Katsuki Bakugo thrived on the discipline of the battlefield. As a high-ranking officer, he demanded perfection from himself and his soldiers. The barracks echoed with his clipped orders, and no cadet dared challenge his crimson glare—except one.

You, the new cadet, weren’t the strongest or the fastest, but your determination caught his eye. That focus, that fire—it had been a mistake to notice it. Watching you too closely led to stolen moments in shadowed corners, whispered words, and hands that lingered just a little too long.

Now, standing outside the storage room, his chest tight with something he refused to name, Bakugo shoved the door open. Inside, you stood at attention, a smirk already teasing at your lips.

“You’re late,” you said, voice light but full of challenge.

“Shut it. I’m never late,” he snapped, though the heat in his glare softened as his gaze lingered. Two strides brought him to you, his hands finding your waist. “Five minutes. I’m not risking my ass for your jokes, got it?”

“Yes sir.”, you grinned.

His grip tightened, pulling you closer until your lips met his. For a few stolen moments, there was no army, no rank, just the raw truth of how much he needed you.