searching his face for any sign of pain.
Katsuki didn’t answer immediately. He found himself lost in her gaze. Even though the body she now occupied was not his Izuku’s, the soul he had loved for so long was still there. It was the same soul, the same warmth in her eyes, the same familiarity he had once longed for. But, now, there was a twist of tragedy in it. He couldn't help but stare at her—at him—still uncertain of everything, still coming to terms with the fact that his Izuku had been living in someone else’s body for so long.
Izuku tilted his head slightly, concern deepening. "Kacchan?" she asked again, her voice laced with the soft question, yet there was a hint of worry beneath it. "What happened?"
Katsuki’s mouth opened, but the words seemed to stick, caught in his throat, as his emotions rushed through him like a whirlwind. He wanted to explain, but the weight of the past—of all the things unsaid and undone—pressed too hard against his chest.
Instead, he looked at her, his eyes still searching the face that was both foreign and familiar to him. Without saying a word, Katsuki slowly reached out and gently took her hand. His thumb brushed across her palm before he lifted it to his lips, pressing a soft kiss to it. The warmth of her skin made his chest tighten.
"I love you," he whispered quietly, his voice trembling slightly as he closed his eyes, holding her hand against his cheek. "I love you, Izuku."
The words felt like they had been buried deep in his soul for so long, words he had never been able to say fully, never able to express with the weight they truly carried. And now, in this moment, they slipped out effortlessly—honestly, openly.
Even though Izuku's body had changed, his love for him had not. He could feel it burning fiercely inside him, reminding him of everything they had fought for. And yet, there was a bittersweet ache in his heart as he realized how much time had passed, how much had been lost in the chaos of the war, and how the man he loved had been living in another’s body for so long.
Izuku squeezed his hand softly, a small smile tugging at her lips as she looked down at him, her heart warm from his words. But Katsuki’s heart still ached—aching for the things they couldn’t change, for the lost years, for the pain they had both endured. Yet, in this moment, he found some measure of peace. His Izuku was here, with him, in whatever form that was. And that was enough.
With a final, deep breath, Katsuki opened his eyes and met her gaze once more. The relief in her eyes mirrored his own, as if they had both found some semblance of understanding in each other’s presence. He smiled softly, a true smile this time, and pulled her hand closer, holding it tightly in his.
"I don’t care what body you’re in, Izuku," Katsuki whispered, his voice firm yet full of emotion. "I will always love you. I’ve always loved you, no matter what."
Chapter 24: Cheating
Chapter Text
As the dust from the battle settled, the kingdom slowly began to rebuild itself. The war had been brutal, leaving scars on both the land and the hearts of its people. But amidst the rubble, something new was rising—something that would lead the kingdom into a brighter future.
The people of the kingdom gathered in droves, filling the streets with cheers and celebrations. They had seen the bloodshed, felt the weight of the suffering, but now they saw hope on the horizon. The House of Bakugo, once known for its cold power and its fierce warriors, now stood as the pillar of a new future. And at the center of that future stood the crown prince, the one whom Bakugo and Izuku had chosen to place their trust in.
The new king had proven himself in the fire of battle, leading with wisdom, compassion, and strength. His reign, forged in the flames of war, was the promise of a new era for the kingdom. The streets erupted in celebration as the people acknowledged him as their rightful ruler, their voices rising in a unified cry of "Long live the king!"
Bakugo stood proudly at his side, a quiet but unwavering force. His heart swelled with pride as he watched the people, who had once been skeptical of his house's intentions, now stand together, united behind the new king. He had chosen wisely, trusting his instincts, and the people were beginning to see that. His kingdom was on the brink of something truly great, and it was a legacy he would fight to protect, no matter what.
As the celebrations continued, a grand ceremony was held to honor those who had given everything for this new era. Soldiers, warriors, and nobles alike were called to the stage to receive the recognition they so richly deserved. Among the many who were honored, the Duke and Duchess of Bakugo stood as the most revered figures in the kingdom.
The new king, now seated on his throne, looked out across the gathered crowd. His gaze fell upon Bakugo and Izuku, who stood proudly together, their bond stronger than ever. The king’s eyes shone with gratitude as he addressed the crowd.
“To those who fought alongside us, who sacrificed their lives to see this day come to pass, I offer my deepest gratitude,” he began, his voice carrying across the grand hall. “You are the true foundation of this kingdom. Without your courage and loyalty, we would not be standing here today.”
The crowd cheered, and the king gestured for Bakugo and Izuku to step forward. The Duke, ever stoic, gave a respectful bow before moving to the center of the stage with his wife, the Duchess, by his side.
“I stand here today with deep humility, as both a husband and a warrior,” Bakugo said, his voice steady but filled with emotion. “My loyalty to this kingdom has never wavered, and I swear on my life to protect it, and protect the people I hold dear.”
Izuku stood beside him, her eyes shining with pride, her own heart swelling with love for her husband and their shared purpose. She had fought for this kingdom, not just as the Duchess, but as a warrior, as a protector. The battle had tested her in ways she never expected, but it had also forged her into someone stronger, someone capable of carrying the weight of a kingdom on her shoulders.
In recognition of their strength, the new king presented Izuku with a new title, one that symbolized her power, her wisdom, and her unwavering courage. As the king handed her the ceremonial insignia, he spoke with reverence:
“The Duchess Bakugo has shown unparalleled bravery on the frontlines. Her beauty, strength, and leadership have inspired all of us. Today, I am proud to bestow upon her the title of Lady Protector of the Kingdom. May her strength continue to guide us all.”
The crowd erupted in applause as Izuku accepted the title with grace, her heart swelling with pride. The journey she had taken had been filled with hardship, but it had been worth every step. She had proven herself not only as a wife, but as a ruler in her own right. And now, she was being recognized for it.
The king turned to Bakugo, his expression one of deep respect. “And to you, Duke Bakugo, the man who stood by my side, who fought to protect this kingdom and all who call it home, I offer my highest respect. Your dedication to this kingdom is unparalleled, and you have earned your place in history. Your legacy will never be forgotten.”
Bakugo stood taller, his pride in his chest almost suffocating as the king’s words echoed in his ears. He had fought for this moment—fought to protect his loved ones, fought for the future of his kingdom—and now, he could feel the weight of all that he had done settling into his bones. He had achieved this, not for himself, but for the kingdom he loved, for Izuku, and for the people who had put their trust in him.
As the ceremony continued, the people celebrated, their voices rising in song and cheer. The kingdom, once on the brink of collapse, was now united under a new king, a king chosen by those who understood the true cost of power.
And at the heart of it all stood the Duke and Duchess of Bakugo—two warriors, two leaders, two lovers who had fought not just for a crown, but for each other. The kingdom was safe, and its future had never been brighter.
Izuku, her heart full of love for Bakugo, turned to him and whispered, “We did it, Kacchan. We did it together.”
Bakugo smiled, his hand finding hers, squeezing it gently. "Yeah, we did. And I’ll keep protecting you, no matter what."
Together, they stood as the pillars of a new era, their love and loyalty to each other unwavering, as they watched the kingdom rise from the ashes of war. The future was theirs to shape, and with their combined strength, they would make sure it was one filled with hope, peace, and prosperity for all.
As the night grew quiet, the only sounds in the room were the soft rustle of sheets and the steady rhythm of their breathing. Bakugo and Izuku, now lying side by side in the dim light, shared the kind of peace that only came after the trials they had endured together. The world outside their little sanctuary was filled with responsibility, politics, and the weight of their titles. But here, in this bed, there was only them.
Izuku lay there, his mind swirling with a question that had been growing in his heart for days. The silence of the night seemed like the perfect time to ask it, to break the quiet tension with something deeply personal. His heart raced just thinking about it, but he knew it was time to voice what had been lingering in his mind.
With a gentle sigh, Izuku turned his head to face Bakugo, who was already looking at him with sleepy, half-lidded eyes.
"Kacchan," he started softly, the weight of his question hanging between them, "if... if I ask you something... would you be comfortable touching Duchess Michell's body as your real wife?"
Bakugo blinked in confusion, his brows furrowing slightly as he processed Izuku’s words. He could feel the weight of the question even though he didn’t fully understand it. His heart raced, not from fear, but from something else—something that felt foreign to him.
"I... What do you mean?" Bakugo responded, his voice soft and unsure.
"Are you saying, like, would I be able to make love to you... even though you’re in someone else’s body?"
Izuku nodded, his gaze unwavering, but there was a hint of uncertainty in his eyes. This was a question born from a need for reassurance, for confirmation that their connection—this love that they had fought so hard for—could still be as real as it had always been, even in the face of their new reality.
Bakugo looked at him, his chest tightening with anxiety.
"But... if it happens... would that be considered cheating? Since it’s not really your body?" he asked, his voice almost childlike in its innocence and naivety.
Izuku couldn’t help it. A laugh bubbled up from his chest, soft and full of surprise.
It wasn’t a mocking laugh, but one full of warmth—of something deep and genuine that caught Bakugo off guard.
Bakugo sat up quickly, his eyes wide as he stared at Izuku in confusion.
"What’s so funny? Why are you laughing?" He didn’t understand why Izuku would take his question so lightly.
Izuku stopped laughing and looked at him, a smile still lingering on his lips. He reached up, placing both hands gently on Bakugo’s face, his touch tender as he leaned in close.
"Kacchan," he whispered, his voice full of affection, "You really think that would be cheating?"
Bakugo’s face flushed a deep shade of red, a mixture of embarrassment and confusion rushing through him. He didn’t know how to explain himself. His own feelings were tangled, unsure.
"Well, it’s... not you, exactly," he muttered, his gaze dropping to the bed. "I just... I didn’t want to... I don’t know. What if it wasn’t okay with you? What if you didn’t want it?"
Izuku smiled even wider, his heart swelling at Bakugo’s vulnerability. He lifted Bakugo’s chin, forcing him to look up.
"Kacchan," he said softly, "It’s not about the body. It’s about me being here, with you. It’s always been about us. You don’t need to worry about that."
His fingers traced Bakugo’s cheek, warm and comforting. "It’s not cheating. It’s still me. I’m still the one who’s here with you, and I’ll always be here. In any way that I can."
Bakugo stared at him, his heart pounding in his chest. The blush on his face deepened, and he found himself speechless, trying to find the words to explain what he was feeling.
"I... I don’t really get it," Bakugo admitted quietly, his voice low and embarrassed. "But I want to... I want to be with you like that. No matter what."
Izuku laughed again, but this time, it was soft and affectionate. He leaned in, kissing Bakugo’s forehead lightly before resting his head against his husband’s chest.
"It’s okay, Kacchan. I get it. I’m right here. And I’ll always be the one who’s with you."
Bakugo’s heart raced, the warmth of Izuku’s words sinking into him like a balm. He reached down and gently cupped Izuku’s face in his hand, brushing his thumb against the soft skin of his cheek.
His voice was barely a whisper as he spoke, "I love you. I always have."
Izuku closed his eyes, leaning into Bakugo’s touch, his heart full.
"I love you, too. Always."
Bakugo pulled Izuku closer, wrapping his arms around him in a tight embrace. He didn’t know what the future held or how their love would continue to evolve, but in this moment, he knew one thing for sure: it wasn’t about bodies or titles or expectations. It was about them. And that was all that mattered.
As the night continued to settle around them, Bakugo closed his eyes, holding Izuku in his arms, and for the first time in a long time, he felt at peace.
Chapter 25: Wedding Bed
Notes:
This chapter contains scenes of intimacy and emotional vulnerability between consenting adults. While written with sensitivity and respect, the content may not be suitable for all readers. Reader discretion is advised.
Please proceed only if you're comfortable with romantic and mature themes.
Chapter Text
The room was wrapped in a quiet kind of stillness—the kind that only came at the end of something long and hard-fought. The light was low, golden from the bedside lamp, and soft shadows danced gently across the walls. Outside, the world lay silent, but inside, everything between them was loud in its intensity, even if no words were spoken aloud.
They lay side by side in their wedding bed, the one they never thought they’d share like this again. The mattress was familiar, yet everything felt different—new and raw and impossibly sacred. Their hands were close but not quite touching, the small space between them heavy with memory and the ache of years lost.
Izuku shifted first, turning onto his side to face Katsuki. He studied his husband’s face in the quiet, heart hammering gently in his chest—not from nerves, but from the weight of what this night meant. Katsuki lay still, eyes open, staring at the ceiling as if afraid to look too closely, afraid to break the fragile moment that held them both.
“Kacchan,” Izuku said softly, his voice warm and steady.
Katsuki turned his head, meeting those green eyes he knew better than anything in this world. There was no uncertainty there. No fear. Just love. Raw and honest and unshakable.
“I want to be close to you tonight,” Izuku whispered. “Not because I need to prove anything… but because I love you. And I want to share myself with you—like this.”
Katsuki swallowed hard, his throat tightening. “Are you sure?”
Izuku’s smile was soft, a little breathless. “I’ve never been more sure of anything.”
Without waiting for permission—because he knew he didn’t need it—Izuku reached out and let his fingers trail lightly over Katsuki’s cheek. The touch was featherlight, reverent, and when Katsuki didn’t pull away, he leaned in and pressed a kiss just beneath his eye.
Then another, closer to his lips.
Katsuki’s breath hitched. “Izuku…”
“You don’t have to say anything,” Izuku murmured, his hand settling on Katsuki’s chest, right over his heart. “You’ve already told me more than enough by being here with me. By choosing me.”
And with that, he closed the distance, kissing him slow and deep, not with hesitation, but with purpose. Katsuki kissed him back, the tension in his body unraveling as he surrendered to the warmth of Izuku’s mouth and the steady thrum of affection between them. There was a quiet hunger there—gentle, but insistent—something that came from years of holding back, of wanting but not having.
Their bodies shifted, tangled beneath the sheets, legs brushing, skin grazing. Izuku moved fluidly, climbing over Katsuki and straddling his hips—not rushed, but graceful and deliberate. He cupped Katsuki’s jaw, holding him there, looking into his eyes with nothing but love.
“This is me,” he said, voice trembling with sincerity. “And I’m yours.”
Katsuki’s hands gripped Izuku’s hips, not to take control, but to ground himself, to make sure he wasn’t dreaming. “You’re everything,” he rasped, his voice broken and reverent. “You’ve always been.”
Izuku kissed him again, and then again, trailing his mouth along Katsuki’s jaw, his neck, his chest. Every touch was a declaration. Every movement was a promise. He took the lead with tender confidence, showing Katsuki with every inch of his body that he was still here, still strong, still filled with love.
Katsuki let himself be guided, let Izuku show him the rhythm of this new intimacy. It was different—yes—but it was real. It was powerful. It was them. The years of distance, of silence, of pain—they didn’t vanish. But they folded into the moment, becoming something they no longer had to fear.
Izuku’s hands explored slowly, rediscovering the body he had always loved but never had like this. His touches were shaky at times, overwhelmed by emotion, but never hesitant. His kisses deepened, laced with breathy moans and whispered affirmations that wrapped around Katsuki like a shield, like a vow.
Katsuki’s eyes fluttered shut as he gave in completely, letting Izuku guide them into something both fierce and delicate. Their bodies moved together like waves finding shore—slow, searching, insistent. The bed creaked softly beneath them, a background symphony to their quiet cries and gasped names.
And when the moment came—the one where pleasure crested into something beyond just physical release—it was less about the climax and more about the collapse. The trust. The surrender. The reunion.
Afterward, they lay tangled in the sheets, skin slick with sweat and chests rising in tandem. Izuku was curled against Katsuki’s side, one hand draped over his chest, his thumb tracing absent circles above his heart.
Katsuki’s arm wrapped around him, anchoring him close. “How do you do that?” he asked, voice raw. “How do you keep choosing me?”
Izuku looked up, his eyes soft but steady. “Because you’re worth choosing. Every damn time.”
Katsuki stared down at him, brushing his fingers through Izuku’s hair, his voice cracking as he finally whispered, “I love you.”
Izuku smiled against his skin, lips brushing his collarbone. “I love you too, Kacchan. I always have.”
The words lingered in the room long after they fell asleep, cradled in each other’s arms. And as the night stretched on, the past no longer loomed over them. What remained was only this: the warmth of the present, and the unshakable bond of two hearts finding their way back to one another.
Chapter 26: New Beginning
Chapter Text
The morning sun had barely begun to pierce through the curtains of the duchess’s chamber, casting a soft golden hue across the room. Katsuki, still groggy from the night before, had awoken earlier than expected, his mind still tangled with the emotions of the previous hours. He glanced over at the bed, where the body of Duchess Michell lay, only covered by the blanket, the faintest rise and fall of her chest as she slept peacefully.
A knock at the door interrupted his thoughts, followed by the quiet sound of the door slowly creaking open. Katsuki’s gaze shifted, and he was greeted by the familiar face of the duchess’s loyal servant. The woman stood in the doorway, half-dressed as usual, her appearance hardly surprising to Katsuki now. What did catch his attention, however, was the way she didn’t flinch or look away. This time, she stood there, smiling softly as though understanding exactly what had taken place.
“Good morning, Duke Bakugo,” she greeted him with a slight bow, her voice polite yet tinged with familiarity. “I just came to check on the Duchess. Is she well?”
Katsuki smirked, noting the understanding between them—an unspoken acknowledgment of the events that had transpired the night before. “She’s resting,” he replied smoothly, his eyes glinting with a certain amusement. “She should be fine. I’ll make sure she’s not disturbed.”
The servant nodded, still maintaining that composed smile, her eyes flickering momentarily toward the bed before she bowed again. “I’ll leave you to it, Your Grace. Just let me know if she needs anything when she wakes up.”
Katsuki gave a half-hearted salute with his hand, watching the servant retreat and close the door behind her. He turned his gaze back toward Izuku’s sleeping form, his heart swelling a little at the sight of his husband so peaceful, so relaxed, despite everything they had been through. He walked toward the bed with a quiet, steady stride, his boots making no sound on the soft carpet.
As he approached, he could feel the warmth radiating from Izuku’s body even beneath the blanket. With one hand, he gently lifted the edge of the blanket, revealing more of the soft, warm skin beneath. His lips curved into a mischievous grin, and without hesitation, he leaned down to place a tender kiss on Izuku's exposed shoulder, a soft caress of affection.
Izuku stirred, a soft groan escaping his lips as he shifted slightly in bed. His sleepy eyes fluttered open, and for a moment, he seemed confused, not quite fully awake. When his eyes met Katsuki’s, a slow smile spread across his face.
“Kacchan?” Izuku mumbled, his voice thick with sleep. He tried to turn his body, moving closer toward his husband, though his movements were still sluggish, as if the warmth of the bed and the lingering effects of sleep were keeping him tethered.
Katsuki chuckled softly, reaching out to stroke Izuku’s arm, the faintest trace of his fingertips leaving a warm path. “Good morning, sleepyhead,” he said with a grin, his thumb gently rubbing the skin of Izuku’s shoulder as he leaned closer. “Go back to sleep, Izuku. You look like you need it.”
But despite his words, Izuku wasn’t having it. He blinked slowly, his lips curving into a teasing smile. His hand reached out, resting on Katsuki’s cheek as he pulled him closer. “Good morning, Kacchan,” he whispered, his voice now clear and full of warmth. “I think you owe me a kiss to start the day, don’t you think?”
Katsuki’s smirk widened, and he leaned in willingly, capturing Izuku’s lips with his own in a kiss that was soft at first, exploring but full of affection. It wasn’t long before the kiss deepened, a quiet passion flowing between them as they both let go of the lingering weight of the night. They pulled apart just enough to breathe, their foreheads resting together.
Katsuki’s hand lingered on izuku’s cheek, his thumb brushing the skin softly. “I love you,” he murmured, his voice low but filled with meaning.
Izuku's smiled.
Katsuki's hand slipping into Izuku’s hair as he gently tucked a strand behind his ear.
“I love you too,” Izuku replied, his voice thick with the same affection. “You’re stuck with me now, you know.”
Katsuki laughed softly, his eyes sparkling with that familiar warmth. “I think I’m alright with that.”
They stayed there, wrapped in each other’s embrace, content with just being in the moment. Neither of them needed words to say what they felt—they had already shared their hearts, their trust, and their love. And that was all that mattered.
As the day began to rise around them, Katsuki held Izuku close, not letting go. He had found his peace in his husband’s presence. No matter what the future held, they had each other.
The sun was high in the sky, casting a warm glow over the vast gardens of the Bakugo estate. It was supposed to be a peaceful day, one of relaxation after the many battles and duties both Izuku and Katsuki had faced in recent weeks. However, the peaceful atmosphere had been slightly disrupted by a rather unusual task: bead hunting.
Izuku had dragged Katsuki into it, despite his husband’s very clear reluctance. It wasn’t unusual for the Duchess to enjoy bead hunting; it was a tradition that had started years ago when they were children. Izuku, with his usual patience and attention to detail, would spend hours searching for the tiny, colorful beads scattered throughout the grounds. But Katsuki… he wasn’t quite as fond of it.
Katsuki grumbled as he knelt down in the soft grass, carefully inspecting the area around him. His usually sharp eyes were now narrowed in frustration as he searched, only to find no beads after several minutes. “How do you do this for hours, Izuku?” he muttered, wiping his brow in irritation. “There’s barely anything here!”
Izuku, on the other hand, was in his element. He sat nearby, casually finding bead after bead with a smile on his face. He couldn't help but chuckle at Katsuki’s frustration. The hero who had faced countless dangerous enemies, who had defeated powerful foes in battle, was struggling with something as simple as finding beads.
“You’ve got to focus more, Kacchan,” Izuku teased, his voice light and carefree. “It’s all about patience, you know? Beads aren’t going to find themselves.”
Katsuki shot him an exasperated look. “I’m not patient, you know that!” he huffed. “I’m a warrior, not some bead-finding expert.”
Izuku continued searching, his hands swift as he found bead after bead. He could tell Katsuki was getting more irritated as the hours passed. Every few minutes, his husband would grumble, mutter under his breath, and shake his head as he looked around in frustration.
After a while, Izuku finally decided he’d had enough of the hunt for the time being. He looked at Katsuki, who was still frantically searching, his face twisted in irritation. He smiled to himself and stood up.
“I think I’m done for now,” Izuku said, his voice light. “I’ve found enough for today. You, on the other hand, seem to still be looking for your first bead.”
Katsuki didn’t even look up as he kept searching. “I’m gonna find these damn beads if it kills me!” he grumbled, his temper flaring a bit. “How do you find this so easy? I’ve been at this for hours!”
Izuku chuckled and took a seat in their garden rest area, where they had set up a small table with cushions. It was the perfect spot to rest after their time in the garden. He pulled out a few of the beads he had already found and began crafting a bracelet, his hands moving with practiced ease.
“I don’t know, Kacchan,” Izuku said, looking at his frustrated husband with a teasing grin. “Maybe you just need to be more like me—patient and persistent.”
Katsuki finally gave up on searching for more beads, walking over to the garden rest area with a sigh of defeat. He collapsed next to Izuku, slumping into the cushions with an exaggerated groan.
“This is ridiculous,” he muttered. “I’m a damn warrior, and I can’t even hunt for beads properly.”
Izuku just laughed, enjoying the light-hearted moment. He kept making his bracelet, the beads clinking softly together as he worked. “You’re always so serious, Kacchan. You need to relax more.”
Katsuki rolled his eyes. “Relaxing is not in my nature, Izuku. I don’t know how you do it. Beads, flowers, bracelets… You make everything look so easy.”
Izuku chuckled softly, glancing at his husband. “It’s just how I am. Plus, these beads remind me of when we were kids. You used to get so frustrated, but we always found a way to make it fun.”
Katsuki shifted on the cushions, his expression softening just a little. He glanced over at Izuku, who was humming lightly as he worked on his bracelet. “Yeah, I remember. You always had more patience for stuff like this.”
Izuku smiled up at him, holding up the bracelet he had just finished. “I don’t mind doing it. Besides, it reminds me of you—of us. The fun parts, the easy parts, even when things weren’t perfect. We always found a way to enjoy each other’s company, even in the most ridiculous situations.”
Katsuki let out a frustrated sigh but couldn’t help the small, fond smile that tugged at his lips. “You always find a way to make everything sound so sentimental,” he grumbled.
Izuku laughed, clearly enjoying Katsuki’s reaction. “You know it’s true. But hey, I’ve got a bracelet now. Want one?”
Katsuki leaned back into the cushions, still looking a bit irritated but now with a hint of amusement in his eyes. “You’re really serious about this bead stuff, huh?”
Izuku simply smiled and nodded. “Why not? It’s a part of me. And besides…” He leaned in a little closer, his tone softening. “I like making things for you.”
Katsuki rolled his eyes but couldn’t suppress the warmth that spread through him at Izuku’s words. “You’re crazy, you know that?”
Izuku just smiled brightly at him. “I’m crazy about you, Kacchan.”
The two of them sat there in the garden, basking in the warmth of the moment, the sound of birds chirping in the distance and the quiet rustling of the wind through the trees. Katsuki, despite his earlier frustrations, was content, knowing that he could share these simple, peaceful moments with the person who meant the most to him. Even if it was just hunting for beads.
Chapter 27: Guard Dog
Chapter Text
The past two months had been nothing short of blissful. For the first time in their lives, Izuku and Katsuki had lived as a normal married couple—without war, without duties weighing them down, without the expectations of the kingdom pressing upon them. Their estate had become their safe haven, a place where they could be themselves without anyone watching their every move.
But peace was fleeting.
It started with small things. Izuku would sigh in frustration at the tiniest things Katsuki did. He’d scrunch his nose in annoyance just by looking at him, groan when Katsuki spoke too loudly, or even roll his eyes at the way he ate.
At first, Katsuki brushed it off, thinking Izuku was just irritated about something else.
But then came the vomiting. Before and after meals, at random times of the day, without warning.
Katsuki began to notice how much more tired Izuku had become. He would barely make it through their daily walks without needing to sit down, and he slept more than usual. His energy, which was once boundless, seemed to drain faster with each passing day.
Katsuki, overwhelmed and unable to stand watching his wife suffer, called for every expert healer across the lands. From the most renowned royal physicians to the most mysterious healers in the distant deserts—he spared no effort in making sure Izuku would be properly examined.
And after weeks of waiting, after endless tests and whispered consultations among the healers, they all gave the same answer.
Duchess Michell was pregnant.
The sun was setting when the last of the healers left their chamber. The estate fell silent, and for the first time since the news was revealed, Izuku and Katsuki were finally alone.
Izuku sat on their bed, resting against the pillows, his hands lightly resting over his stomach. His mind was still reeling from the revelation. It was unbelievable—impossible even. And yet, here he was, carrying their child.
Katsuki stood by the door, leaning against it, his arms crossed. He hadn’t moved since the healers left. His crimson eyes were unreadable, a storm of emotions brewing within them. The silence between them was thick—both of them unsure what to say, what to do, what to feel.
Finally, Katsuki was the one to break the silence. His voice was low, uncertain.
“…Are you gonna demand for me to leave again?”
Izuku blinked in confusion. “Huh?”
Katsuki let out a dry chuckle, his fingers tightening against his arms. “You’ve been irritated just by looking at me lately. If I breathe too loud, you glare at me. Now you’re pregnant—what if you don’t want me near you at all?”
Izuku stared at him for a moment before suddenly chuckling. It started soft, but then it grew, and before he knew it, he was laughing—light, warm, and full of amusement.
Katsuki furrowed his brows, watching him in confusion. “The hell’s so funny?”
Izuku shook his head, still laughing. “You, Kacchan. You’re actually worried I’d send you away?”
Katsuki scowled, his face slightly red. “Well, yeah! You’ve been acting like I piss you off just by existing!”
Izuku let out a breath, calming himself before extending his hand toward Katsuki. “Come here.”
Katsuki hesitated for a second before pushing off the door and walking towards him. He sat on the edge of the bed, still watching Izuku cautiously.
Izuku reached out, cupping Katsuki’s face with both hands. His touch was gentle, warm, reassuring. “I’m sorry for the mood swings,” he murmured. “I didn’t even realize how bad they were.”
Katsuki huffed, still pouting slightly. “Tch. They were bad.”
Izuku smiled softly. “I don’t want you to leave. I just… want a cuddle now.”
Katsuki let out a sigh, finally allowing his shoulders to relax. He leaned forward, pressing a lingering kiss to Izuku’s forehead before carefully wrapping his arms around him. Izuku melted into the embrace, resting his head against Katsuki’s chest, listening to the steady beat of his heart.
The weight of the news, the uncertainty of the future, and all the emotions swirling within them—they could face them later. For now, in this moment, all they needed was each other.
And as the night settled over their home, they held each other close, knowing that no matter what came next, they would face it together.
The days following the news of Izuku’s pregnancy were a mix of chaos and quiet tenderness. The estate was abuzz with preparations—servants rushing to ensure that the duchess’s needs were met, healers coming in and out to monitor his health, and officials from the palace sending letters of congratulations.
But amidst the noise, there were still moments just for the two of them.
Katsuki was a mess. He had fought in wars, slain enemies twice his size, and stared death in the face more times than he could count. And yet, the thought of Izuku carrying their child left him completely unprepared.
Izuku, on the other hand, took it in stride. He was nervous, of course, but deep down, he was happy. He never thought this life—this future—was possible for him, not after everything they had been through. But now, as he lay in bed, watching Katsuki pacing back and forth with a scowl on his face, he couldn’t help but smile.
“Are you gonna sit down at some point, Kacchan?” Izuku teased, resting a hand over his stomach.
Katsuki stopped pacing, snapping his gaze to him. “How the hell are you so calm about this?”
Izuku shrugged. “I guess because I trust you.”
Katsuki let out a scoff, running a hand through his hair. “Damn nerd… it’s not me you should be worried about, it’s you! You’re already getting tired easily, what if—” He stopped himself, gritting his teeth. “What if something happens?”
Izuku softened. He reached out a hand toward Katsuki, who hesitated for a moment before taking it, letting himself be pulled down onto the bed beside him. Izuku turned onto his side, looking up at Katsuki with a reassuring smile.
“Nothing’s going to happen,” he said gently. “You’re here. I’m here. And we’re going to be okay.”
Katsuki let out a sharp breath before pressing his forehead against Izuku’s. “You say that like you can see the damn future.”
Izuku chuckled. “I don’t need to. I just know you, Kacchan. You’ll protect us.”
Katsuki swallowed thickly, his hand sliding over Izuku’s, pressing it against his stomach. He could hardly believe it—his wife, his Izuku, carrying their child.
“Damn right, I will,” he muttered.
Izuku hummed, closing his eyes. “Good. Now, can you stop pacing and just cuddle me again? I need my husband, not my overprotective guard dog.”
Katsuki let out a low growl but complied, shifting so that he could wrap his arms around Izuku properly. He kissed the top of his head, murmuring a quiet, “I love you,” against his hair.
Izuku smiled. “I love you too, Kacchan.”
And as they held each other, wrapped in warmth and love, they both knew—this was just the beginning of their new life.
Chapter 28: In These Arms, You Stay
Chapter Text
The arrival of the former king and queen—the parents of Duchess Michell—was met with much anticipation. Their grand carriage rolled into the estate, escorted by their personal guards, and when they stepped out, their regal presence commanded attention. But despite their noble status, there was nothing but warmth in their eyes as they entered the estate, their gaze immediately seeking out Izuku and Katsuki.
The moment Izuku stepped forward to greet them, the former queen pulled him into a tight embrace. "My child," she whispered, her voice thick with emotion. "You have made us so proud."
Izuku stiffened at first, not quite used to such affectionate gestures from people who were not his biological parents. But he quickly melted into the hug, returning it gently. The former king placed a firm hand on Katsuki’s shoulder, nodding approvingly.
"You have done well, Duke Bakugo," he said. "You know our secret now, yet you still choose to love our child as your own. We are truly grateful."
Katsuki scoffed, folding his arms. "Tch. No need to thank me. He’s my wife—my Izuku. Doesn’t matter whose body he’s in. And now we’ve got a kid coming, so you bet your damn crowns I’ll protect them with my life."
The king and queen exchanged an amused glance before motioning for everyone to sit. As they settled into the grand hall, the former queen finally addressed the deeper reason for their visit.
"Now that you know the truth about our bloodline, there is something you must be aware of," she began. "The child you are expecting… there is a possibility that their soul might also experience the same fate as Michell’s—that they could be transferred to another body in the future."
Izuku and Katsuki both tensed at the statement. The very thought of losing their child—even in a way similar to Michell—made Izuku instinctively place a hand over his stomach. "But… is there a way to prevent it?" he asked, voice steady but laced with concern.
The former king nodded. "Yes. A soul only wanders when it feels disconnected from its body—when it lacks a sense of belonging. If your child is given an abundance of love, if they are surrounded by people they cherish and who cherish them in return, their soul will never long for another vessel. They will remain whole."
Silence filled the room as Izuku and Katsuki exchanged a look. They didn’t even need to say it out loud. The determination in their eyes spoke for them.
"We will fill our child’s life with love," Izuku declared, his voice unwavering.
Katsuki reached for Izuku’s hand, squeezing it firmly. "Enough love that they won’t ever think of leaving their own damn body," he promised.
The former king and queen smiled, clearly expecting such an answer. "That is all we could ever ask for," the queen said. "You have our blessing, not just as rulers, but as grandparents. No matter the circumstances of Michell’s body, you and this child are our family."
Izuku felt his throat tighten with emotion, while Katsuki merely nodded, his grip on Izuku’s hand tightening as if sealing their vow.
The meeting ended with warmth and quiet understanding. And as the former royals departed, Katsuki and Izuku remained together, hands still intertwined, silently promising their unborn child a future full of love and unwavering devotion.
The entire estate was alive with frantic movement. Servants rushed back and forth, healers barked orders, and the tension was suffocating. But none of that compared to the sharp cries of Izuku echoing through the halls. Katsuki stood outside the chamber, fists clenched so tightly his nails dug into his palms. Every scream, every pained shout from his wife sent rage coursing through his veins. He needed to be inside. He needed to be with Izuku.
"I’m going in," he growled, attempting to shove past the healers guarding the door.
One of the elder healers, a woman who had likely delivered hundreds of royal children, placed a firm hand on his chest. "You will do no such thing, Duke Bakugo," she said sternly. "Your wife is in the best hands. If you enter now, you will only cause a scene."
Katsuki gritted his teeth. "I don’t give a damn—!"
"You will care if your presence makes it harder for him," the healer interrupted. "You have no control over birth, and I suspect that would not sit well with you. You will stay here."
Katsuki’s hands shook. He wanted to argue. Wanted to threaten them to move. But she was right. If he saw Izuku suffering, there was no telling what he’d do. He might tear apart the room in rage, demand they stop the birth and find another way, threaten the very people helping Izuku just because his brain would tell him it was their fault his wife was hurting.
He squeezed his eyes shut and forced himself to stay put.
Minutes passed like hours. Then—suddenly—Izuku’s cries stopped.
For a terrifying second, everything was silent. Katsuki’s heart clenched painfully in his chest. Then, a new sound filled the air.
A baby’s first cry.
He didn’t wait for permission. He shoved open the doors and ran inside.
His eyes landed on Izuku first. He was pale, sweat-soaked, his body trembling slightly as he lay weakly on the bed. His breaths were heavy, but his lips were curled into a soft, exhausted smile. His eyes were hazy with fatigue, but they glowed with warmth as he looked toward the small bundle being held by one of the healers.
Katsuki didn’t care about that yet.
He rushed straight to Izuku’s side, dropping to his knees beside the bed, grabbing Izuku’s hand and pressing it against his own forehead.
"Shit, Izuku," he rasped. His free hand ran over Izuku’s face, brushing away damp strands of hair, wiping away sweat, checking his pulse, feeling his warmth.
"Are you okay? Does anything still hurt? Say something, dammit."
Izuku chuckled weakly, squeezing Katsuki’s hand.
"Kacchan… look at our baby first," he whispered.
Katsuki hesitated, his grip on Izuku tightening before he finally turned his head. The healer holding the newborn stepped forward and gently placed the tiny, crying bundle into his arms.
He stared.
The baby was so small.
So fragile.
A tiny nose, barely-there eyebrows, and chubby fists that curled and uncurled as it wailed. Katsuki swallowed hard, unsure what the hell he was supposed to feel. Should he be happy? Nervous? Angry?
"...Damn," he muttered, glaring at the baby like it had personally offended him. "What the hell am I supposed to do with you, huh? You just made your mom suffer for hours. You made him cry."
Izuku weakly lifted a hand and smacked Katsuki’s shoulder.
"Don’t pick a fight with our son, Kacchan," he mumbled.
Katsuki scowled but sighed, shifting his grip so the baby rested more comfortably in his arms.
"Tch. Whatever. You’re lucky you’re cute, you little gremlin."
The baby let out another tiny wail before settling down, snuggling into Katsuki’s warmth. Katsuki swallowed, something inside him softening in a way he wasn’t ready to acknowledge.
Izuku watched him with tired fondness.
"We’ll protect him," he murmured. "We’ll love him so much he won’t ever feel like he’s missing anything."
Katsuki nodded, voice quieter now. "No pressure, no responsibilities if he doesn’t want ‘em. Just… our son. That’s all he needs to be."
He glanced back at Izuku, eyes serious. "Even if he wants to just stay a baby forever, I’ll deal with it."
Izuku laughed breathily. "Kacchan, that’s not how it works."
Katsuki huffed. "Whatever. And listen—this is the first and last time. No next time. You’re not doing this again. I ain’t letting you go through that ever again."
Izuku hummed, a teasing smile on his lips despite his exhaustion.
"We’ll see."
"Oi—!"
Before Katsuki could start ranting, Izuku lifted his hand and pulled Katsuki down, pressing a soft kiss to his lips. Katsuki immediately melted into it, his scowl fading as he let the warmth of the moment sink in.
When they pulled away, Izuku exhaled deeply, his eyes fluttering shut as sleep finally pulled him under. Katsuki held their child close, pressing his forehead against Izuku’s.
"I love you, dumbass," he muttered.
And with their newborn nestled safely in his arms, Katsuki silently promised that no force in this world or the next would ever harm his family.
Chapter 29: All For Him
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
Notes:
Thank you so much for reading She Who Was Me! I’m really grateful for your support, especially for all the kind and encouraging comments—it truly means a lot.
This is the end of the main story, but I hope you’ll stick around for the special chapters ahead, where we’ll see everything through their son’s eyes.
See you there! 🌿
Chapter 30: Special Chapter: Bakugo Hiro
Chapter Text
The warm glow of the afternoon sun filtered through the grand windows of the royal palace’s lounge, casting long shadows across the polished marble floors. The room was elegantly furnished—richly upholstered sofas, towering bookshelves filled with centuries of history, and a grand chandelier that glimmered overhead. Yet despite its regal splendor, the atmosphere between the two young men seated within it was anything but formal.
The 24-year-old crown prince, Daichi Kitamura, dressed in his ceremonial royal tunic but with his sleeves lazily rolled up, sighed as he leaned back into the couch. He rubbed his temples, frustration evident in the way he exhaled.
"The pressure from the nobles is exhausting," he muttered, tilting his head toward the ceiling. "It’s not my father—I know he trusts me. But everyone else keeps whispering about how I should be more 'proper' as the next king, how I should be more refined, how I should—"
"Blah, blah, blah," the young man sitting across from him interrupted with a wave of his hand.
The 23-year-old heir of Duke Katsuki Bakugo and Duchess Michelle (Izuku) didn’t even look up from the dagger he was casually spinning between his fingers. His emerald-green eyes, so much like his mother’s, flickered with amusement.
"Sounds annoying."
Kitamura huffed.
"It is."
"Then don’t listen," the duke’s son replied bluntly. "Like my papa always says, people who don’t understand the real hardships behind a role should just drop dead."
The crown prince blinked before laughing, the tension in his shoulders easing slightly.
"Honestly, sometimes I think you’d make a better king than me, Hiro."
At that, Bakugo Hiro finally looked up, raising a brow before smirking.
"No way. That sounds like too much work. You think I’d actually take on that mess just because it sounds cool?"
Hiro leaned back, stretching his arms behind his head.
"I’ve got a pretty great life already. I’m the Duke and Duchess’s only son, which means I can be as free as I want. Why would I trade that for something as exhausting as being king?"
"That’s true. You really are your father’s son," Kitamura said.
"Damn right I am."
Hiro answered and smirked.
"If I told my father I wanted to turn into a baby again and be carried everywhere, he’d probably let me."
The crown prince laughed even harder at that.
"I wouldn’t even be surprised! Your father has been spoiling you since birth."
"Exactly." He grinned. "So, why would I ever give up that freedom?"
Kitamura shook his head in amusement before exhaling deeply.
"Maybe I should take a page out of your book. Just roll my eyes at these noble idiots and live freely."
Hiro shrugged.
"Why not? As long as you do what you think is right for the people, who cares what some stuffy old nobles think?"
The crown prince smiled. "You really do make things sound simple."
"They usually are," Hiro said while twirling his dagger once more before flicking it into the air and catching it effortlessly. "You’re the king’s son. That means you get to decide how you live as one."
For a moment, the crown prince simply stared at his friend before breaking into a small, genuine smile.
"You know," he said, leaning back against the couch with a more relaxed posture, "you really are a terrible influence."
"And proud of it."
The heavy doors of the royal lounge swung open, and the unmistakable sound of laughter echoed through the grand room. The crown prince and the duke’s son both turned their heads just in time to see the towering figures of King and Duke Katsuki Bakugo stepping inside.
The king, regal yet relaxed, chuckled as he strode in, clearly amused by the conversation he had overheard. Meanwhile, Duke Katsuki, dressed in his usual noble attire but exuding his ever-present sharp and untamed aura, smirked as he made a beeline for his son.
Without a word, Katsuki reached out and ruffled his son's hair with an affectionate roughness that was so distinctly him.
"So, brat, you wanna be carried around now, huh?" he teased, his smirk widening. "Didn’t think you were the type to go soft, but if you wanna be in your old man’s arms again, I’ll humor you—"
Hiro immediately ducked away, scowling. "Hell no! That’s not cool!"
Katsuki laughed, clearly pleased with the reaction. "Thought so."
Meanwhile, the king approached his own son, placing a firm yet reassuring hand on his shoulder.
"You don’t have to stress over things, my son. Take your time. The crown is heavy, but it doesn’t need to weigh on you now." His voice was steady, filled with understanding. "Duke Katsuki will decide when it’s time for you to step into your role properly."
At that, Katsuki immediately scoffed.
"The hell I will. Why would I decide that?"
He crossed his arms, glaring at the king. "That’s your damn job. I got my own son to take care of. You do your part as a father, and I’ll do mine."
The king smirked, tilting his head challengingly.
"Oh? You’re the one who decided my fate, remember? You practically shoved me onto the throne back then. Consider this payback. That one’s your kid—his life is your responsibility now."
Katsuki clicked his tongue, rolling his eyes. "Tch. Like hell. That’s your damn problem."
Watching their fathers bicker like this, the two young men exchanged amused glances before bursting into laughter.
"You two are seriously something else," Kitamura chuckled.
Hiro grinned.
"This is why we’re free. Our dads are too busy throwing responsibilities at each other."
Kitamura leaned back, exhaling in relief. The weight on his shoulders felt lighter now. Being surrounded by these people—this strange yet irreplaceable family—was all the reassurance he needed.
Thank goodness he had been born into this life.
Chapter 31: Special Chapter: Where Else Would I Go?
Chapter Text
The sun had just begun to set, casting a warm golden glow over the Bakugo estate. In the grand study, the flickering light from the fireplace illuminated the worried expressions of Duke Katsuki and Duchess Michell—Izuku—who sat across from their son. The young noble, now in his twenties, lounged comfortably in his chair, hands casually resting behind his head. Though Hiro had inherited his mother’s vibrant green eyes, his sharp features and natural confidence were unmistakably his father’s.
Katsuki exhaled sharply, arms crossed as he leaned against the desk behind him. He hated long discussions, but this was one thing they couldn’t keep from their son any longer. Beside him, Izuku—Michell—fiddled with his fingers, nervous despite the years of preparation for this moment.
"Alright, brat, listen up," Katsuki began, his voice gruff but carrying a rare seriousness. "What we’re about to tell you isn’t some stupid noble secret or political nonsense—it’s about you. About us. And you need to hear it straight."
Hiro raised a brow but didn’t interrupt. He had seen his father fight, argue, and even yell at kings without hesitation, but never had he seen him so... hesitant. His mother, usually the voice of gentle reassurance, also seemed unusually cautious. That alone was enough to make him take the conversation seriously.
Izuku took a deep breath before speaking. "The truth is... the person you know as ‘Michell’ isn’t exactly who I’ve always been." He paused, choosing his words carefully. "Your father’s first wife—his only wife—was actually me."
Silence stretched between them.
Their son blinked, then glanced at his father as if expecting a punchline.
When none came, he scoffed. "Okay, you’re gonna have to explain that better, because what?"
Katsuki groaned, running a hand through his hair. "Tch. This is why I hate talkin’ about shit like this," he muttered before looking his son dead in the eye.
"Your mother—before being Princess Michell—was originally Izuku Midoriya. A man. My omega. My first wife."
Another pause. Hiro straightened slightly, his sharp mind piecing things together. His mother—or rather, Izuku—continued.
"I wasn’t born in this body. I was once just Izuku, a man who fell in love with your father and became his wife. But..." His voice softened. "I ended up taking my own life. And because of a rare bloodline ability tied to Princess Michell’s lineage, my soul transferred into her body upon her death."
A slow exhale left their son’s lips. "So, you died... and then woke up as a foreign princess?"
Izuku nodded.
"And Father just... accepted this?"
Katsuki scoffed. "Of course, dumbass. What, you think I’d mistake the person I love for someone else? No matter the body, he’s still my damn nerd."
Hiro processed the information carefully, his expression unreadable.
Izuku watched him anxiously, fingers gripping the fabric of his sleeves. "And," he added, "because you carry my blood—Michell’s blood—there’s a possibility you might experience the same thing one day. The soul-switching only happens to those who deeply desire freedom or feel a lack of love in their life. We don’t know if it will ever happen to you, but..."
"But we want you to be prepared," Katsuki finished, arms crossed tightly. "If you ever feel like—like you’re trapped or want to run, you tell us. No damn switching bodies or pulling the same shit your mother did, got it?"
For the first time, real concern was visible in Katsuki’s crimson eyes.
Izuku, too, looked worried.
Both of them knew what it meant to lose and be lost—to feel like there was no other choice but to disappear. They feared their son might one day feel the same way.
However, as soon as they finished explaining, their son let out a light chuckle. Not a nervous one, but a genuinely amused, almost relieved one.
"What?" Katsuki snapped, scowling. "The hell’s so funny?"
The young noble leaned back with a smirk eerily similar to his father’s. "I just don’t get why you two look so worried. What’s there for me to give an opinion on?"
Izuku blinked. "You’re... not shocked?"
"Not really."
Hiro shrugged.
"I mean, yeah, it's surprising that my mother was originally a man, but in the end, what difference does it make? You're still you. And as for this whole ‘soul-switching’ thing..."
He scoffed.
"It’s not like I’ll ever need it. Like you said, it only happens to people who feel trapped or unloved, right?"
He gestured around the grand study, then outside the window where the Bakugo estate stretched into vast lands of freedom.
"I have everything I need right here. I was born free. I have my father, my mother, and people who love me. What the hell more could I possibly ask for?" His emerald eyes, so much like Izuku’s yet filled with his father’s unshakable confidence, softened slightly.
"You guys don’t need to worry about me. I’m not going anywhere."
Both parents stared at him, somewhat stunned by his immediate acceptance. Relief washed over Izuku, while Katsuki merely scoffed, running a hand over his face before letting out a small chuckle.
"Tch. Look at you, acting all high and mighty," Katsuki muttered, but there was unmistakable pride in his voice. "Guess you really are my kid."
The young noble grinned.
"Damn right."
Then, after a beat, his expression turned slightly mischievous. "Though, I gotta say, the only real surprise here is that Father actually loved someone enough to go through all that. But also... what kind of love did you two have that Mother went and killed himself over it?"
Izuku flinched at the blunt question, while Katsuki clicked his tongue, glaring. "That’s none of your damn business."
Their son smirked. "Sounds like it’s my business now."
"You little—"
Izuku quickly intervened before Katsuki could start throwing things. "Alright, alright," he laughed, finally easing into the lighthearted mood. "Let’s not start a war in the study, please."
Their son leaned back, looking between them. His smirk softened into something genuine. "But honestly... I feel kinda honored knowing I’m both the son of the late duchess and the current one."
He grinned.
"That means I have double the right to brag about being your son. Everyone else in the noble houses can just deal with it."
Izuku’s eyes shined with warmth, and even Katsuki couldn’t hide the pride in his expression.
"Yeah," Katsuki muttered, ruffling his son's hair roughly. "That’s my brat."
Izuku reached out, gently touching his son’s cheek.
"Thank you," he whispered. "For staying with us."
His son smiled. "Like I said—where else would I go?"
Chapter 32: Special Chapter: History to Unfold
Chapter Text
When Hiro opened his eyes, the first thing he noticed was that his body felt... different.
He wasn't in his usual noble attire but instead wore a guard’s uniform, the sturdy material heavier than what he was used to. His fingers flexed automatically around the hilt of a sword at his waist, and as he looked down, the hands he saw weren’t his own. They were rougher, older.
A sudden wave of dizziness overcame him, and flashes of memories—not his—passed through his mind. This wasn’t just a soul-switching accident like what happened to his mother.
This was something entirely different.
He had taken the place of someone in the past.
Realizing the significance of this, he quickly surveyed his surroundings.
The grand halls of the royal palace stretched before him, draped in banners that marked an earlier era. The air was heavy with the scent of burning candles and expensive perfumes. Hiro inhaled sharply as he caught sight of someone he recognized immediately—his father.
Duke Katsuki Bakugo stood tall, a man not yet aged by time, but his burning presence was already undeniable. His golden hair, slightly messier than in the present, reflected the glow of the chandeliers, and his sharp red eyes held a fury that Hiro had only seen in stories. The younger version of his father radiated power and danger, his gaze dark as he walked through the lavish hall.
Hiro’s breath caught when he saw the real Princess Michell standing among the other nobles. The woman whose body his mother had inherited looked nothing like the one he knew. She was beautiful, yes, but her demeanor lacked the warmth and depth his mother carried. Her presence here confirmed it—this was the night of the infamous palace gathering, the one Duchess Izuku had not been invited to.
History was unfolding before his eyes.
As soon as Duke Katsuki presented himself to the king, Hiro could see the shift in the room. The former king—cold, unfeeling, a man who saw his subjects as nothing more than pieces to be moved in his game—smirked at Katsuki’s entrance.
"Duke Bakugo," the king said smoothly, his voice dripping with condescension. "You finally grace us with your presence. I was beginning to think you’d abandoned your duties to the crown."
Hiro saw it. The way his father’s jaw tightened, the way his grip twitched toward the hilt of his sword.
"My wife," Katsuki’s voice was controlled, but barely, "was disrespected. Humiliated. Your people push me to produce an heir when we are not yet ready." His eyes blazed. "And yet, you think I should bow to you like nothing is wrong?"
A ripple of whispers spread through the court.
The nobles exchanged glances, entertained by the Duke’s defiance but wary of the tension building in the air.
The king laughed, lounging back on his throne.
"Ah, yes, the omega who clings to your side. Did you really think a mere commoner-turned-duchess deserved a place here?" He gestured lazily toward the gathered nobles.
"She does not belong. It was a mistake to allow her to hold such a title."
Silence fell.
The temperature in the room seemed to drop, and Hiro felt his heartbeat quicken.
Then—
The sharp sound of metal leaving its sheath cut through the air.
Katsuki had drawn his sword, the tip aimed directly at the king.
The nobles gasped in shock, stepping back as the guards tensed.
"You dare," Katsuki growled, his voice lethal, "insult my wife in front of me?"
Hiro, frozen in place, could only stare as his father stepped forward, his body language screaming violence. He had seen his father angry before, but this—this was different.
This was fury.
"This whole damn kingdom," Katsuki spat, "is filled with cowards who think love is just another political tool." His grip on the sword tightened. "But I don’t care about your damn traditions. I don’t care about your stupid expectations."
He took another step forward, his red eyes locked onto the king like a predator zeroing in on its prey. "I chose my wife. I’ll choose him again and again. And I’ll be damned if I let anyone talk about him like that."
The hall erupted into chaos.
Guards rushed forward.
Katsuki moved like a beast unleashed, his sword clashing against their weapons with raw, unfiltered rage.
Hiro’s breath hitched as he watched his father fight—not just for honor, but for love.
He wasn’t just angry. He was protecting something precious to him.
And yet, he was outnumbered.
Despite his unmatched skill, there were too many guards and civilians. Blades slashed at his arms, his side, but Katsuki didn’t falter. He fought like a demon, knocking enemies aside, but Hiro could see the inevitable coming.
A strike to his back made Katsuki stumble.
Another slash to his shoulder forced him to one knee.
Hiro, still trapped in the guard’s body, tried to move—to help—to do anything, but his limbs wouldn’t respond.
The king remained seated, watching with mild amusement as Katsuki was overwhelmed.
"You act like a beast," he mused, "so you shall be treated as one."
He turned to his men.
"Break him."
A sharp cry of pain tore from Katsuki’s throat as a guard’s spear pierced his shoulder, forcing him onto the ground. They beat him down, but even then, he didn’t yield. Even bloodied, Katsuki glared up at the king, eyes burning.
Hiro’s chest ached.
He had always known his father was strong, but to see this—to witness this devotion firsthand—made something shift in him.
Even as he was beaten down, his father never surrendered. Not when it came to his wife.
Then—darkness.
Hiro’s vision blurred.
The world around him began to distort.
The past was slipping away, fading.
The last thing he saw before everything turned black was his father’s battered body—still fighting, still refusing to break.
And then, silence.
The next time Hiro opened his eyes, he was still trapped in the past. The body he inhabited felt just as foreign as before, but his surroundings had changed. The air was thick with grief.
He was running.
His legs moved on their own, driven by someone else’s urgency. Beside him, his father—no, the younger version of Duke Katsuki Bakugo—was sprinting toward his own estate. His expression was unlike anything Hiro had ever seen before.
His father, the man he had always known to be unwavering and proud, looked terrified.
Katsuki’s eyes were wild, his breathing ragged. There was no calculated strategy in his movements, no controlled anger—just raw, unfiltered panic. His entire body trembled as he pushed forward, shoving aside anyone in his way.
Something was wrong.
The estate loomed ahead, but it felt different from the warm home Hiro had always known. The walls seemed colder, the torches dimmer. The weight in his chest grew heavier with every step.
Then he noticed them—the servants, the knights, the people of the household.
They were crying.
Some covered their mouths to muffle their sobs, others stood frozen in shock, unable to move.
Hiro didn’t understand. But his body—his heart—already knew.
No. No, no, no—
Katsuki suddenly stopped.
His feet stumbled against the polished floors as he reached the grand doors leading to his wife’s quarters.
The moment his father laid eyes on what was inside, his entire body began to shake.
"No," Katsuki’s voice came out broken, a whisper of disbelief. His hands trembled violently as he reached for the doors, pushing them open with weak, unsteady fingers.
"No, no—baby, I’m here. I’m here—"
His steps slowed, as if his body refused to carry him forward. His breath hitched in his throat, his entire frame locking up in pure, silent horror.
Hiro saw it, too.
Duchess Izuku lay motionless on the floor, his delicate hands resting at his sides, his once-warm skin now cold and drained of life. His pale nightgown was stained deep crimson, blood pooling beneath him in a haunting contrast against the silken sheets. His peaceful face was frozen in time, eyes closed as if merely asleep—but Hiro knew.
There was no waking up from this.
Katsuki staggered forward, his hands reaching out desperately. "No," he whispered again, falling to his knees beside the bed. His fingers barely grazed the fabric of his wife’s clothes before his entire body collapsed forward.
"Izuku."
Silence.
Then—a scream.
A sound so raw, so filled with agony, that it clawed at Hiro’s chest and made the servants behind them break down into sobs.
Katsuki clutched Izuku’s lifeless body, pressing him against his chest as if trying to breathe warmth back into him. His fingers dug into the fabric of his nightgown, holding him so tightly it was as if he feared letting go would make it real.
"Izuku, wake up," Katsuki pleaded, his voice trembling. "Wake up, dammit. I said, wake up!" He shook him lightly at first, then more frantically, his breathing growing uneven. "This—this isn’t funny, dumbass Come on… you’re messing with me, right?" His throat bobbed as he swallowed back a sob, his red eyes searching for any sign of movement.
"Please, Izuku… please…"
But there was none.
Katsuki’s hands cupped Izuku’s cold cheeks, his thumbs brushing over his eyelids. "Come on, baby," he whispered, his voice barely holding together. "It’s—it’s morning. Time to wake up. You hate sleeping in, remember?" His lips curled into something like a broken smile, trembling as he pressed his forehead against Izuku’s. "Come on, love. You have to wake up."
Still, there was no response.
And then—Katsuki shattered.
"Why… AHHH! Why didn’t you tell me? Why didn’t you scream at me? Why?"
A wail tore from his throat, raw and filled with indescribable grief. He sobbed into his wife’s hair, his entire body trembling violently as he rocked back and forth, holding Izuku as if trying to shield him from the reality of death.
"I’m sorry," he gasped, his hands fisting into the bloodied fabric of Izuku’s gown. "I’m sorry—I’m sorry—I’m so fucking sorry," His voice broke, the weight of his own regrets crushing him. "I should’ve been there—I should’ve never left you alone."
His cries were devastating. Hiro had never—never—heard his father sound like this.
This wasn’t the fierce and untouchable Duke Bakugo Katsuki that people revered. This wasn’t the hero, the warlord, the powerful noble who stood undefeated.
This was a broken man. A husband who had lost the only love of his life.
And Hiro—
Hiro couldn’t breathe.
Tears spilled freely down his own cheeks. His legs gave out beneath him, and he fell to his knees on the cold marble floor.
The grief in the room was suffocating.
The servants cried quietly, some holding each other as they wept. The knights lowered their heads, unable to witness the sight of their mighty lord reduced to this.
And Hiro—he sobbed.
For the first time in his life, he saw the weight of his father’s love in its purest, most painful form. This was the day that had shaped everything.
The day Duke Katsuki Bakugo had lost the only person he had ever truly lived for.
Hiro covered his mouth, his shoulders shaking violently.
Even though this was the past—even though he knew things would eventually change—he couldn’t stop the ache in his heart.
Because this was real.
This was the moment that had rewritten history.
And there was nothing he could do to stop it.
Chapter 33: Special Chapter: Second Chance
Chapter Text
The moment Hiro's eyes fluttered open, he gasped, his chest heaving as if he had been drowning and only now broke through the surface. His heart pounded so hard it ached. His fingers clutched at the sheets beneath him, desperate to confirm that he was truly back.
His chamber. His bed. The familiar golden trim on the canopy. The faint scent of the lavender oil his mother always placed in his room.
It was real.
He was back.
His body reacted before his mind caught up. He threw off the covers, ignoring the cold floor beneath his bare feet, and bolted towards the door.
His parents.
He needed to see them. Right now.
The desperate urgency in his chest made his hands shake as he pushed past the guards who barely had time to react to their young lord sprinting through the palace halls like a man possessed. His breath was ragged, his vision tunneled.
His mind was still trapped in the past. Still haunted by the image of his father crumbling in grief, of his mother lying lifeless in his own blood.
It wasn’t real anymore. It wasn’t now.
He had to see them with his own eyes.
His heart nearly stopped when he reached the balcony, looking down at the garden below.
And there they were.
Under the grand oak tree, just as they always were on peaceful afternoons.
Duke Katsuki sat cross-legged on the grass, his sharp, battle-worn hands carefully weaving the threads of a bracelet, his brows furrowed in intense concentration. Beside him, Duchess Izuku leaned forward, ever so gentle, placing a delicate flower crown on his husband's head with a smile so warm it melted the last of the terror in Hiro's heart.
His father—his strong, unwavering father—was scowling, clearly irritated but obediently allowing the crown to sit on his head. "Oi, woman, I ain’t wearing this shit in public."
Izuku chuckled, tilting his head. "But you look adorable, my love."
"That ain’t the compliment you think it is," Katsuki grumbled, though he didn’t take the crown off.
Hiro's throat tightened.
They were here. They were alive. They were together.
He didn’t think. He just moved.
Before the guards could stop him, he leaped over the railing of the balcony, his body descending rapidly toward the garden below.
"Hiro—!"
"Holy shit, you reckless brat!"
Both his parents turned just in time to see him crash into the grass, rolling slightly before jumping back to his feet.
He ran to them.
His father barely had time to curse before Hiro tackled them both in a crushing embrace, his arms locking around them so tightly it was as if he was scared they’d disappear.
Katsuki barely managed to keep them from falling over, but his bracelet—weeks of careful, begrudging effort—snapped in his hand. His scowl deepened. "What the—?! You little shit—!"
Izuku, however, immediately placed his hands on Hiro’s back, feeling the way his son trembled against him. "Hiro?" His voice was soft, worried. "What’s wrong?"
Hiro shook his head, his grip only tightening. He buried his face between their shoulders, inhaling their scents—the warm, smoky spice of his father, the sweet lavender of his mother.
"I love you both," he murmured, his voice thick with emotion. His breath hitched. "I love you both so damn much, more than anything."
Silence.
He could feel it—how his parents stilled, how their bodies tensed slightly in shock.
Then, without hesitation, his mother’s arms wrapped around him just as tightly. Izuku rested his cheek against Hiro’s hair, rubbing gentle circles on his back. "We love you too, sweetheart."
His father sighed, but Hiro felt a rough, calloused hand settle on his head, ruffling his hair before patting his back. "Tch. Idiot. What’s got you so sentimental all of a sudden?" His tone was gruff, but there was a quiet concern hidden in it.
Hiro didn’t answer.
Because how could he?
How could he explain that he had seen the worst moment of their lives? That he had seen a version of his father who had lost everything, and a version of his mother who had died alone? That, even though he knew it wasn’t real anymore, he still felt the unbearable ache in his heart?
So instead, he just held on.
Katsuki sighed again, clicking his tongue. "Hah? You’re twenty-five, not five, dumbass. Why’re you clinging to us like a damn abandoned puppy?"
Hiro let out a shaky chuckle, pulling back just enough to look at them. His eyes were red-rimmed, but he smiled. "Because I can."
His father scoffed. "Brat."
His mother smiled, brushing a strand of hair from Hiro’s face. "You can always come to us, Hiro. No matter what."
Hiro nodded.
Because now he knew—no matter what happened, no matter what pain or hardships came their way—his parents would always find their way back to each other.
And he would never take that for granted again.
The warmth of their embrace lingered, but Hiro couldn’t shake the images still burned into his mind. His father, broken and screaming, holding his mother’s lifeless body. The blood-stained sheets. The servants crying.
He pulled back slightly, his throat dry, and looked at his father.
“…What really happened that night?” Hiro asked, his voice quieter now, more hesitant. “Why did it come to that? Why did Mom… end his own life?”
Katsuki stiffened, his grip on Hiro’s shoulder tightening for a brief moment before he exhaled sharply. His usual scowl deepened, but he didn’t speak right away.
Hiro saw the hesitation, the way his father’s crimson eyes darted away as if he wasn’t sure whether to answer.
“Kacchan,” Izuku’s soft voice broke the silence.
Katsuki turned to his wife, expression conflicted. But Izuku just gave him a small, reassuring smile before looking at Hiro.
“I’ll tell him,” Izuku said gently. “It’s time he knows.”
Katsuki clicked his tongue, clearly still unsure, but after a long pause, he sighed. “Fine. But don’t hold back.”
Izuku nodded before turning to Hiro again.
“My first life,” he began, voice calm but heavy with unspoken pain, “was full of suffering.”
Hiro swallowed, listening intently.
“I was overwhelmed… I failed to see things clearly,” Izuku admitted, gaze distant, as if looking at a past only he could see. “I thought I was alone in my pain. I thought Kacchan didn’t care.”
Hiro glanced at his father, who clenched his fists but didn’t interrupt.
“I was neglected by the court,” Izuku continued, his voice quieter. “I was never respected as the duchess, not by the nobles, not by the king. I was treated as if I was unworthy to be by Kacchan’s side. The pressure to produce an heir, the whispers of my incompetence, the constant humiliation… It became too much.”
His hands trembled slightly in his lap, but Katsuki reached over, gripping them firmly.
Izuku took a breath and continued. “I thought Kacchan was abandoning me. I thought he had chosen the kingdom over me, over us.” He let out a soft, bitter chuckle. “I didn’t realize how hard he was fighting for us behind closed doors. I only saw what I wanted to see—that he was obeying the king’s orders, that he wasn’t defying the court’s demands. I misunderstood everything.”
Hiro felt a lump form in his throat. “You thought he didn’t love you?”
Izuku nodded. “And so… I gave up.”
Katsuki shut his eyes, jaw clenched. Hiro knew this part had to be the hardest for him.
Izuku’s voice grew softer, almost distant. “I was in so much pain, I thought there was no other way. I thought it would be better if I just disappeared.”
Hiro swallowed back the ache in his chest. He had seen it—the devastation, the aftermath. He had seen what his father became when it happened.
But then Izuku looked at him, his eyes shining with something different—something stronger.
“But I was wrong,” Izuku whispered. “So, so wrong.”
Hiro’s breath hitched.
“When my soul entered Princess Michell’s body, I finally saw everything clearly,” Izuku continued. “I saw how Kacchan fought for me. I saw how he never stopped loving me, never stopped cherishing me, even when I was gone.”
His fingers tightened around Katsuki’s hand. “I saw how much pain I caused him. And I regretted everything.”
Katsuki let out a sharp breath, opening his eyes. His hand gripped Izuku’s tighter, as if grounding himself in the present.
“I should’ve told you,” Katsuki muttered, voice rough with emotion. “I should’ve made sure you knew.”
Izuku shook his head. “We were both at fault, Kacchan. I was blind to my own suffering, and I failed to recognize yours.”
Silence hung between them, thick with past regrets.
Hiro looked between them, his heart heavy.
“…How did you two move on?” Hiro asked after a moment, voice softer now. “How did you find each other again?”
Izuku smiled, squeezing Katsuki’s hand. “Because we never stopped loving each other.”
Katsuki scoffed but didn’t pull away. “Because I’m a stubborn bastard who doesn’t give up on what’s mine.”
Izuku chuckled. “And because fate gave us a second chance.”
Hiro exhaled slowly, his chest feeling lighter even though his heart still ached.
His parents had been through hell. They had lost each other in the worst way possible. And yet, somehow, they found their way back.
And that, Hiro realized, was all that mattered now.
“…Thank you,” he murmured, looking at both of them. “For telling me the truth.”
Katsuki ruffled his hair roughly. “Hah? You’re our brat. You deserved to know.”
Izuku smiled. “And we’re always here, Hiro. No matter what happens.”
Hiro nodded, his heart full.
They were here. They were together.
And that was enough.
Chapter 34: Special Chapter: Training Session
Notes:
Once again, thank you so much for reading this! I hope you all enjoy this alternative universe of our beloved bakudeku! Iloveyou all!
Chapter Text
Hiro wiped the sweat from his brow, his chest rising and falling as he steadied his breath. Across from him, his mother, Duchess Izuku, stood with a wooden sword in hand, looking as composed as ever despite their intense sparring session.
It still amazed him. His mother could level with his father’s strength even in his current form—a body smaller and leaner than his father’s muscular build. But what if he had met the original Duchess Izuku, the one he saw in the past? How much strength could he have wielded back then? Would Hiro even stand a chance in a spar against him?
He wanted to know.
“Again,” Hiro said, gripping his own wooden sword.
Izuku smiled, twirling the weapon effortlessly. “Oh? Not tired yet?”
Hiro grinned. “Not at all.”
They clashed again, the sharp sound of wood meeting wood echoing through the training grounds. Hiro had fought countless opponents in his life, but sparring with his mother was always something else. Izuku was fast, unpredictable, and—most of all—strong. There was no wasted movement, no unnecessary aggression. Just precision.
But just as Hiro prepared to launch another attack, a sudden blur rushed between them.
CLANK!
The wooden sword was ripped from Izuku’s hands, and Hiro blinked in surprise as his father, Duke Katsuki, stood between them, gripping the weapon tightly. His brows were furrowed, jaw clenched.
“Time’s up,” Katsuki declared, tossing the sword aside. “No more holding a damn sword for the day.”
Izuku let out an awkward laugh, rubbing the back of his head. Hiro, on the other hand, stared at his father with curiosity.
This had been happening a lot. Every time his mother sparred, his father would show up and immediately end it. Almost like—
“…Why do you always get so anxious when you see Mom holding a sword?” Hiro finally asked, crossing his arms.
Katsuki rolled his eyes, clearly irritated by the question. “Tch. None of your damn business, brat.”
But Izuku only smiled, though there was something tired in his expression. He looked up at Katsuki, then back at Hiro.
“Let’s just say… it’s a trauma,” Izuku admitted.
Hiro frowned. “A trauma?”
Izuku exhaled softly. “You know, I did use a dagger to end my life before.” His voice was gentle, but the weight of his words was undeniable. “That’s still haunting your father.”
Hiro’s breath hitched, his mind flashing back to the memory he had witnessed firsthand—the way his father had screamed, the way he had begged, the utter devastation in his eyes.
Katsuki scowled, clicking his tongue. “Damn right it is.” His grip on Izuku’s wrist tightened just slightly, as if reassuring himself that he was still here. Still alive.
Izuku squeezed his hand in return before turning back to Hiro. “But it won’t happen again,” he assured both of them. “Not ever.”
Hiro stared at them for a moment before nodding.
He believed him.
And from the way Katsuki sighed, rolling his eyes but not letting go of Izuku’s hand, it was clear he did too.
Hiro exhaled sharply, wiping the sweat off his forehead with the back of his hand. The training ground smelled of metal and dust, the heat of the afternoon sun bearing down on him and his father as they sparred.
Katsuki, standing a few feet away, had barely broken a sweat. He held his training sword lazily over his shoulder, watching his son with a raised brow.
“Oi, you slowing down already?” Katsuki smirked, tapping the hilt of his sword against his palm. “The hell kinda stamina is that? You think you can call yourself my son with that weak-ass endurance?”
Hiro groaned, rolling his shoulders. “Oh, come on, Father. I’ve been training since sunrise. Even the knights are resting!”
“Tch. That’s ‘cause they’re not Bakugo blood.” Katsuki scoffed, lowering his sword and leaning slightly on one hip. “You wanna be the next Duke, don’t you? You gotta be strong—physically, mentally, emotionally.” He paused, his sharp crimson eyes narrowing slightly. “Especially when it comes to handling your mother.”
Hiro blinked. “…What?”
Katsuki smirked and tossed his training sword aside. “I’m serious. That’s the most important lesson in being Duke—making sure your mother’s happy. Trust me, you get that part down, the rest of the job is easy.”
Hiro raised an eyebrow, crossing his arms. “Aren’t you supposed to be teaching me how to run the estate? Handle diplomacy? Train an army?”
“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” Katsuki waved him off. “That shit’s easy. You’ll learn it naturally. But making sure your mother’s smiling? That’s the real work.”
Hiro stared at him. “You’re kidding.”
“Do I look like I’m kidding?”
“…Actually, I don’t even know anymore.”
Katsuki clicked his tongue. “Look, kid, lemme teach you something actually useful.”
He started pacing back and forth, rubbing his chin.
“First, when your mother pouts—run. It’s a trap. He doesn’t even need to say anything, just that little frown is enough to guilt-trip you into whatever he wants.”
Hiro tried not to laugh. “Seriously?”
Katsuki shot him a dead-serious look. “Dead serious. I once ended up hand-feeding rabbits for three months because I told him he couldn’t bring ten of them home.”
“…That’s oddly specific.”
“It is. Next thing—when he says, ‘Kacchan, I’ve been thinking…’” Katsuki stopped walking, his expression grim. “Run faster.”
Hiro snorted. “Why?”
“‘Cause the last time he said that, I ended up learning how to knit because he thought it’d be cute if I made him something.” Katsuki scowled at the memory. “I spent weeks trying to make a damn scarf. And you know what? He only wore it once because he ‘didn’t wanna ruin it.’”
Hiro shook his head, laughing. “You’re making it sound like being married to Mother is some sort of battle.”
“It is a battle,” Katsuki grumbled, but there was no real bite in his words. “One I’ll willingly fight every damn day, though.”
Hiro watched as his father leaned against the wooden training post, arms crossed over his chest.
“…You really love Mother, huh?”
Katsuki scoffed, like the question was stupid. “Of course I do. He’s the only person I’ve ever loved. The only person I will ever love.” He then side-eyed Hiro. “And don’t you forget it, either. You’re lucky I love you, brat, or else I’d be keeping him all to myself.”
Hiro rolled his eyes. “You act like I’m some sort of rival for his attention.”
“You are,” Katsuki grumbled. “He spoils you too damn much.”
“Oh please, you spoil him more.”
“Tch. Shut up.”
Hiro smiled to himself, then paused. His father talked about his mother a lot.
More than about being a Duke, more than about responsibilities.
It was always,
“Your mother would say this,” “
Your mother would do that,” “
Your mother loves this.”
It wasn’t training to be a Duke.
It was training to be a good son.
“…Father.” Hiro hesitated before speaking. “Do you ever think about what things would be like… if you never got Mother back?”
The air suddenly felt heavier.
Katsuki was silent for a long moment before he let out a deep breath, running a hand through his hair.
“…I’d rather not think about that.” His voice was quieter, rougher.
Hiro regretted asking, but his father continued before he could apologize.
“I lost him once,” Katsuki murmured. “I ain’t losing him again.”
He clenched his fists, eyes burning. “You saw what happened. You saw what I did to get him back. So you already know—I’d destroy the whole damn world if it meant keeping him with me.”
Hiro nodded, understanding the depth of those words.
“…Yeah. I know.”
For a moment, they just stood there, father and son, both lost in thought.
Then, as if shaking off the heaviness, Katsuki grunted and smacked Hiro on the back of the head—hard.
“Ow!” Hiro hissed, rubbing his skull. “What was that for?!”
“Tch. Gettin’ all sentimental on me,” Katsuki muttered. “We’re supposed to be training. Go run ten laps around the estate.”
“What?! Why?!”
“Because I said so.” Katsuki smirked. “And if you finish fast enough, I’ll show you how to make your mother’s favorite tea without burning the damn kitchen down.”
Hiro blinked. “Wait. You know how to make tea?”
Katsuki’s smirk widened. “What, you think I survived this long without learning?”
Hiro sighed, shaking his head before jogging off.
His father wasn’t just teaching him to be a Duke.
He was teaching him how to love.
And Hiro couldn’t help but feel a little bit proud that he was the son of the most devoted man in the entire kingdom.
It was another day, another round of training. The sun had barely risen, casting a soft golden glow over the courtyard. Hiro stood at the center, rolling his shoulders, already dreading the intensity of whatever his father had planned for him today.
But instead of starting a sparring session, Katsuki stood with his arms crossed, eyes scanning the training field before settling on Hiro with a calculating look.
“Alright, brat,” Katsuki said, cracking his knuckles. “Today’s lesson ain’t about swordplay or battle strategy. Today, we’re learning something way more important.”
Hiro straightened, expecting some grand lecture about the responsibilities of being a Duke. “Oh? What is it?”
Katsuki smirked. “How to survive your mother’s mood swings.”
Hiro groaned. “Oh gods, not this again—”
“Shut up and listen, dumbass,” Katsuki interrupted. “I’m doing you a damn favor.” He cleared his throat, then held up a single finger. “First rule: If your mother looks like he’s about to cry, it’s already too late. Whatever you did wrong, fix it immediately.”
“I—what? That doesn’t even make sense!”
“You think I’m joking?” Katsuki scoffed. “I once told your mother he shouldn’t push himself too hard because he’s smaller than me, and you know what he did? He didn’t cry—at first. He just smiled, nodded, then challenged me to a duel.”
“…And?”
“And he kicked my ass,” Katsuki grumbled. “Then cried after because he thought I was holding back.”
Hiro tried and failed to stifle his laughter. “You mean to tell me Mother completely destroyed you in a duel and then cried about it?”
Katsuki’s eye twitched. “Yeah. And you know what I did?”
“What?”
“I held him, told him he was the strongest person I’ve ever known, and let him wipe his stupid tears on my shirt. That’s how you handle your mother.”
Hiro wiped at his eyes, still laughing. “I swear, Father, you spend more time teaching me how to handle Mother than teaching me how to rule.”
“Again. same reason as before. It is because if you don’t know how to handle him, you’ll never be able to rule properly,”
Katsuki said flatly.
“The kingdom can wait. But your mother? If he’s not happy, no one’s happy.”
Hiro nodded slowly, still grinning. “Alright. What’s next?”
Katsuki smirked. “Second rule: If your mother says, ‘I’m fine,’ he’s not fine.”
Hiro groaned again. “Oh, come on—”
“Listen, brat, this is critical information.” Katsuki jabbed a finger at Hiro’s forehead. “Your mother will never admit when he’s hurting. You gotta pay attention to the little things. If he stops nagging you? Bad sign. If he’s quiet for too long? Bad sign. If he starts smiling too much? Even worse.”
Hiro blinked. “Wait—why would smiling be bad?”
“Because it means he’s pretending he’s fine when he’s really not.”
A pause. Hiro frowned, suddenly remembering all the times he saw his mother smiling so brightly, yet something in his eyes seemed distant.
“…I see.”
Katsuki nodded. “You get what I’m saying now?”
Hiro nodded back. “Yeah.”
Katsuki ruffled his hair roughly. “Good. You’re not a total idiot.”
“Gee, thanks.”
The two of them walked toward the shade of a nearby tree, Katsuki leaning against the trunk while Hiro sat on the grass. After a beat of silence, Hiro tilted his head.
“…Father.”
“Mm?”
Hiro hesitated, then finally asked, “Did Mother ever… blame you? For what happened before?”
Katsuki stiffened slightly before exhaling sharply. “No,” he said. “But I blamed myself.”
Hiro stared at him. “Even though it wasn’t your fault?”
“Doesn’t matter,” Katsuki muttered. “I was his husband. I should’ve seen it sooner. Should’ve known.” His hands clenched into fists. “If I had, then maybe—”
He stopped, gritting his teeth.
Hiro watched him carefully. His father always spoke about Mother with unwavering devotion, with endless love—but this? This was something different.
Guilt.
“…Father.” Hiro spoke gently. “Mother doesn’t want you to keep carrying that.”
Katsuki clicked his tongue. “Yeah, well, tell that to my damn heart.”
Silence stretched between them again, the weight of the past pressing heavily.
Then, as if shaking himself free from the moment, Katsuki suddenly stood up. “Enough of this sentimental bullshit. You’re running laps.”
Hiro groaned. “You always make me run when things get serious.”
“Damn right. Now move.”
Hiro grumbled under his breath but obeyed, jogging off as Katsuki watched him go.
Behind him, Katsuki let out a slow breath, rubbing the back of his neck.
“Deku,” he muttered softly, looking toward the palace where his wife was probably waiting.
He closed his eyes for a brief moment before smirking to himself.
Then, with a shake of his head, he called out, “Hurry the hell up, brat! Your mother’s waiting for us!”
Hiro, despite his exhaustion, found himself smiling.
No matter what, one thing would always be true.
Katsuki Bakugo would never stop running after Izuku Midoriya.
- The end
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Scorned_By_Thornz (WynterThornz) on Chapter 7 Mon 09 Jun 2025 04:40AM UTC
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Lumelian11 on Chapter 8 Mon 09 Jun 2025 07:00AM UTC
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Lumelian11 on Chapter 9 Tue 10 Jun 2025 05:18PM UTC
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Lumelian11 on Chapter 10 Tue 10 Jun 2025 05:46PM UTC
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Lumelian11 on Chapter 11 Tue 17 Jun 2025 05:06PM UTC
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Scorned_By_Thornz (WynterThornz) on Chapter 11 Wed 18 Jun 2025 03:05AM UTC
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Lumelian11 on Chapter 12 Tue 17 Jun 2025 05:29PM UTC
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Scorned_By_Thornz (WynterThornz) on Chapter 12 Wed 18 Jun 2025 09:12PM UTC
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Lumelian11 on Chapter 13 Mon 23 Jun 2025 09:50PM UTC
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Scorned_By_Thornz (WynterThornz) on Chapter 13 Wed 02 Jul 2025 04:00AM UTC
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Lumelian11 on Chapter 14 Mon 23 Jun 2025 10:12PM UTC
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Lumelian11 on Chapter 15 Fri 27 Jun 2025 02:58AM UTC
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Lumelian11 on Chapter 16 Fri 27 Jun 2025 03:07AM UTC
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