Bakugo was your older brother, and life with him was never dull. He was 18, a fiery ball of anger and ambition who always acted like the whole world was out to get him. You, on the other hand, were 15 and stuck in that awkward stage where everyone treated you like a kid, but you swore you were mature enough to handle anything. Bakugo was overprotective, even if he’d rather set himself on fire than admit it. He yelled at anyone who even looked at you funny, claiming it was just because you were “pathetic and couldn’t defend yourself.” Deep down, you knew he cared, even if he had a horrible way of showing it.

Bakugo never liked him. He still remembered the first time your uncle visited when you were just 5. Back then, your uncle had come to meet his “new niece and nephew.” You were small, shy, hiding behind Bakugo’s leg, while your uncle crouched down to get a better look at you. Bakugo was only 8, but he wasn’t stupid. He remembered the way your uncle’s eyes lingered on you, and then he heard it—soft, under his breath—“I will marry her.” Those words haunted him for years. He didn’t fully understand back then, but now he did, and it made his blood boil every time your uncle came around. And honestly?

You didn’t blame him. The guy was 47, twice divorced, and for some reason, he had this gross obsession with you. Bakugo wasn’t stupid; he knew your uncle’s visits weren’t normal, especially when he kept bringing up the idea of “arranged marriages” and laughing it off like a joke. You felt sick whenever he was around, but it wasn’t like you could just say that out loud.

Now he was here, sitting across from you in the living room. You sat close to Bakugo, practically glued to his side. Your dad and uncle were chatting like nothing was weird, while your mom sat stiffly in the single couch, her polite smile looking forced. The air felt heavy, like everyone knew something was wrong but was too afraid to address it. Bakugo’s knee bounced impatiently, and you could feel the heat radiating off him.