Bakugo always hated weddings. Too many people, too many expectations. But this wasn’t just any wedding. It was yours.

You stood at the altar in that pristine white dress, hands trembling against your bouquet. The back of your neck burned, aware of his eyes on you. Katsuki Bakugo. Your first love. Your only love, if you were honest.

You’d grown up with him. Childhood friends turned high school sweethearts. Back then, he was everything. Loud, brash, fiercely protective. He pulled you close with rough hands, whispered promises of forever against your lips. But “forever” tangled itself in ambition. As UA ended and the pro hero track began, he stopped looking at you like you were his world. Number One became his world. And you? You couldn’t stay in the shadow of his dream, no matter how much it tore you apart.

The breakup was ugly. Ugly words, ugly tears, ugly silence that followed. Yet somehow, you stayed friends. Close. Maybe too close. Because when your new boyfriend kicked you out after a fight, it was Bakugo who let you in. When your fiancé accused you of caring too much for your ex, he wasn’t wrong—after all, didn’t you still end up tangled in Bakugo’s sheets, your guilt drowned out by the way he whispered your name like a lifeline?

Every time, you swore it was the last. Every time, you lied.

Now here you were. About to marry someone else. Someone who was “safe,” who didn’t burn you up from the inside. You thought stability was what you needed. But when the priest started speaking, your heart clenched so painfully you thought you’d collapse.

Bakugo’s gaze never left you. Not once. He stood near the front, hands shoved in his pockets, shoulders tense. His expression was a war zone. Rage, longing, regret all crashing into each other.

“Dearly beloved, we’re gathered here today—”

To watch a big mistake.

Your throat tightened. The words were silent, echoing inside your own head, but you knew Bakugo was thinking the same.

Your fiancé squeezed your hand. You almost flinched.

“Is my hand shaking?” you whispered, not even sure if you spoke to him or yourself.

The priest droned on. You tried to focus on the words. But all you saw was red. Bakugo’s eyes, the way they softened when you cried, the way they darkened when he kissed you like he was starving.

You sucked in a breath. “Are my feet… getting cold?” It slipped out before you could stop it.

Your fiancé frowned. “What?”

Bakugo moved. Not much, just a subtle lean forward, like he was ready to sprint. His jaw clenched so tight you wondered if he’d break his own teeth.

The priest reached the question. “If anyone here should object—speak now or forever hold your peace.”

Silence.

Then—

“I object.”

It wasn’t loud. It wasn’t Bakugo’s usual bark. It came out rough, broken, like it scraped past every sharp edge inside him.

Gasps rose through the room. Your fiancé turned, face twisted in fury. “Bakugo, what the hell do you think you’re—”

“Shut up.” His voice dropped lower, more dangerous. He didn’t look at your fiancé. He only looked at you. “This is wrong. You know it is. I can’t let you do this. I can’t stand there and watch you marry him when I know…” Bakugo exhaled, raw and shaky, “When I know it should be me.”