NOT THAT HE CARES | Katsuki Bakugo

Ok so this trope might be my new fav obsession

hiii I haven't posted in months, so I tried to get this done super fast and never proofread anything, so I apologize for everything lol.

k. bakugou x kirishima's sister reader

words: 800+

warning: injuries, mention of blood

---

When your brother, Kirishima, finally connects the dots and realizes that you have a crush on his best friend, he is deeply conflicted.

He wasn’t exactly surprised that you’d liked Bakugou– he knew that you’d always ask him about Bakugou, whether he was going to be at certain 1A events, if he was invited to your family dinners, and sometimes you’d just ask him what Bakugou had been up to, but he only saw your questions as you trying to make some comfortable small talk. He probably would’ve never figured out about your crush had he not overheard you talking to one of your friends over the phone.

“Yeah, I mean he’s really cute, I just can’t–”

A mumbled voice interrupts you.

“I would, but I just can’t go on a date with my brother's best friend. I know that Eiji would say that it’s fine, but if he isn’t okay with that, he’s just going to pretend that it doesn’t bother him, and I’m not going force him to pretend that he’s okay with it, you know? Bakugou was his best friend first, and I’m going to respect that.”

—

Months passed, and you still hadn’t found out that Kirishima had listened in on your phone call. 

He was sitting on a bar stool in your bathroom while you attentively brushed red hair dye onto his bleached roots. There was a natural silence as you focused on covering his scalp in the thick concoction. 

“So… you like Bakugou?”

You were taken by surprise by this sudden question. You knew that you liked Bakugou. You’d liked him for years at this point, but you just couldn’t justify jeopardizing what you’d already had for something that could result in disaster. 

You sigh.

“I don’t know, Eiji. It’s complicated.”

He doesn’t pry further, sensing the disappointment and confusion laced between your words.

“Okay.”

—-

Bakugou had paid your household a visit for the weekend, offering to make mapo tofu for another one of your weekly family dinners. As you and your brother got older, friends became regulars at your dinners, and it wasn’t surprising to have Bakugou, Denki, or Sero sitting at the dinner table every weekend. 

However, your mom was out of town on a business trip this week, leaving you and Kirishima to run the household alone. The house was fairly clean, with just a few dishes left in the sink from breakfast and lunch and a pile of freshly washed laundry lying at the foot of your couch, waiting to be folded, but the two of you knew that Bakugou would stay to help you clean up around your house after dinner.

You sat at the kitchen island, watching Bakugou hunched over the stove while Kirishima cut the tofu into cubes. The three of you mindlessly talked about recent drama and little things that had happened in your lives recently. 

“Well, it turns out that she was actually walking to this guy from the next town over who’s been dating this girl for FOUR years. Crazy.”

Kirishima listened to your stories with a few “yeah”s and “Oh I remember her, she’s the one that used to live down the street, right?”, while Bakugou grumbled and summarized everything you said.

“So you mean to tell me she was talking to her friend's boyfriend of four years and didn’t know? Sounds like a lot of bullshit to me.”

Once dinner was over, Bakugou grumbled something about having to clean up your “nasty ass house” and made his way over to the kitchen sink alongside you, grabbing the dish towels stored in the drawer beside the sink and drying off the dishes as you washed them. 

He focused on the bowl you had just handed him, drying it with ease until…

“Fuck!”

He saw you run out of the kitchen, and down to the bathroom, droplets of blood trailing you as you fumbled with the bathroom door handle.

“Y/n? What the fuck happened?”  

He quickly caught up behind you, cracked the door open, lightly pressed the small of your back to lead you into the bathroom, and lifted you onto the marble countertop to examine your bloodied hand.

“Damn. Ya really got yourself good, huh?”

Not expecting a response from you, he found the first-aid kit and shuffled through the contents, finding gauze to wrap around your hand.

He applied the gauze and put pressure on your hand, a stinging sensation making itself known as he tentatively held it.

When you hiss in pain, Bakugou’s eyes dart up to see your tear-stained cheeks and glassy eyes.

At this moment, something about you has changed. You’re something far greater than just Kirishima’s annoying little sister. 

Luckily, your older brother has made it to the door just in time to see how differently he looks at you, and he realizes that it wasn’t just you who was catching feelings.

I don’t write I just fantasize about it and then read fics

:)

The Things He Doesn't Know — K. Bakugo

This is a series, so other parts will be here!

☞ Link: Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5.

Bakugo x female reader (Slight Sero x reader)

Synopsis: When you realize you're in love with your childhood best friend, but force you're feeling's down for the sake of your friendship.

Author's note: Low-key feel like I'm losing the plot, anyhow Bakugo lore and finally an interaction with him tehe. Enjoy everyone!

The past week had been rough. Even after apologizing to Kimiko, she was still pissed. It had taken a whole lot of convincing from everyone for her to stop glaring at you, or at least pretend she wasn’t mad to your face.

She also made it clear you were out of the Bakugo setup plans. She never directly said so, but you could tell she didn’t want you around.

Not that you minded.

Mina and Jirou still kept you updated on the drama, but honestly? You were done hearing about Kimiko drooling over Bakugo.

The last thing you needed was more drama from your outburst.

Unfortunately, avoiding it wasn’t going to be easy, not with today’s plans.

The Bakusquad, along with Kimiko, had decided to get ice cream together.

You stepped out of your dorm, only to find Sero waiting for you.

“I figured we’d head down together,” he said casually.

“Oh. Yeah, sure,” you replied, smiling, falling into step beside him as you made your way to the elevator.

As the doors closed, Sero pressed the button for the common room and glanced at you. “So… you okay? I know everything with Kimiko probably got to you.”

You hesitated, then exhaled. “Yeah, I’m okay. You really helped, y’know.”

Sero smiled, his voice softer than usual. “Yeah? Well… anything for you, Y/N.”

You looked at each other for a second too long.

The warmth in his gaze made something twist in your chest, a twist that's been happening a lot lately.

Then the elevator dinged, and the moment disappeared.

Sero stepped aside, letting you exit first.

Down in the common room, the others were already gathered, Jirou, Kaminari, Mina, Kirishima… and Bakugo.

“There’s my favorite girl!” Mina grinned, bouncing over and looping her arm through yours, dragging you away from Sero.

“Finally! Let’s go, I need ice cream, like, now,” Kaminari whined.

“No, you idiot,” Jirou said, smacking his arm. “We’re still waiting for Kimiko.”

Kaminari groaned and collapsed onto the couch dramatically. “Ughhh, come on.”

After a few minutes, Kimiko finally arrived, dressed in an orange sundress that flared around her knees.

“Hey, everyone!” she chirped.

Mina gasped. “Oh my God, you look so pretty!”

Jirou nodded in agreement. “Yeah, nice outfit.”

Kirishima grinned. “Looking good, Kimiko!”

Sero, much to your annoyance, looked slightly flustered, his face tinted pink.

Bakugo, on the other hand, merely tapped his foot impatiently.

“Okay, can we go now?” Bakugo grumbled.

“ICE CREAM, ICE CREAM, ICE CREAM!” Kaminari chanted, marching out the door.

Jirou rolled her eyes but followed after him.

The rest of you trailed behind, leaving campus and heading into the city.

On the way, Kimiko playfully teased Bakugo, but he barely reacted. If anything, he just looked bored.

“So, where exactly are we going?” You asked Mina.

“Oh, it’s this place called Frosty’s!”

Frosty’s?

You blinked. The name alone sent a wave of nostalgia crashing over you.

You snuck a glance at Bakugo, wondering if he remembered.

Frosty’s was... special.

You and Bakugo had first come here when you were wide-eyed kids, eager for ice cream. The place was small, family-owned, with faded walls and an old-school charm.

You both always ordered the same thing: vanilla with sprinkles. Bakugo swore his tasted better, even though they were identical.

But that wasn’t what made it special.

No, what made it special was the fact that it was where you and Bakugo had your first kiss.

You were twelve freshly into middle school. Dating and crushes had started becoming a thing, but neither of you had been interested. Bakugo was too focused on becoming N.1, and you had always been too shy to think about it.

That day, you had both been sitting outside on the worn-down bench, eating your ice cream, when he asked out of nowhere...

“Have you had your first kiss?”

The question had caught you off guard. You had licked your ice cream, avoiding his gaze.

“No… have you?”

He had muttered, “No.” Then he kicked at a loose rock on the ground, his voice unusually hesitant.

“We should just… get it over with. Y’know, so we’re not behind or whatever.”

You weren’t sure why you agreed. Maybe curiosity. Maybe the tiny part of you that had always been drawn to him.

“…Okay.”

You had leaned in, your noses awkwardly bumping before your lips met. It was quick, clumsy, and a little embarrassing. Neither of you had ever brought it up again. Maybe because you were both mortified. Or maybe… maybe, because it had meant something neither of you were ready to face.

“Y/N?” Mina’s voice snapped you out of the memory.

“Huh?”

“What are you getting?” she asked, already holding her own cone.

You barely had to think. “Vanilla with sprinkles.”

Mina groaned. “Ugh, you and Bakugo are so boring.”

At that, you glanced over, and sure enough, Bakugo was sitting at a table, eating vanilla with sprinkles.

You shook your head fondly and paid for your order. The group headed outside, and your eyes immediately found the old bench. Without thinking, you sat down, lost in thought.

Your feelings for Bakugo.

Kimiko.

Everything.

A moment later, someone sat beside you.

Bakugo.

You both sat in silence, the weight of unspoken words settling between you. Then, without looking at you, he muttered, “You remember this place?”

Your grip tightened slightly on your cone.

“…Yeah. Do you?”

“Tch. ‘Course I do.”

A pause. Then...

“You were a horrible kisser,” he remarked.

You scoffed. “Oh, like you were any better.”

He clicked his tongue but didn’t argue.

For a moment, the air between you felt lighter. No Kimiko. No drama.

Just you and him. Just like before. Just how it'd always been.

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My favorite show is on

CHAPTER 13: KNOW ITS FOR THE BETTER

pairing: aged up!katsuki bakugo x fem!reader

summary: After six intense years in Japan, YN LN has firmly established herself as a renowned gym owner. She's known by many pros for her charm, strength, and boxing abilities. She has a strong support system and amazing friends... her life in Japan was everything she dreamed it would be.

But everything changes one fateful night when a mysterious package appears on her doorstep. No note, no return address—just a plain box wrapped with a single pearly pink ribbon. As she unravels the contents of the box, she’s drawn into a dark, twisted mystery that seems to reach deep into her own past—a past she thought she had buried when she left her old life behind.

wc: 5k

FLASHBACK

“Nova, can you h—?”

The sound of static crackled through your earpiece, cutting off the desperate voice on the other end. You winced, shielding your face as the blistering heat of the raging fire licked at your skin. The warehouse, once teeming with federal agents and your team, was now a deathtrap engulfed in flames.

This wasn’t how the mission was supposed to end.

The vital evidence you needed to bring Anthony Moretti to justice—the files, the ledgers, the weapons cache—was turning to ash before your eyes. Desperation clawed at your chest as you searched for an exit amid the chaos, flames casting long, erratic shadows across the crumbling structure.

It was hard to believe that only 24 hours ago, you were sitting across from Moretti in a high-end restaurant, the air thick with the smell of calamari and overpriced cologne. The man had smiled as you choked down bitter cocktails, blissfully unaware that you were dismantling his empire from within. Now, everything he’d built—the lives he’d destroyed, the drugs he’d sold, the blood money he’d hoarded—was being consumed by the very flames that threatened to take you with them.

You didn’t have time to mourn the loss of the evidence. Surviving came first.

A sharp, metallic crack reverberated through the air just before a sudden blow to the back of your head made your vision blur. Staggering, you barely registered the weight of a body slamming into you before you hit the ground, the impact knocking the wind from your lungs.

“Tell me who sent you, or I’ll kill you right now,” growled a familiar voice, low and venomous.

Anthony Moretti.

He was on top of you, one knee digging painfully into your ribs, a cold barrel pressed to your temple. He couldn’t see your face beneath your mask and hero uniform, but that didn’t seem to matter. His words carried the fury of a man backed into a corner, desperate and dangerous.

The flickering firelight illuminated his features—sharp lines of anger etched into his face.

You gritted your teeth, twisting your body beneath him. With a swift motion, you drove your knee into his stomach, hard enough to make him double over with a grunt of pain. As he staggered backward, clutching his abdomen, you thrust your hand forward, summoning your power.

He flew across the room, slamming into the concrete wall with a bone-jarring thud. His body stuck there, pinned as though held by invisible bonds.

You reached up and pulled off your mask, letting it fall to the scorched ground. The flickering flames illuminated your face, and you saw the confusion, the betrayal, and the anger that twisted his features even further.

“Lily?” he gasped, his expression shifting as the realization hit him. His voice was a mixture of disbelief and something that almost sounded like heartbreak.

“No,” you replied, your voice cold and resolute.

“My name’s Nova,” you said firmly, meeting his gaze without flinching. “I’m a hero.”

Moretti’s eyes narrowed as he struggled against the invisible force holding him in place. The firelight danced in his dark eyes, highlighting the rage simmering just beneath the surface.

“A hero?” he spat, his voice thick with venom. “Heroes don’t destroy lives. Heroes don’t betray people who trusted them.”

You clenched your fists, his words slicing deeper than you cared to admit. “You don’t get to lecture me about betrayal, Moretti. You built your empire on lies, blood, and fear. How many families have you destroyed? How many people have died because of you?”

His lip curled into a sneer. “And you think you’re better? Pretending to be one of us, cozying up to me, all for this?” He gestured around the burning warehouse as much as his pinned position would allow. 

You stepped closer, your boots crunching against the broken glass and debris littering the floor. The heat was becoming unbearable, sweat dripping down your face, but you refused to let him see any weakness.

“This is justice,” you said firmly. “You’ve spent years thinking you were untouchable, that no one could stop you. But look around, Moretti. Your empire is crumbling, and there’s nothing you can do to stop it.”

For a moment, silence filled the space between you, broken only by the roar of the flames. Then, he laughed—a low, bitter sound that sent a chill down your spine despite the suffocating heat.

Moretti’s eyes blazed with fury as he struggled against your powers, his voice a growl of defiance. “You think this is over? That locking me up ends this?” He barked a harsh laugh, the sound cutting through the roaring flames.

“You’re delusional, Nova. As long as you’re alive, you’ll never know peace. Everyone you care about—your family, your friends—I’ll make sure they all pay for what you’ve done here tonight.”

You forced yourself to stay steady, to keep your face impassive even as the weight of his threat coiled in your chest.

“You’re not in a position to make threats,” you snapped, dragging him closer to the exit. But his words lingered, burrowing into your mind like a parasite.

Moretti sneered, his confidence unshaken despite the fire and chaos surrounding him. “You underestimate me. Even in chains, I have power. My reach extends far beyond these walls. Do you really think you can protect them all?”

He leaned forward as much as your powers allowed, his voice dropping to a venomous whisper. “You’ve made this personal, Lily—or should I call you Nova now? Either way, everyone you love is living on borrowed time.”

You froze, your grip faltering for just a fraction of a second. That was all it took for Moretti to see the crack in your armor, and he smiled—a wicked, knowing grin that sent a chill down your spine.

“I know who you are,” he said softly, almost triumphantly. “Your face might be a secret to the world, but not to me. And when I get out—and I will get out—I’ll make sure you live long enough to watch them all die, one by one.”

The rage that surged through you in that moment was like nothing you’d ever felt before. Your hand trembled as you fought the urge to tighten your hold, to slam him against the wall again and silence him for good.

PRESENT:CHAPTER 12 CONTINUATION…

The door to the east wing loomed before you, and with a shared nod, you pushed it open. Inside, Moretti waited, flanked by a handful of his men. His cold green eyes lit up with twisted amusement as he saw you enter.

“Well, well,” he drawled, spreading his arms as if welcoming old friends. “The runaway and the hothead. I was wondering when you’d show up.”

“You won’t be wondering much longer,” Bakugo growled, stepping forward, explosions sparking in his palms.

“Careful, Dynamight,” Moretti said with a smirk, his hand casually resting on the pistol at his side. “I still hold all the cards.”

You stepped beside Bakugo, your voice calm but firm. “Not anymore, Moretti. This ends now.”

The tension in the room thickened as Bakugo and you stood ready, the weight of your words settling over Moretti. His smirk faltered, but it was quickly replaced with a look of cold, calculating rage. He had underestimated you, but that would be his mistake.

“You think you can just walk in here and take me down?” Moretti sneered, his hand tightening around the grip of his pistol. “You’re both pathetic if you believe that.”

Before he could raise his weapon, Bakugo lunged forward, blasting the ground beneath him with an explosion that sent him hurtling towards Moretti at high speed. The force of the blast threw the men standing beside him back, and Bakugo collided with Moretti’s right-hand man, sending him crashing into a stack of crates.

Moretti barely had time to react before you were on him, your quirk flaring as you moved with a speed and precision that startled him. Your hand shot out, knocking the pistol from his grasp before he could pull the trigger. The metallic clatter of the weapon hitting the floor echoed through the room.

“Nice try,” you said, your voice a low growl, as you stepped back, preparing yourself for whatever came next.

Bakugo, now almost free of the goons who’d been circling him, shot you a look. “Careful.”

“Focus,” you shot back, keeping your eyes locked on Moretti.

Bakugo advanced first, throwing an explosion directly at the nearby table, the force of the blast sending it toppling over, blocking the line of sight for Moretti’s men. They tried to recover, but Bakugo was already upon them, his fists lashing out with the sheer force of his explosive quirk.

Meanwhile, you circled behind Moretti, not giving him a moment to breathe. You could feel the surge of power building inside you, the remnants of your quirk pushing against your skin. But there was something more, something deeper driving you—the need to finish what you’d started, to take down the man who had ruined your life and threatened the people you cared for.

“You’re not getting away with this,” you said, your voice cutting through the chaos like a blade.

Moretti spun around, a wicked glint in his eyes. “You really think you can defeat me?” he hissed, his tone full of venom. “I’ve been untouchable for years. You’re just a scared little girl trying to play hero.”

You took a step closer, ignoring the sting of his words. “I’m not scared of you, Moretti.”

In the split second he took to reach for another weapon, you lunged, gripping his arm and twisting it behind his back. Your quirk surged again, crackling in your palms as you pressed him against the wall. His breaths grew more frantic as he struggled against your grip.

A pained groan cut through the air, and your eyes instinctively flicked to Bakugo. He was still standing, but barely. His explosions were less precise now, slower, his arms trembling with fatigue as each burst sent another one of Moretti’s men crashing to the floor. His breaths were sharp and ragged, the strain of maintaining his power taking its toll.

Distracted by the sight of him, your guard faltered, and in that moment, Moretti took advantage of the opening. With a brutal headbutt, he drove you back, the impact reverberating through your skull. 

Before you could regain your footing, Moretti shoved you into a nearby window, and you felt the glass give way beneath your body, sharp shards embedding into your skin as the window shattered. The rush of air knocked the wind out of you, and the sharp sting of glass against your abdomen sent waves of agony crashing through your chest. 

Moretti didn’t pause. He lifted you effortlessly and threw you to the ground, the harsh impact jolting your bones. The pain was almost unbearable, but you fought to stay conscious, to keep moving. You found yourself beneath him once more, his face hovering above you as he tried to catch his breath. His hands were pinning your wrists above your head, trapping you beneath him as he sneered.

"Did you mean it?" His voice was low, filled with something that bordered on insanity.

"What?" You gasped, still trying to catch your breath. 

"Did you kill her?"

The question struck you like a slap. "Yes," you answered, your voice hoarse but steady.

He seemed to flinch, his grip tightening around your wrists as his anger surged. "The one thing I loved most in this world... and you took her from me."

You locked eyes with him, your gaze cold and unyielding. "She didn’t deserve a father like you."

His jaw clenched as his fury flared. “I should’ve made you pay for this a long time ago.”

With a vicious growl, Moretti’s fingers tightened around your throat, the crushing pressure cutting off your airway. Your vision blurred, stars flickering at the edges as panic gripped you. His other hand fumbled at his side, and you caught the gleam of the gun as he raised it, his aim steady and deliberate.

“Don’t think I ever forgot about our conversation from years ago.” he snarled, his voice laced with venom. His eyes flicked briefly to Bakugo, who was battling a swarm of Moretti’s men, explosions lighting up the darkened warehouse like fireworks.

Desperation clawed at your chest as you struggled beneath him, your limbs heavy and unresponsive. His grip on your throat loosened slightly as he adjusted his aim, allowing you to gasp for air.

“No—no, Moretti,” you croaked, your voice raw and trembling. Anxiety churned in your stomach, the weight of his words from years ago echoing in your mind. The fire. The pain. The promises of vengeance he’d made that night.

Fear twisted through you as you watched Bakugo fight, oblivious to his danger. His movements were relentless, a blur of precision and fury as he blasted away at the men surrounding him. But he was too far away, too distracted to notice what was happening.

“Please—I’m begging you,” you rasped, the words tumbling out in a broken plea.

Moretti paused, his cold eyes locking on yours. A twisted smile curled at the edges of his lips, full of malice and triumph. He leaned in closer, his voice dropping to a chilling whisper.

“You took my daughter. It’s only fair if I take something from you.”

The weight of his words hit you like a punch to the gut, leaving you breathless in a new way. You shook your head, tears spilling from your eyes as your chest heaved with silent, frantic sobs.

He cocked the gun with a deliberate click, the sound cutting through the chaos like a death knell. Panic surged through you, overriding the pain and exhaustion.

“KATSUKI—!” you screamed, but the cry was muffled as Moretti slammed his hand over your mouth.

“You don’t get to call for him,” he hissed, his face inches from yours. The noise of explosions and the shouting of men drowned out your muffled cries. Bakugo didn’t turn around, didn’t see the danger he was in.

“Say goodbye,” he whispered.

It happened in an instant.

The deafening crack of the gunshot rang out, cutting through the chaos like a dagger. Time seemed to slow as you watched Bakugo jerk to a stop, the impact of the bullet slamming into his side. His crimson eyes widened, not in fear, but in rage, as blood began to seep through his hero costume.

“No!” you screamed, your voice breaking as you tried to reach for him.

Bakugo staggered, one hand clutching his side as he dropped to a knee. His teeth clenched in pain, but the fire in his eyes didn’t falter. “You think a bullet’s gonna stop me?” he growled, forcing himself back to his feet despite the blood now dripping onto the floor.

Moretti sneered, his gun still raised, aiming for Bakugo’s head this time. “You’re tougher than you look,” he mocked. “But I don’t miss twice.”

Before Moretti could pull the trigger again, he raised his hand, motioning for his guards to stand down. The men hesitated, confused, but obeyed, lowering their weapons as they stepped away from Bakugo.

Moretti’s hand shot out, grabbing a fistful of your hair and yanking you up with brutal force. A sharp grunt escaped your lips as pain radiated from your scalp, your knees buckling beneath you.

“Please—” you gasped, tears spilling freely now as you struggled against his iron grip. “Leave him alone. This is between us.”

“No…” His voice echoed with venom as he repeated the words from years ago. “As long as you’re alive, you’ll never know peace. Everyone you care about—your family, your friends—I'll make sure they all suffer for what you’ve done here tonight.”

“Then let him go,” you said, your voice trembling but resolute. “Kill me. It’s me you want.”

Moretti chuckled darkly, his breath hot against your skin as he leaned in closer. His nose brushed against the side of your face, his lips ghosting over your ear. “You still smell so sweet,” he murmured, his voice dripping with malice, “even with all that blood.”

His grip on you tightened like a vice, pulling your body flush against his. The weight of his presence was suffocating. “I never wanted to kill you, you know,” he said softly, almost tenderly. “I loved you once… But you seem to have that effect on men. Breaking them.”

He turned his gaze toward Bakugo, who was glaring at him with unrelenting fury despite the blood staining his side. Moretti smirked, his fingers digging into your skin.

“Do you love her?” Moretti asked, his voice sharp, cutting through the tension like a blade.

“Katsuki, don’t answer him,” you said quickly, your voice strained with desperation.

Moretti’s expression darkened. “I said… do you love her?”

There was a beat of silence, heavy and suffocating. Then Bakugo spoke.

“No.”

Moretti erupted into a cruel, mocking laugh. “And you were going to sacrifice yourself for what? For him? A man who doesn’t love you?”

Tears welled in your eyes, spilling over as you looked at Bakugo. His face was tense, his expression unreadable, but his eyes never left yours.

“So what’s it gonna be, Nova?” Moretti taunted, his voice low and venomous. “You or him?”

You didn’t respond. Instead, you turned to face Moretti fully, the broken window behind the two of you framing the chaos of the moment.

“Me,” you said, your voice steady, even as tears streamed down your face.

Before he could react, you threw your arms around him, holding him tight as you surged forward. His eyes widened in shock, the realization dawning too late. You plunged through the shattered window, the sharp glass fragments cutting through the air.

The rush of air stole the breath from your lungs as you fell, the world spinning in a chaotic blur. Moretti’s body was heavy against yours, but you held onto him until the last moment. Then, you released him, watching as he fell below you. His eyes closed, a look of grim acceptance on his face as he hurtled toward the ground.

You felt a strange calmness begin to settle over you, the wind whipping against your skin. 

For a moment, everything seemed to freeze. The chaos of the world, the deafening winds, and the fear—all faded into a distant hum. In that instant, it was just you and the open sky, weightless and free.

But as the ground rushed up toward you, your heart pounded with something else—something deeper than fear. It was the finality of it all, the understanding that, for once, you were not just a survivor. You were someone who had chosen to end it all, choosing to make sure he couldn’t hurt anyone else.

Then a bright flash of blonde hair cut through the blur of motion. The explosion of sound that followed was deafening, the impact of Bakugo’s blast like thunder in your chest. His hand gripped yours, pulling you close as the world seemed to collapse into itself.

And then, there was stillness. A strange kind of peace, despite the chaos surrounding you. Bakugo’s arms wrapped around you tightly, his body warm and strong against yours, the only thing keeping you tethered to life. You could feel his heart racing, a mirror to your own, but there was an unspoken promise in the way he held you, something more powerful than words. A connection that no threat could sever.

“I’ve got you,” he whispered, his breath ragged but steady.

The ground rushed up to meet you both, but Bakugo twisted midair, shielding you with his body as you landed with a bone-jarring impact. The force of the explosion softened the fall, but pain radiated through you both as you hit the ground.

Dust and debris hung thick in the air, the faint glow of the moon filtering through the shattered window above. For a moment, everything was eerily silent, the chaos finally settling. Then, a low groan broke the stillness.

Bakugo’s arms were still wrapped protectively around you, his grip loose but steadfast. His chest heaved against yours, his breathing labored yet steady.

“That was fucking risky,” he rasped, his voice rough but tinged with exasperation.

You pulled back slightly, just enough to look at him. His face was pale, streaked with dirt and blood, but his crimson eyes burned as fiercely as ever. “You’re bleeding,” you said, your voice trembling as your hands moved to his side. “Sit down. Now.”

“I’m fine,” he grunted, trying to wave you off as he shifted to stand.

“No, you’re not.” Your voice cracked, panic seeping into your tone. “He shot you.”

His lips twitched into a faint smirk, his usual defiance shining through despite the pain. “I’ve been shot plenty of times, sweetheart,” he said, his voice low but teasing. “This? This is nothing.”

“It’s not nothing!” you snapped, tears welling in your eyes again as you pressed your palm against the wound on his side, trying to stem the bleeding. The warm, sticky sensation made your stomach twist. “You’re losing blood, we need to get you to a hospital.”

He winced but didn’t pull away, his hand resting lightly over yours. “You’re freaking out over nothing,” he muttered, though his voice softened at the sight of your tears.

“Stop pretending you’re invincible,” you said, your voice dropping to a whisper. “I can’t—” Your words faltered, the weight of everything hitting you all at once.

You almost just died, but then you didn’t. The gravity of it all hit you like a crashing wave—one moment, you were falling through the air, feeling the sharp sting of fear and adrenaline; the next, you were in Bakugo’s arms, alive, but barely able to comprehend how.

Bakugo was shot. The blood soaking through his clothes, the pain in his eyes, it tore at you in ways you didn’t know you could feel. 

And then Moretti was gone, his lifeless body falling with the same cold inevitability that had followed him for so long. His reign of terror was over, but the victory felt hollow.

"This isn’t anywhere near where I thought we were," Bakugo muttered, his voice gruff as he shifted his weight. His abdomen aching.

You blinked up at the unfamiliar surroundings, the disorienting feeling of being outside yet nowhere near any familiar landmarks sinking in. The buildings were old, run-down, and the streets were eerily quiet, a far cry from the chaos you’d just escaped. The darkness loomed around you like an ever-present shadow, and the unfamiliar city seemed to stretch on endlessly.

Bakugo’s gaze darted over the streets, but there were no signs, no clues to tell him where the hell they’d ended up. The distance between here and the place you had started felt like a world away.

As Bakugo’s attention was momentarily diverted, you quickly yanked your sweatshirt off, revealing only your sports bra underneath. You weren’t sure why the heat had risen in your chest, but it was the only way you could help him now.

“What the hell are you doing?” Bakugo’s voice snapped you from your thoughts, the sharp edge of his tone drawing your focus back to him.

You didn’t respond right away. Instead, you focused on the task at hand, your hands shaking as you began ripping a strip of fabric from the hem of your shirt. The raw urgency of the situation spurred you on, but there was something else—something more fragile, a vulnerability you hadn’t expected to reveal.

“Sit down,” you urged, your voice pleading, unguarded.

The sudden softness in your tone caught him off-guard. For a moment, Bakugo hesitated, but the emotion in your voice broke through his usual defiance. He lowered himself slowly to the ground with a grunt, though his fiery gaze never left you.

“Can you take your top off? I can’t see what I’m working with,” you said, swallowing back the lump in your throat.

Bakugo didn’t argue, a sharp exhale leaving his lips as he pulled his costume's top off. The motion was effortless, but it was clear the effort was taking its toll on him. He winced slightly but didn’t complain.

As the fabric came off, your breath caught in your throat. For a brief moment, it was like time stopped. The sight of him, sweat-drenched and bloodied but still fiercely alive, made you pause. His body was chiseled—like something carved from marble itself. Strong, defined muscles, hardened by years of battle, were a stark contrast to the vulnerability in his eyes.

“Stop starin’,” Bakugo growled, snapping you out of your trance. His voice was rough, the usual cocky arrogance laced with something softer, something only you would notice.

You forced yourself to focus, shaking your head to clear the haze of heat that had settled in your chest. Your hands moved swiftly to tie the makeshift bandage around his wound, your fingers trembling as you worked. The urgency of the moment burned through the haze, the necessity of patching him up overshadowing everything else.

Bakugo gritted his teeth, his gaze flickering between you and the ground, his silence telling you just how much pain he was in. But he didn’t flinch or ask for you to stop.

“Quit worrying,” he muttered, his eyes meeting yours briefly. “I’m fine. I’ve had worse.”

You finished tying the bandage, your fingers lingering for a second longer than necessary, almost as if you didn’t want to let go. You could feel your pulse racing, but you had to ignore it. You had to focus on him.

The silence between you both was thick, heavy with unspoken words and emotions you had both tried to bury. Bakugo’s chest heaved with each labored breath, and his eyes flickered to you, softened by something deeper than just the pain of the moment.

“This is my fault,” you murmured, your voice trembling with guilt. “I tried to keep you away, but—”

Before you could finish, Bakugo’s hand found yours, squeezing it gently despite the blood staining his fingertips.

“I’d get shot a hundred times if it meant saving you,” he said, his voice low but filled with an unshakable resolve.

The weight of his words struck you like a lightning bolt, making your chest tighten. You blinked rapidly, trying to hold back the tears that threatened to spill over. The vulnerability between you both felt so raw, so unfiltered in this moment.

You inhaled sharply, trying to steady yourself. “What you said up there… about not loving me,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper. You couldn’t stop the tremor in your words.

Bakugo’s expression hardened, his eyes darting down to the ground as he exhaled sharply, almost like the words he had said before burned him too. “It was a lie,” he confessed, his voice thick with regret. “I was hopin’ that if I turned you against me, you’d save yourself… but I guess it didn’t matter what I had to say, did it?”

You shook your head, the air thick with the vulnerability that hung between you both. “It didn’t matter what you said,” you whispered. “I would have done it anyway. I’d jump out of a window a hundred times if it meant saving you.”

A small, bittersweet smile tugged at the corner of his lips, and despite everything, despite the blood and the pain, something soft flickered in his eyes. “Idiot,” he muttered, but the warmth in his tone couldn’t be ignored. “You’re insane.”

“I know.” You smiled, but it wasn’t just a smile—it was everything that had been left unsaid, everything you wanted him to understand. 

His expression softened, his eyes locking onto yours with an intensity that made your breath catch. “Don’t ever do that again,” he whispered hoarsely, though there was no anger in his words, just the quiet desperation of someone who had almost lost the one person they couldn’t bear to lose.

The soft rhythm of Bakugo’s breathing filled the air, and for a moment, it seemed like the world had paused. But then, in the distance, the unmistakable sound of sirens broke through the quiet, growing louder with each passing second. The relief you’d been holding at bay suddenly rushed in, an overwhelming wave of emotion that left you dizzy.

"You called for backup?" you asked, your voice laced with a mix of relief and tension.

"I dropped my pin to shitty hair the moment the power came back on," he replied, his voice steady despite the strain.

You exhaled a shaky breath, the tension in your chest loosening as his words sank in. The sirens were closer now, their sound vibrating through the air, promising salvation just on the horizon.

"Of course you did," you muttered, a small, almost disbelieving laugh escaping your lips. 

He smirked faintly, though the strain in his features was impossible to miss. 

Your heart twisted at the defiant glint in his eyes, his strength unwavering even as blood seeped through his side, the stain spreading with every second. You stayed beside him, hands trembling as they hovered over his wound.

The sound of boots crunching on debris signaled the arrival of help. You looked over your shoulder to see Kirishima and a team of medics rushing toward you. 

“You’re going to be okay,” you whispered, turning back to him as the medics surrounded you both.

His lips twitched into a faint smirk. “Told ya’ so.”

---

TAGLIST: @emmaafinchh @faetoraa@iissza@cax-per @cielito--lindo

@nombakugoswife1

TW: Death and Comfort/Bittersweet Ending

“And do you, Katsuki Bakugo, take Y/N L/N, to be your lawfully wedded wife.”

“…of course I do.” He muttered loud enough for only you and the preist to hear, he glanced over to you and seen your warm smile, it nearly had his nerves at ease.

Finally. It was the day, the day he had been dreaming for with you since your first date.

You officially taking his name .

“And do you…Y/N L/N take Katsuki Bakugo, to be your lawfully wedded husband?”

You felt your cheeks warm, exhaling and looking deep into his pool of crimson eyes before finally saying —-

“I d—-“

You were interrupted by a familiar voice. One nobody expected to hear since that day of the war.

“Well well well looks like we’re not too late!” Out came AFO and the League of legends coming to attack, nearly everybody either got up to fight back to hid, but you were left in the open when Shigiraki aimed a forceful attack right inside your lower abdomen leaving you in a state of shock.

“Y/N!” Bakugo screamed throwing his last blast towards a random villian leaving them dead on the ground, and sprinting towards you, corpses were everywhere on the ground he jumped over, but all he seen was your lifeless body.

When did he even leave your side? You were alone!

Your beautiful pearly white dress deeply colored in your blood, your makeup now sprayed with it as well and the corner of your lip was bleeding.

The pain was insufferable. Everytime Bakugo tried to lift your body you winced. You felt your breaths harder to maintain and he felt it.

“Nononono please. Look at me! Y/N stay with me okay I won’t—fuck please—“

You wanted to mutter the words I love you, but nothing came out. All you had the strength left to do was weakly lift your hand to his cheek, before the vision of your once future husband turned black.

You were gone in his arms in a matter of seconds

“Y/N!”

Bakugo jolted up, forehead sweating bullets as he looked around to clear his vision, nothing but the full moon light shining through the sheer curtains of your shared room. He looks around and sees your side of the bed empty with half of the cover off. He begins to panic again. Having flash images of your dead body in his arms, the funeral, your crying eyes as you took your last breath…

“Y/n…” his repeats your name in his head roaming his penthouse through every room. His heart beating so fast you could nearly hear it pop out of his chest until he feels it stop when he lands to the living room.

“Hey, boo.” You whispered happily looking up from your book, cozied on the huge sectional couch. The tv was on but muted just for something to play in the background and one lamp was on to help you see the words in your book. He stares at you confused and scared for a moment as he sees the wedding photo of you and him on the coffee table next to your beverage.

He began to breath again when he felt your warm palm touch his cheek.

“Baby? You okay?” You had a concerned look on your face. His eyes were pink and he was so hot you thought he was possibly having a hot flash. “Talk to me.”

Bakugo nearly couldn’t speak himself. He just kept his mouth tight lipped until your eyebrows softened.

“Another nightmare?” He quickly nods before holding you into a tight bear hug, “I’m so sorry baby I couldn’t sleep and I knew you had work in the morning.”

All you got back were sniffles in your neck, you whined out of sympathy for him. You believed the therapy session Ed helped his nightmares, but sometimes that isn’t enough.

“C’mere…” you take him to the couch and let him lay on top of you while you rub his back and hair, the tears were staining your shirt you just kept kissing his forehead, “I’ll never leave you….I’m right here. Always.”

Your words were a comfort, but that didn’t stop the tears. He just let them flow and occasionally you’d wiped them away.

It was hard living with the nightmares for Bakugo. But through out the years you have been one of the biggest support systems he had and today whether he realized it or not he has made progress. He went from bottling up those fears to telling you about them to now letting you: his wife be there to help him through it.

You never got mad when he did, you never loss your patience and it was always appreciated.

That night he didn’t let go. He doesn’t ever call off for work but you did it for him and his agency was more than understanding. The rest of the day was spent in the living room planning to renew your vows with him.

He needed a new memory to make with you as opposed to the false ones he has had.

is anyone else just trying to keep it together and finding that it gets a little harder when it never gets better or is it just me and that guy from fall out boy

CHAPTER 8: KNOW ITS FOR THE BETTER

pairing: aged up!katsuki bakugo x fem!reader

summary: After six intense years in Japan, YN LN has firmly established herself as a renowned gym owner. She's known by many pros for her charm, strength, and boxing abilities. She has a strong support system and amazing friends... her life in Japan was everything she dreamed it would be.

But everything changes one fateful night when a mysterious package appears on her doorstep. No note, no return address—just a plain box wrapped with a single pearly pink ribbon. As she unravels the contents of the box, she’s drawn into a dark, twisted mystery that seems to reach deep into her own past—a past she thought she had buried when she left her old life behind.

wc: 2.8k

warning: Violence, mentions of blood, knives/stabbing.

---

Since the night of the hero gala, you and James had thrown yourselves headfirst into the Moretti investigation. The memory of that evening—the balcony, Bakugo’s wounded expression, and his retreating figure—played on an endless loop in your mind, but you shoved it down, burying it beneath layers of work and sleepless nights.

You’d left the gala alone, and since then, Bakugo had been a ghost. He didn’t show up at the gym during your usual hours, and you hadn’t dared to reach out. You figured he needed space, and honestly, you didn’t blame him. If he hated you, you deserved it. After all, you had rejected him in the cruelest way, withholding the truth under the guise of protecting him.

Now, every waking moment was devoted to unearthing the evidence you needed to take Moretti down. You told yourself it was for justice, for closure, but deep down, you knew it was also for Bakugo. You needed to make things right. To come clean, to apologize for the lies, and maybe, just maybe, to give him a reason to forgive you.

One long, grueling night, James managed to secure access to confidential Japanese case files—likely crossing a few legal boundaries in the process, but you didn’t care. Laws and rules seemed inconsequential when the only thing that mattered was unraveling the threads of Moretti’s web.

The files contained a chilling revelation. The man with the tattoo on his wrist—the one burned into your memory—was linked to a series of brutal murders in Musutafu. Innocent women, each life stolen with a message carved into the crime scenes that only you could understand. The weight of it crushed you, the realization that these killings weren’t random. They were warnings. Moretti was taunting you, forcing you to see his reach, his cruelty, and his power.

The guilt was suffocating. Every face in those files felt like another strike against your resolve, but you couldn’t let it break you. You wouldn’t. The pain was a reminder that you were on the right path, that you had a chance to end this. And now, finally, you had something to go on.

The new information gave you a flicker of hope —a trail of locations and timestamps where Moretti’s men had been sighted. It was the first solid lead you’d had in weeks, and it was enough to rekindle the fire inside you.

Your hero costume still fits like a second skin, the all-black material hugging your body with an almost suffocating precision. The suit’s sleek fabric molds to your frame, firm and supportive—like it’s designed just for you, like it was made to measure. You had always admired the way the costume looked, and now, years later, your vision seemed to reflect everything you had become: strong, sleek, and dangerous. The mask that covered your face didn’t leave much for anyone to see, except your eyes—piercing, determined eyes that told anyone in your path exactly who they were dealing with.

It’s been six long years since you last wore it. Six years of training, of staying hidden, of learning to control a power so dangerous you feared it more than anything. But tonight, slipping into the familiar black fabric and feeling it stretch over your body, you couldn’t help but feel that rush of energy surge through your veins. It never got old. The suit felt like home, like a part of you, and the weight of the mask reminded you of everything you had fought to become—and everything you had left behind.

As you pull on the gloves, the cool metal of your utility belt clicks against the fabric. You can’t help but admire the intricate stitching that runs along your waist, the design perfect down to the finest detail. The fabric is laced with minerals, rare and strong, designed to help control your quirk. The quirk that you never fully trusted.

Your quirk, gravity manipulation, gives you the power to shift and bend forces of weight, to manipulate objects, people, and even entire structures. It’s the kind of power that could move mountains or level them, depending on your emotions. When you’re calm, you have control—but when you’re upset, when anger and fear take hold, your quirk becomes a ticking time bomb, ready to explode. That’s what happened the night you blacked out and woke up with a bleeding head, unable to recall anything.

Training has made you cautious, teaching you to keep your emotions in check. Years of discipline and self-control have allowed you to control it, but you always feared that if you lost that control, everything would come crashing down. But tonight, you hoped it wouldn’t come to that. Tonight, you needed to keep your head.

After weeks of silence, you’d received a tip—a whisper on an old, secured landline that one of Moretti’s men would be at a bar tonight. The man was important, connected, and you needed to know where Moretti was. So you and James decided to follow the lead. He had urged you to involve the pros again, but you quickly shut that down. 

The car in the alleyway feels like a cage, your hands gripping the leather seats as you watch the shadows stretch across the pavement. The waiting game never gets easier. It gnaws at you, especially tonight, knowing that the man you’re hunting could be anywhere. Anxiety coils tight in your chest, the thought of confronting a ghost from your past, churning your stomach.

“How long have we been sitting here?” James asks from the passenger seat, his voice low but edged with a hint of impatience. His eyes flicker toward the bar’s entrance.

“Two hours,” you answer, your voice steady but the tension in your muscles betraying you. You’re not letting your nerves show, but inside, you feel like a coil ready to snap. “He won’t leave yet. We haven’t missed him.”

James glances at you, clearly unconvinced. “Are you sure you’re okay with this? I can go with you.”

“No,” you say sharply, the word final. “I’ve got this.”

You stare at the bar’s entrance, your eyes narrowing. Isaac. The name rolls off your tongue like poison. Isaac, blonde-haired, with the face of a man who has seen too much. He was Moretti’s right hand for years, and you knew him all too well. His cold, calculating eyes never missed a thing, and his loyalty to Moretti was only rivaled by his ruthlessness.

Your instincts tingle. He’s here. You can feel it. A subtle weight in the air, the tension building in your bones. It’s like a sixth sense, honed from years of practice. You don’t know how you know, but you trust it.

Then, like clockwork, he steps out from the bar, his sharp profile cutting through the neon lights. He stands on the sidewalk for a moment, glancing around before shouting for a taxi.

Your heart pounds. This is it.

Without a word, you unlock the car door and slide out, ignoring James’s muttered warning. “YN, stop! Stay in the car!” His voice is laced with concern, but you don’t hear him. You’re already striding toward Isaac, your body moving with purpose.

Isaac doesn’t notice you at first, too busy fidgeting with his phone, but as soon as he slides into the cab, you’re there. You don’t hesitate. You pull open the door, stepping into the cab with a practiced fluidity that only someone like you can manage.

“Hey, this is my cab!” Isaac barks, but you don’t flinch.

You glance at the driver, your expression cold and unwavering. “We’re sharing,” you say smoothly, tossing a few bills into the front seat. “Take me up the block. Doesn’t matter where.”

The driver, clearly unbothered by the tense atmosphere, nods and shifts the car into drive. Isaac remains blissfully unaware, but that doesn’t last for long. You slide a knife from your belt, its cold steel glinting under the low lights.

“Say one word, and I’ll put this knife through your crotch,” you murmur, your voice laced with venom as you hold a knife to him. 

Isaac freezes, his gaze finally snapping to you. His eyes widen and the realization slowly dawns on him. Recognition flickers in his pupils, and you see the hate burn brighter.

“I always knew you were a crazy bitch.” Isaac hisses, his voice trembling with anger and fear.

“Yeah?” you reply, “well I’m about to get crazier.”

He opens his mouth to retort, but you’re faster. With a swift movement, you grab his chin and force him to look at you. You see the fire in his eyes, the stubborn defiance, but it won’t save him.

“Tell me where Moretti is,” you demand, your tone chilling. “Or I swear, I’ll cut you open right here.”

Isaac snarls. “Fuck you.”

“Okay” Taking the knife you pull it away and plunge it into his thigh, being careful to cover his mouth. 

“Tell me, Isaac,” you growl, “Or is that man-crush of yours so strong you’re willing to lose your dick over it?”

Isaac’s jaw clenches, his eyes flickering with defiance. “You want to know where Moretti is? Find him yourself. I don’t work for him anymore.”

“Bullshit.” You twist the blade deeper into his leg.

“Now fucking tell me, or I’ll send Moretti a gift next,” you hiss, your voice dripping with venom.

Isaac’s muffled whimpers are all you hear as you give him one last warning.

“Fine!” he gasps, “He’s staying at the Musutafu motel, on the outskirts of the city.”

“If you’re lying to me,” you warn, “I will kill you.”

He’s sweating now, breathing hard, his face pale as a ghost.

The cab pulls to a stop, and you yank the knife out of his leg, leaving a pool of blood behind. The driver, still unaware of the tension in the backseat, waits for your next command.

You exit without another word, tossing a few more bills toward the driver before slamming the door behind you. As the car pulls away, you spot a black SUV pulling up beside you. You don’t need to look twice to know who’s behind the wheel.

“Well?” Tucker asks, his voice steady but with an edge of impatience.

“He’s at the Musutafu motel,” you reply, your voice curt and emotionless. You slide into the car, the bloody knife still clutched in your hand.

Tucker notices the weapon, his eyes narrowing slightly, but he doesn’t say anything. 

“Don’t ask,” you mutter, slumping back into the seat. “Just drive.”

---

The crime rates had doubled in the past two weeks, ever since word of a serial killer leaked to the public. The Hero Committee had tried their best to keep the case under wraps, but someone in the department had let the information slip.

With the city spiraling into panic, the pro-heroes were stretched thin. So focused on this case, they’d nearly lost sight of everything else unraveling around them.

“Shoto, any updates on James Tucker?” Deku asked, standing at the head of the conference table. His fingers pressed against the bridge of his nose, the telltale sign of an impending headache.

“Not yet,” Todoroki replied, flipping through a folder of old files. “The only intel I’ve managed to pull are outdated case records and images. If Tucker’s gone into hiding, it’s clear he doesn’t want to be found.”

“Why the hell would he be in hiding?” Bakugo snapped, slamming his hands against the table as he rose from his seat. Weeks of fruitless effort were taking their toll, and the tension in the room was palpable.

Bakugo had been more frustrated than usual lately, and everyone unlucky enough to cross his path could feel the searing heat of his anger. His temper, usually sharp and explosive, seemed to have an added edge now, as though something was festering beneath the surface. The smallest inconveniences sent him into a spiral of irritation—training dummies obliterated into smoldering debris, doors slammed with enough force to rattle the entire building, and curt, venom-laced words that made even his closest friends keep their distance.

At the agency, he barked orders more than usual, his voice cutting through the air like a whip. Kirishima, ever the peacemaker, tried to crack a joke to lighten the mood, but Bakugo’s glare silenced him before the words could fully leave his mouth. Mina would whisper to Sero, “What crawled up his ass and died?” only to quickly clam up when Bakugo’s piercing crimson eyes flicked their way.

It wasn’t just work either—his frustrations followed him home. The gym became a battleground, weights clanging loudly as he threw himself into his workouts with a reckless intensity. The punching bag in the corner stood no chance, shredded after one particularly heated session. Yet no matter how much he pushed his body to its limits, the tension inside him never seemed to dissipate.

The truth was, Bakugo wasn’t just angry. He was hurt. And the wound festered deeper than he was willing to admit.

He hadn’t seen you since that night at the gala. Since you’d looked at him with those beautiful, unreadable eyes and told him—what, exactly? That he didn’t matter? That you didn’t feel the same way? It didn’t make sense. The way you looked at him didn’t match the words you said. The way your voice trembled, the way you avoided his gaze—it was like you were running from something. But what?

The questions plagued him, chasing him into his restless nights. He hated not having answers, hated how powerless he felt, hated how much space you were taking up in his head. Damn you. Damn your stupid, gorgeous face and your laugh and the way you felt so perfect next to him that night.

But more than anything, he hated the gnawing feeling in his chest. The one that whispered he might have lost you for good.

“Actually, Kacchan,” Deku interjected, sliding a photograph across the table toward him. “I might have something.”

Bakugo picked up the image, his crimson eyes narrowing as he examined it. The picture showed a young girl, no older than eight, with wide, curious eyes and a small, cautious smile.

“That’s Anthony Moretti’s daughter,” Deku explained. “We found her in an adoption database. She’s here in Japan.”

Bakugo’s eyes lingered on the photograph, his brow furrowing. There was something about the girl that tugged at his memory.

“I’ve seen her before,” he said, his voice quieter than usual.

“What? Where?” Deku asked, leaning forward.

“At the gym,” Bakugo replied, placing the photo back on the table. “Y/N is her boxing coach.”

The revelation sent a ripple of unease through the room.

“Who put her up for adoption?” Todoroki asked, breaking the silence.

“It’s anonymous. Adoption records don’t disclose that information,” Deku replied.

“How old was she when she was adopted?”

“She couldn’t have been older than two,” Deku said, flipping through his notes.

“Six years ago,” Bakugo muttered, piecing things together. “Right after Moretti was arrested.” He looked up, his gaze sharp. “What about her mom?”

“There’s no record of a mother,” Deku answered, his tone heavy.

“Dammit,” Bakugo growled, his frustration mounting. “We need to find Tucker. He’s the key to this.”

Todoroki chimed in, hesitant. “Maybe... maybe Y/N knows something about the girl. She might be able to help.”

“No,” Bakugo barked, his tone leaving no room for argument. “I’m not dragging her into this, and I sure as hell ain’t questioning a kid.”

The room fell silent, the weight of the situation pressing down on them. Time was running out, and with every passing moment, the lines between their responsibilities and their morals blurred further.

“I’ll find Tucker myself if I have to. Got a photo, Icy Hot?” Bakugo demanded, his tone sharp with determination.

Todoroki flipped through his folder without hesitation, pulling out a slightly worn photograph of James Tucker and handing it to him.

Bakugo’s grip tightened around the photo as he stared at it, his blood running cold. His entire stance stiffened, and for a moment, the room seemed to hold its breath.

He knew this man.

The realization hit him like a freight train, his mind reeling. He’d seen Tucker before—seen him with you.

Everything started falling into place, the fragmented pieces of the puzzle forming a picture that Bakugo could no longer ignore. The explosion. Moretti’s daughter. Tucker. You.

The timeline fit too perfectly to be a coincidence.

Bakugo’s jaw clenched, his crimson eyes narrowing as his thoughts raced. You were connected to Moretti—there was no doubt about that now. But how?

---

TAGLIST: @emmaafinchh @faetoraa @iissza @theasgardianmexican

THEY DO IT BEST

“english isn’t my first langua—“ say no more.

This is so felt lmao

I'm so sorry for being dead. I'm stuck studying for an accounting exam on Thursday 😭