Sounds Like Personal Hell. How Else Am I Supposed To Fall Asleep???

I have so many fucking issues. But he’s so fine. 😩😩

AND YES, I REALLY WANTED TO DRAW MY VERSION OF AN ADULT BAKUGO OK!!!

i can't 😫

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

This is disgusting behavior, get yourselves together.

Quick chat.

I hate being the fun police but here goes.

While I do love that so many of you lovelies are enjoying my fics and writing, I have to address some of the things that are being commented/reblogged under my posts.

We’re all here for a silly goofy time but there’s boundaries. Respectfully, all the people telling me in great detail all the ways they fucked themselves to my fics, all the people asking me to roleplay certain stuff with them, need to stop. It’s weird. Having sexual reactions towards my writing is fine but don’t involve me because I’m not some sexual object.

Commenting the regular stuff like “I had a reaction”, “both lips smiled”, “ugh right there”, “great now I’m pregnant”, “I could kiss you”, “raw next question”, or anything like that is fine (if we’re moots you can say whatever you want I love you) because it makes me smile because i love hearing your feedback and I also find it funny but all that other shit gotta go.

Now onto the problem with my ask box.

Stop spamming and flooding it begging me to drop more parts of anything. There’s so many that I can’t even get to all my previous asks. It’s genuinely harassment at this point and it’s annoying. My salesman series and Clark series are pretty liked on my page and even though I put the Clark fic out only two days ago, the spam asks are already starting.

I’d love to update everything but I won’t if I feel like I’m being swarmed or harassed.

Again, sorry to ruin the fun but it’s getting to be a bit much.

I like this

For any relocated TikTok users

you can say sex and kill its fine

If you don't have a profile picture people will assume you're a bot

theres barely an algorithm, if you want to see cool shit reblog things instead of just liking them

follower count doesnt matter

tumblr fame gets you one thing and it is Yelled At

no one knows what the fuck the nsfw policy is

block anyone that annoys you even a little bit

And most importantly:

post cringe

A Night With You || Bakugou Katsuki x Reader

CW: N/A

Rating: SFW

Desc: Domestic cuddling and comfort fic

Like this fic? Reblogs > likes, though both are appreciated!

Bakugou entered the house, slipping off his shoes by the door. The day had been long, but he was home now, and that was all that mattered. He headed straight to the kitchen, grabbing a yogurt cup from the fridge and a spoon from the drawer next to it. He could feel the quiet that hung in the air, the kind of silence that seemed to weigh heavily on everything around him.

Carrying the yogurt down the hall, he paused outside your bedroom door. The soft sound of your crying made his stomach twist in knots. He stood there for a moment, unsure, but eventually pushed the door open.

You were curled up in bed, a small figure swallowed by the blanket, your shoulders shaking with each sob. Bakugou's heart tightened, but he didn't let it show. Instead, he walked over and sat on his side of the bed, setting the yogurt cup and spoon on the bedside table. The room was heavy with the quiet except for the sound of your crying. He wasn't one for big, emotional speeches, and you both knew that, but the silence stretched on longer than he expected.

"What happened this time?" he asked, his tone less harsh than usual, but still covered with frustration. He hated seeing you like this, but he never quite knew what to say to make it better.

You only cried harder, burying yourself further into the covers as if you were trying to disappear. Bakugou let out a frustrated sigh as he laid down beside you, his body instinctively reaching for yours, but he paused.

"Can I touch you?" he asked, his voice quieter, almost hesitant. It wasn't a question he asked often, but he knew you needed comfort, and that was how he would give it.

You nodded, not knowing what would come out if you spoke. He wrapped his arms around your shaking figure, pulling you into his chest. For a few moments, the world outside of the two of you disappeared. You peeked your head out from under the covers, tears still streaming down your face. Bakugou stared at you, his expression as serious as ever, but if you looked close enough, you could see the concern in his eyes. He wasn't good with words, but he knew how to make you feel safe.

You buried your face in his chest, crying harder, the weight of everything pressing down on you. His arms tightened around you, not in a crushing way, but in a way that promised he was there, that he wasn’t going anywhere.

The minutes passed in the quiet of the room, the two of you simply existing together. His warmth comforting you in a way that words couldn’t. You didn’t need to speak for him to understand. He wasn’t perfect, and neither were you, but in that moment, you knew you had each other. No matter what, you always would.

AARON TAYLOR-JOHNSON 2021 | on the set of “Bullet Train” with make-up artist Merc Arceneaux

comfort

K.Bakugo x F!Reader

synopsis: he fails to rescue someone during a mission and you’re always there to comfort and support him whenever he needs.

simply put it’s angst with comfort!

The door to your shared room was slammed opened loudly causing you to abruptly stop brushing your hair by your vanity and turn towards the culprit.

Your boyfriend trudged into the room his shoulders sagged and his face scrunched up in a scowl.

Your shock subsisted as Katsuki collapsed onto your bed prompting you to get up and sit beside him, running your hands through his messy blonde tresses.

“Hi baby,” you didn’t receive any verbal response but you did hear him grunt softly as a way of greeting which made you tilt your head with a soft smile.

“You wanna change?” you trailed your hand down to his back, tracing his hero costume which was slightly covered in dirt.

‘Gonna have to change the sheets’ you thought pouting your lips slightly lost in your own world until you were snapped out of it by the sound of sniffling.

Your eyes widened. “Kats?”

The sniffles grew louder and louder, and soon sobs were heard coming from your boyfriend who kept his head buried in the sheets.

“Baby look at me,”

You gently cupped the back of his head, fingers threading through his hair as you tried to coax him into facing you.

But he refused, gripping the sheets tightly in his fists. His whole body trembled and with each shaky breath he let out your heart broke.

“Katsuki,” you whispered, leaning down so your lips were close to his ear. “Talk to me, baby.”

His breath hitched, and for a moment, you thought he might push you away. But then he turned just enough for you to see the red-rimmed eyes and tear stained cheeks he was trying so hard to hide.

“I–” His voice cracked, and he clenched his jaw, frustration evident even in his pain. “I lost someone today.”

Your stomach dropped.

His breathing was uneven as he kept his gaze on the sheets, as if saying it out loud made it all too real. “It was a rescue mission,” he muttered. “I—I thought I had ‘em. I thought I got them out in time.” His hands balled into fists, his nails digging into his palms. “But I didn’t.”

“Oh, Katsuki…” Your chest ached for him.

You didn’t say it wasn’t his fault. You knew he wouldn’t believe you, not right now. Instead, you wrapped your arms around him, pulling him against you, letting him bury his face in your neck as his body shook with silent sobs.

You held him tighter, running your fingers through his hair again, pressing soft kisses to the crown of his head. “I’m here,” you murmured, over and over. “I’ve got you.”

And you stayed like that for as long as he needed, holding him through the weight of his grief.

His sobs eventually quieted, but his grip on you never loosened. He held onto you like you were the only thing keeping him grounded, his breathing still uneven as he tried to calm himself down. You ran your fingers through his hair, pressing another gentle kiss to his temple.

After a long moment, he finally spoke, his voice hoarse. “I should’ve been faster.”

You closed your eyes, pressing your cheek against the top of his head. “You did everything you could, Katsuki.”

He let out a bitter scoff, his body still tense. “Doesn’t matter. They’re still gone.” His voice wavered, heavy with guilt.

You pulled back just enough to cup his face, forcing him to look at you. His red eyes were glassy, full of pain and frustration. You gently wiped away the stray tears on his cheeks, your touch soft and gentle.

“You’re human, baby. You can’t save everyone,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper. “I know that doesn’t make it hurt any less, but it’s the truth. And no matter what, I know you gave it everything you had.”

His brows furrowed, his jaw clenching like he wanted to argue, but the fight left his eyes as quickly as it appeared. He sighed heavily, leaning into your touch, his hands coming up to rest on your waist.

“I just—” He inhaled sharply, shaking his head. “It’s not fair.”

“I know.” You rested your forehead against his, closing your eyes. “I know, baby.”

For a while, neither of you spoke. You just held each other, the weight of the day settling between you. Eventually, you felt his breathing even out, his body relaxing slightly against yours.

“Let’s get you cleaned up, okay?” you murmured, brushing your thumb over his cheek. “You’ll feel a little better after a shower.”

He exhaled deeply, nodding against you. “Only if you come with me.”

A small smile tugged at your lips, even in the heaviness of the moment. “Of course.”

And with that, you helped him up, guiding him to the bathroom, never letting go of his hand.

Sigh idk why i do this to myself 💔

the best right here

CHAPTER 12: 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: 3.2k

an: This was supposed to be 7k words but I decided to split it into two parts. The second part should be out either tonight or tomorrow morning :)!

---

The guard's grip on your arm tightened as he dragged you down the dimly lit hallway. Your shoes scraped against the cold concrete floor, each step echoing in the oppressive silence. You could barely move your leg, the sharp pain forcing you to drag it behind you. The adrenaline that had masked your injury was wearing off, and only now did you fully register the gunshot wound. The bleeding had slowed however as it only seemed to be a deep graze, the makeshift tourniquet holding firm, but it still hurt like hell. 

As you reached a heavy metal door at the end of the hall, you finally broke the silence. “You’re making a mistake,” you said, looking at the guard, who was too busy enjoying the moment to notice the warning in your tone.

The guard scoffed. “It's over for you.”

Without a word, you snapped your arm up, elbowing him hard in the stomach. The guard grunted, stumbling back in surprise. It wasn’t much, but it was enough to make him hesitate.

Before he could recover, you spun around, using his moment of confusion to deliver a swift kick to his knees. He crumpled to the ground, a shock of pain running up his legs.

You groaned as pain shot through your injured leg as well, nearly buckling under your weight. Instinct kicked in, and you lunged, grabbing the edge of the doorframe to steady yourself. The guard staggered, caught off balance, and you seized the moment. He was strong, but you moved faster. Your breath remained steady, your focus razor-sharp. 

“Not so fun when you’re on the receiving end, is it?” you muttered, crouching down to make sure he wasn’t going to get up anytime soon. You pulled his gun from its holster and threw it into an empty room. Making sure he wasn't able to grab ahold of it. 

As the guard groaned on the floor, still clutching his bruised stomach, you knew you had a fleeting window of opportunity. You couldn’t afford to waste any more time—Moretti would realize what had happened soon, and when he did, he wouldn’t hesitate to send more men after you.

Your heart pounded in your chest as you considered your options. You could run, but that would lead you straight into more of Moretti’s men and with your leg that wasn't much of an option. You had to think strategically. 

You took another breath, forcing your body to calm down. That’s when you felt the familiar, electric surge of power course through your veins—the hum of your quirk. 

You closed your eyes for a moment, focusing on the surge within you. You had to do this without hesitation. Without letting fear cloud your control. When you opened your eyes again, the air around you crackled with raw energy.

The guard had begun to stir, and you didn’t have the luxury of waiting any longer. You raised your hand, palm open, and aimed it at the metal door. In an instant, a concentrated burst of power shot from your fingertips, striking the door with enough force to send it slamming back against the wall. The impact was deafening, the metal screeching in protest.

For a split second, the guard froze, eyes wide in disbelief. But it was too late. The shockwave from the blast had knocked him flat, and the surge of power you’d released left the hallway bathed in a low, humming energy.

You didn’t stop to see if the guard would recover. Instead, you turned on your heel and bolted as fast as you could down the corridor, the lightning-fast pulses of your quirk lighting up the path ahead of you. The air seemed to part as you moved, as if the very fabric of the space had been altered by your command.

You could feel the telltale shifts in the atmosphere as Moretti’s men reacted—footsteps echoing, voices shouting orders, the tension rising. They weren’t far behind.

You fired another blast into the ceiling above, causing the ceiling to concave in on itself. You knew Bakugo would be able to blast himself out of the damage. The shock left the hallway filled with swirling electrical currents, disrupting the security systems that Moretti had relied on to track you.

The alarms went off, lights flickering erratically, and that gave you the opening you needed. With a burst of energy, you dashed into a side room, your quirk’s power surging in waves as you manipulated the energy around you to shield your movement. The air hummed and crackled, your energy wrapping around you like an invisible shield, keeping you hidden from view.

You steadied your breathing, the crackling hum of your quirk a comforting reminder that you weren’t powerless even while injured. The side room you’d ducked into was dark and cluttered with old crates and machinery—perfect for buying yourself a moment to strategize.

You crouched low, listening. The voices outside grew louder as Moretti’s men regrouped. They were searching, splitting into teams, their footsteps echoing in the corridor.

“She’s in here somewhere! Fan out!” one of them barked.

Perfect. Let them spread thin.

Closing your eyes, you focused on the currents in the walls. With your quirk, you could feel the flow of electricity running through the building—security cameras, automated locks, even the guards’ radios.

Reaching out, you latched onto the electrical grid, sending a concentrated surge into the radio frequencies. Sparks flew from the earpieces of the guards in the hallway, causing shouts of confusion and panic.

“What the hell?!”

“Radio’s fried!”

“Is she doing this? Damn it—find her!”

Using the chaos, you slipped back into the hallway, keeping low as you moved. The flickering lights cast eerie shadows, but you used them to your advantage, sticking close to the walls.

The guards were scattered now, their communication disrupted, and their coordination in shambles. One of them turned a corner, his back to you. Without hesitation, you surged forward, using the built-up charge in your hand to send a short snap to his neck. He crumpled silently, and you caught his weapon before it hit the floor.

One down.

You pressed on, your steps swift and deliberate. 

A group of guards blocked your path ahead, their backs to you as they shouted orders into malfunctioning radios. You crouched, pressing your hand to the floor. With a deep breath, you sent a ripple through the ground, the cement flooring collapsing under the guards. It hit the guards like an invisible net, their bodies locking up momentarily before they collapsed.

The air around you buzzed with static, your quirk’s energy crackling in your veins. You didn’t feel tired—yet. Adrenaline and determination kept you sharp, each movement precise.

Then, you heard it: a low hum, deeper and more menacing than before. The building’s systems were trying to reboot. Moretti was smart—he’d undoubtedly built redundancies into his security. You didn’t have much time before the lights stabilized and his men regrouped.

You pushed forward, rounding another corner, and finally spotted a heavy reinforced door at the end of the hall. 

Standing between you and the door was a guard who looked far more formidable than the others—taller, broader, and armed to the teeth. He turned as you approached, his eyes narrowing when he saw you.

“End of the line,” he said, his voice cold.

A smirk tugged at your lips. “I was just thinking the same thing.”

With a sharp inhale, you let your quirk surge to full power. The air around you shimmered, and the hallway was bathed in a flickering, glow.

If Moretti thought his men could stop you, he was about to learn just how wrong he was.

The guard didn’t hesitate, lunging toward you with surprising speed. You ducked under his swing, the massive fist grazing your shoulder before smashing into the wall behind you, cracking the concrete.

“You’re persistent,” you muttered, spinning away and aiming a focused blast of energy at his chest. The jolt forced him back a step, but he didn’t go down. Instead, he grinned—a feral, teeth-baring grin.

“Got some bite, huh? Let’s see how long you last.”

He charged again, faster this time. You dodged to the side, rolling into a crouch and sweeping your leg to knock him off balance. He stumbled, his bulk making him difficult to topple completely, but you weren’t giving up.

“Stay down!” you shouted, sending another burst at his arm. The crackling energy wrapped around him, making his muscles seize. His grip on his weapon slipped, and the gun clattered to the ground. Seizing the opportunity, you kicked it far out of reach.

The guard growled, clearly unwilling to back down. But before he could lunge again, a familiar explosion echoed down the hall. Smoke and debris flew into the air, and a moment later, Bakugo came charging through the wreckage, crimson eyes blazing with fury.

“MOVE!” Bakugo’s shout rang out, and you hit the ground instinctively, rolling to the opposite side of the hall just as a deafening explosion erupted. The blast sent the guard hurtling into the office door with a sickening crunch, the impact cracking the wooden frame.

“Fuck, are you good?” Bakugo was at your side in an instant, his hands cupping your face as his crimson eyes scanned you for injuries, his breathing ragged from the fight.

You pushed him slightly away, though your hand lingered on his wrist, grounding yourself in his presence. “I’m fine,” you assured him quickly, your voice steady despite the adrenaline coursing through your veins. “Where’s Moretti?”

Bakugo shook his head, his jaw tightening. “I don’t know. He bolted as soon as the alarms started blaring.”

“Damn it,” you hissed, clenching your fists. You closed your eyes, trying to focus, to extend your senses outward. “I can’t feel him. Usually, I’d be able to track his presence, but there’s too much interference in the building. Too many people, too much chaos.”

Bakugo growled under his breath, his frustration as palpable as your own. 

“One of Moretti's men told me he was staying at a motel,” you said, your voice low as you motioned for Bakugo to follow you. 

“This definitely ain’t a motel, sweetheart,” Bakugo muttered, his tone dripping with sarcasm as his sharp eyes darted around, scanning for any incoming threats.

“Yeah, no shit,” you shot back, rolling your eyes before a thought struck you. “Wait—you weren’t blindfolded when they brought you in.”

“No, I wasn’t,” Bakugo replied, his voice gruff as he gestured down another hallway. “But this place is a damn maze. The only reason I found you was because of the guards. Made it real easy when they started screaming.”

You sighed, shaking your head. “Well, we need to move. Moretti knows this place like the back of his hand, and he’ll have reinforcements swarming us any second.”

Bakugo nodded, his jaw tight as he adjusted his gloves. “Tch. Let ’em come. I’ve got plenty of firepower to deal with those bastards.”

Despite the weight of the situation, his confidence sparked a faint smirk on your lips. “I don’t doubt that,” you said, your tone softening. “But we need to be smart about this. If we can get to an exit, we’ll have the advantage outside.”

“Fine,” he agreed grudgingly, though his hands twitched with impatience. “But if we run into Moretti, I’m not holding back.”

“Neither am I,” you replied, your voice firm.

The air in the building was heavy with the scent of concrete dust and smoke, every corner steeped in shadows that seemed to stretch endlessly. Your footsteps echoed faintly as you moved, your senses hyper-alert to every creak of the structure or distant voice.

Bakugo suddenly raised a hand, motioning for you to stop. He cocked his head, listening intently. “Hear that?” he murmured.

You strained your ears and caught it—a low, muffled murmur of voices coming from a corridor to your left. Your heart jumped. “Guards?”

“Most likely,” Bakugo whispered, his lips pulling into a grin that was half anticipation, half menace. “Let’s shut ’em up before they call for backup.”

You grabbed his arm, stopping him before he could rush in. “Wait. We don’t know how many there are or if they’ve got comms to Moretti. If they alert him, we’ll lose any chance of catching him off guard.”

He scowled but didn’t pull away. “Fine. Got a plan, genius?”

You nodded. “I’ll take the lead. My quirk can handle this quietly. You stay back, but if things go sideways—”

“I’m blasting the hell outta everything,” he finished with a smirk, his crimson eyes gleaming in the dim light.

“Exactly,” you said, your lips quirking up for a brief second before you pushed forward.

Sliding silently along the wall, you peeked around the corner. Three guards stood clustered near a door, their weapons slung casually over their shoulders. 

Drawing on your quirk, you exhaled slowly and let the power flood your senses. The world around you dimmed, leaving only the vivid threads of the guards’ presence—their heartbeat rhythms, the faint electromagnetic signals of their equipment.

One step forward. Another. The shadows seemed to ripple around you, swallowing your form as you closed the distance.

The first guard didn’t even see you coming. A quick strike to his neck dropped him silently to the floor. The second turned, his eyes widening, but you twisted his weapon out of his hands and knocked him unconscious with the butt of it in one fluid motion.

The third managed to let out a strangled gasp before Bakugo was suddenly there, grabbing the man by the collar and slamming him into the wall. “Where’s Moretti?” Bakugo growled, his voice low and deadly.

The guard stammered, his face pale. “I—I don’t know! He’s somewhere upstairs in the west wing. Please, that’s all I know!”

Bakugo sneered and slammed him against the wall one more time for good measure before letting him crumple to the floor. He turned to you, his expression unreadable. “West wing, huh? Guess we’ve got a direction now.”

You nodded, already moving. “Let’s go. The longer we wait, the harder this gets.”

“Damn right,” Bakugo muttered, falling into step beside you. His presence was solid and reassuring, a blazing force that matched your determination.

“Shitty Hair went for backup—if he figures out where we are, they should be here soon,” Bakugo muttered, his eyes scanning the hall for any signs of movement.

“If Kirishima wanted to keep his balls, he would’ve gone straight to the place I told him to,” you shot back.

“What?” Bakugo stopped, turning to look at you.

“When we were in the car, I made him promise that if anything happened, he’d find Milly and protect her,” you explained, your voice steady.

Bakugo’s sharp crimson gaze fixed on you, a flicker of realization crossing his face. “I knew you didn’t kill her,” he muttered.

“I’m a hero, not a monster,” you replied, your tone firm but quiet.

“A hero, huh?” he repeated, raising an eyebrow.

You shrugged, keeping your focus ahead. “It’s not exactly the kind of thing you bring up over coffee. ‘Hey, I used to be a hero, faked my death, and took down some major villains.’ Doesn’t make for casual conversation, does it?”

“Tch.” Bakugo’s hands clenched at his sides, tiny sparks crackling in his palms. “And your quirk?”

“Nothing special.” you shot back, glancing at him over your shoulder. “And besides, my quirk’s not flashy like yours. It’s subtle. Perfect for staying under the radar—which was kind of the whole point after Moretti.”

He scoffed, clearly unimpressed. “Subtle, huh? Looked plenty flashy back there when you were knocking people out left and right.”

You sighed, stopping in your tracks to face him. “Katsuki, this isn’t about my past. This is about stopping Moretti before he hurts anyone else. We can have the ‘what else haven’t you told me’ talk later, but right now, we don’t have time for this.”

His jaw worked, and for a moment, you thought he might argue. But then he huffed, running a hand through his ash-blond hair. “Fine. But don’t think for a second we’re done with this conversation.”

“Noted,” you said, a small smirk tugging at your lips as you turned back down the hallway.

The west wing loomed ahead, the corridors narrowing and the air growing colder. You could feel it—a sense of finality hanging thick around you. Whatever awaited in the next room, it was clear you and Bakugo would face it together, unresolved tensions and all.

The hallway stretched ahead, dimly lit and eerily silent apart from the faint hum of electricity. Bakugo stayed close, his footsteps heavier than yours as his crimson eyes darted around, searching for any sign of an ambush. You could feel the tension radiating off him—part frustration, part adrenaline—but there wasn’t time to unpack that now.

“You said you can sense him,” Bakugo muttered, breaking the silence. “What’re you picking up?”

You stopped, closing your eyes for a moment and focusing on the energy around you. It was chaotic, scattered—a mix of fear, anger, and desperation from everyone in the building. But there, buried beneath it all, was a faint, unmistakable pulse.

“He’s close,” you said, your voice low. “Two floors down, east wing. He’s not alone.”

Bakugo grinned, the kind of feral, dangerous grin that made villains tremble. “Good. The bastard won’t know what hit him.”

As you moved toward the nearest stairwell, you caught a glimpse of motion in the shadows ahead. Without hesitation, you grabbed Bakugo’s arm and yanked him back just as a barrage of bullets ricocheted off the walls.

“Shit!” Bakugo hissed, throwing up his hands and sending a concussive blast toward the shooter. The explosion rocked the corridor, and when the smoke cleared, the guard was sprawled unconscious on the floor.

“That was reckless,” you muttered, already moving to secure the guard’s weapon.

“Worked, didn’t it?” Bakugo shot back, his tone dripping with defiance.

Rolling your eyes, you pressed on, your senses sharp and your quirk humming faintly under your skin. More guards appeared as you descended the stairs, but Bakugo’s explosions and your precision made quick work of them. The two of you moved like a well-oiled machine—despite the unresolved tension, your instincts as fighters meshed seamlessly.

By the time you reached the east wing, the air felt heavier, charged with something darker. Moretti was close—you could feel his presence like a storm on the horizon.

Bakugo glanced at you, his fiery gaze meeting yours. “This is it. You ready?”

You nodded, your jaw set. “I’ve been ready for years.”

He smirked, stepping ahead and cracking his knuckles. “Then let’s end this.”

---

TAGLIST: @emmaafinchh@faetoraa@iissza@theasgardianmexican@cax-per

@nombakugoswife1

If I could remove all my reposts and have one it would be this

Stop giving fathers redemption arcs. That old man sucks and you know it