Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The fic is also on tumblr and there's a link in my bio to get to it. If that doesn't work, look up the user name because it's the same. 

I'm always open to comments and requests are open again!

My name's Angie but I don't mind "Bunnun/Bunnednun" 

Happy reading, love you!!~ <<33

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Chapter Text

The room hummed with the chatter of celebration, a vibrant energy bouncing off the walls as people clinked glasses and exchanged congratulatory words. You stood in the corner, a glass of champagne in hand, trying to find solace in the bubbles as they danced up the sides of the flute. This was supposed to be a night of celebration—his celebration. Your fiancé had finally broken into the top 10 heroes, a dream he’d chased for as long as you’d known him.

But the man you thought you knew, the one you’d supported for years, had a different plan for the night.

“I don’t love you anymore.” 

The words hung in the air, colder than the ice in your drink. His arm wrapped around the waist of the woman beside him—the woman he’d assured you was just a coworker. She leaned into him, her smile saccharine, and you could feel the ground slipping from under you. It was like everyone had zoomed into your face while the air was sucked out of your lungs. 

The room fell silent, eyes turning toward you in slow, disbelieving waves. Your boss looked between the two of you, his brow furrowing, while his PR manager darted toward the videographer, trying to stop the recording. You slowly air pressure in the room before asking him calmly,

“The fuck do you mean?”

“I don’t need you anymore.”

You wanted to scream, to throw the glass in your hand and shatter it into a million pieces, just like your heart. But instead, you just stared at him, your mind spinning with questions that suddenly felt pointless. He hadn’t loved you for a while. How long had he been lying? How long had you been nothing more than a stepping stone in his grand plan?

‘The whole time.’

Part of you always knew that. But you always hoped he’d learn to love you anyway. Sometimes, there were days where it felt so, so real. Like you could trust him and he would take care of you. 

Loyalty

Your chest tightened as your breath came in short, shallow gasps. The walls felt like they were closing in, the weight of everyone’s stares pressing down on you. But you wouldn’t give them the satisfaction of seeing you break.

Without a word, you turned on your heel and headed for the exit, your head held high. The glass you held clinked softly as you set it down on a passing waiter’s tray. It was the last bit of elegance you could manage.

But as you passed the security room, a thought struck you like lightning. You weren’t going to leave without a backup plan. You slipped inside, quickly ejecting the recording from the security cameras and pocketing it. You also slipped the videographer a cool $50 for the camera's microchip. If he wanted to paint you as the crazy ex, you’d have the evidence to prove otherwise.

And just like that, you were gone.

By the time you reached your apartment, the adrenaline was wearing off, leaving you shaky and cold. You fumbled with your keys, but the lock didn’t budge. Confused, you tried again, but the door remained shut.

A sense of dread settled in your stomach as you noticed the suitcase by the hallway. Your suitcase.

The realization hit you like a punch to the gut. He had already had the locks changed during the party. Everything you had was in that apartment, and now you were locked out. Tears welled in your eyes, but you blinked them back, your anger rising to the surface.

You weren’t going to let him win that easily.

With shaking hands, you pulled out your phone and called your landlord. Thankfully, he and his wife were not only awake but also sympathetic. They helped you take down the door, and his wife and their oldest daughter assisted you in packing up your belongings. You wanted to smash everything in that shithole. But you couldn’t without the fear of his legal team up your ass, 

For the rest of the night, you moved like a ghost, your movements automatic as you packed away your life. Your landlord let you keep your things in a spare storage unit in the basement, offering you a place to stay in exchange for tutoring their children and picking them up from school.

It wasn’t conventional, but it was something and you were thankful for it. 

As you lay on the couch in their living room, staring up at the ceiling, the weight of everything settled onto your chest. The betrayal, the humiliation, the uncertainty of what came next—it all pressed down on you until you felt like you couldn’t breathe. 

The next few weeks passed in a blur. Every day was a battle—against the memories that haunted you, against the fear of what the future held, and against the crushing weight of rejection that threatened to pull you under. Your landlord’s family was kind, giving you the space you needed while keeping you busy with tutoring sessions and school runs. It was a small distraction, but it wasn’t enough to drown out the reality of your situation.

Each morning, you sat at your makeshift desk in the corner of their kitchen, your laptop open to a list of job postings. Each rejection email hit harder than the last, and every interview felt like a forgotten knife twisting in the wound. Agencies that once seemed eager to bring you on board suddenly lost interest when they caught wind of your situation. Your ex’s influence, it seemed, reached further than you had imagined.

Your savings dwindled with each passing day, and the knot in your stomach grew tighter as the new semester approached. You stared at your tuition bill, the numbers blurring together as your vision clouded with tears. You were running out of time, out of options. The weight of it all pressed down on your chest, suffocating you with every breath.

Then, one night, as you scrolled through tumblr in a desperate attempt to distract yourself, an ad caught your eye. It was the kind of ad you would normally scroll past without a second thought, but tonight, something made you pause. The bold, flashing text read: “Make Quick Cash! No Experience Necessary!”

You clicked on it before you could think twice. The page loaded slowly, your heart pounding in your chest as you took in the details. It was an ad for a strip club, promising high pay and flexible hours. The idea was unthinkable, something you never would have considered in your previous life. But now, with your back against the wall and your options running out, it didn’t seem so far-fetched.

You closed the tab quickly, ashamed of even considering it. But the thought lingered, a small seed of desperation taking root in your mind. You tried to push it away, to remind yourself that there had to be another way. But as the days went by and your situation grew more dire, that seed of desperation began to sprout.

One night, you found yourself standing outside the club, the neon lights casting an eerie glow on your face. You could hear the muffled bass of the music inside, feel the vibration under your feet. You clenched your fists, your nails digging into your palms as you fought against the urge to run.

This wasn’t you. You didn’t belong here. But the reality of your situation echoed in your mind, louder than the music from inside. You had no home, no money, and no way out. You were backed into a corner, and this was the only way forward.

With a deep breath, you pushed open the door and stepped inside.

The air was thick with smoke and the scent of perfume. The lighting was dim, casting shadows across the room as bodies moved rhythmically to the beat. You made your way to the bar, your heart racing as you caught the eye of the bartender.

He leaned over the counter, his gaze sweeping over you with an appraising look. “What can I do for you, sweetheart?” His voice was smooth, with just a hint of a drawl that made your nerves spike.

You hesitated, the words sticking in your throat. But you forced them out, your voice barely above a whisper. “I’m… I’m here about the job.”

He raised an eyebrow, a slow smile spreading across his face. “Well, aren’t you a brave one?” He nodded toward a door at the back of the room. “Head on back, and the manager will take care of you.”

Your legs felt like lead as you made your way toward the door. The noise of the club faded into the background as you stepped into the hallway, the walls closing in around you. You were in too deep now—there was no turning back.

But as you pushed open the door to the manager’s office, you couldn’t shake the feeling that this wasn’t going to end well. 

The room was small, with a desk and a couple of chairs, the air thick with the smell of stale cigarettes. The man behind the desk didn’t look up as you entered, his eyes fixed on a stack of papers in front of him. You stood there, unsure of what to do, until he finally glanced up.

“What’s your name?” he asked, his voice gruff and to the point.

You hesitated for just a moment before giving him a fake name. He scribbled something down on a piece of paper, then leaned back in his chair, his gaze sharp as he looked you over.

“You ever done this kind of work before?” he asked.

You shook your head, feeling a lump form in your throat. “No… but I’m willing to learn.”

He snorted, a hint of amusement in his eyes. “Well, aren’t you eager?” He leaned forward, resting his elbows on the desk. “Lucky day,” he muttered, scratching something down with a dull pencil. “Five girls quit this morning. You’re hired.” 

The words hit you like a brick. Hired? Just like that?

Before you could process what was happening, he shoved a clipboard into your hands and motioned towards the door. “Take this to the girls in the dressing room. They’ll get you sorted.”

You walked out in a daze, clutching the clipboard tightly as you approached the dressing room. The door creaked open, and the sounds of laughter and chatter spilled into the hallway, mingling with the distant thump of bass from the main room.

Inside, the dressing room was a flurry of activity. Bright lights lined the mirrors, casting a warm glow over the women as they prepared for the night. The scent of hairspray, perfume, and makeup filled the air, a stark contrast to the cold reality of why you were there.

A woman with striking red hair, styled into soft waves that cascaded down her back, noticed you first. Her outfit was barely there—a sequined bra and matching shorts that sparkled under the lights. She gave you a once-over, a hint of curiosity in her eyes. “You the new girl?” she asked, her voice smooth as silk.

You nodded, feeling out of place in your street clothes. She smirked and introduced herself, her eyes glinting with mischief. “I’m Ruby. Don’t worry, we don’t bite… much.”

Another woman, this one with short, platinum-blonde hair styled into a chic bob, waved at you from her spot near the mirror. Her outfit was a black leather bodysuit, hugging her curves and leaving little to the imagination. “I’m Diamond,” she said with a playful wink. “Welcome to the jungle, baby.”

Two others chimed in—Pearl, a statuesque beauty with long, flowing black hair and an outfit that shimmered like the night sky, and Sapphire, a petite woman with dark, pixie-cut hair and a mysterious aura, dressed in a deep blue lace ensemble.

Finally, a tall, elegant woman with a commanding presence stepped forward. Her hair was a rich chestnut brown, styled in loose waves, and her eyes held a depth that made you feel both safe and studied at the same time. She wore a deep red corset with matching garters, her outfit exuding confidence and experience. “I’m Marshmallow,” she said, her voice steady and reassuring. “And you look way too young to be here.”

The atmosphere shifted as Marshmallow placed a firm hand on your shoulder, her gaze searching yours. “Listen,” she said quietly, her tone serious, “this place is a trap. Once you’re in, it’s hard to get out. Especially if the manager gets anything incriminating on you.”

Your heart raced as you felt the weight of her words. “I don’t have a choice,” you whispered, trying to steady your voice. “I’m… desperate.”

Marshmallow’s eyes softened, and she gave a small nod before gently guiding you toward the small bathroom at the back of the dressing room. Once inside, the door clicked shut, muffling the noise from the others. You felt the tears welling up, and before you knew it, you were spilling your story—the heartbreak, the betrayal, the hopelessness that brought you to this moment.

Without a word, Marshmallow wrapped you in a warm embrace, her scent of cinnamon perfume wrapping around you like a comforting blanket. For a moment, you let yourself sink into the warmth, feeling a small measure of comfort in the midst of your chaos.

“It’s going to be okay,” she whispered, her voice soft and soothing. “We’ll figure something out.”

She pulled back slightly, her hands resting on your shoulders. “There are different levels to this club,” she explained. “You could be a bottle girl, a pole dancer, a pool girl, or a strip teaser. Each role comes with its risks. There are no real cameras here, so if a client gets violent… well, you’ll have to handle it yourself, or take the beating. The bouncers don’t help much, if at all and you’re more replaceable than a client.”

Your stomach churned at the thought, but Marshmallow continued. “And whatever you bring in, the club takes a cut. It’s called the house fee. It’s a tough gig, but if you’re careful, you can make it work.”

You nodded, trying to absorb everything she was saying. The fear was still there, gnawing at the edges of your mind, but so was the determination. You had to survive this. You had to.

“Thank you,” you whispered, your voice shaking. “For everything.”

Marshmallow gave you a small smile, squeezing your shoulders one last time. “We try to watch out for each other. Just… be smart, and don’t let them take more from you than you’re willing to give.”

As you left the bathroom and rejoined the others in the dressing room, you felt a sick sense of resolve. This wasn’t the life you wanted, but it was the life you had now. And you were going to make it through, no matter what it took.

So you were gonna strip.

Chapter Text

The neon lights of the club flickered, casting a vibrant glow that bounced off the walls and mirrors. The bass of the music pulsed through the floor, a rhythmic thrum that set the tempo for the night. You adjusted your mask and wig in the mirror, ensuring that your identity remained concealed. The anonymity was a small comfort in a job that offered little else.

Marshmallow peeked into your side of the room, her face beaming with encouragement. “You’re going to do great tonight,” she said, her voice warm and reassuring. Her own outfit—a soft, lavender bodysuit with delicate lace trim—made her look like a whimsical dream. “Just remember, they’re here for the show. Give them something to remember.”

You nodded, trying to shake off the nervous energy that bubbled beneath your skin. You had been working behind the glass for a few weeks now, learning the nuances of the routine, mastering the pole, and getting accustomed to the constant surveillance of the security cameras. It was a strange existence, dancing in isolation while the world outside remained a mystery.

The glass panel separated you from the rest of the room, a barrier that allowed you to perform without being seen. On the other side, the room was filled with the occasional murmur of voices and the clinking of glasses. You focused on the task at hand, pulling yourself into a graceful routine that combined elegance with just a hint of spice.

As you began your dance, the rhythm of the music seemed to blend with the beat of your heart. The movements flowed naturally, your body moving in perfect harmony with the rhythm. Your mind wandered to the surprises of the club—especially the frequent visits from pro heroes. It was an odd revelation, but not entirely unexpected. In a place like this, discretion was paramount, and the allure of anonymity must have been appealing even to those in the spotlight.

Halfway through your routine, you heard a yawn from the other side of the glass. The sound cut through the music, startling you momentarily. You couldn’t help but smile at the familiarity of the gesture. It was Marshmallow, likely on her break.

“Are you really that bored?” you called out, your voice muffled by the glass.

The response came with a chuckle. “Not bored, just waiting for you to finish up. Got a special client tonight—one of those ‘high roller’ types. They usually want something a bit… more unique.”

You finished the last of your routine, striking a final pose before retreating to the changing area. Marshmallow was already waiting for you, her eyes glinting with a mix of mischief and sympathy.

“Special client, huh?” you asked, pulling off your mask and adjusting your wig.

“Yep,” she replied, leaning casually against the wall. “Sometimes it’s just a big spender, sometimes it’s someone looking for a bit of extra fun. Just do your best and keep it professional. And if they try anything… well, you know who to call.”

You nodded, feeling a shiver of anticipation mixed with anxiety. As you prepared for the special client, Marshmallow’s reassuring presence was a comfort. You had grown to trust her in the short time you had known her. She had become a mentor of sorts, guiding you through the intricacies of this world.

When the time came, you stepped into the room where the special client awaited. The setup was familiar—a dimly lit space with a plush sofa positioned in the back. The client’s silhouette was obscured by the shadows, and you could make out little beyond the outline of a large figure.

You began your routine, pouring all of your new skills and emotion into the performance. The glass barrier between you and the client created a sense of separation, allowing you to maintain your composure while still delivering an intimate experience. You did your best to remember everything the girls taught you earlier and tried to channel your own sexiness into the dance. 

The minutes seemed to blend together, punctuated by the occasional murmur from the client. As you finished your routine and prepared to leave, you felt a strange mix of relief and disappointment. The job was done, and you had managed to maintain your anonymity once again.

Back in the dressing room, Marshmallow was waiting with a smile. “How’d it go?” she asked, her voice filled with genuine curiosity.

“Not too bad,” you replied, trying to sound casual. “He left a good tip too.”

She gave you a reassuring pat on the back. “Good to hear. Now, let’s hit the gym. We’ve got to keep those moves sharp.”

After your shifts, you and Micheal, or Marshmallow as she was known in the club, headed toward the gym after another grueling night, she glanced over at you with a thoughtful expression. The treadmill’s rhythmic thud matched your steady pace, and you could see her reflection in the gym’s large mirrors.

“You know,” Micheal said, her voice breaking through the thump of the treadmill, “there’s other ways to make money online. Not just the stuff you’re doing now.”

You looked over at her, curiosity piqued. Micheal was a striking woman, her skin a rich, deep brown that glowed under the gym’s fluorescent lights. Her hair was styled in a sleek, ponytail that framed her face perfectly. She wore a workout outfit that accentuated her strong physique, but it was her eyes—full of knowledge and warmth—that drew you in.

“I’m already working online during the day,” you replied, trying to keep your voice casual.

Micheal chuckled and shook her head, pulling out her phone. “That’s cute. But there’s more out there, you know. Look.” She turned the screen towards you, revealing a list of adult apps and websites. Your cheeks flushed as you glanced away, feeling a bit embarrassed.

“Don’t be a prude,” Micheal teased, her smile playful. “You don’t even have to show your face if you don’t want to.”

You considered her suggestion, weighing it against your pressing financial needs. The tuition and apartment costs were mounting, and every bit of extra income would help. “I’ll think about it,” you said, focusing on your workout to distract yourself.

When you returned home, exhaustion hit you like a ton of bricks. You slumped into your chair and sifted through a stack of rejection letters, each one a reminder of how tough the job market was. After scheduling more interviews, you allowed yourself a short nap, hoping it would recharge you.

The nap, however, turned into a nightmare. You dreamt of your ex, his voice insistent, pressuring you to move to Japan with him. His words echoed in your mind, manipulating and demanding, until you woke up drenched in sweat and gasping for breath. The fear and anxiety from the dream clung to you, adding to your already fraught emotions.

You sat up, wiping your face with a shaky hand, and remembered Micheal’s advice. You fumbled for your phone and shot her a text, asking about the safest website where you wouldn’t have to get nude.

Micheal’s reply came swiftly. She sent you a link to “Secret Admirer,” an app where the user is in control. “It’s a sugar baby app, but the baby calls the shots. You can add a shopping list link and build a profile with pics and videos. Within a few hours, you should start getting messages.”

You stared at the link, your mind racing with possibilities. Micheal’s explanation gave you a small glimmer of hope. “Thanks <33,” you texted back, gratitude mingling with apprehension.

‘Fuck it I’m doing this.’

That evening, you set up your account on “Secret Admirer.” With the help of makeup, filters, and another wig, you created a completely new persona. You named her “Princess Diamond” the antithesis of your real self. Where you were reserved and introspective, Princess was a brash, demanding spoiled brat with an insatiable appetite for luxury. 

You looked at the final result on your screen, feeling a mix of satisfaction and discomfort. This new identity was a way to protect yourself, to shield your true self from the harshness of your circumstances. You hoped it would work, that it would provide the financial cushion you needed to get back on your feet.

At least you hoped it would. 

The basement storage room was transformed into your temporary haven. It wasn’t much—just a simple space with concrete walls and a basic light fixture—but you were determined to make it livable. You assembled your old bed frame and draped plain white sheets over it, creating a semblance of comfort. Around the room, you hung colorful banners and posters, adding splashes of personality to the otherwise drab space. The long changing divider you set up did its best to conceal the boxes of your other belongings, creating an illusion of privacy.

Satisfied with your efforts, you propped your phone against a stack of boxes and dialed Micheal for her input. The call connected quickly, and Micheal’s familiar face appeared on the screen. 

“Hey, what’s up?” she greeted, her voice carrying a tone of casual curiosity. 

“I’m about to do a show,” you said, trying to sound upbeat despite the gnawing anxiety in your stomach. You flipped the camera to give her a view of your makeshift setup.

Micheal’s eyes darted around the room as she took in the scene. Her expression shifted from impressed to contemplative. “Nice work on the quick thinking,” she said with a smile. “Crafty, but you do know it’s going to need to be more hyper-feminine if you’re going to really sell this, right?”

You sighed, looking around at the modest decor. The banners and posters were a good start, but the room still felt incomplete. The bed frame was plain, and the sheets were ordinary. The divider was practical but hardly glamorous. “Just what I was thinking, any ideas?” you said, feeling a bit tired.

Micheal nodded, her eyes narrowing slightly as she thought. “Hmmm, I have an idea. Just keep taking pics and videos of yourself for now. I’ll be in touch with more details.”

She blew a few playful kisses into the camera before ending the call, leaving you alone with your thoughts. You turned your attention back to your profile, updating it with the new photos and videos you’d taken. Despite the fatigue and frustration, a small spark of excitement flickered within you. There were a few new messages waiting, and the prospect of new connections invigorated you.

As you were thinking of settling in for the evening, your phone buzzed with a new text from Micheal. “Join my live,” it read. Your confusion was soon overshadowed by curiosity as you prepared to join her stream.

You set your phone up on a stand and waited for the connection. Micheal appeared on screen, her usual vibrant self. Only she didn't have a top on. The stream ran smoothly, with Micheal interacting with her audience and discussing various topics with you. Everything seemed normal until Micheal suddenly shooed you away from the screen, her demeanor shifting to something more serious.

“Alright, now listen,” she instructed, her voice taking on a commanding tone. “I want you to turn on your music and point the camera towards the divider. Put on a show for me.”

Realization dawned on you. Micheal was supposed to be doing a squirt show right now, and it was up to you to make it engaging. You took a deep breath, trying to steady your nerves. You started one of your more seductive routines, moving behind the divider. The muted, private space was your sanctuary, and you poured your energy into the performance, swaying and winding with practiced ease. 

It was ironically a little easier to strip down to your panties in this storage unit than in the club. As you danced, you heard the constant ding of notifications from your phone. The influx of messages and tips was almost overwhelming, and the steady hum of your phone’s vibrations grew louder. It wasn’t long before the phone started to overheat and beep as the screen became uncomfortably warm. You scrambled to throw on your jeans and sweater before you placed the phone in front of a fan, trying to cool it down before it shut off entirely.

The stream ended abruptly as the phone’s temperature soared, and you were kicked out of the live session. Your heart raced as you checked your account, eyes widening in disbelief at the amount of money that had accumulated. The funds were substantial, far more than you had anticipated.

That wasn’t what shocked you though. 

Alongside the influx of money, there was a transfer from Micheal with a note that read, “Buy yourself some pretty things, xxxooo~” Her generosity was both a relief and a source of renewed hope. You marveled at the support Micheal had provided, feeling a deep sense of gratitude and appreciation.

“I love that woman!”

With your phone finally cooled down, you took a moment to reflect on the evening’s events. The unexpected success of your performance was a beacon of hope in an otherwise tumultuous time. Micheal’s kindness and the financial cushion she had provided were a lifeline, giving you the breathing room you needed to continue rebuilding your life.

You closed your eyes, feeling a cautious optimism about the future. The shit show was far from over, but with support from Micheal, you felt a bit more secure. The stream left you feeling a mix of exhaustion and exhilaration. It was way easier than working at the club. 

After the whirlwind of emotions, you found yourself staring at your phone, hands trembling as you recorded a voice message for Micheal. You knew she'd probably be in the shower right now to clean off from her "performance". Your voice wavered as you spoke, a mix of disbelief and gratitude evident in your tone.

“Hey Micheal, I— I don’t even know how to thank you. How did you do this? Why? I’m still in shock!” 

You sent the message and waited, your heart pounding in anticipation. A few moments later, Micheal’s reply came through, her voice warm and reassuring.

“Hey there, calm down. I was hyping up your profile during my show. My clients were really interested, and it got you a solid fanbase right off the bat. You’ve got a lot of potential, and they’re excited to meet you. Just make sure to keep everything separate from your real life. Buy things that fit your online persona so you don’t get too attached.”

Her advice was practical and wise, but it only fueled the mix of relief and anxiety you felt. “Okay,” you replied, taking a deep breath. “I’ll get on it. Thanks so much for everything.” You blew her some kisses that you caught before you both hung up and immediately jumped onto Pinterest, scrolling through endless pages of Y2K fashion and room decor ideas.

Your room, now to be decorated in pastel pinks and nostalgic patterns, needed a bit more polish to fit the vibe. You envisioned adding bold prints, glittering accents, and maybe a few playful neon signs to complete the look. With a clear plan in mind, you set about buying new items for your space, making sure to keep the majority of the money aside for your tuition and a new apartment.

Okay, maybe you were looking at that stuff because your ex never let you decorate the apartment how you wanted. 

Just before bed, you decided to go live, just one more time.

As you started the stream, you were pleasantly surprised to see a handful of subscribers already in the comment section. The messages began to flood in:

StarGazer88 : Wow, you look stunning! The setup is amazing!

RetroFan23 : Your room is so cute! Love the decor!

FrightenFae : You’re absolutely beautiful! Can’t wait to see more!

You grinned at the screen, feeling a rush of excitement. Channeling the confidence Micheal had coached you on, you began to speak with a playful, almost teasing tone. “Hey everyone! Thanks for joining me tonight. I’m thinking of doing a Q&A show. What do you guys think?”

The chat erupted with enthusiasm, a chorus of “Yes!” and “Definitely!” filling the comments. Some viewers also requested a room tour, and you decided to make a playful challenge out of it.

“Well, if someone tips $500, I’ll do it,” you said with a wink and a smile, your voice dripping with sweet, sultry charm.

To your astonishment, the screen quickly filled with notifications of tips, and within moments, a user named Spiceman420 had tipped the entire $500.

“Hey, Spiceman420, thank you so much!” you said, beaming at the camera. Your genuine smile lit up the screen, and the viewers went wild with excitement.

As the tips continued to roll in, you tried to keep your composure, but your phone was starting to overheat again. “Guys, please slow down! My phone can’t handle this!” you pleaded, trying to keep your voice light and engaging.

Determined to keep your promise, you stood up and gave the camera a slow, dramatic pan around the room. “Here’s the room tour,” you said with a laugh, showing off the wall decorations and your modest setup.

The comments exploded with praise:

StarGazer88 : The room looks fantastic! Love the vibe!

YourMom69 : It's so cute! You’ve done a great job!

Spiceman420 : Looks pretty barren, Princess.

The last comment caught your eye. You hesitated, then decided to address it directly. “Oh, I actually just moved in and this place was bigger than I expected,” you fibbed with a smile, trying to keep the tone light and engaging.

More questions and compliments came in, many of them asking where you were from and remarking on how sweet you seemed despite your self proclaimed bratty persona. “We’ll see about that,” you joked, winking at the camera. “Thank you all so much for the support! I’m so grateful.”

You yawned prettily behind your hand, then blew a kiss to the camera. “Thanks for joining me tonight. I’m going to call it in. See you all soon!” 

After ending the stream, you took a refreshing shower to wash off the sweat and exhaustion. As you checked your phone, you saw a notification of a $5,000 check from Spiceman420, accompanied by a personal message: 

“For your new apartment, Princess.”

You stared at the screen, feeling a mix of disbelief and gratitude. The generous gesture was overwhelming, and you found yourself on the verge of tears once more. You quickly sent a photo of your hands forming a heart symbol, adding a simple “Thank you so much” in your message.

The read receipt confirmed that Spiceman420 had seen your reply, but there was no immediate response. You sighed, feeling a bit of relief. The money would go a long way in securing your new place and starting fresh.

With a hopeful heart, you settled into your new routine, feeling a bit more secure in your journey forward. The night had been a whirlwind, but the unexpected support and the small victories kept you moving forward.

Bakugou sat slumped in a velvet armchair, his fingers scrolling lazily through his phone as the club buzzed with life around him. The low hum of conversation, the clinking of glasses, and the occasional burst of laughter from his fellow pros filled the air, but it all washed over him like background noise. He was here because he’d been dragged along—again. Designated driver, the role he always got stuck with because everyone else wanted to get plastered and he didn’t trust those dumbasses after what happened the first time.

He stifled a sigh, his eyes narrowing in disdain at the scene unfolding around him. A couple of bikini baristas were eyeing him from across the bar, giggling and whispering to each other, clearly trying to muster the courage to approach him. He didn’t even bother looking up, though; he knew exactly how it would go. One of them would sidle up to him, all flirty smiles and batting eyelashes, and then he’d spend the next few hours scrubbing glitter and body spray off his skin because she’d gotten too handsy. It was more trouble than it was worth.

And to top it all off, his favorite performer wasn’t even here tonight. That had been the one thing he’d looked forward to—seeing her. The first time he’d stumbled upon her had been a total accident, courtesy of Denki, who’d practically shoved him into that private room with an exasperated “Loosen up, dude!” And honestly? Bakugou had been pissed at first, but then she started dancing. It wasn’t even sexual as it was…. almost romantic? It felt personal, like she was performing for just him after a long day. Like it was only the both of them in that warm darkness. 

There was something about her. She never asked personal questions, never tried to flirt or tease like the others. She just danced, with an almost ethereal grace, and then she was gone, leaving him in peace. He didn’t know why, but he found that comforting. Maybe it was because she didn’t try to pry into his life, or maybe it was because he could just sit there, unwind, and not have to deal with anyone’s expectations.

Maybe it was because his mouth didn’t get in the way for once. 

He didn’t ask to see her up close, though. He knew that would break the illusion, the little bubble of escapism he’d found himself enjoying. Did he want a relationship? Sometimes the thought crossed his mind, but between his career, the press constantly hounding him, and his deep-seated distrust of people in general, he couldn’t be bothered. 

He was scrolling through his phone, bored out of his mind, when he overheard a couple of other pros talking about some app. Something about it caught his attention, just enough to make him curious. He quickly made up a bullshit username and started browsing. 

That’s when he found her. He paused, thumb hovering over the screen as he watched the live stream. It was her—it had to be. The dance routine was so familiar, almost muscle memory to him by now. His heartbeat quickened as he watched, and before he knew it, he’d hit the subscribe button. He hadn’t bought the premium subscription to see the pics or videos on her profile yet. No, he wanted to save that for later. 

Then he didn’t even think twice before tipping the $500, his fingers moving on instinct. Katuski wasn’t sure why he’d done it, but when she thanked him personally, her voice soft and warm, he felt something in his chest tighten. He forced himself to keep his expression neutral, refusing to let his face betray how flustered he felt.

Fuck, he was blushing. In public, no less. 

She showed off her room then, clearly just set up, and Bakugou couldn’t help but feel a pang of something like sympathy. So that’s why she wasn’t at the club—she was busy moving in. It made sense now. He found himself feeling oddly moved by her situation, enough to make him send her more money without really thinking about it.

He slumped further into the chair, his mind racing. What was he even doing? He was the number two pro hero in Japan. He’d achieved everything he’d ever wanted, and yet here he was, sitting in a strip club, feeling lost and bored out of his mind. He had everything he could ever want, and yet... now what? 

Bakugou’s gaze flicked back to his phone. The notification from her stream still lingered on the screen, a reminder of the strange connection he formed in his mind. Maybe that was the answer he’d been searching for—something new, something different. Something that wasn’t tied to being a hero. 

He didn’t know what the hell he was doing, but for once, he didn’t mind not having all the answers. He’d just see where this path took him.

Then he saw your message.

Chapter Text

The club was a hive of activity tonight, the buzz of payday energy pulsing through every corner. You walked through the throng of people with a sense of purpose, a slight smile tugging at your lips as you considered just how much had changed in the last few weeks. Thanks to the generous donations from your online followers, particularly that mystery guy, you’d managed to pay off your tuition and even order some new furniture for your “room.” You’d been shocked when the items in your shopping cart had been checked off before you even had the chance to think twice about them.

Your landlord, Mr. Muhammad, had been helpful, going with you to scout out potential apartments and vouching for you as a reliable tenant. As a thank-you, you’d been buying groceries here and there, trying to show your appreciation. They were becoming your family in this. The fact that you were finally on the path to securing your future, both financially and academically, felt like a weight had been lifted off your shoulders.

But tonight, you were back at the club, ready to earn what you could from the crowd that had gathered.

You emerged from the dressing rooms, adjusting the straps of your outfit as you made your way towards the main floor. The girls—Marshmallow and the others—were already in their usual spot, laughing and chatting excitedly. When they saw you, they waved you over with wide grins.

“You should totally join us on stage today!” Ruby said, her eyes sparkling with mischief.

You felt your face redden at the suggestion, the idea of being out there in the spotlight making your heart race. But before you could respond, Marshmallow chimed in, her tone reassuring. “You don’t have to do anything you’re not comfortable with. It’s just an offer.”

You looked around the club, taking in the sea of faces, the noise, the energy. It was busier than usual—payday always brought in the crowds. Your usual spot, the private section where you danced behind glass, seemed quiet in comparison. 

“I’ll do a little walk around and head to my usual spot,” you finally said, your voice thoughtful. “If no one shows up after twenty minutes, I’ll join you all on stage.”

The girls cheered at your decision, and Marshmallow blew you a kiss, her expression playful. You couldn’t help but smile back, feeling a mix of nervousness and excitement as you turned to head to the back of the club.

But as you began to walk, the path ahead of you suddenly became blocked. A group of men had gathered near the entrance to the private sections, their loud laughter and boisterous behavior catching your attention. One of them—a tall, muscular guy with a cocky grin—stepped forward, his eyes locking onto you.

“Well, what do we have here?” he drawled, his voice dripping with arrogance. He looked you up and down, clearly assessing you like you were some kind of prize. “You look like you’d be a fun time.”

You resisted the urge to roll your eyes, keeping your expression sweet as you tried to sidestep him. “I’m just heading to my section,” you said, your tone polite but firm. “You can’t touch me but you can enjoy the show.”

The guy wasn’t having it. He stepped in front of you again, blocking your path. “Aw, c’mon. Don’t be like that. How about you come hang out with us instead?” Nope, nope, nope. You knew a cokehead when you saw one. 

You felt your patience thinning, but you kept your composure. “Sorry, but I’ve got work to do,” you replied, trying to move around him once more.

This time, one of the bouncers noticed the interaction and started making his way over, his expression stern. Before the guy could say anything else, the bouncer stepped in, placing a hand on his shoulder. “Let her through,” he said in a no-nonsense tone.

The guy looked like he was about to argue, but the bouncer’s glare shut him up quickly. With a huff, he stepped aside, allowing you to pass.

You nodded your thanks to the bouncer before continuing on your way, your heart pounding slightly from the encounter. As you walked towards your usual spot, you couldn’t help but feel a surge of determination. This place could be tough, but you’d gotten this far, and you weren’t about to let some jerk ruin your night.

Finally reaching your private section, you stepped inside, taking a deep breath to steady yourself. The room was quiet, the familiar setting helping to calm your nerves. You were about to slip behind the glass, ready to begin your routine, but as you looked out into the club, you realized something.

Tonight felt different. The energy, the crowds, even the encounters—it all seemed to be leading to something. You weren’t sure what it was, but there was a feeling in the air, an undercurrent that made your skin tingle with anticipation.

As you started your routine, moving to the music that pulsed through the club, you couldn’t shake the feeling that tonight was going to be significant. Whether it was joining the girls on stage or something else entirely, you had the sense that you were standing on the edge of something new, something that could change everything.

The club’s usual hum of activity had faded into the background as you settled into your private section. The room was dimly lit, the low, sultry glow casting long shadows across the floor. You adjusted your costume—a tight, sheer two piece set that clung to your curves, accentuating every dip and swell. The fabric was soft against your skin, shimmering slightly under the dim lights, and you checked to make sure it was sitting just right. 

Suddenly, you heard them—the footsteps. Heavy, deliberate, and echoing out across the club floor like a metronome. The sound was unmistakable, a slow, steady rhythm that seemed to announce his arrival long before you could see him. A strange sense of familiarity washed over you, as you knew this client just by the way he walked. You quickly straightened up, pulling the straps of your top taut against your shoulders and making sure every inch of the material hugged you just right. This client wasn’t like the others; he only watched you dance without asking you for anything lewd or to see your face. He didn’t even make song requests, you didn’t know why, and you weren’t going to ask. 

You watched as he approached the sofa, his tall frame casting a shadow that stretched across the floor. He moved with a kind of confidence that made the air feel heavy, charged. You couldn’t see much of his face, just the outline of his spiky hair and the broadness of his shoulders, but something about his presence sent a shiver down your spine. He sat down, his large boots making a final thud against the floor as he settled in, the sound resonating through the room.

Deciding it was time to begin, you turned to the console and selected a song that fit the mood—Kendrick Lamar and Rihanna’s “Loyalty.” The deep bassline filled the room, vibrating through the floor and into your bones, the rhythm perfectly matching the sensuality you intended to convey. You let the music guide you, your body moving in time with the beat, every step deliberate, every motion slow and controlled.

“It's a secret society

  All we ask is trust

 (All we ask is trust)

  All we got is us

Loyalty, loyalty, loyalty

Loyalty, loyalty, loyalty,”

As Kendrick and Rihanna’s voices flowed through the speakers, you began to sway, your hips rolling in time with the lyrics, the movements deliberate and teasing. You ran your hands down your sides, feeling the soft fabric glide over your skin before slipping them to the hem of your skirt. The lights caught the subtle shimmer of the material, highlighting your silhouette as you slowly peeled it away from your body, revealing the smooth curve of your ass.

“I’m a savage, I’m an asshole I’m a King,” 

Kendrick’s voice echoed, and you turned your back to the glass, arching as you pushed the skirt down over your hips. You caught a glimpse of the client in the reflection, his figure still and silent, but you could feel his eyes on you, watching your every move. The intensity of his gaze made your heart race, adding to the thrill of the performance.

“Tell me who you loyal to

Do it start with your woman or your man?”

You continued, rolling the fabric down your legs, bending at the waist to give him a full view of your body. The costume pooled around your ankles, and you stepped out of it, kicking it to the side. Now you were down to your matching bikini top and bottoms, the fabric clinging to you, highlighting the curves you knew he was watching intently. 

“Do it end with your family and friends? 

Or you're loyal to yourself in advance?”

You turned to face him again, your fingers trailing down your body, over your thighs, teasing the edges of your bottoms as Rihanna’s voice took over.

“I said, tell me who you loyal to

Is it anybody that you would lie for?”

She sang, and you mirrored the confidence in her voice, sliding your hands up your torso, arching your back as you thrust your chest forward. You let the straps of your bikini top slip down your shoulders, giving him just a hint of what lay beneath before pulling them back up again. The anticipation built, the heat between you and the client almost tangible, thickening the air in the small room.

“Anybody you would slide for?

 Anybody you would die for?

 That's what God for,”

As the song neared its end, you dropped to your knees, spreading them slightly as you swayed your hips from side to side, your hands running through your hair, then down your neck, and across your chest. You gave one last slow, deliberate roll of your hips, letting the music guide you as you finished with a final arch of your back, the movement accentuating every curve.

The song ended, and you stilled, catching your breath, expecting him to get up and leave as most clients did once the performance was over. But when you glanced up, he was still sitting there, unmoving, his figure dark against the dim light of the room.

Puzzled, you slipped through the side door that led to the backroom where one of the bouncers stood. “Hey,” you said, trying to keep your voice steady, “why isn’t the guy leaving?”

The bouncer gave you a once-over before turning to check on the client. When he came back, there was a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “He wants to know if he could buy an hour with you.”

You tried to mask the surprise on your face, forcing yourself to appear cool and composed. You paused for a moment, pretending to think it over, before nodding. “Tell him yes.”

The bouncer nodded and left to relay the message, leaving you with your thoughts. You pressed your nose against the glass, trying to get a better look at the man who had asked for the extra time. His hair was spiky, sticking out in a way that seemed almost familiar. His boots, large and sturdy, suggested a man who was used to being on his feet, and his broad frame hinted at strength, power. He exuded an aura of control, but there was something else, something that intrigued you.

You couldn’t help but wonder what the fuck it was. 

As the bouncer returned, there was a flicker of something in his eyes—amusement, perhaps, or curiosity. "The customer wants the same song," he said, his voice gruff yet tinged with the faintest hint of a smile. "He wants to see you dance to it again. You can switch up the routine, but he specifically asked for the same track." You nodded, a surge of anticipation bubbling up within you. The thought of performing the same song for the same man, knowing he was still captivated by your movements, sent a thrill down your spine. 

You watched the bouncer close the door behind him, leaving you alone in the dimly lit room with only the frosted glass between you and your mysterious client.

With a quick decision, you moved to the corner where your outfits were kept. You stripped off your bikini, reaching for something a bit more daring—a lacy, black two-piece that left just enough to the imagination while hugging your curves in all the right places. The sheer stockings and garter belt added a touch of vintage allure, making you feel powerful and sensual as you adjusted them, ensuring every strap was perfectly aligned.

Before turning the lights back on, you glanced at the frosted glass. A mischievous grin played on your lips as you tapped the control to dim the lights further, bathing the room in a sultry, amber glow that cast soft shadows across the space. You wanted this routine to feel intimate, like a secret whispered in the dark between two best friends.

When you were ready, you positioned yourself against the glass, your hands splayed out in front of you, feeling the cool surface beneath your fingertips. You tapped your fingers to the opening beats, letting the music fill the room, its rhythm pulsing through you as you began to move.

“My resume is real enough for two millenniums  

A better way to make a wave, stop defendin' them  

I meditate and moderate all of my wins again  

I'm hangin' on the fence again,”

You changed the pace, slowly rolling your hips to the beat, letting your body melt into the music. This time, your movements were more daring, more deliberate. You pressed your chest against the glass, the coolness a stark contrast to the heat building within you. The fabric of your outfit teased at the edges of your consciousness, reminding you of every inch of skin it covered, and every inch it left exposed.

“I'm always on your mind  

I put my lyric and my lifeline on the line  

And ain't no limit when I might shine, might grind  

You rollin' with it at the right time, right now  

Only for the dollar sign,”

With each word, you leaned into the glass, pressing your body closer, your breath fogging up the surface. You let your fingers trace over the fog, leaving a little heart before stepping away, toying with the barrier between you and him. You didn’t know where all this confidence came from but you weren’t gonna waste it. Your movements were slower, more deliberate, the sway of your hips more pronounced as you turned and arched your back, sliding down the glass as if giving in to the gravity of his gaze.

“Loyalty, loyalty, loyalty  

 Loyalty, loyalty, loyalty  

10-4, no switchin' sides  

            I need  

 Loyalty, loyalty, loyalty  

Loyalty, loyalty, loyalty,”

You dropped to your knees, arching your back as your hands slid down your body, feeling the lace and the softness of your skin beneath your fingertips. You let the music take over, your body moving in perfect sync with the beat. The lyrics spoke of loyalty, a deep and unwavering connection, and you channeled that intensity into every motion. You never had that before, but you knew what it was supposed to feel like. 

“Tell me who you loyal to  

Is it money? Is it fame? Is it weed? Is it drink?  

Is it comin' down with the loud pipes and the rain?  

Big chillin', only for the power in your name  

Tell me who you loyal to  

Is it love for the streets when the lights get dark?  

Is it unconditional when the 'Rari don't start?  

Tell me when your loyalty is comin' from the heart”

As the song reached its peak, you stood up, arching your back as you slowly peeled off one of the sheer stockings, teasing him with every movement. You pressed yourself fully against the glass, your body leaving faint impressions in the fog as you moved. You brought your hand up, drawing a small heart in the condensation, before letting it fade away as you continued to dance, your body a silhouette against the light.

“It's so hard to be humble  

  It's so hard to be  

 Lord knows is I'm tryin'  

Lord knows is I'm dyin', 

          baby”

With the final beats of the song, you leaned back against the glass, your breath heavy, your body flush with excitement. You slid down to the floor in a split, letting the music carry you as you reached the end of your routine. As the last notes faded, you expected him to gesture for more, but he remained seated, the shadow of his figure unmoving from the red leather sofa.

On the other side, Bakugou was struggling to keep his composure. His usual mask of indifference was slipping as he watched you, his eyes glued to the screen. The way you danced, the way your body moved in perfect sync with the music— those fucking lyrics — it was driving him crazy. He could feel the heat rising in his face, his heart pounding in his chest as he tried to maintain control.

What was it about you that got under his skin? 

He couldn’t figure it out, but he knew one thing for sure—he didn’t want this to end. When you pressed yourself against the glass, leaving that little heart in the fog, it felt like a direct hit, and he was barely keeping it together. His hands clenched into fists, trying to resist the urge to blow off steam. He felt a bead of sweat trickle down the back of his neck, and he shifted uncomfortably in his seat, trying to regain his composure.

But the truth was, you had him—completely and utterly. And there was no turning back now.

‘Fuck.’

The moment the knock echoed through the room, you nearly jumped out of your skin. The tension in the air was thick enough to cut with a knife, and for a split second, you forgot where you were and what you were doing. Your breath hitched as you tore your gaze away from the mysterious man behind the glass. The knock had shattered the strange, intimate spell that had settled over the two of you.

But he was still there, still watching, still touching the glass where your hand met his. The connection between you felt oddly real, almost tangible through the cold, solid barrier that separated you. You could see his fingers, large and rough, tracing the heart you’d drawn earlier. His touch was gentle, almost reverent, as if he were handling something precious.

You bit the inside of your cheek, trying to ground yourself in the moment. This was just a performance, just another routine. You’d danced for plenty of clients before, had them watch you, admire you, but none of them had ever done this. None of them had touched the glass like this, as if they were trying to reach through and connect with something deeper. It was… unsettling, in a way that made your heart race for reasons you couldn’t quite name.

His hand dwarfed yours, the size difference almost startling. Even with the platform heels giving you extra height, he still towered over you, his presence almost overwhelming. You could feel the heat of his body radiating through the glass, a warmth that seeped into your bones and made your skin tingle.

You hesitated, unsure of what to do next. The whole situation felt surreal, like something out of a dream. But the show had to go on, and you weren’t about to let a little weirdness throw you off your game.

With a deep breath, you slowly moved closer to the glass, stalking up to the barrier with a predatory grace. Your eyes never left his head, trying to read the expression on his face, but the frosted glass obscured his features, leaving only the shadow of his form visible. The only thing clear was his hand, still pressed against the glass where yours had been.

You stopped just inches away, close enough that you could feel the cold emanating from the glass, a stark contrast to the warmth of your body. Your fingers twitched against the surface, and without really thinking, you tapped them lightly, a soft, almost playful gesture. He hesitated for a moment, as if unsure how to respond, before his fingers mirrored yours, tapping back in a gentle rhythm.

A shiver ran down your spine as you watched his other hand trace over the heart you’d left. The realization hit you like a ton of bricks—he was tracing it because you’d left it there for him. You’d drawn that heart in the fog, almost without thinking, and now he was treating it like it meant something. 

And maybe, in some weird, twisted way, it did.

But this was just a show, you reminded yourself. Just a game. You were here to entertain, to give him what he wanted, and that was all. 

Another knock on the door snapped you out of your thoughts. “I don’t hear any music!” the bouncer’s voice called out, a hint of impatience in his tone.

You blinked, realizing you’d been standing there in silence for too long. You glanced back at the glass, at the man whose hand still rested against yours, and for a moment, you considered pulling away. But something in his stillness, in the way he hadn’t tried to push things further, gave you pause. 

You tilted your head slightly, studying him, and he seemed to do the same. The symmetry of the gesture made your heart skip a beat. You were tiny compared to him, almost fragile, yet you felt a strange sense of power in that moment. You tapped your fingers again, and this time, he didn’t hesitate. He tapped back in sync, as if the two of you were communicating in a silent, shared language.

His fingers drifted over the heart again, and you found yourself wondering why he was treating it with such care. Why was he being so delicate, so gentle? This wasn’t what you were used to, not at all.

The bouncer knocked again, louder this time. “Music, now !”

You sighed, rolling your eyes at the interruption, but a small smile tugged at the corner of your lips. The spell was broken, but you weren’t ready to let go just yet. With a final tap against the glass, you backed away, giving him a soft, almost coy look over your shoulder as you moved to restart the music.

---

You finished out the hour without much problem or anything like the glass touching that happened. Part of you felt a little dissappointed at that and you couldn't tell why. He was quiet throughout the rest of the time and left without a word. You wiped yourself down with a towel and threw on a lacy teddy before opening the secret door that was always locked on the clients side. That way you could collect the money after they left and get back behind the glass without anyone seeing you. He left it in the usual place, the table next to the red leather sofa and your heart almost stopped when counted out at least $5000 dollars.

Five thousand dollars!!! Your mind immediately raced back to the live stream and you tried to calm yourself down. This had to be some sort of coicidence. No way this guy actually knew who you were. Then to make matters worse, he left his phone and wallet in the booth. You decided you had to find out for yourself. You let the bouncer know you were done before running back to the dressing rooms.

You knew better than to hand over the stuff to the manager so you would have to find the guy himself. He may he bigger than you, but your shoes were stabbyier. You placed the items in a small purse you sometimes used to help your friends collect tips and stashed your money inside your locker inside your clothes like Marshmellow (Micheal) showed you. You made sure the locker was shut tight and tugged on it for good measure before you rushed back into the floor.

You asked the doorman if anyone with large boots and spiky hair had left yet, who actually wasn't bad, and he assured you he that hadn't but that there was a client that came in with that description so he was probably still inside. You thanked him before taking a big gulp of air and making your way to the center floor. 

The center floor was alive with the buzz of chatter, laughter, and music, and the stages were crowded, but your focus was razor-sharp as you scanned the room. The lights were dim, casting long shadows that danced with the movement of bodies. It was payday, so the place was packed with regulars and new faces alike, all looking for a night of fun. But you were only interested in one man.

Your heart raced as you moved through the crowd, your eyes darting from face to face, searching for the telltale signs—spiky hair, broad shoulders, those heavy boots that echoed with each step. You felt a mix of nerves and adrenaline coursing through your veins, making your steps quick and purposeful. You didn’t even notice the usual stares or the catcalls; your mind was locked on the task at hand.

He left his phone and wallet. What kind of person leaves something so important behind, especially after dropping five thousand dollars without blinking? Maybe all rich dudes really are weird. The thought made your stomach twist. Was he testing you? Or maybe it was just an accident. But you couldn’t shake the feeling that there was something more to this.

As you pushed through the crowd, you felt the small purse slung over your shoulder bump against your hip, the weight of it reminding you of what was inside. His belongings were in your hands, and that gave you a strange sense of nerves. He was bigger, stronger, sure, but you had something he needed. And that meant you had to find him. You clung to that thought, letting it bolster your confidence as you pressed forward.

You spotted Marshmallow—Micheal—across the room, chatting with a group of clients. She caught your eye and gave you a small, encouraging nod. She knew what you were up to, even without you having to say a word. That silent support made you feel a little braver as you approached the center floor.

The room was a blur of lights and movement, but then you saw him. He was near the bar, his back to you, broad shoulders hunched slightly as he leaned against the counter. His spiky hair was unmistakable, even in the dim light. The sight of him sent a jolt of adrenaline through you, and you had to force yourself to slow down, to keep your breathing steady. This was it.

You approached cautiously, your heels clicking against the polished floor. He didn’t seem to notice you at first, too absorbed in whatever thoughts were running through his head. You paused a few feet away, trying to decide how to play this. Should you tap him on the shoulder? Just hand over the stuff and be done with it? Or maybe you should say something more… calculated, something that would keep him intrigued.

Before you could make up your mind, he turned around, as if sensing your presence. His eyes locked onto yours, and for a moment, you felt frozen in place. Up close, he was even more imposing, his sharp features and intense gaze making your heart skip a beat. But you couldn’t back down now. You had a job to do.

“I think you forgot something,” you said, your voice steady despite the fluttering in your chest. You held up the small purse, letting him see that you had his phone and wallet inside.

His eyes flicked to the purse and then back to you. There was a brief flash of something in his expression—surprise? Amusement?—before he reached out to take it. His fingers brushed against yours as he did, and you felt a small spark at the contact, a reminder of the strange connection you’d felt during your routine.

“Thanks,” he said, his voice gruff, but there was a hint of something softer beneath it. “I didn’t even realize.”

You shrugged, playing it cool. “It happens.”

He didn’t say anything else, so you just tucked the purse under your arm as he looked at you with an unreadable expression. The silence stretched between you, thick with unspoken words. You could feel your pulse in your throat, the tension from earlier starting to creep back in. 

“So, was it worth it?” you asked, tilting your head slightly as you tried to read him. “The hour, I mean.”

He raised an eyebrow, his lips quirking into a smirk that was almost too confident for your liking. “More than worth it.”

The way he said it sent a shiver down your spine, but you kept your expression neutral, not letting him see how his words affected you. You weren’t about to let him have the upper hand in this conversation.

“Well, if you’re ever in the mood to lose more of your money, you know where to find me,” you said, flashing him a playful smile.

He chuckled, a deep raspy sound that made your stomach flip. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

With that, you turned and started to walk away, leaving him standing there with a mix of emotions swirling inside. You yourself felt something. Relief, curiosity, and another visitor you couldn’t quite put your finger on. He watched you go, wondering if you’d see him again, and if you did, what that would mean?

And as much as you hated to admit it, a part of you was disappointed that the hour was over.

Maybe it was the intensity of the moment, the way your voice lingered in his mind, or the curiosity that gnawed at you. Before you could completely disappear into the crowd, you took a step forward, your voice catching him mid-stride.

“Wait.”

You stopped, his shoulders tensing slightly before you turned back to face him. He hadn’t planned this far ahead, and now that he had your attention again, he felt his pulse quicken. What were you going to say? You opened your mouth, but the words died on your lips as you found yourself staring directly into his eyes for the first time.

Time seemed to slow as your gazes locked. You felt like you were seeing him for the first time, really seeing him. His face was sharp, rugged, with a defined jawline and intense crimson eyes that seemed to bore straight into you. He had a look about him that was hard to pin down—confident yet guarded, like someone who didn’t let others in. You noticed the way his hair spiked out in unruly directions, a contrast to the disciplined aura he gave off. And then there was that small, almost imperceptible quirk of his lips, as if he wanted to speak but was struggling to.

For Bakugou, the world seemed to narrow down to just you. He hadn’t expected to turn around and see a face that felt so… familiar, yet completely new. Your eyes caught his first, and they were softer than he’d imagined, but there was a brightness in them that intrigued him. He noticed the way your hair framed your face, accentuating the delicate lines of your features. But what struck him most was the expression you wore—equal parts surprise and determination, as if you hadn’t planned on this moment but weren’t going to run from it either. There was something about you that pulled him in, a magnetism he hadn’t felt in a long time, and it made him forget for a moment where he was.

Neither of you said a word, but the silence between you was charged with something unspoken. You felt your breath catch as you realized he was doing the same thing you were—taking in every detail, committing it to memory. It was strange, surreal even, to see the man who had been on the other side of the glass, to see him so close. His intensity was almost overwhelming, and you couldn’t help but feel a shiver of anticipation, or maybe it was nerves, running down your spine.

You both seemed to realize at the same moment that you were staring, and you quickly averted your eyes, a faint blush creeping up your cheeks. He let out a small huff, not quite a laugh, but close enough, and it drew your gaze back to him. There was a look of curiosity in his eyes now, as if he was trying to figure you out, and maybe himself too.

“Well, goodnight.” 

“Yeah, G’night.”

You turned to head back to Micheal letting out a breath you didn’t realize you’d been holding in. As you walked, you couldn’t help but replay the encounter in your mind, trying to make sense of it. 

Later that night, you couldn’t stop thinking about that moment. You were sitting in front of the mirror, wiping off the remnants of your makeup, but your mind was elsewhere. His face, his eyes, the way he looked at you—it all replayed in your head like a loop you couldn’t turn off. You’d seen plenty of clients before, even locked eyes with a few, but this was different. There was something in the way he looked at you, a connection that felt almost tangible, and it left you feeling unsettled in a way you couldn’t quite explain.

You sighed, tossing the makeup wipe into the trash and leaning back in your chair. 'Why did he leave such an impression?' You tried to push the thoughts away, tried to focus on the money you’d made, the success of the night. You even participated in a dance number with the girls and finally had enough to get that new apartment! But his face kept creeping back into your thoughts, making you wonder if you’d see him again, and what it would mean if you did.

At the same time, Bakugou was sprawled out on his bed, one arm thrown over his eyes as he tried to sleep, but he knew it was impossible. Every time he closed his eyes, he saw you. Your face, the way you looked at him, the intensity of it—it was all too vivid. He’d gone to the club looking for a distraction, something to take his mind off the usual, but instead, he found himself thinking about you.

It pissed him off, if he was being honest.

He wasn’t supposed to see you yet. Looking all soft and cute with your little dress hugging you and a blush he couldn’t decipher from makeup or actual nerves.

A moment like that, the memory of you stuck with him, lingering like an itch he couldn’t scratch. The way your eyes had widened slightly when you saw him, the way you hadn’t backed down, it made him wonder who you really were. You were just doing your job, a dancer, nothing more—so why the hell couldn’t he shake you off?

He shifted on the bed, letting out a frustrated breath. Maybe it was nothing, just a fluke, something that would fade by morning. But deep down, he wasn’t so sure. You’d made an impression, and it was going to take a lot more than a sleepless night to get you out of his head. 

But Katsuki knew himself better than that. 

Pulling out his phone, he opened that damned app again and sent you a message. 

Chapter Text

Katsuki Bakugou sat slouched at his desk, his eyes half-lidded as he struggled to stay awake. He’d barely gotten any sleep last night, his mind racing with thoughts he couldn’t quite shake. It was unlike him to be this distracted—he was always the first one in the office, ready to tackle whatever the day threw at him. But today was different.

Kirishima strolled into the office, his usual grin plastered on his face. He could tell something was off with Bakugou the moment he saw him, and he couldn’t resist poking fun at his best friend.

“Yo, Bakubro! What happened? Did you go to bed at 8:31 instead of 8:30 like usual?” Kirishima teased, leaning casually against the doorframe.

Bakugou’s crimson eyes narrowed, the familiar fire flickering back to life despite his exhaustion. Without a word, he raised his hand and sent a small explosion towards Kirishima’s face. The redhead reacted instantly, hardening his skin to absorb the blast without a scratch, the force of it blowing his hair back slightly. He grinned even wider, unfazed by the attack.

“Not in the mood, shitty hair,” Bakugou grumbled, reaching for a bottle of water on his desk and guzzling it down in one go. The cool liquid did little to wake him up, but it was better than nothing.

Kirishima chuckled, sliding a cup of coffee across the desk towards his friend. “Relax, man. You look like you didn’t sleep at all. Maybe we could get you some sleep aids through the company. Or, y’know, you could try those ASMR videos of people cooking. That seems right up your alley.”

Bakugou shot him another glare, but it lacked its usual intensity. He knew Kirishima was just trying to help in his own way, but it only irritated him more. It wasn’t like he could explain what was really bothering him. How was he supposed to tell his best friend that he couldn’t stop thinking about a girl he saw at a club? A girl that he subscribed to and she didn’t even need to get naked. A girl that made him feel alive and seen last night. A girl who returned both his phone and wallet when he forgot them while his head was still reeling from the little heart she left on the glass for him and didn’t touch anything in or on them.

This wasn’t him. He didn’t get hung up on shit like that.

With a heavy sigh, Bakugou slumped back in his chair, letting his eyes drift shut for a moment. “I don’t need that shit. M’fine,” he muttered, though the weariness in his voice betrayed him.

Kirishima softened his gaze, recognizing the weight behind Bakugou’s words. He knew his friend better than anyone, knew when to push and when to back off. This was one of those times where Bakugou needed space, even if he wouldn’t admit it. But that didn’t mean Kirishima wasn’t going to keep an eye on him.

“Alright, man. But if you need to talk, you know I’m here,” Kirishima offered, his tone light, but sincere.

Bakugou grunted in response, still half-asleep but grateful in his own way for the gesture. He leaned back in his chair, staring up at the ceiling as he tried to shake off the lingering thoughts from last night. But no matter how hard he tried, your face, your voice, your touch against the glass—it all kept playing in his mind like a broken record.

Kirishima watched his friend, concern creeping into his features. He wasn’t used to seeing Bakugou like this, so lost in his own head. It wasn’t normal, and that worried him more than anything.

“Seriously, though. You look like crap, Bakugou. Maybe take a break today? I can handle things for a bit.”

Bakugou’s eyes snapped open, a fierce scowl forming on his face as he sat up straight. “Don’t tell me what to do, shitty hair,” he snapped, the fire back in his voice. But there was something different in the way he said it, a tinge of frustration that wasn’t usually there.

Kirishima raised his hands in mock surrender, a playful grin on his face. “Alright, alright. Just take care of yourself, okay?”

Bakugou didn’t respond, his mind already wandering back to you. He hated how much space you were taking up in his thoughts, but the more he tried to push it away, the more it clung to him. What was it about you that had gotten under his skin so easily?

As the morning dragged on, Bakugou couldn’t shake the feeling that something had changed. He wasn’t sure what it was, but he knew one thing for certain—he needed to see you again. And that thought, more than anything, kept him on edge.

---

The apartment was more than you could’ve hoped for. Spacious, clean, and blessedly affordable, it was the perfect place to start the next chapter of your life. The rent, at $750 a month, was a miracle in a city where finding decent housing was like winning the lottery. And the best part? You were only ten minutes away from Mr. Muhammad and Mrs. Yukiji’s apartment, which meant you could still babysit and tutor their kids—something you’d grown to love doing.

Michael had been relentless in pushing you to snag the place the moment it became available. You hadn’t been as eager at first, especially when you found out it was the apartment next to hers, but Michael, with her boundless energy and persuasive charm, had made it impossible to say no. It didn’t hurt that she was in the same major as you, and you’d grown close during your time together at school. 

She was more than just a friend; she was your confidante, the big sister you never had.

The other girls from the club had turned out to be in a similar boat. Students, just like you, all trying to make ends meet while juggling classes and work. When the campus housing became too expensive, even with grants and scholarships, they’d banded together, pooling their resources and looking out for each other like a little family. Michael, ever the leader, had welcomed you into the fold without hesitation. Despite your initial shyness and ironic dislike for physical touch, they adored you. You were their baby, the one they all wanted to protect.

Ruby—or Megumi, as you knew her outside the club—had even offered to help you get back at your ex by having her boyfriend smash his car. The image of sweet, petite Ruby taking a bat to a car was enough to make you laugh, though you quickly turned down the offer, not wanting her boyfriend to get another strike on his record.

Then there was the matter of your safety. Your day job was getting strange, with less projects being sent your way, so you’d confided in Michael about the security tape and microchip you’d taken. Without missing a beat, she’d helped you make copies and store them in a safe, just in case. Two copies were hidden in the Muhammads’ apartment, tucked away where no one would think to look.

Today, the Muhammads were helping you sign the lease for your new apartment. Mr. Muhammad, a kind, soft-spoken man in his early 50s, was a history professor at the local university. His wife, Mrs. Muhammad, was a petite Japanese woman with a serene smile and a talent for making you feel instantly at ease. Their oldest daughter, Amira, was in high school, a bright and driven teenager who reminded you a lot of yourself at that age. Their young son, Kaito, was a bundle of energy, always asking questions and eager to learn about the world around him.

When you introduced Michael as a friend from work, the Muhammads took to her immediately. She joked about you being a good girlfriend, which totally went over their heads, but you threw her a look anyway as she giggled. Michael knew how much the Muhammads meant to you, and she was careful to keep things light and respectful, even if she couldn’t resist teasing you a bit.

As you walked through the apartment, you marveled at how everything had fallen into place. The white walls were pristine, the oak hardwood floors gleamed in the afternoon light, and the kitchen was small but functional—a perfect fit for someone who wasn’t exactly a master chef. (C0ugh *you* cOuGh) The two bedrooms were cozy, with plenty of closet space, and the living room had a large window that overlooked a quiet, tree-lined street.

The extra furniture, courtesy of your generous subscribers, was a bit harder to explain. You and Michael had frantically hidden it inside her apartment until you could put it all together later. The night before you and her skipped work to take the train to your job’s building. Why? Because you weren’t gonna tell the sweet old couple where the furniture came from. 

Micheal was surprised that your old car, affectionately called "the lemon," was still running after you recovered it from your day job's parking lot. You playfully told her to hush, not wanting to jinx it. The two of you piled in and raced home to perform a “reverse breakin” knowing that the building’s tenants would be up soon and you really didn’t wanna catch your ex before his morning run. 

You didn’t even care that it was a very empty apartment. You had freedom that no one could take away from you. You were living by yourself for the first time ever and that was a big deal. 

The place was a blank canvas, waiting for your own personal touch.

Once the lease was signed and the keys were handed over, you all pitched in to move your actual things. It went surprisingly smoothly, considering your limited resources. Michael made sure to lighten the mood with her usual jokes, and even Mr. Muhammad cracked a smile as he helped carry in a particularly heavy box. By the time you were done, the apartment was filled with the sounds of laughter and the comforting buzz of a new home being settled into.

That evening, you decided to thank the Muhammads by cooking dinner for them. It was a modest attempt—nothing fancy, just a simple stir-fry and some rice—but you wanted to show your appreciation. The stir-fry had been a bit more adventurous than you’d planned, and you’d accidentally set off the alarms with some overzealous seasoning. As you bustled around the kitchen, you could hear the family joking in the living room about how it was good you were testing out the smoke alarms. 

So take out it was!

Sitting down to dinner with them felt like a small piece of normalcy in your otherwise chaotic life. They were your family now, and as you shared a meal together, you felt a sense of warmth and belonging that had been missing for a long time. The Muhammads’ daughter, Amira, asked you about your classes and asked if you would come to her volleyball tournament. Kaito, their son, was more interested in showing you his latest LEGO creation, proudly displaying it on the dining table as you all ate.

Mrs. Yukiji complimented you on the meal, her eyes twinkling with amusement as she assured you the smoke alarm incident was just part of the learning process. Mr. Muhammad, ever the gentle old guy, simply smiled and nodded, grateful for the effort you’d put in.

As the evening wound down and you walked them to the door, you felt a swell of gratitude for the way they’d welcomed you into their lives. It wasn’t just about signing the lease or moving into a new apartment; it was about building a support system, about knowing you weren’t alone in the world. You had Michael and the girls, the Muhammads, and even your new subscribers, all playing a part in helping you find your footing again.

‘I should do another show soon.’

And as you stood in your new apartment, the sounds of the city filtering in through the window, you felt something you hadn’t in a long time: hope.

While you wash the dishes, Mrs. Yukiji approaches you quietly, her usual warm smile replaced with a concerned expression. She gently taps your shoulder, drawing you away from the sink. 

“Sweetheart,” she begins, her voice soft but serious, “I need to talk to you about something.” She reaches into her apron pocket and pulls out a small, yellow package. “This arrived for you, but… it’s from him.”

Your heart skips a beat at the mention of his name, and you can feel your breath catch in your throat. Kyoya—the one person you’ve been trying so hard to avoid, the reason you’d gone through all this trouble to stay off the grid.

Mrs. Yukiji sighs, her eyes filled with motherly concern. “I didn’t mean to snoop, but I’ve been trying to get all your mail redirected to your new place. When I saw this, I thought it was best to let you know right away.” She gently places the package in your hand.

“He’s been asking about you,” she continues, her brow furrowing slightly. “Living with us might have helped you stay hidden, but… you should be careful, my dear. You never know with men like that.”

You feel a rush of mixed emotions—fear, anxiety, but also a sense of safety standing here with her. 

“I don’t know what’s in that package, but…” Mrs. Yukiji’s voice softens further as she reaches up to kiss your temple, her short stature requiring her to stretch a bit. “Maybe you should open it at the police station, just in case it’s something… unpleasant. We’re here for you, remember that.”

Her words, though unsettling, carry the warmth and love that only someone who truly cares about you could offer.

Mrs. Yukiji gives you one last reassuring smile before she heads back to the living room. You watch her return to the cozy space, where Michael immediately makes room for her on the couch. The two of them share a brief exchange, and then Michael's gaze shifts back to you, her eyebrows lifting in curiosity.

You hold up the small yellow package, its presence a stark contrast to the warm, homey atmosphere of your new apartment. Michael tilts her head, a silent question in her eyes. You mouth the words, "Ex-man," with a touch of exasperation.

Michael's response is immediate and dramatic. She rolls her eyes, then, making sure no one else is watching, she pretends to choke herself, her expression a comically exaggerated mix of annoyance and disgust. The sight makes you stifle a laugh, your shoulders shaking with quiet giggles.

You set the package down inside the trash can, it doesn’t deserve a place in your new life—not on your new kitchen counters, not anywhere in this apartment that’s quickly becoming your sanctuary.

The small act of discarding it feels like a weight lifted from your chest, and when you glance back at Michael, she gives you a subtle thumbs-up, her eyes twinkling with approval.

You didn’t know what kind of statement he was trying to make but he could take it and shove it straight up his-

“The shows back on!”

“I’m coming!”

–

Up on the rooftop, Bakugou and Kirishima sit with their legs dangling over the edge, enjoying the fresh air as they dig into their convenience store haul. The city hums beneath them, but the height offers a certain peace that neither of them can get on the crowded streets below. Bakugou munches on a sandwich, the coffee he picked up doing little to shake the exhaustion clinging to him. Kirishima, always on alert, keeps watch while they eat, his eyes scanning the horizon.

Kirishima breaks the silence first, biting into an apple before glancing over at his friend. “You going back to that club tonight?”

Bakugou shrugs, hunching over as he chews, clearly not interested in the conversation. 

“Come on, bro,” Kirishima continues, trying to sound lighthearted. “I love seeing you get out there, but this isn’t the way to start living your life. You’re gonna get brain rot.” He tosses the rest of his apple toward Bakugou, who catches it effortlessly and glares at him.

“If I did, it’s from hanging out with you for so long,” Bakugou snaps back, rubbing his tired eyes. The coffee isn’t doing its job, but he refuses to pump himself full of those sugary energy drinks that make him feel like crap later.

Kirishima just grins and scoots a little closer. “Come on, man, you gonna tell me what’s up or am I not your bestie anymore?”

Bakugou groans, burying his face in his hands. “I met someone.”

Silence hangs in the air, and when Bakugou looks up, he sees Kirishima staring blankly at him, mouth slightly open.

“What?” Bakugou barks, annoyed.

“Nothing, nothing. Continue.” Kirishima quickly shakes himself out of it, but there’s a hint of surprise lingering on his face.

Bakugou glares, but then sighs, the weight of his thoughts pushing down on him. “I met someone at one of those stupid hangouts Pikachu organized. Now I can’t stop thinking about them.”

Kirishima props his chin on his fist, considering this. “Did you not grab their number or something?”

“No.”

“So you’ve been bummed because you met someone you were interested in and didn’t take a chance?”

“Her.”

“Excuse me?”

“I didn’t grab her number,” Bakugou clarifies, emphasizing the word with a scowl.

Kirishima blinks rapidly, processing this new information. “You got something to say?” Bakugou challenges, a dangerous edge to his tone.

“No, no, I just—well, I’m a little surprised,” Kirishima admits, holding up his hands in surrender. “So you’ve been going back, hoping to run into her again?”

“I do run into her, but she’s on the clock, and I don’t wanna mess up her shifts.”

Kirishima, assuming this mystery woman must be a bartender or something similar, nods sagely. “Ah, yeah, bro, it’s not manly to hit on someone while they’re working.”

Bakugou grunts in agreement, still looking a little lost in his thoughts. 

“Tell that to your fangirls,” Bakugou adds, his tone a mix of irritation and amusement. “Would it kill you to put on a shirt once in a while?” Kirishima laughs, the sound booming through the quiet evening air. “Hey! You get crowded way more than me, and the shirt would get ruined anyway! It would be like trying to groom a pineapple!” 

Despite himself, Bakugou smirks at that, shaking his head. “You’re such a dumbass.”

“Yeah, but I’m your dumbass,” Kirishima shoots back with a grin, bumping Bakugou’s shoulder playfully. “And I’m telling you, man, you gotta figure this out. Whether you want to admit it or not, this is getting to you.”

Bakugou looks out at the skyline, his smirk fading as his thoughts drift back to the club, to the mysterious woman who’s somehow taken root in his mind. Maybe Kirishima’s right. Maybe he needs to do something about this before it drives him crazy.

His eyes narrowed as he stared out at the city, the cool breeze doing little to calm the turmoil in his mind. He had half a mind to pull out his phone and check it—just to see if you had responded to his message—but he stopped himself. It was a stupid idea. He knew it. The last thing he needed was to get caught up in something that would only distract him more.

With a frustrated sigh, he shoved his phone deeper into his pocket, deciding to ignore it for now. Kirishima was finishing up his sandwich, glancing over at Bakugou every now and then with a concerned look.

The minutes dragged on, each one feeling like an eternity as they finished their patrol. The usual rhythm of their shift felt off, each passing second grating against Bakugou’s nerves. He could hardly focus on anything else, his mind continuously drifting back to that night, to you, and how you had somehow managed to take up residence in his thoughts.

Finally, the clock ticked over, signaling the end of their shift. Bakugou almost bolted for the door, eager to escape the endless loop of thoughts running through his mind. But as they were getting ready to leave, he vaguely remembered something his manager had mentioned earlier—something about a meeting with another agency. He brushed it off for now, deciding that whatever it was, it could wait. All he wanted was to go home and try to decompress.

Kirishima, always considerate, ordered takeout for dinner. He knew Bakugou would come out later, like a rat in the night, to eat whatever was left. When they got home, Kirishima made sure to leave Bakugou’s food in the fridge, his way of looking out for his best friend.

“Hey, I’m heading out with Mina,” Kirishima said as he popped his head into Bakugou’s room, checking in one last time before he left. “You good?”

“Yeah, I’m fine,” Bakugou grumbled, though they both knew it was a half-truth at best.

Kirishima gave him a reassuring smile. “Alright, man. Try to get some rest, okay?”

Bakugou nodded, already turning over in bed as Kirishima flicked off the lights, leaving only the lamp and bathroom light on. The AC hummed softly, keeping the room at a comfortable level.

Despite how much he wanted to sleep, Bakugou found himself wide awake, staring up at the ceiling with red, swollen eyes. The exhaustion weighed on him, but his mind refused to shut down. He kept replaying everything—your face, the way you moved, the sound of your voice. It all kept circling in his head, a constant reminder of what he couldn’t seem to let go.

He clenched his fists, frustrated with himself for letting this get to him. This wasn’t like him. He was Katsuki Bakugou, for crying out loud. He didn’t let things like this mess with his head. And yet, here he was, unable to find peace, unable to shake the feeling that something was missing.

‘You know what’s missing.’

The night dragged on, the quiet ticking of the clock only serving to amplify the silence in his room. Bakugou closed his eyes, willing sleep to come, but all he could see was you—dancing in his mind, haunting his every thought.

"Lemme find out that bitch quirked me," Bakugou muttered under his breath, the frustration evident in his voice. He kicked the blankets off the mattress, feeling the oppressive heat of the night suffocating him. The city's lights, filtering in through the blinds, cast a harsh glare across his room, making it feel even hotter. The bed seemed to cling to him, its scratchy fabric rubbing against his skin in a way that only heightened his discomfort.

He tossed and turned, replaying the evening over and over in his mind. Despite taking a shower earlier, he felt as though he needed another one, desperate to wash away the residual restlessness clinging to him. 

But it wasn’t just physical discomfort; it was the emotional turmoil that gnawed at him. The moment your eyes met, there was something so profoundly different about you. 

He couldn’t stop thinking about how soft and delicate your features had been, how you had looked so soft  and huggable. The warmth in his stomach had spread to his chest, a feeling that was both alien and oddly comforting. You had respected his personal space, never making things awkward, never pushing boundaries. It was a rare feeling for him—being treated with such genuine humanity without any judgment.

The warmth in his chest felt like a conflicting beacon, pulling him towards thoughts of you even as he tried to push them away. He rolled over to glance at the clock on his bedside table, the bright red digits glaring back at him: 12:05 AM.

Bakugou groaned, dragging a hand through his tousled hair. This was ridiculous. He couldn’t let a simple encounter with someone mess with his head like this. He needed to get some sleep, to clear his mind. But the more he tried to push the thoughts away, the more vividly they replayed in his head—the glow of your features, the way you had made him feel seen, the peculiar comfort that came from being in your presence.

He let out a frustrated sigh and buried his face in his pillow. Maybe it was just a fleeting connection, something that would fade with time. But for now, the city's lights and the ticking of the clock seemed to mock him, keeping him wide awake as he wrestled with the feelings that had unexpectedly crept into his life.

Bakugou closed his eyes, willing himself to steady his breathing. The room was still, save for the soft hum of the air conditioning and the faint sounds of the city outside. He focused on his breath, in and out, trying to anchor himself in the present. But as much as he tried to push the thoughts away, his mind wandered back to you. The memory of your dance played in his head like a vivid daydream, accompanied by the beat of that song you had chosen for him.

He had been listening to it on his Spotify since that night. The lyrics had burrowed into his brain, especially that one line that made it feel so personal. He knew he was an arrogant asshole—he was better than he was in high school, but that line had hit something deeper. As the song played in his head, he could almost see your silhouette, the way you had moved so fluidly, so intimately, like you were dancing just for him.

Katsuki shifted on his bed, his fingers absentmindedly drumming against the mattress as the scene replayed in his mind. The way your body moved, the way your eyes had locked onto his even through the barrier of glass. It had felt so personal, as if you knew him, really knew him, in a way no one else did. He could feel the tension in his chest, the yearning to hold you, to reach out and touch you, to feel the warmth of your skin against his.

But at the same time, he hesitated. He didn't want to mess everything up with his abrasive personality or his bad attitude. He didn't want to come off as a prick or discover that you weren't anything like the version of you he had built up in his head. The fear of ruining something before it even had a chance to begin gnawed at him.

He clenched his fists, his knuckles turning white against the dark sheets, and then released them, repeating the action several times as if it could somehow dispel the restless energy coursing through him. The song's lyrics echoed in his mind, the word "loyalty" standing out above the rest. Bakugou hated liars. He hated posers. He hated pushy people who invaded his space. He could at least tolerate his former classmates, even if they were dumbasses most of the time. But with you... it was different. You hadn’t pushed. You hadn’t judged. You had just been there, existing in his space without making him feel crowded.

And then there was that heart you had drawn on the glass.

His breath hitched at the memory. That simple, playful gesture had done something to him. It had felt like a connection, something unspoken but real. He wanted to reach out, to touch that heart, to feel the warmth behind it. But at the same time, he was terrified of shattering the peace you seemed to have.

Katsuki sat up, running a hand through his messy hair, the strands sticking up at odd angles. The red digits on his clock now read 12:15 AM, and the night felt like it would never end. He swung his legs over the side of the bed, his feet hitting the cool floor. The tension in his body refused to ease, and he found himself standing up, pacing the small space of his room. The shadows shifted with his movements, the city lights casting faint patterns on the walls.

He stopped by the window, staring out at the city below, his hands gripping the windowsill. He wanted to see you again, to experience that connection once more. But he was torn—between wanting to pull you into his life and wanting to keep his distance, afraid of what might happen if he let himself get too close. 

Bakugou sighed, the sound heavy in the quiet of the room, and leaned his forehead against the cool glass of the window. He didn’t have answers, only the frustrating knowledge that you had gotten under his skin in a way no one else ever had. 

And now, he didn’t know how to get you out.

Bakugou gripped the curtains beside him, his fingers twisting the fabric as he closed his eyes and forced himself to relive that moment. That stupid, reckless moment when he had stood up and placed his hand on the glass, reaching out to you without thinking. 

He couldn’t see you clearly through the barrier, but he could tell you were smaller than him—tiny, almost. The way your head tilted when you noticed his hand against the glass made his heart lurch, and for a second, he almost pulled away, knowing he had startled you.

But something had kept him there. Stubbornness, or desire—he didn’t know what it was, but he willed himself to stay, to hold his ground. And then you did it. You placed your smaller hand against his, mirroring his gesture, and in that instant, he swore he felt something stir within him. It was as if his heart had started beating again, pounding against his ribs with a force he hadn’t felt in a long time.

Hot electricity had shot through his fingertips, through his palm, down his arm, and into his chest. The sensation had been overwhelming, pooling around his heart, suffusing it with warmth and life. It was as if you had reached inside him and jump-started it, breathing new energy into something that had been dormant for far too long. The intensity of it had taken him by surprise, and for a moment, he’d felt utterly exposed, vulnerable in a way he hadn’t allowed himself to be in years.

‘Might as well have shot me,’ he thought, a bitter laugh bubbling up in his throat. No, it was more than that. It was like you had stabbed him, plunged a knife into his chest. Stabbing was much more intimate, after all—something personal, something that you had to think out. "Fuck, no. Don’t think like that," he muttered under his breath, shaking his head as if to dislodge the thought.

His grip on the curtains tightened, his knuckles turning white as he shut his eyes again, trying to block out the image of you standing there, just on the other side of that glass. When he opened his eyes, he felt sick, the room spinning around him as he looked down at the city below. The bright lights that usually made him feel alive now made him dizzy, disoriented, like the ground beneath him was shifting. He wasn’t afraid of heights—he never had been—so why did it feel like the floor was falling out from under him?

Why was there a sharp pain in his chest, like something was tearing him apart from the inside? 

His breath hitched, and for the first time in a long time, Bakugou felt like he was drowning in emotions he couldn’t control. The city stretched out beneath him, vast and indifferent, and he felt so small, so insignificant against it all. He hated feeling like this, hated the weakness that gnawed at him. 

Why couldn’t you be here to save him? 

The thought was irrational, pathetic even, but it clawed at him, a desperate longing he couldn’t shake. He didn’t need saving—he never had. He was Katsuki Bakugou, for fuck’s sake. He was strong, capable, a force to be reckoned with. But right now, all he wanted was for you to be there, to pull him out of this spiral before it swallowed him whole. 

He released the curtains and stumbled back from the window, his breath coming in ragged gasps. His hand pressed against his chest as if he could somehow calm the storm raging inside him, but it was no use. You weren’t there, and he was left to face the crushing emptiness on his own.

Bakugou’s mind was a chaotic mess, torn between the urge to race down to your club and the instinct to keep his distance. How desperate would he have to be to show up there, to corner you with his feelings? He could already imagine it—the awkward encounter, the way you’d probably smile politely while thinking of the countless other clients who had begged for your attention, begged you to go out with them. He wasn’t just another guy, he knew that. But would you see him that way?

The thought of fucking everything up gnawed at him. What if he came off as a stalker, some creep who couldn’t take a hint? And what if—God, what if you were already in a relationship? What if you were happy with someone else, someone who wasn’t an arrogant, short-tempered asshole like him? The idea made him sick, but it was a reality he had to consider.

How selfish did he need to be before he lost his morality?

The question echoed in his mind, and for a moment, he was frozen in place, staring out at the city lights. But then something inside him snapped. He couldn’t stand the uncertainty, the not knowing. He had to do something—anything to alleviate the pressure building in his chest.

Without thinking, he turned away from the window and went back to his bed, grabbing his phone off the nightstand. His fingers were trembling as he unlocked it and scrolled through his messages, searching for the one he had sent you earlier. It was simple, direct, but it had taken him way too long to hit send.

Spiceman420: “You streaming tonight?”

That was it. He’d stared at the screen for what felt like an eternity before finally sending it. It wasn’t much, but it was all he could manage without sounding like a complete idiot. 

Now, as he sat on the edge of his bed, he hesitated again. His thumb hovered over the screen, debating whether to check if you’d responded. He could feel his heart pounding in his chest, his anxiety growing with each passing second. But eventually, he couldn’t resist. He tapped the message thread and felt his breath hitch when he saw that you were online—right now.

His heart did somersaults as he saw the small notification indicating that you had replied. With a mix of dread and hope, he opened the message.

xxPrincess Diamondxx: “Hey! Sorry I missed your message. :p I was soo tired but I’m doing a little something tonight. I was hoping you’d join me :) Here’s a personal invite just for you.”

You’d sent him a direct invite to your stream, something personal, just for him. Bakugou’s heart raced as he read the words over and over, his mind struggling to process that you had actually reached out to him, that you had thought of him. His fingers trembled as he fumbled for his earbuds, desperate to hear your voice again, even if it was only through a screen.

He quickly accepted the invite, feeling his nerves spike as the screen loaded. The cool night air brushed against his skin as he unlocked the window and stepped outside, needing the fresh air to steady himself. He sat on the ledge, his feet dangling over the side as he waited for the stream to start. The city lights below shimmered like a sea of stars, but all he could focus on was the anticipation building in his chest.

As the stream connected, the familiar interface of the platform greeted him, and he took a deep breath. He was about to see you again, even if it was just a virtual encounter. The thought both thrilled and terrified him. He didn’t know what to expect, didn’t know if he was ready to face you again, but there was no turning back now.

The screen flickered, and there you were. His breath caught in his throat as he saw you appear, the soft glow of your setup highlighting your features. You looked just as beautiful as he remembered, maybe even more so. The sight of you sent a wave of warmth through his body, the tension in his shoulders easing slightly as he settled in to watch.

His fingers clenched around the phone, his heart still pounding as he tried to calm his racing thoughts. He didn’t know what was going to happen next, but for now, he was content just to be here, just to see you. He adjusted his earbuds and leaned back against the window frame, letting the cool night air wash over him as he watched you, the tension in his chest slowly giving way to a strange sense of peace.

—-

You and Michael spent hours putting together that furniture, each piece stubbornly resisting your efforts until you finally caved and called some friends for backup. They brought their boyfriends along, who managed to figure out the assembly after watching a few YouTube videos. Finally, your guest bedroom transformed into a cuter, more posh version of your old basement setup.

The room is undeniably feminine and inviting, with soft pink bedsheets draped over a plush, cozy bed that beckons you to sink into it. The furniture, painted in delicate shades of white and cream, has a vintage charm, with intricate details and personal touches scattered throughout. A vanity sits against one wall, its mirror framed by warm lights, perfect for your evening rituals. The decor reflects your personality—elegant yet playful, with framed photos, scented candles, and soft throws adding warmth to the space.

You’ve lit some candles, their flickering flames casting a soft glow around the room. Your new guest bedroom is a cozy, feminine retreat, far more inviting than the old basement setup. You slip into your cherry red robe, the silky fabric hugging your figure nicely. The robe, a recent purchase, was a little indulgence you allowed yourself, and every time you put it on, it ironically reminds you of a client’s eyes. His intense gaze had left a lasting impression, one that still lingers in your mind. 

But you shake off the thought as you prepare for the night.

As you go live, the chat comes alive with messages, tips, and comments pouring in from your adoring fans. You smile, welcoming everyone warmly and explaining that after a whirlwind of life changes, you wanted to share a relaxing, intimate night with them. 

The atmosphere in the chat is buzzing with affection and curiosity as they ask you questions, their excitement palpable through the screen. You're in control, dictating the pace, and it feels empowering. Tonight, you're going to unwind with them, but on your terms.

You continue with your nightly routine, grabbing your toothbrush and toothpaste. The chat buzzes with activity as you brush your teeth, some viewers commenting on how meticulous you are while others ask about your skincare products. Once your teeth are brushed, you reach for your moisturizer, applying it in gentle circles across your face.

BlushBerry: “Your skin literally glows! I need your entire skincare line!”

LunarDreamer:“I love how thorough you are with everything. It’s so relaxing to watch.”

You smile, feeling the cool moisturizer absorb into your skin. “Thanks, guys. I try to be consistent. It’s like a little ritual for me every night.”

With your skin now hydrated and fresh, you move to the closet, taking your time to pick out an outfit for work tomorrow. You slide the hangers across the rod before settling on something particularly spicy—a black, lacy bodysuit with sheer panels, paired with a sleek denim mini skirt and thigh-high boots. You hold the outfit up for the camera, grinning mischievously as the chat erupts.

Yourmom69: “Whoa, that’s hot! What’s the occasion?”*

ShadowKnight: “Damn, that’s a killer outfit. Can we get a full view?”

You chuckle as you lay the outfit out on the bed, adjusting the camera to show it off. “Let’s just say I like to keep things interesting. Gotta keep the workday spicy, right?”

Retrofan23: “What do you do for work that you get to wear something like that?”

You tilt your head playfully, leaning closer to the camera. “Oh, you know...I like to keep secrets. Any ideas?” You shoot them a teasing wink, watching as the chat goes wild with guesses ranging from model to dancer to secret agent.

As you finish setting up for tomorrow, you prop your phone against a stack of textbooks, making sure the angle captures you perfectly. You slip into bed, the plush pink sheets almost swallowing you whole as you sink into the mattress. The softness is immediately soothing, and you can’t help but let out a small, content sigh as you settle in.

The chat explodes again, filled with compliments and heart emojis.

GoldenSunset: “You look so cute and comfy! Those sheets are everything.”

VelvetRose: “That bed looks like heaven! And you in it? Perfection.”

You smile, feeling the warmth of the bed and the affectionate words from your viewers. As you shift slightly, your robe loosens, revealing the little white shorts you’re wearing underneath. The movement also causes the robe to slip off one shoulder, teasing just a hint of cleavage, enough to drive the chat wild.

StarGazer88: “Those shorts! 😍 And dem shoulders girl… wow.”*

FrightenedFae: “No bra? You’re spoiling us!”*

You laugh softly, pulling the robe back up a bit but leaving it just loose enough to keep them guessing. “You guys are too much. But hey, it’s all about comfort, right? Gotta be cozy before bed.”

Yourmom69: “You’re killing me with these vibes. It’s like I’m right there with you.”

You lean back against the pillows, relaxing as the chat continues to buzz with energy. “So, what about you guys? What do you do to unwind before bed? Any special routines?”

The responses come in quickly, with viewers sharing their own nightly rituals, from reading to meditating to watching their favorite shows. The exchange is easy and familiar, a reminder of the connection you’ve built with your community. You feel a sense of peace and contentment wash over you, knowing that you’ve created a space where everyone can come together, share, and simply be themselves.

Bakugou sat on his fire escape, the cool night air doing little to calm the heat simmering in his chest. His phone was propped up on his knee, earbuds snug in his ears, and his eyes glued to the screen where you were live, talking and interacting with your viewers. He wished it wasn’t just pixels. The way you moved, the way you smiled—it all felt so real, but also so far out of reach. 

He hated it. Hated how he felt jealous of these random extras, these faceless usernames who got to see parts of you, even if it was just a sliver of your world. He clenched his jaw, trying to shake the feeling. It was crazy, irrational even, but the thought of sharing you with anyone made his blood boil. He wanted you all for himself. No sharing, no competing with anyone else for your attention.

The way you teased your viewers, that playful glint in your eye as you read their comments, only made it worse. Bakugou leaned forward, his grip on his phone tightening. The robe you were wearing had slipped just enough to show a hint of your bare shoulder, and the chat was going wild. He let out a frustrated breath, eyes narrowing as he caught sight of more tips rolling in, each one paired with comments that made his skin crawl.

“This is stupid,” he muttered to himself, though his eyes never left the screen. His thumb hovered over the button to close out the stream, to just shut it all down, but he couldn’t bring himself to do it. Instead, he scrolled down to the premium options, his heart hammering in his chest. He knew it was a line he shouldn’t cross, but he was already too far gone.

With a few taps, he purchased the premium package, a part of him cursing himself for being so damn desperate. The screen flickered, and suddenly, he had access to all the exclusive content—photos, videos, things you didn’t share with the general public. 

The first thing he did was pull up one of the videos, the thumbnail alone making his breath hitch. You were sitting in that same plush bed, the one he had just seen live, but this time, you were holding the camera, your voice low and intimate as you spoke to whoever was watching. Him, now. 

His mind raced as he watched, every word you said feeling like it was directed at him, like you knew exactly what he wanted to hear. The way you moved, the way you looked directly into the camera—it was all so personal, so intoxicatingly close, and yet still just out of his reach.

He could hear you asking the viewers questions, your voice soft and teasing, like you were right there beside him. You were brushing your teeth now, the mundane task somehow feeling so intimate, and Bakugou couldn’t help but imagine what it would be like to share those moments with you, to be the one in your space, not just another username in a chat.

When you held up that outfit—damn, that outfit—his breath caught in his throat. The chat was going wild, and he could feel his own heartbeat quicken as you laid the clothes out, teasing the viewers with a playful smirk. He could almost hear you in his head, taunting him with that same mischievous tone. 

You were speaking again, responding to a question about why you chose such a risky outfit. “What do you think I do for work?” you teased, your eyes glinting with amusement. 

Bakugou swallowed hard, his eyes locked on the screen. He could feel the heat rising in his chest again, that possessiveness creeping back in. How could these idiots not know? How could they not see what he saw?

He watched as you set up your phone, getting ready to climb into bed, the chat lighting up with compliments and guesses about your job. His eyes followed every movement, his mind racing with thoughts he couldn’t push away. The robe slipped down further, revealing the little white shorts you were wearing underneath, and the fact that you weren’t wearing a bra was painfully obvious now. 

“Damn it,” he muttered, running a hand through his hair, his frustration mounting. You were so close, just within reach, and yet all he had were these damn videos and livestreams. It wasn’t enough. It would never be enough.

He could feel his hands trembling as he adjusted his earbuds, his focus entirely on you now. The way you interacted with the chat, the way you responded to the endless stream of comments—it all felt so natural, so effortless. You were everything he didn’t know he wanted, and it was driving him insane.

But he couldn’t stop. Even as his mind screamed at him to shut it down, to stop torturing himself with something he could never have, he couldn’t tear his eyes away. He didn’t want to be just another viewer, another faceless fan. He wanted more, needed more. 

As you settled into bed, your robe slipping just enough to tease, Bakugou’s heart raced. He didn’t care about the others watching, didn’t care about the chat or the tips. All he could think about was you, the way you looked, the way you spoke, the way you made him feel. And in that moment, he knew he was hooked. 

But damn, did it make him feel like a fool.

You snuggle into your pillow, feeling its softness beneath your cheek as the chat continues to buzz with activity. Messages flood in, viewers asking all sorts of questions about your routine and your life.

xxPinkswirl: "Why don’t you have any plushies on your bed? You’d look so cute with them!"

The question catches you off guard. For a moment, a flicker of a memory—your ex cutting and burning your beloved stuffed animals—flashes through your mind. Fucking asshole couldn't stand not being the center of your attention. Anything that wasn't him, had to go. The fear of anything not plain has lingered, but you push the thought aside and smile at the camera.

“I just haven’t gotten around to it yet,” you say, voice light. “But I do love plushies!”

The chat explodes with comments, viewers finding your response adorable.

Yourmom69: "Aww, what kinds do you like?" 

You giggled, your fingers playing with the edge of your robe. "Big, soft ones that I can really squeeze. Maybe something with a cute face that makes you just want to cuddle it all day." You were resting on your pillow again with your leg propped up. 

StarGazer88: "We need to get you some plushies ASAP!" 

Retrofan23: "Can we send you some? 😍"

FrightenedFae: I’ll be your plushie

Bakugou watches from his fire escape, a mix of emotions churning inside him. He feels a pang of embarrassment for wanting to keep you all to himself, even though he knows it’s irrational. The thought of others seeing this soft, intimate side of you drives him a little crazy. Without hesitation, he navigates to your shopping list, searching for a way to make your space feel more personal, more like home. But when he finds it empty, a surge of determination courses through him. He needs to ask you directly.

He buys some outfits you have on there, the extra cost barely registering in his mind as he clicks through your photos and videos, heart pounding with every new image. The way you move, the softness in your voice, even in these small moments, he’s captivated.

Back in your room, you notice a question from a username you don’t immediately recognize.

Spiceman420: “What kind of plushies do you want?”

You pause, a smile spreading across your face as you read the message. “Hmm, I think I’d love anything soft and cuddly—maybe a big bear. I need something cute and fluffy,” you reply, voice softening. “What about you all? What’s your favorite kind?”

The chat lights up again, and Bakugou leans back against the cool metal railing, his heart beating just a little faster as he imagines surprising you with something you’d love.

Yourmom69: "What’s your favorite comfort food?"

You stretched out, letting the soft bed cradle you as you thought about it. "Definitely mac and cheese," you replied with a playful smirk. "But it has to be the really cheesy kind, none of that watery stuff."

StarGazer88: "Are you into any video games?"

You rolled your eyes in a bratty manner. "Maybe, but only if they don’t waste my time," you teased, winking at the camera. "I get bored easily, so it better be worth it."

As you answered, Bakugou was leaning against the railing of his fire escape, tablet balanced on his knee, while his phone screen was filled with images of teddy bears. He kept scrolling, determined to find one that matched your description—something big, soft, and with an endearing little face.

Retrofan23: "Do you have any guilty pleasures?"

You bit your lip, pretending to ponder the question before answering. "Maybe," you said, dragging out the word. "But if I told you, it wouldn’t be a secret, would it?"

Bakugou’s heart skipped a beat as he watched you, his fingers still tapping away on his phone. He found a bear that seemed perfect—soft, huggable, and with an expression that almost screamed, “Cuddle me.” He paused, contemplating before sending a message to you.

FrightenedFae: "What’s your favorite time of year?"

You grinned, curling into the pillow a bit more. "Winter," you answered, your tone a bit softer. "I love the cold, cozy nights, hot cocoa, and the way everything feels a little more magical."

Total lie actually. You hated not celebrating because of that jerk. But you wanted to experience it like in the movies and TV shows that kept you company. Spring was always better because it meant that your depression was over and summer would be there soon to warm you up again. 

Bakugou’s breath hitched as he readied himself to send the message. He was nervous—something that didn’t happen often, but this was different. You were different.

Spiceman420: Found something that might be your type. Mind if I send it your way?

He sent the message, his thumb hovering over the screen as if he could somehow will a response from you. Meanwhile, you were adjusting your phone, propping it against a pillow to get a better angle, unaware of the chaos you were causing in the chat.

Yourmom69: “I’m still caught up on the lack of plushies. I wanna see you surrounded by them!” 

“Maybe I'll start a new collection soon.~"

As the chat exploded with suggestions, Bakugou’s phone buzzed with your reply. His eyes widened slightly, and his pulse quickened as he read your response, a small smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. He quickly started searching for the best way to get that bear to you, his mind filled with thoughts of how you’d react when you saw it. He could picture you holding it close, smiling—maybe even thinking of him when you did.

You laugh again, the sound light and genuine as you shake your head. "You guys are being too generous," you say, warmth seeping into your tone. "But fine, I’ll make a list. Just one plushie at a time, though! That way, no one gets left out."

As the chat continues to buzz with excitement, Bakugou leans back against the wall, his heart still racing. His hand grips his phone tightly, and he can’t help the small smirk tugging at his lips. Watching you smile at his gift, even through a screen, feels oddly fulfilling.

He glances at the time on his tablet, realizing how long he’s been watching, but he doesn’t care. For now, he’s content to stay right where he is, just a little closer to you, even if it’s through a screen.

You scan through the chat, eyes catching a message you’d somehow missed. "Oh no, did I miss something from Spiceman420 ?" you ask aloud, teasingly adding, "Go ahead, but it better not be anything weird!" You laugh softly, leaning back against your pillows, the light from your screen casting a soft glow over your face.

Meanwhile, Bakugou is sitting on the edge of his bed, his tablet propped up on a makeshift stand of books and a few old magazines. His fingers hover over his phone screen as he quickly types the link to a fluffy blond teddy bear he’d found, slamming it into the chat. The moment he hits send, his heart races, watching for your reaction.

Your screen lights up with the image of the teddy bear, and the chat immediately bursts into a chorus of oo’s and awe’s. 

Yourmom69: That’s so cute!  

StarGazer88: Awww, I love it!  

Retrofan23: That bear’s got style.  

FrightenedFae: It would be perfect for you!

You tilt your head slightly, inspecting the bear. "Okay, I have to admit, that’s really cute," you say, your voice softening. "I could use a little guy to cuddle with and keep me company.” 

Bakugou’s lips twitch into a small smile as he sees your reaction. Without hesitating, he taps into his account and tips you enough to cover both the bear and its shipping. He feels a mix of satisfaction and a strange, unfamiliar warmth as he watches you consider his gift.

"Whoa, looks like Spiceman420 is really spoiling me tonight," you say with a playful lilt in your voice. "Thank you so much!" You glance at the growing number of comments scrolling up the screen.

Yourmom69: You’re so lucky!  

StarGazer88: We need to get her more plushies you guys!  

Retrofan23: Make a shopping list, we’ll cover it all!  

FrightenedFae: Let us spoil you!

You felt a little panic rise into your chest at the idea of owning plushies again. But you could just keep them inside the room as props. That’s all they would be, props.

As the chat continues to buzz with excitement, Bakugou leans back against the wall, his heart still racing. His hand grips his phone tightly, and he can’t help the small smirk tugging at his lips. Watching you smile at his gift, even through a screen, feels oddly fulfilling.

He glances at the time on his tablet, realizing how long he’s been watching, but he doesn’t care. For now, he’s content to stay right where he is, just a little closer to you, even if it’s through a screen.

As you continue chatting with your viewers, a large tip notification pops up on your screen, nearly making you do a double-take. "$500?!" you exclaim, a mix of surprise and amusement in your voice. The accompanying message reads:

"Put on some lotion for us, please."

You raise an eyebrow, a playful smirk tugging at your lips. "You know, I can’t say no to that," you tease, your voice dropping to a sultry tone. The chat goes wild with excitement, the screen filling with heart emojis and messages encouraging you.

Meanwhile, Bakugou, who had been half-distracted by his own thoughts, immediately perks up, his vermillion eyes widening at the sudden turn of events. He sits up straighter, his jaw tightening slightly as he watches you on the screen. His eyebrows raise in surprise, but he can’t tear his gaze away.

You make a show of it, slowly walking over to your vanity and grabbing a bottle of lotion. "I guess you all want a little show, huh?" you say, your voice soft and teasing. The way you drag out your words only makes the anticipation grow, and you can see the chat explode with excitement.

Yourmom69: Damn ma, you sexy!!  

StarGazer88: This is gonna be good!  

Retrofan23: Can’t wait to see this!  

FrightenedFae: I’m dying already!

You stand up and move gracefully back to your vanity, the soft light from your candles casting a warm, golden glow on your skin. Bakugou watches intently as you sit on the stool, positioning yourself just right for the camera. The robe you’re wearing shifts slightly, revealing a bit more of your thigh as you sit down, and you can almost hear the collective gasp from your audience.

As you pour a generous amount of lotion into your hands, you rub them together slowly, the sound of your hands moving against each other barely audible but strangely intimate. The way you start at your ankles, (you not showing your feet for free working the lotion into your skin with deliberate, sensual movements, has Bakugou leaning in closer to his screen. His eyes are locked on you, his heart pounding in his chest as he watches you slowly massage the lotion up your calves, over your knees, and then up your thighs. 

His throat feels dry, and he swallows hard, trying to regain some semblance of composure. But it’s no use; he’s completely captivated by the sight of you. The soft, deliberate way you move, the way your fingers glide over your skin, it’s all too much. His breathing becomes shallow, his heart hammering as he watches you.

You glance up at the camera, your eyes meeting his through the screen, and he swears you can see him. The connection feels almost tangible, like you’re right there in the room with him. You tilt your head slightly, giving the camera a knowing look before standing up and moving behind a decorative divider.

The chat goes wild, messages flying in faster than you can read them.

Yourmom69: OMG, this is everything!  

StarGazer88: She’s killing me!  

Retrofan23: I wanna bite into those calves!  

FrightenedFae: I’m gonna die from your beauty!!

You drape the robe over the divider, leaving you only in those tiny white shorts. Bakugou’s eyes narrow as he tries to catch a glimpse of you beyond the screen. He can feel his body tense up, his fists clenching and unclenching as he imagines what you’re doing just out of view. The way you casually reach for more lotion, the sound of your skin rubbing against the fabric, it’s all driving him crazy.

When you pick up your rob and finally emerge from behind the divider, your skin glistening, the chat erupts once again. The tips flood in, and you can’t help but smile at the overwhelming response.

Yourmom69: She’s glowing!  

StarGazer88: I can’t breathe!!  

GoldenSunset: Take all my money!  

FrightenedFae: I’m dead.  

Bakugou’s eyes stay locked on you as you move back to the bed, every movement slow and deliberate. The robe has slipped off one of your shoulders again, revealing just enough skin to make his pulse quicken. He’s never felt like this before, never been so captivated by someone, and it frustrates him how much he wants you.

His fingers tremble slightly as he picks up his phone, the desire to send you another message, another tip, burning in the back of his mind. He wants to be the one to spoil you, to have your attention, but he also wants more than just this screen between you.

As you settle back onto your bed, snuggling into your pillow, Bakugou feels a pang of jealousy. All these other viewers get to see this side of you, but he wants more. He wants to know you, to hold you, to be the one who makes you smile like that. 

He watches as you respond to the chat, your voice soft and teasing, your eyes sparkling with mischief. His heart aches with the realization that he’s falling for you, but for now, he’s content to just watch, to soak in every moment, and to dream of the day when he might have more than just pixels between you.

Bakugou blinked, realizing the time displayed on his tablet—1:00 AM. The fatigue was heavy in his body, but sleep still eluded him. He rubbed a hand over his face, feeling the exhaustion tugging at him, but his mind was still racing, filled with thoughts of you.

Would you take a request without him sending any money? The idea felt ridiculous. He clenched his jaw, feeling the knots in his stomach tighten. Bakugou wasn't one to ask for favors, much less from someone he barely knew, but the thought nagged at him, refusing to let go. Before he could overthink it, he typed out a simple message and hit send, his heart pounding in his chest.

Back on your end, you were just getting settled back into your bed, the soft pillows cradling your head as you answered a few more questions from the chat. The tips had slowed down a bit, and the energy was starting to wind down as everyone began to relax with you. Your eyes skimmed over the messages, a soft smile playing on your lips as you responded.

 The chat is alive with comments and questions, but one message catches your eye.

Spiceman420: "I can't sleep. Can you help?"

Your heart goes out to the person behind the username. You understand what it feels like to struggle with sleep, especially when your mind won’t quiet down. You smile softly at the camera, your expression sympathetic. 

"Oh, I’m sorry to hear that you can’t sleep, Spiceman420," you say gently. "What can I do to help you out?"

The chat buzzes with activity as you wait for his response, your eyes scanning the messages flying in.

Yourmom69 : Aww, how sweet!
LunarDreamer : She’s such a caring person!
Retrofan23 : Maybe a bedtime story?
FrightenedFae: Some soft music, maybe?

You glance back at the screen, waiting for Spiceman420 to reply, genuinely wanting to help him relax and find some peace.

On the other side of the screen, Bakugou feels his heart rate spike. He hadn’t expected you to notice his message so quickly, let alone respond so kindly. He takes a deep breath, trying to steady himself, and types out his request, hoping it isn’t too much to ask.

Your eyes light up as you see his next message pop up.

Spiceman420: "Could you maybe just talk for a bit? About anything."

You nod, a soft smile playing on your lips. "Of course, I can do that. Sometimes just hearing someone’s voice can be really soothing." You adjust your position on the bed, making yourself comfortable, and begin to speak, your voice gentle and calming.

"I’ll tell you about my day then," you start, settling in. "My bestie and I spent hours putting together some new furniture for my bedroom. It’s looking really cute now. I tried cooking some stir fry but ended up setting off the smoke alarm."

As you continue talking, you notice the chat reacting positively, your viewers appreciating the more personal glimpse into your life.

Bakugou leans back against his bed, his eyes closing as he listens to you. Your voice is soothing, a gentle lull that begins to ease the tension in his body. He can almost picture the room you’re describing, imagining the warmth and comfort of it.

You keep going, answering a few more questions from your viewers, occasionally glancing at the screen to see the messages coming in.

Yourmom69 : That sounds lovely!
StarGazer88 : Can we see the room again sometime?
Retrofan23 : I bet it looks amazing!
FrightenedFae: I love pink sheets!

You smile, feeling a sense of connection with your audience. "Maybe I’ll do a room tour tomorrow," you say playfully. "But for now, let’s just relax together. Is there anything else you’d like to hear about, Spiceman420?"

You wait for his response, genuinely wanting to help him feel at ease, your voice continuing to be a soothing presence in the night. The chat immediately responded with supportive comments.

Yourmom69 : That’s so sweet of you!
StarGazer88 : I love this idea!
Retrofan23 : Spiceman’s lucky!
VelvetRose: You’re such a sweetheart, helping everyone like this.

As you waited for Spiceman420’s response, you adjusted your robe, pulling it a bit tighter around you for comfort. The soft glow from the candles cast a warm light across your room, making the pink bedsheets look even more inviting. You shifted slightly on your bed, the plush mattress sinking just enough to cradle you comfortably.

Meanwhile, Bakugou was staring at his tablet, his heart thudding in his chest. He hadn't expected you to respond so quickly, or with so much warmth. He bit his lip, his fingers hovering over the screen as he considered what to say. Before he could overthink it, he typed a simple, “Whatever works for you” and hit send. He set his phone down on his lap, his leg bouncing slightly with restless energy as he waited.

Your eyes flicked to the screen, catching his response. A soft smile curled on your lips. "Alright, Spiceman," you said gently, your voice warm and soothing. "Let’s see what we can do."

Before you could continue, another notification pinged in the chat.

FrightenedFae just tipped $700.

Your eyes widened slightly, not at the amount—though it was generous—but at the message that came with it: "Can you talk like it’s a girlfriend audio? Something to help us all wind down?"

You glanced at the camera, a thoughtful look on your face. This wasn’t an uncommon request, but it was always a bit different depending on the person. You wanted to make sure Spiceman420 was comfortable with it, given the situation.

"Wow, thank you so much, FrightenedFae," you said, your voice genuine. "That’s really generous of you. I’ll definitely do that, but I want to make sure it's okay with Spiceman first." You looked directly into the camera, your expression softening. "Spiceman, would that be alright with you?"

Bakugou stared at the screen, feeling a strange mix of emotions. This wasn’t what he’d expected, but he found himself typing, "Yeah, go ahead."

He didn’t know why he was letting himself get so wrapped up in this, but there was something about your voice, your presence, that made him feel… calmer, more centered.

Seeing his response, you nodded. “Alright then, let’s do this.” You adjusted your position on the bed, reclining back against the pillows, and let your voice drop into a lower, smoother tone. There was a slight rasp to it, a warm, comforting quality that made it feel like you were right there beside him. It wasn’t sexual, but there was an intimacy to it that felt personal, genuine.

“Hey,” you began, your voice soft and soothing. “I know it’s late, and you’re probably feeling pretty tired, maybe even a little restless. But that’s okay. We’re gonna wind down together, alright? Just take a deep breath for me… and let it out slowly.” You inhaled and exhaled, bust moving with your gentle breaths. 

Bakugou’s eyes widened, his breath hitching in his throat. He found himself unconsciously following your instructions, taking a deep breath and releasing it slowly, his body already beginning to relax.

“Now,” you continued, “before you get too comfy, make sure you’ve got everything you need for the night. Did you drink some water? Maybe grab a little snack, something light. I don’t want you to go to bed hungry. And if you haven’t brushed your teeth yet, now’s a good time to do that too. Just take care of yourself, okay?”

The chat was going to kill your phone again.

Yourmom69 : I’m getting up right now, queen!
StarGazer88 : You’re too good to us!
Retrofan23 : I don’t wanna leave my bed, but I’ll do it for you!
FrightenedFae: This is exactly what I needed tonight, thank you!

Bakugou’s mind was spinning. He felt ridiculous for actually considering getting up, but your voice had a way of making him want to do what you said. He let out a soft, resigned groan and pushed himself up from the bed. Grabbing a granola bar from his kitchen, he unwrapped it and took a bite, chewing slowly as he continued listening to you.

“Good job,” you praised, your voice dripping with warmth and encouragement. “Now, when you’re ready, get yourself back to bed. Make sure you’re comfortable, get under those covers, and just let your body relax. You’ve done everything you needed to today. It’s time to let yourself rest.”

Fuck it was like you could see him. 

Bakugou finished the granola bar and downed a glass of water, feeling oddly obedient as he brushed his teeth. He didn’t even know why he was listening to you, but something about the way you spoke made it easy to just… go along with it. Maybe if he tricked his body into following your advice, he’d finally be able to sleep.

As he climbed back into bed, he pulled his tablet closer, your stream still playing as he settled in. The tension in his chest had lessened, and for the first time that night, he felt like maybe, just maybe, sleep might actually come.

As you continued, fully embracing the role of a comforting presence, Bakugou found himself removing his shirt, the cool air brushing against his skin as he settled back into bed. He watched you intently, your voice still playing through his tablet as you lay down, adjusting the camera to a more intimate angle.

The chat was buzzing with questions, the most popular one catching your eye:

StarGazer88: Do you prefer to sleep with or without clothes?

A sly smile crossed your lips as you considered the question, your eyes glancing at the camera. "Without, if I'm being honest," you admitted with a playful tone. "But it really just depends on the night. I love sleeping with the fan on, so sometimes it can get pretty cold."

You gave the camera a knowing look before slipping off the bed, disappearing for a moment. The chat was alive with speculation, everyone trying to guess what you were up to. Bakugou leaned closer to his screen, his brows furrowing in curiosity.

When you returned, the sight made Bakugou almost sit up so quickly that he nearly hit his head on the bedframe. You were wearing an oversized "Ground Zero" t-shirt, the black fabric swallowing your frame, the iconic hero logo printed across your chest. It hung loosely on you, the hem almost reaching your thighs.

Bakugou’s heart skipped a beat. That shirt—his shirt—on you? It was like a punch to his gut, but in the best way possible. Seeing you wear something with his brand, something that represented him, made him feel something he hadn’t expected—possessiveness mixed with a strange, warm pride.

The chat erupted with excitement.

Yourmom69 : OMG that shirt is so cute on you!
FrightenedFae : Look at that merch! Represent!
Retrofan23 : Where can we get that shirt?!
StarGazer88: Ground Zero fan confirmed!! 😍

You smiled sweetly at the comments, clearly enjoying the reaction. "It’s one of my favorites," you confessed, adjusting the shirt slightly as you crawled back onto your bed. "So comfy. And it’s perfect for nights like this."

Bakugou couldn’t tear his eyes away from you. Seeing you all dolled up at the club had been one thing, but this—this was different. It was intimate, personal. You looked so relaxed, so natural in his shirt, and it did something to him. He felt like he was seeing a side of you that no one else got to see, a softer, sweeter version that was a stark contrast to the poised, alluring figure you presented at the club.

You settled down onto the bed, placing your phone next to your pillow. Your voice dropped to a soft, soothing tone as you began to hum a quiet melody, something gentle and comforting. "You all are so sweet," you murmured, the warmth in your voice palpable. "Thank you so much for being here with me tonight, for all your tips, your kind words… I really appreciate it. Make sure to join me tomorrow, okay?"

Bakugou’s breath hitched as he watched you, his eyes glued to the screen. That shirt looked so oversized on you, making you seem so much smaller, so much more… his. He knew it was crazy, that it was just a piece of clothing, but seeing you in it felt like a special treat, a glimpse into something more personal.

He barely noticed the time slipping by, so captivated by the sight of you snuggled into your bed, wearing his merch, humming softly as if you were already half-asleep. It was so different from your usual stream persona—this was you, in your element, in your space. And for Bakugou, that made all the difference.

He clenched his fists, trying to steady the chaotic mix of emotions swirling inside him. There was something about this moment that made him want to be the only one watching, the only one who got to see you like this. It was irrational, possessive, but he couldn’t help it.

For now, though, he just let himself enjoy the sight of you in his shirt, knowing that this was something special—something he wanted to keep close, just for himself.

You continued to hum softly, your voice a gentle lullaby, Bakugou’s eyes grew heavier with each passing moment. He barely noticed the time slipping by as he lay back against his pillow, the cool night air from the open window brushing against his skin. The sound of your voice, warm and soothing, wrapped around him like a comforting blanket, lulling him into a peaceful state he hadn’t felt in a long time.

His tablet rested on his chest, the screen dimming as the stream continued. More than half the viewers had already given their final tips, sending heart emojis and sweet messages before quietly exiting the stream, thinking you were on the verge of sleep. Bakugou’s breath slowed, his eyes fluttering shut as your soft words continued to echo in his mind.

“Thank you for being here with me tonight,” you whispered, your voice barely audible now, like a quiet breeze. “Sleep well, everyone.”

Those last words drifted through his mind as he finally succumbed to his exhaustion. His breathing evened out, the tension in his body melting away as he drifted into sleep, your voice still playing softly in the background.

But what Bakugou didn’t see—what none of the remaining viewers saw—was the shadowed figure that appeared behind you. As you lay still on your bed, seemingly asleep, the figure leaned over, careful and deliberate. A hand reached out, gently grabbing your phone from the pillow.

The stream abruptly ended.

The screen on Bakugou’s tablet turned black, signaling the end of the broadcast. But he was already deep in sleep, oblivious to what had just happened, lost in a dream where your voice was the only thing that mattered.

In the dark room, the figure stepped back, the phone in hand, as the glow from the screen faded into nothingness.

Chapter Text

Michael was actually the one who turned the stream off as you sat up again, yawning. That was close. You couldn't sleep in this room, even if it was cute. She helped you up and got you situated in your own room, the one that felt safer, even if it wasn't the most comfortable. The package from him was still in the trash, and you weren't sure if there was a police station open this late.

"That was close," Michael said, her tone a mix of concern and exhaustion. "You sure you want me to sleep in the bed with you?"

You nodded, the fear still clutching at your chest. "Yeah, that freaked me out more than I want to admit."

Michael shuddered as she put her bonnet on, settling into the bed beside you. "I told you we should've gone to the police earlier. What if that thing has a tracking device? I know some guys at the club that would love to do us a favor."

You shook your head quickly, not wanting anyone else to get involved. "No, no, no, please. I don’t want anyone else dragged into this."

She sighed, bouncing into the bed to get comfortable. "You need more color in here. It looks like a minimalist beige mom spray-painted everything neutral."

You huffed some air before finally taking off that damn itchy wig. You shook out your real hair before grabbing the matching bonnet Michael had gotten you, sliding it on with a sense of relief. "Well, you try living with a creep who throws your stuff out and controls everything you wear and own. I should really burn those clothes."

Sliding under the sheets, you felt the weight of the day pressing down on you. Michael joined you, leaving the night light on, knowing how much you hated the dark now. Ironically, that was part of his quirk—a dude with psycho strength who could shoot blasts of light from his hands. A flashy quirk, indeed. But when you acted up, he would shroud the entire place in darkness that felt so heavy you couldn’t do anything except curl up and cry. His apartment was so blindingly white that it made you sick constantly.

Yours, though... was a little different. Thanks to quirk marriages, you had two quirks. Much like the pro hero Shoto, you could wield both water and fire. If you were hydrated enough, you could even conjure ice. To think, you shared almost the same quirk as the #3 hero of Japan. 

It was so fucked up. 

You actually had an unused hero license sitting in your drawer. No, literally. That’s how the fucker found you—a small, emotionally vulnerable girl with a shitty home life in a student exchange program. You gave up your career before it even began because of "love," which was really just his small dick ego ruling you again. 

But the truth was, you didn’t think you had the stomach for it anyway. The injuries pros got made you sick, and the idea of your comrades—your friends—dying? God, you couldn’t do it. That’s how you ended up as a marketing manager, finding all the good shots of heroes to promote them to the next top whatever. Especially your main project: Kyoya, aka " Unyielding," hero known for his indomitable spirit and sportsmanship, who embodied the ideals of chivalry and justice. 

Fucking poser. 

Promoting someone like him felt like a way to stay connected to the hero world, even if you couldn’t be a part of it the way you once dreamed. 

What was all of that for, anyway? Who would want a Pro Hero who couldn’t even fight off her own boyfriend—her fiancé at that? Who stayed in a shitty relationship longer than she wanted to, just so she wouldn’t have to be alone or move back home to get her ass handed to her by her parents. Parents that kicked her out three months before graduation, when she needed them the most. It was a miracle you didn’t have any siblings to go back for; at least they didn’t have to suffer through the same hell.

A Pro Hero who has to strip and entertain weirdos on the internet for money because that same ex was blocking all her job opportunities. The same ex who, according to office gossip, had already moved his new girl into the old apartment and was letting her do whatever she wanted to erase every trace of you. 

The bed you slept in, the photos you hung up, the little decorations you picked out with so much care—gone. Replaced by her, some woman you never met, who probably didn’t even know your name. And that was the worst part, wasn’t it? Being erased like you never existed.

Yeah, some hero to look up to.

You lay there, the weight of it all pressing down on you like a boulder, making it hard to breathe. The room felt suffocating despite its size, the walls closing in as the thoughts spiraled deeper. The candle’s gentle flicker was the only source of warmth in the cold void you felt yourself slipping into. The soft glow that once felt comforting now mocked you, reminding you of what you could never truly be—a light in the dark. Instead, you were just another shadow, hiding behind a screen, pretending to be something you weren’t.

Michael shifted beside you, her presence a small comfort in the darkness. But even she couldn’t reach that part of you buried so deep, the part that still ached for something more, something you were beginning to doubt you’d ever have.

It was all just so fucking pointless.

You and Michael settled into the bed, the weight of the day finally lifting as you both let out matching sighs of exhaustion. She rolled onto her side to face you, her dark eyes soft and full of understanding.

“Goodnight,” she whispered, a tender smile playing on her lips. “Love you.”

“Love you too,” you murmured back, reaching out to squeeze her hand gently. The warmth of her touch grounded you, even as the memories of the past threatened to pull you under.

You both said your little prayers, whispering words of gratitude for the small blessings you still held on to—each other, a roof over your heads, the strength to keep moving forward. It wasn’t much, but it was enough to get you through the night.

As you lay in the dark, the familiar feeling of dread crept in, but you pushed it away, focusing on the steady rhythm of Michael’s breathing beside you. Eventually, sleep took you, but it wasn’t peaceful.

You dreamed of suffocating darkness, of hands that grabbed at you and a voice that whispered lies in your ear. You were trapped, no matter how much you struggled, unable to escape the cold grip that held you down. Then, suddenly, you woke with a start, your heart racing and your breath coming in short, panicked gasps.

It was 6 a.m., the room still cloaked in the early morning shadows. Michael was holding you, her arms wrapped protectively around you as if she had sensed your distress even in sleep. You took a shaky breath and snuggled back into her embrace, feeling her warmth seep into you. She didn’t say anything, and neither did you. There was no need for words; the silent comfort of her love was more than enough.

Her alarm went off shortly after, breaking the silence. Michael groaned softly, reluctantly pulling away from you to shut it off. She stretched, her muscles flexing as she prepared for her morning workout routine.

“You gonna be okay?” she asked, her voice still thick with sleep.

“Yeah,” you nodded, giving her a small smile. “I’ll be fine.”

“Alright.” She hesitated for a moment, her eyes searching yours as if looking for any sign of doubt, before finally getting up. “I’m heading to the gym. Text me if you need anything, okay?”

“Okay.”

You both got ready in the quiet morning hours, the sounds of the city slowly waking up around you. The ritual was familiar, almost comforting in its routine. You dressed in your office clothes, something professional but with a touch of lipgloss—a little armor to help you face the day. Michael was ready in no time, dressed in her gym gear, hair tied back, and eyes focused. She was always so strong, so put together, and it made you feel a little stronger too.

The train ride was uneventful, the two of you sharing a comfortable silence as you stood side by side. The city rushed past in a blur, but you barely noticed, lost in your thoughts. When your stop came, Michael leaned over and kissed you on the cheek, a quick, reassuring peck that made you smile despite the nervous flutter in your stomach.

“Good luck,” she said, her voice warm.

“Thanks.” You took a deep breath, steeling yourself as you stepped off the train. The office loomed ahead, and you squared your shoulders, determined to get through the day.

Today, you had a meeting with your boss, presenting a new marketing plan for Koi Fish. It was just another task, another hurdle to overcome, but it felt like a mountain. You could do this. You had to do this. With a final glance at the receding train, you turned and walked into the office, ready to face whatever the day would throw at you.

You step into the office, the sterile scent of coffee and paper filling the air as you walk down the hallway. The click of your heels on the tiled floor echoes with each step, but it’s the sudden hush that catches your attention. Eyes turn toward you—some wide with surprise, others narrowed in curiosity or judgment. It’s as if they didn’t expect you to show up today, or maybe any day.

You offer a polite nod to the receptionist, who quickly looks away, pretending to be busy with her screen. The quiet whispers and sideways glances follow you as you pass by your coworkers, their conversations halting mid-sentence. It’s a familiar feeling, but it doesn’t sting any less. You straighten your posture, your heart thudding a little harder in your chest, and keep your eyes forward.

At your desk, you set down your bag and pull out the notes for your presentation. The marketing plan for  ‘Koi-fish’ sits at the top of the stack, the bright, serene colors a stark contrast to the tense energy around you. You take a deep breath, trying to focus on the task ahead. But the weight of the stares and the unspoken questions hang over you like a cloud.

A colleague, who usually avoids eye contact, suddenly looks at you with a mixture of pity and confusion. "I didn’t think you’d actually be here today," he says, his voice low as if trying not to be overheard.

You offer a small, strained smile. "Why wouldn’t I be? Got a job to do, right?"

He nods slowly, but his gaze lingers a moment too long before he turns away. You can feel the judgment in the air, the silent questioning of how someone like you, with your history, could still manage to show up, put on a brave face, and keep going. 

The pressure in your chest tightens, but you push it aside. Today isn’t about them or what they think. It’s about getting through this presentation and proving to yourself that you can still do this. 

You glance at the clock on your computer screen. Just a little while longer until the meeting. You can handle this, just like you’ve handled everything else. One step at a time.

You scan your badge and make your way to the top floor, the familiar hum of the elevator a small comfort as you brace yourself for the day. The doors slide open, and you're immediately greeted by the sight of your mentees, their faces lighting up as they spot you.

"You're here!" one of them exclaims, rushing over to hug you.

You laugh, returning the embrace. "Of course I am. Now, let's get to work, soldiers."

They fall in line with exaggerated seriousness, but the warmth in their eyes is unmistakable. You take a moment to savor the connection before heading to the conference room.

Inside, you find your boss, Mr. Yakimoto, Kyoya's manager, and his assistant, Mia. She looks relieved to see you, though her frazzled expression suggests a stressful morning. The last figure in the room is a girl with a sharp, confident presence—another hero, no doubt. Her posture is rigid, her eyes tracking your every move.

"Good morning," Mr. Yakimoto says, gesturing to an empty seat. "Please, take a seat, and we'll get started."

You nod, moving to the chair, feeling the weight of everyone's gaze on you as you settle in.

The discussion quickly turned to recent popularity polls and media outlets. Mr. Yakimoto highlighted the positive trends, noting how Kyoya's recent public appearances had garnered significant attention. Kyoya's manager chimed in, mentioning the upcoming announcement from the Hero Commission about the newest top heroes. The excitement in the room was palpable as they discussed the magazine interviews being set up and how the makeup crew was already booked for the shoot.

You let your mentees take the reins, presenting the finer details of the new marketing strategy you'd been working on for Kyoya. They were confident, well-prepared, and delivered their points with a professionalism that made you proud. But as they spoke, you couldn't help but notice Kyoya's gaze. He was staring at you— intently —to the point where it felt like he was trying to drill holes into your skull with his eyes.

At first, you tried to ignore it, focusing instead on your team’s presentation. But his unwavering attention began to make you uncomfortable. You saw him nudge his manager, but the gesture went unnoticed, leaving him to continue his silent, intense observation.

It wasn’t long before others started to pick up on it. Mia glanced at you with concern, and even Mr. Yakimoto paused mid-discussion, his eyes flicking between you and Kyoya as if trying to decipher what was going on. The tension in the room thickened, and your resolve to ignore him faltered for just a moment as you locked eyes with him.

What was he trying to convey? And why did it feel like everyone else was just as confused as you were?

The tension in the room was palpable, growing thicker with each passing second of Kyoya’s unyielding stare. You could sense the confusion spreading among your team and the others present, and it wasn’t long before someone finally broke the silence.

"Um, why is—" a voice chimed in, cutting through the room’s awkward energy. It was her —the girl he left you for. Her name was Sayuri Minami, also known by her hero name, Gleaming Siren . She had an aura that commanded attention, much like Minerva Orland from Fairy Tail . Sayuri was tall and slender, her curves accentuated by her hero costume, which hugged her figure in all the right places. Her long, wavy hair was a striking shade of midnight blue, cascading down her back, and her eyes were a bright, almost unnatural shade of gold. Her presence was as alluring as it was intimidating, her beauty undeniable but her personality... not so much.

She interrupted one of your mentees mid-sentence, her voice carrying a slight edge of disdain. You quickly jumped in, your protective instincts kicking in to shield your mentee from her venom.

"Excuse me, but I believe they were speaking," you said, keeping your tone firm yet professional. The room fell silent as Sayuri’s golden eyes narrowed at you, her lips curling into a faint smirk.

"Oh, I’m sorry," she purred, her voice dripping with false sweetness. "I didn’t mean to interrupt. I just thought maybe we should focus on what’s actually important here."

Her comment was clearly aimed at belittling your mentee’s contribution, but you refused to rise to the bait. Instead, you maintained your composure, ignoring the slight. But Sayuri wasn’t finished. She leaned back in her chair, crossing one leg over the other as she continued to make little comments, her eyes flicking toward you with a calculated glint.

Finally, after a particularly pointed remark, you’d had enough. You turned to her, your expression calm but your eyes sharp. "Sayuri," you began, your voice cutting through the air with precision, "what exactly do you mean by that?"

The room went dead silent. Sayuri blinked, clearly caught off guard by your direct approach. For a moment, she seemed to struggle to find her words, her confidence wavering as all eyes turned to her. She let out a small cough, her poised demeanor slipping.

"I—uh, I just meant..." She faltered, her golden eyes darting around the room as if searching for an escape. "I think I need some water."

Without waiting for a response, Sayuri hastily excused herself, practically fleeing from the conference room. The door clicked shut behind her, leaving a tense silence in her wake.

You took a breath, resisting the urge to roll your eyes, and returned your attention to the presentation. Your mentees looked at you with a mixture of relief and admiration, clearly grateful for how you had handled the situation. Kyoya, on the other hand, was still staring at you, his gaze unreadable but intense.

It took all your self-control to ignore the feeling of vindication settling in your chest. The meeting wasn’t over yet, and there was still work to be done.

The meeting wrapped up with a final round of discussions, everyone contributing their last thoughts on the upcoming hero rankings, magazine interviews, and promotional strategies. You made sure to direct the conversation back to your mentees, giving them the space to shine and showcase their hard work. As the room began to clear, you offered each of them words of encouragement.

"You all did great today," you said warmly, pulling them into a small huddle. "Your presentations were clear, your points were solid, and you handled yourselves with professionalism. Just remember to keep refining those pitches and be ready for any follow-ups. I’m proud of you all."

Your mentees beamed at the praise, their earlier nervousness melting away. You gave them specific feedback, pointing out where they excelled and where they could improve. They nodded, soaking in every word, clearly eager to keep learning and growing.

As they dispersed, gathering their things and chatting excitedly amongst themselves, you were about to make your exit when Mr. Yakimoto’s voice called out to you.

“Ms, a word before you go.”

You turned back, already dreading what was to come. Your instincts told you that this wasn’t going to be good. With a steadying breath, you walked back into the conference room where Mr. Yakimoto waited, his expression grim. Kyoya’s manager, Ms. Hayashi, remained seated as well, her lips pressed into a thin line.

“Please, sit,” Mr. Yakimoto said, motioning to a chair across from them.

You complied, sitting down with your back straight, your hands clasped in your lap. Your eyes flicked between the two of them, sensing the tension.

“We’ve been reviewing recent events, particularly the footage from that... incident at the charity event,” Mr. Yakimoto began, choosing his words carefully. “As you know, the security tapes and video footage of that evening have gone missing. Given the importance of that event and the subsequent fallout, this is a serious issue.”

You kept your expression neutral, even as your heart began to pound. This wasn’t just a meeting; this was an ambush.

“Ms. Hayashi,” he continued, nodding toward Kyoya’s manager, “has requested that you be removed from Kyoya’s team. However, Kyoya has been... unusually adamant about keeping you on board. This puts us in a difficult position.”

You remained silent, letting him finish.

“Because of these complications, and due to recent budget cuts,” Mr. Yakimoto said, his tone now more clipped, “we have no choice but to place you on a temporary suspension, effective immediately. During this suspension, you will not receive pay. Furthermore, if you are found to have had any involvement in the disappearance of those tapes, you will be terminated, and there could be legal repercussions.”

He gave you a look that was meant to be a warning, but it only fueled the fire in your chest. “Consider this a friendly warning,” he added, as if that softened the blow.

You stared at him, your face unreadable. The anger simmered beneath the surface, but you wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of seeing you lose your composure.

“I’ll be taking my leave now,” you said calmly, standing up. The implication was clear—you were going to find a lawyer.

Without waiting for a response, you turned and walked out of the room, your strides purposeful. You kept your head high, refusing to let them see how rattled you were. As you approached the elevator, you pressed the button, your mind racing with a thousand thoughts, none of them good.

The doors slid open, and you stepped inside, leaning against the cool metal wall as you let out a breath. Just as the doors were about to close, a hand shot out, stopping them. The doors reopened, and Kyoya stepped in, his expression unreadable.

“Hold up,” he said, his voice low.

Your heart rate spiked, and you instinctively prepared to defend yourself. It had been a long time since you used your quirk, but you were ready to blast his face with fire if it came to that. You weren’t about to let him beat you to death in an elevator.

He stood close, too close, and his eyes bore into yours with an intensity that made your skin crawl. “Did you get my package?” he asked, his voice deceptively calm.

You shrugged, trying to gray rock your way out of this situation. “I get a lot of packages.”

His frustration grew with each attempt at conversation. He tried to needle you with small talk, but you kept your responses curt and uninterested. Finally, he leaned in, his voice dropping to a nasty whisper in your ear.

“You know, I’ve missed you. Missed the way you used to—”

You shoved him back, your hands sparking with the threat of fire. He took it in stride, a twisted smile curling his lips. “I always loved and hated this part of you.”

You wanted to spit on him but held back. You knew that if you assaulted him right now he would have you arrested so fast that it would make your head spin. The elevator doors finally opened, and you shoved him out with all your strength. As the doors close, your work phone dings. It’s a message from an unknown number: 

“You still got a sweet ass.”  

You screenshot it, making a mental note to report it to HR later. Now, you ran from the building, wishing you had your car, "Lemon," to take you home. Michael would be at her office job until five and then sleep until ten before getting ready for the club. You would be going too tonight and then doing your live stream afterward. You needed all the money you could get if you were being suspended or worse—fired.

Would it even be that bad at this point?

Just like two weeks ago, you ran all the way home, adrenaline pushing you as you bounded up the stairs two by two, unable to wait for the elevator. You burst through your apartment door and found the package in the trash. You'll clean the mess later; now you  change into your sneakers and before locking the door tight and racing to the nearest police station.

You sprint through the streets, your heart pounding in your chest, not from fear but from sheer adrenaline. The nearest police station is a 20-minute walk, but you cut that time in half, your legs pumping as though powered by some secret third quirk that only activates when your heart’s been shattered by an asshole. Whatever it is, you let it fuel you, pushing your feet faster until you reach the station.

You pause outside the doors, trying to catch your breath, fixing your flyaways and composing yourself. As you enter, a blast of cold air hits you, the AC a stark contrast to the heat of your run. You make your way to the receptionist's desk, ringing the little bell. A moment later, an officer with a dog head—likely a hybrid quirk—appears, his expression friendly yet professional.

"How may I help you, ma'am?" he asks, his voice calm and reassuring.

You offer a small smile, trying to keep your voice steady. "Hello, I hope I'm not interrupting, but I was wondering if I might have some assistance. You see, I recently broke up with my ex-fiancé, and he changed the locks on our old apartment while I was at work. Our previous landlord delivered this package to me, and... I’m not sure what's inside. Given our bad history, I thought it would be safer to open it here."

Just as the officer opens his mouth to respond, the doors burst open behind you. The room fills with a sudden rush of energy and noise as Pro Heroes Ground Zero, Red Riot, Deku, and Shoto burst in, dragging several apprehended villains behind them. The villains are a mess of bruises, cuffs, and defiance, clearly the result of a failed attempt at robbing a jewelry store in Tokyo.

Ground Zero—Bakugou—looks as fierce as ever, his usual scowl deepening when he catches sight of the villains. Red Riot stands beside him, his unbreakable form looking no worse for wear. Deku is talking rapidly to Shoto, who remains stoic, though there’s a hint of frost still clinging to his right side. The sight of them is both awe-inspiring and intimidating.

The officer's attention shifts momentarily to the heroes, but he quickly refocuses on you. "That sounds like a wise decision, ma'am. Let's take a look at that package in a safe area. Please follow me."

You nod, trying to ignore the sudden influx of hero energy in the room as the officer leads you to a more secure part of the station. As you walk past the heroes, you can’t help but glance over. Bakugou’s sharp eyes flicker in your direction for the briefest moment before he turns his attention back to the villains, barking orders at one of the officers.

The package feels heavier in your hands as you follow the officer, the anxiety of what might be inside creeping back. The sight of the heroes reminds you of how far you’ve come, and yet how close you still are to the past you’re trying so hard to escape.

As you follow the officer, the package in your hands starts to feel unnaturally warm. At first, you think it’s just the lingering heat from your sprint, but then it begins to burn, the temperature rising quickly. Panic flares in your chest, and you know you have to act fast.

Without thinking, you drop the package onto the floor. You scream, your voice cutting through the noise of the bustling police station.

"ICE IT!"

Shoto, who was mid-conversation with Deku, snaps his head toward you, his mismatched eyes narrowing in confusion. For a split second, he hesitates, unsure of the situation. But then he sees the package on the ground, its surface now glowing a dangerous red.

In an instant, his left side surges with cold, and a blast of ice shoots from his hand, engulfing the package in a thick layer of frost. The officer, realizing what’s happening, tries to rush around the protective glass, his eyes wide with alarm.

You don’t wait to see what happens next. You instinctively move backward, away from the package, when suddenly, you feel two large, hot hands wrap around your waist. They’re strong, pulling you backward with surprising speed and force. Your feet leave the ground as you’re yanked away from the imminent danger.

Just as you’re pulled clear, the package explodes with a deafening bang. The sound reverberates through the station, and shards of ice and debris scatter across the floor where the package once lay. The protective glass shakes from the force of the explosion, but thankfully, Shoto's ice had contained most of it, preventing any serious damage. The overhead sprinklers activate causing a downpour of water on you and the others present. 

But that’s not what’s on your mind right now. 

Your heart pounds in your chest as you realize you’ve been pulled into someone’s embrace. You glance up and meet the fierce, determined gaze of Ground Zero. His hands are still wrapped around your waist, his body shielding you from the blast. His expression is a mix of frustration and relief as he looks down at you.

"You okay?" he grunts, his voice rough but not unkind.

You nod, still shaken but unharmed. "Y-Yeah, thanks..."

Before you can say more, Bakugou releases you, turning his attention back to the aftermath of the explosion. Shoto approaches the now ruined package, his eyes scanning the remnants, his breath still coming out in cold puffs. The other heroes and officers quickly move to secure the area, checking for any further dangers.

The officer who had been helping you earlier finally reaches your side, his face pale with concern. "Ma'am, are you alright?"

You take a deep breath, trying to steady your nerves. "I’m fine, thanks to him," you say, glancing at Bakugou, who is now shouting orders to the pro's.

He catches your gaze for a moment, his eyes narrowing slightly as if to say, "Be more careful next time." Then he turns away, already moving on to the next crisis.

You can’t help but feel a mix of gratitude and embarrassment as you process what just happened. The memory of Bakugou’s hands around your waist lingers, along with the realization that your ex’s threat had just escalated to a whole new level.

The noise in the lobby only grows as more officers rush in, their uniforms a blur of navy blue as they move to take the villains into custody. Shoto and Deku follow the officers, their expressions grim as they keep a watchful eye on the apprehended criminals. The scene is chaotic, but everyone moves with practiced efficiency, ensuring that the situation remains under control.

Amidst the controlled chaos, Red Riot rushes over to you, his usual bright smile replaced with a look of deep concern. His red hair is slightly tousled from the recent scuffle, and his sharp, crimson eyes scan you from head to toe, checking for any signs of injury.

"Are you okay?" he asks, his voice gentle despite the intensity of the situation. He places a reassuring hand on your shoulder, his grip firm but careful, as if he’s afraid of hurting you.

You nod, still a bit shaken but grateful for his concern. "I’m fine, just a little rattled. Thanks to Ground Zero and Shoto, nothing worse happened."

Kirishima’s worried expression softens into a small, relieved smile. "Good, that’s good. You were really brave back there."

Before you can respond, the officer with the dog head—his name tag reads "Sergeant Inu"—steps forward, his demeanor calm but authoritative. "Ma'am, if you could follow me to the back, we need to collect a statement from you about what just happened."

You glance back at the scene in the lobby, now being secured by the heroes and officers, before nodding. "Of course," you reply, ready to cooperate. The adrenaline is still pumping through your veins, but you know that giving a clear and accurate statement is crucial.

Sergeant Inu gestures for you to follow him, and you fall in step behind him as he leads you through a side door into a quieter, more private area of the station. As you walk, you can feel Kirishima’s eyes on you, his protective instincts still on high alert.

"Don’t worry," he says, giving you a thumbs-up as you turn to look at him. "You’re in good hands here."

You manage a small smile in return, appreciating his attempt to lift your spirits.

Sergeant Inu leads you to a small, dimly lit room with a table and a few chairs. It’s quieter here, the noise from the lobby now a distant hum. He motions for you to take a seat, and you do so, trying to steady your breathing.

Once you’re settled, Sergeant Inu sits across from you, pulling out a notepad and pen. His eyes are kind but serious as he looks at you. "Alright, ma'am, let’s start from the beginning. Can you tell me everything that led up to the moment you came into the station?"

You take a deep breath, collecting your thoughts. "Yes, I can," you say, your voice steady despite the turmoil inside. And so, you begin to recount the events of the day, from the unsettling package to the terrifying moments just before the explosion.

As you speak, the gravity of the situation starts to settle in. Your ex-fiancé had escalated his harassment to a dangerous level, and now it was clear that you couldn’t handle this alone. You would need the police, legal help, and possibly even the protection of heroes to navigate what was to come.

'Fuck me.'

You follow another officer through another series of winding hallways, finally arriving at a smaller, more private room. The walls are bare except for a few motivational posters, and a single table with two chairs sits in the center. The room feels like a stark contrast to the chaos of the lobby, with its quiet and clinical ambiance. A detective gestures for you to sit down, and you take a seat, your hands trembling slightly.

As you settle into the chair, the officer begins to prepare for the questioning. He sits across from you, his expression a mix of professionalism and concern. “We need to get a full account of what happened today, ma’am. If you could start from the beginning…”

You nod, trying to steady your nerves. “I received a package from my old landlord. My ex-fiancé had the locks changed on our apartment, so I didn’t have access to it. The package was delivered to my new apartment, and I brought it here because I was concerned about its contents.”

The detective takes notes, nodding as you speak. “And why did you think it was necessary to bring it here?”

“I was worried about what might be inside,” you explain. “Given my history with my ex, I didn’t want to take any chances. He has a… history of controlling and abusive behavior.”

As you recount the events, Bakugou and Kirishima watch from behind the glass. Kirishima’s brow is furrowed in concern, while Bakugou’s gaze is locked onto you, his eyes narrowed in thought. He had requested you be brought to the back because something about this didn't sit right in his gut.

Meanwhile, Todoroki and Izuku enter the room, their expressions serious as they join the others.

“What happened?” Izuku asks, his concern evident.

“Apparently, the package was sent by her ex,” Kirishima explains to Todoroki and Izuku, who have just joined them. “She doesn't want to give his name, but she’s had a pretty rough time with him. He’s got a record of abuse.”

Todoroki raises an eyebrow, glancing back at you through the glass. “Is that why you’re so focused on her, Bakugou?”

Bakugou doesn’t respond, his eyes still fixed on you. “Just… keep watching,” he mutters.

Inside the room, the officer continues his questioning. “Do you have any idea what was in the package? Why did it get so hot?”

“I’m not sure,” you admit, your voice trembling slightly. “But when I noticed it getting warmer, I asked for help. I didn’t want to risk it hurting someone or something.”

As you speak, the door to the room opens, and Red Riot—Kirishima—enters, looking more relaxed now that the immediate danger has passed. He gives you a reassuring smile. “Hey, just checking in. Are you sure you’re alright?” He slides you a cup of water and you take it gratefully. 

You nod, offering him a small smile in return. “I’m okay. Thanks for your help earlier.”

Red Riot glances at the officer, then back at you. “I’m glad you’re safe. If you need anything, just let me know.”

The detective continues with his questions, but your mind keeps drifting back to the earlier events. You can’t help but feel a sense of déjà vu, particularly when Ground zero was pulling you back. You try to ignore it, focusing on answering the officer’s questions as clearly as you can.

Meanwhile, Bakugou, Kirishima, Todoroki, and Izuku watch from behind the glass. Bakugou’s eyes are fixed on you, an intense look of recognition in his gaze. Kirishima continues explaining to Todoroki and Izuku, who are both listening intently.

There’s something about you that’s nagging at him, something that feels familiar. He watches as you sit down, your hands nervously fiddling with the hem of your skirt. You’re wearing a mini pencil skirt that hugs your curves, paired with a peachy button-down shirt. The sweater you had on earlier is gone, likely due to the water from the ice blast, and your hair is slightly damp, clinging to your face in soft tendrils. Even though you’ve clearly been through a lot, there’s an undeniable poise to you, an elegance that doesn’t waver even under pressure.

But it’s your eyes that keep pulling him in. There’s something about them—a mix of warmth and vulnerability—that stirs a memory deep within him. He’s sure he’s seen them before, met you somewhere before. The feeling gnaws at him, refusing to be ignored.

Izuku notices Bakugou’s intense focus and raises an eyebrow. “Kacchan, you okay?”

“I’m fine, nerd.” 

Your voice remains steady as you speak, but there’s an underlying tension, a fear that you’re trying hard to keep in check. You’re jiggling your leg under the table- probably from nerves. 

Wait.

Fuck he really needed to start sleeping again. He could have sworn he’s seen those legs before. Bakugou’s eyes narrow slightly as he watches you, his mind racing to connect the dots. There’s no way he’s going to let this go. 

As the questioning wraps up, the detective informs you that they’ll be taking measures to ensure your safety. They discuss options for protection and keeping you secure, given the potential threat from your ex. The room feels a little oppressive now, the weight of the situation still hangs heavily in the air.

But you don't want to give more details than you have to and he's getting frustrated. Just before you’re about to leave, the detective places a protective detail on you, ensuring that you won’t be left alone. You feel a sense of mixed angery and lingering anxiety as you prepare to head out. "I believe I did say no thank you."

Bakugou watches you leave the room, his expression unreadable. The memory of your eyes, the way you looked today, and the connection he feels but can’t quite place—it's all gnawing at him. 

And he was gonna get to the bottom of it. 

The detective looks taken aback as you decline the offer for protective help. “Are you sure you don’t want us to arrange something? It’s important to stay safe.”

You sigh, feeling the weight of your decision but knowing it’s the right one. “I appreciate the offer, but I’d rather just have a report made of today’s events. I don’t want any special treatment.”

The present officer’s eyebrows knit together in confusion. “Why would you refuse protection? This is a serious situation.”

You take a deep breath, trying to steady your voice. “Because… I don’t have much evidence against my ex. And… well, he’s about to become a top 10 pro hero.”

The revelation hangs in the air, causing a ripple of shock among the officers and the pro heroes observing from behind the glass. The detective's eyes widen, clearly stunned. “He’s a pro hero?”

You nod, your expression a mixture of resignation and frustration. “Yeah. He’s got a high rank in the hero community. I’m worried that the law and the public won’t be on my side. They might think I’m just making things up or trying to bring him down.”

The shock on the detective's face is palpable, and he glances nervously at the pro heroes behind the glass. Kirishima, who had been standing quietly, looks even more concerned. He turns to Bakugou and the others, a look of disbelief on his face. “Unmanly.”

Izuku’s eyes widen, his concern evident. “That’s serious….”

Todoroki looks at you with a mix of sympathy and anguish as he remembers his own mother. “If he’s a pro hero, it’s even more important that we handle this carefully. We’ll have to contact Jiro and Momo to see what they can dig up.”

Bakugou’s gaze is still locked on you, his expression shifting from one of confusion to something darker. He’s clearly grappling with the gravity of your situation and the impact it has on how he views you.

The detective nods, his demeanor now more serious. “We’ll make sure your report is properly documented. It’s unfortunate that you’re in this situation, and we’ll do what we can to assist.”

As the officers begin to prepare the report, you thank them and leave the room, feeling the weight of the earlier confrontation and the new revelations. The pro heroes behind the glass continue to watch you with concern, each processing the news in their own way.

You exit the station, feeling a mix of relief and apprehension. The thought of Kyoya trying to kill you has you in a daze and you realize that you should’ve asked for a business card at least or a ride home. The reality of your situation weighs on you, but there’s little time for reflection as you start running again. All but kicking the doors open, you change quickly into a fresh outfit, a look that blends professional and alluring, ready for the night at the strip club. The urgency of needing money for your uncertain future drives you, and you race out the door, determined to make the most of the evening ahead

As you make your way to the club, the world outside seems to blur into a mix of neon lights and distant chatter. The adrenaline from the day’s events still pulses through you, adding to the electric anticipation of the night. The stakes are high, but you’re ready to face whatever comes your way, fighting for your future with every step you take.

You burst into the club’s dressing room, the familiar hum of activity immediately subdued by your presence. The other dancers, already in their pre-show routine, turn in unison, their faces a mix of curiosity and concern as they see you. Micheal, her phone pressed to her ear, ends the call abruptly and hurries over.

“Where were you?” she demands, her voice tinged with worry. “I’ve been calling you for hours!”

She throws her hands up into the air before dropping them down onto her hips.

You sit down heavily, your body sinking into the plush couch as the other girls crowd around you. Their hugs are a comforting blanket against the storm of emotions raging inside you. You take a deep breath and start recounting the day’s chaotic events, your voice trembling but determined.

As you describe the unsettling encounter at the police station, some of the girls gasp in shock, their hands flying to their mouths. Others express their frustration more physically, punching and kicking the walls in frustration. Micheal, still holding your hands, looks at you with a fierce mix of concern and anger.

“Oh, fuck no!” Micheal exclaims. “You needed to report his ass!”

You shake your head, fighting back tears as the weight of the day presses down on you. “I literally can’t think of a worse way to get sold out as a sex worker while being unpaid and needing money for a lawyer when school is literally less than two weeks away!” You’re not angry, just overwhelmed, trying to keep the nausea and tears at bay.

You didn't feel up to performing tonight, you wanted to puke and to hide under your covers for a long time. There was an old burner phone with a google drive account that had pictures and videos of the abuse he put you through. It would show the dates of when things were taken and that was hidden inside a safe box in the bank. He didn't know about the phone, that was your best bet for some evidence.

Micheal was now your makeup with practiced ease and adjusting your wig until you look every bit the confident performer. You change into a lacey babydoll dress and silver heeled sandals, the outfit a mix of comfort and allure, better suited to help you feel at ease despite the circumstances.

Once you’re ready, Micheal gives you a supportive nod, her expression softening with a mixture of pride and concern. She offers her hand, and you grasp it firmly, drawing strength from her presence. The two of you head towards the stage, joined by Ruby, Pearl, Sapphire, and the other dancers who form a supportive circle around you.

You step onto the center floor with your troupe and the energy of the club envelops you.

Bakugou scanned the neon lit club, his sharp eyes catching every movement, every flicker of light from the scattered neon signs. The air was thick with the mingling scents of alcohol, sweat, and cheap perfume, making his nose wrinkle in distaste. His grip tightened around the glass of whisky as he took a slow, measured sip, the burn doing little to soothe the irritation gnawing at him.

He couldn't believe he was here. This wasn't his scene—too chaotic, too noisy, and filled with people he couldn't care less about. Yet, here he was, all because he couldn't shake the nagging suspicion that had taken root in his mind since the moment he woke up. His usual go-to corner was empty, devoid of your presence. It was unsettling.

A small part of him, the part he'd never admit to anyone, not even himself, had hoped you'd be here. That you'd be the girl from the station, even if that meant he'd have to confront whatever that meant for the both of you. But the more rational part of him, the one that kept him grounded, kept him from making impulsive decisions, was screaming at him to leave, to not get involved.

'What if she is?' The thought circled back, refusing to be silenced. He took another sip, savoring the warmth that spread through his chest, but it did little to quiet the tumultuous thoughts racing through his mind. 'What are you gonna do then? Drag her outta here and throw her in the back seat of the Ferrari?' He scoffed inwardly at the idea. He wasn't that kind of guy. He wouldn't force anything on anyone.

But he had to know.

He picked a seat at a center table, the perfect vantage point to observe without drawing too much attention to himself. Of course, that plan fell through the moment some idiot tried to claim the spot first.

"Hey man, I was sitting there—"

Katsuki didn’t bother with words, just turned his gaze, cold and sharp, on the guy. The idiot stiffened, sunglasses slipping down the bridge of his nose as he faltered under Bakugou’s intense stare. “Never mind, it’s all good,” the guy mumbled, backing off with a hasty retreat.

Bakugou mused, his lips curling into a smirk for just a moment before his face returned to its usual scowl. He ignored the curious glances that flickered his way, dismissing them as irrelevant. He had one goal tonight—to find you, or to confirm that you weren’t here.

It took everything in him to remain calm, to not look like some obsessed stalker while his eyes scanned the room, searching for a familiar face among the crowd of strangers. 'Just a quick check,' he told himself, 'and then I’m outta here.' But even as he thought it, he knew it wouldn't be that simple.

As the DJ’s voice crackles through the speakers, he announces the upcoming performance with a flourish. “Ladies and gentlemen, get ready for a show you won’t forget! Let’s hear it for Marshmallow and Baby Doll!”

His eyes narrow when he sees the spotlight shift to the main stage. The DJ’s announcement fades into the background as the lights focus on the two figures stepping into the limelight. The first is Micheal, with her confident stride and dazzling smile. The second, clad in a similar lacey dress you wore earlier, makes his heart skip a beat.

It’s you.

The pulsating lights of the club dance across the floor, creating a kaleidoscope of colors that wash over the crowd. The beat of Rihanna's "Pour it Up" thumped through the speakers, the bass vibrating through the floor. The crowd's energy was infectious, feeding into your every movement as you both began to sway to the rhythm.

You and Micheal glide onto the stage, both wearing outfits that shimmer under the lights. Your flowy dress swishes with every step, and Micheal’s ensemble colors complement yours, making you both look like a perfectly matched pair. The audience’s cheers rise as you prepare to start your routine.

Micheal took the lead, her movements fluid and powerful, as she set the tone for the performance. You followed her lead, letting the music guide you as your body moved effortlessly, your hips rolling in time with the beat. The audience was captivated, their eyes glued to the two of you as you danced in perfect harmony.

Micheal spun around the pole with a graceful ease, her leg wrapping around it as she arched her back, her hair cascading down like a waterfall. You watched her with admiration, your own body moving to the rhythm as you danced beside her. The crowd was going wild, their cheers growing louder with every move.

As the song's chorus hit, you felt a surge of confidence. For the first time, you approached the pole, your hand gripping it as you spun around, your body following in a fluid motion. The crowd roared in approval, their cheers filling the room as you lifted yourself up, your muscles flexing as you held your body in a perfect split. You could feel their eyes on you, their energy feeding into your own as you moved with a newfound strength and grace.

“Throw it up, throw it up (throw up)

 Watch it all fall out (fall out)

 Pour it up, pour it up (pour up)

 That's how we ball out (ball out)”

Rihanna's voice echoed through the room, and you sang along, your voice blending with hers as you twerked and whined to the beat. You could see the girls in the front row screaming for you, their faces lit up with excitement as they threw bills onto the stage. You smiled to yourself, feeling a rush of pride as you worked the crowd, your every move earning you more cheers and applause. 

Sad bitches love money after all. 

In the background, Bakugou had been sitting at a center table, his attention laser-focused on you. The moment he saw you step onto the stage, his heart skipped a beat, and he couldn’t tear his eyes away. He had come here to see if it was really you, and now that he had his answer, he was utterly mesmerized. When you performed the split and showed your strength on the pole, his breath caught in his throat.

 “Strippers goin' up and down that pole

   And I still got more money

   Four o'clock and we ain't going home

   'Cause I still got more money”

He stood up, pulling out three thick stacks of cash and placing them on the edge of the stage. The sight of the money caught your eye, and you slowed your spin on the pole, locking eyes with him. The connection was electric, a silent understanding passing between you as you decided to give him a show he wouldn’t forget.

With feline grace, you crawled across the stage towards him, your body moving with a sensual rhythm that had the crowd on the edge of their seats. The noise of the room faded into the background as you reached out, your fingers brushing against Bakugou’s cheek. His eyes darkened with intensity as you leaned in closer, your nails gently scratching under his chin, like you were petting a kitten.

 “The look in your eyes, I know you want some”

He leaned into your touch, his breath hitching as you ran your hand down his chest, feeling the hard muscles beneath his shirt. You could feel the tension between you, a spark igniting as you pressed your palm against his chest, holding his gaze. Then, with a smirk, you pushed him back down into his seat, the unexpected move catching him off guard.

 “Money on my mind

   Money, money on my mind

   Throw it, throw it up

   Watch it fall off from the sky,”

The crowd erupted in wild cheers, the noise crashing over you like a wave as you stood up, your eyes still locked on Bakugou. He sat there, trying to hide the flush creeping up his neck, not from embarrassment but from the sheer thrill of the unexpected. You had just turned the tables on him, and the look in his eyes told you he wasn’t sure how to react. 

He didn’t give a shit you did that in front of the crowd, he just hadn’t expected it to feel so good . 

“Who cares how you haters feel

  And I still got more money

  My fragrance on and they love my smell

   I still got more money

   So who cares about what I spend,”

As you continued to dance, the crowd’s energy surged, and you knew that tonight, you had owned the stage in a way you never had before. Bakugou’s gaze never left you, his mind racing as he tried to reconcile the woman on stage with the girl he once knew.

“I still got more money

  My pocket's deep, and they never end

   I still got more money

   I'm going dumb with all my friends,”

As the final beats of "Pour It Up" reverberated through the club, you and Micheal finished your routine with a flourish, your bodies perfectly in sync as the crowd roared in approval. The lights dimmed for a moment, giving you a brief respite from the intense spotlight.

Bakugou, who had been watching you intently, leaned back in his seat, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. He flicked more bills onto the stage, one after another, until the DJ couldn’t ignore it any longer. 

“Shoutout to that blond dude over there that looks pissed off! I saw those 3 racks!”

The DJ announced over the speakers, drawing more attention to Bakugou. Almost instantly, the other dancers swarmed him, eager to thank their generous patron.

Bakugou’s expression shifted to one of mild annoyance as he found himself surrounded by the other girls. “Oh, fuck no,” he muttered under his breath, trying to maintain his composure as they fawned over him. But despite the situation, he kept an eye on you, watching as you were swept up in a whirlwind of affection from your friends.

Micheal and Mugumi hugged you tightly, their excitement infectious as they squealed and jumped up and down with you still in their arms. Little Ruby was kissing your cheeks, her tiny hands cupping your face as she showered you with praise. You felt a wave of warmth and happiness wash over you, a sense of belonging that you hadn’t felt in years. These women weren’t just colleagues; they were your support group, your friends, and the realization made your heart swell with gratitude.

As more of the businessmen around the club noticed the affection being shown to you, they began throwing more money onto the stage, eager to join in the celebration. Pearl—Casey—looked at them with thinly veiled disgust, her nose wrinkling as she observed their behavior. But before she could say anything, Sapphire gently hushed her, flashing a charming smile as she began to flirt with them, expertly keeping the mood light and playful.

The businessmen, already tipsy and loosened up by the atmosphere, made a request for another performance. The idea was met with enthusiastic cheers from the crowd, and you could feel the buzz of excitement in the air.

But first, you needed to clean up. You and the girls quickly gathered all the money scattered across the stage, stuffing the bills into your arms and purses before hurrying to the back. The adrenaline was still pumping through your veins, your mind racing as you headed to the dressing room.

Once inside, you moved with a sense of urgency, something gnawing at the back of your mind. You couldn’t shake the feeling that something was off. You dumped everything from your work bag—a simple duffle—into one of the filing cabinets and locked it. Then, you stuffed the duffle full of the money, every last bill, before quickly hiding the bag in the ceiling tiles, pressing it into the narrow space with a surge of paranoia.

You took a step back, your heart pounding as you stared up at the hidden duffle bag. Something didn’t feel right, but you couldn’t put your finger on it. Brushing off the unease, you forced yourself to focus, knowing that you still had a job to do. With the money safely stashed away, you could finally allow yourself to breathe, if only for a moment.

The noise from the club was muffled, but you could still hear the cheers and the music, the vibrations thrumming through the walls. You straightened up, taking a deep breath to steady your nerves. The next performance was just around the corner, and the crowd was hungry for more.

The girls exchanged glances, concern flashing in their eyes as they caught on to your unease. Micheal leaned in closer, her voice a low whisper, “You know there’s no way the manager and bouncers won’t take a cut of that money otherwise, right?” Her words were a stark reminder of how things worked around here, and you could see the others nodding in agreement, their expressions growing grim as they remembered the last time something like this had happened.

“Fuck it, I'll quit tonight if that fat bastard thinks he's getting his hands on my money!” Sapphire declares with fierce determination. The room went silent, everyone turning to look at her in shock. Micheal, however, just smirked, giving her an approving nod.

“Nice to see you again, Eraza. Been a hot minute,” Micheal remarks. Sapphire—Eraza—smiles and rolls her eyes.

Ruby, ever the firecracker, jumped up and adjusted her bikini top with a huff. “Yeah, if they touch our money again, we quit and go to that club for pro heroes!” she exclaimed, her voice filled with the same defiant energy. The mention of pro heroes caught your attention, your mind flashing back to the scene at the police station earlier. You shook the thought off, focusing on the task at hand.

Determined, you switched into a two-piece set with a flowy skirt, the fabric fluttering around your thighs as you moved. You slipped a garter belt onto your left leg, the cool metal of the buckle pressing against your skin. A quick adjustment of your lipstick, and you were ready. “Then let’s milk them for all they’ve got,” you said, your voice steady, though there was a manic edge to your smile.

Micheal looked at you, her surprise evident. Concern flickered in her eyes, but she matched your smile with one of her own, albeit more tempered. “We go big or go home,” you added, and the others nodded in agreement, the tension in the room shifting into a shared resolve.

“Thank God, you don’t drink or do drugs,” Micheal murmured, her relief palpable. You giggled, the sound light and airy as you shook off the last of your nerves. 

After all, this was your moment, and nothing was going to ruin it. Not tonight. But as you stepped out of the dressing room, a chill ran down your spine, a sense of foreboding settling in your gut. You shook it off, knowing you had to keep your head in the game. Together, you all made your way back to the main stage, the energy between you electric.

The DJ whispered something to Micheal as you all took your places, the lights dimming around you. The atmosphere in the club was charged, anticipation hanging thick in the air. You could see your ash-blond regular still fending off the other women (and some men) who had latched onto him. They squealed and fawned over him, their voices rising in pitch as they practically screamed  obscene things, hoping to catch his attention. The dude looked like he was seconds away from blowing up the entire club, his patience worn thin, but the bouncers weren’t in any rush to step in and stop it.

The spotlight swung over to you and the girls, the crowd’s attention snapping back to the stage as the music began to pulse through the speakers. The DJ’s voice boomed over the microphone, announcing your return, and the crowd erupted in cheers. You could feel the eyes on you, the hunger, the anticipation. It was time to give them a show they’d never forget.

The beat of "Don't Tell 'Em" by Jeremih starts to pulse through the club, the sultry rhythm reverberating in your chest as you and the girls move to the music. 

“‘Rhythm is a dancer, I need a companion

   Girl, I guess that must be you

  Body like the summer, fuckin' like no other

   Don't you tell 'em what we do,” 

The stage lights flash, casting you all in a glow that enhances the sensuality of the dance. You and Micheal move in sync, your bodies swaying to the seductive beat as you act out the lyrics with every dip and roll of your hips.

As you dance, you catch sight of the manager emerging from his office, a thick cigar clamped between his teeth, the smoke curling lazily around his head. He surveys the room with a calculating eye, pausing as he notices the commotion at your regular’s table. His gaze shifts, locking onto you and the girls on stage, and then he gestures sharply towards the back, his intention clear. Panic flares in your chest, and you turn to flip your hair, a feigned act of confidence that’s really just an excuse to share a quick, panicked glance with the others.

You notice two of the bouncers beginning to move towards your mysterious regular and the last thing you want is for him to get caught up in some unnecessary trouble. You know how these things go: a misunderstanding, a few harsh words, and then it’s fists flying. And while his scars say he doesn’t seem like the type to shy away from a fight, you can’t bear the thought of him getting beat up for just enjoying a performance.

With a decision made in a split second, you glide off the stage and slip onto his table, moving with the grace and ease that you’ve perfected over the month. The flashing lights create an almost ethereal halo around your head as you approach, making Bakugou blink twice, his sharp eyes momentarily softened by the surreal effect. For a second, he thinks he’s seeing things—something divine in the way you move, the way the lights play tricks with the shadows around you.

You wrap your arms around his neck, your cool hands pressing against the warmth of his skin, and you can almost feel the tension in him, the way his muscles coil tight under your touch. But instead of reacting violently, he gently places his arms around your waist, his hands resting on his elbows as if he’s hesitant to touch you too intimately, unsure if you want to be touched at all. The contrast between his careful, almost protective hold and the raw energy he radiates is striking, and it sends a shiver down your spine.

“Only is you got me feeling like this

 Oh, why, why, why, why, why

 Loving while grabbing the rhythm of your hips

 That's right, right, right, right, right,”

Bakugou’s heart is pounding, so hard he’s convinced it might explode again in his chest. It’s a sensation you make him feel often, this uncontrollable rush of something he can’t quite name—something close to panic, but sweeter, almost intoxicating. As he takes in the details of your appearance—the smooth curve of your waist, the way your hair falls just so—he’s hit with a wave of recognition. The way you hold yourself, the slight tremble in your legs, it all clicks into place. The same eyes he saw at the police station, the same waist he pulled away from that burning package, the same leg you lotioned the night before.

But your hair—it’s different. As you move closer, he realizes the truth. It’s a wig. The realization is oddly grounding for him, a piece of a puzzle finally snapping into place.

A few of the other dancers start to murmur, their voices laced with jealousy and spite as they badmouth you for hogging the attention. But you don’t let go, and neither does he. You lean in, your lips brushing against his ear, your breath sending a shiver down his spine as you whisper, 

“Usual spot?” 

You tilt your head up slightly, just enough for him to catch a glimpse of those familiar eyes.

Bakugou has to shift a bit to get a better look at you, his mind racing as he connects all the dots. There’s no mistaking it now—those eyes, that leg, that waist. It’s you. The same woman from the station, the same one who’s been lingering in the back of his mind ever since. And now you’re here, in his arms, and he can feel the weight of the moment settling over him like a heavy cloak.

He can’t help but smirk, though, the corner of his mouth twitching up as he realizes just how many coincidences have led to this exact moment. But his thoughts are cut short as you pull back slightly, just enough to meet his gaze. You’re still wrapped around him, but there’s something almost tentative in the way you hold each other— two people who don’t quite belong to each other but can’t seem to let go.

As the song begins to wind down, you both remain locked in that moment, the world around you fading into the background. 

But then, a voice cuts through the air, shattering the bubble you’ve been in.

“Funny. Real funny, baby doll.”

Chapter Text

You blink, snapping back to reality, and glance toward the source of the voice. Your manager stands there, a cancer stick dangling from his lips, a smirk playing on his features. But as you catch the way the blonde guy’s fiery glare zeroes in on him, your manager hesitates, taking an involuntary step back, the smirk faltering for just a second.

Without thinking, you place your hand over his heart to calm him, to offer some reassurance. But the moment your palm meets his chest, you freeze. ‘Holy shit!’ His heart is racing—pounding so hard it startles you. ‘Dear God, please don’t let him die here with me on top of him.’ The intensity of it continues to send a jolt through you, and for a split second, you consider pulling your hand away. But instead, you keep it there, feeling the strong, rapid rhythm beneath your fingers.

A soft breath escapes you, realizing the effect this moment has had on him—on both of you. With a steadying breath, you slowly peel yourself away from him, the connection lingering even as you step back.

“I’m hilarious,” you retort to your manager, a playful edge to your voice as you regain your composure. You give him a look that’s both a warning and a tease, letting him know you’re not in the mood for his games right now.

Your manager raises his hands in mock surrender, a chuckle escaping him as he takes another drag from his cigarette. "Sure thing, doll. Just don’t get too caught up, yeah?" 

‘Fucking bastard!’

‘Fucking bastard.’

You don’t bother responding, your focus already shifting back to the group, the energy of the room buzzing once more as you slip back into the role you’ve perfected. But as you rejoin the others, you can still feel the lingering heat from where his heart beat so fiercely against your palm, a reminder that you had some unfinished business. 

But as soon as the opening beats of Cardi B's "Money" hit the speakers, the spell is broken. You pull yourself into the princess persona you created and begin to slowly bounce and step along with the beat. 

Bakugou stays rooted in place for a moment, watching as you step back into your role. But he can’t bring himself to watch this one, not with the way the song and your movements suggest a confidence that’s about more than just performance. He knows you have a job to do, but he doesn’t want to see you like this, not in front of other people. The thought of another man watching you, admiring you the way he has, makes something uncomfortable coil in his chest.

Without another word, he slides six grand onto the stage before making his way back to the bar, trying to put some distance between himself and the stage. He nurses a whiskey, eyes occasionally flicking back to you as you work the crowd.

It’s clear to him that you’re different with the women. There’s a lightness to your movements, a comfort in how you tease them, accepting their dollars with a smile. But it’s not the same as with the men, especially him. With them, you keep your distance, keeping the illusion alive but never fully closing the gap. It’s subtle, but Bakugou notices, each stolen glance confirming what he suspected. You’re more at ease around women, more in control. When those men try to control your attention you don’t reward them. He finds himself wondering why, piecing together the little details he’s gathered about you.

From his seat at the bar, he can see the energy between you and your friends as you mouth the lyrics, moving in sync with one another. There’s a camaraderie there, a sense of trust and understanding that’s palpable, even to him. And as he watches, he can’t help but feel a pang of something unidentifiable—admiration, maybe, or something more complicated.

The song’s aggressive beat contrasts sharply with the way you handle yourself, the confidence in your movements underscoring that, despite everything, you’re in control. Even when you’re playing a role, there’s an undeniable strength in how you hold yourself.

Bakugou swirls the whiskey in his glass, glancing over at you again. He can’t shake the feeling that there’s more to you than what he’s seen tonight, more than what you’ve let anyone else see. And for reasons he doesn’t quite understand, that makes him want to learn more.

But for now, he settles back into his seat, content to steal glimpses of you while keeping a safe distance, letting you do what you need to do, all while feeling that unmistakable pull toward you.

As Bakugou leans back at the bar, his thoughts churn. The way you sang the lyrics to Cardi B’s “Money” so passionately had him wondering if you really loved money that much. But the way you moved, the fierce energy in your eyes, made him doubt that simple answer. 

He knew there was more to it. A top 10 Pro Hero had left you, and that piece of information gnawed at him. He’d done some digging, but every time he searched for any past addresses linked to you in Japan, that other guy’s name popped up—your ex, the one the police mentioned had a history of abusing you.

Bakugou had looked him up too. The police might be idiots, but he wasn’t so easily fooled. Thanks to Kirishima’s quick thinking, he’d run your fingerprints through his personal database before destroying the cup. He didn’t need anyone else knowing what he did. And even if, later on, you told him you didn’t care if people knew,it was your choice whether to reveal your work in the club and online. It was a strange thought, considering you never sold nudes or adult films. You never stripped down to more than a bikini. It was clear you value your privacy and had firm boundaries.

But what he found out about you shocked him. You were a foreigner here on a work visa, a registered Pro Hero. That floored him. A Pro Hero working in a strip club… why? He knew he wasn’t owed an answer, but damn it, he wanted to know why. You were young, in your twenties, like him. You were in great shape, and with the strength you’d shown when you pushed him down earlier, he was sure you could handle yourself. Hell, you could probably throw that mammoth, Kirishima, if you wanted to! 

So what the fuck happened?

His thoughts drifted back to your ex. Why did that wimp want to kill you? Yeah, he’d looked him up too—that sappy-ass loser, a poser who couldn’t even do the job himself. What kind of idiot delivers his own murder device? Unless… What if it was just to scare you? 

What if it was a trick to get you to retaliate, to get the cops involved and make the whole thing public like you feared? What if he had something on you, something that made it impossible for you to use your hero license, forcing you to work here instead?

The more Bakugou thought about it, the more the pieces started to come together. If that were the case, what was that bitch of an ex really planning to do? What did he have over you that kept you in this life, dancing for money and doing sultry streams instead of being out there, saving lives like you were clearly capable of doing?

He took another sip of his whiskey, eyes narrowing as he watched you on stage, the gears in his mind turning. There was something deeper going on here, something that made him want to dig even further, to understand what had brought you to this point. And for reasons he couldn’t quite explain, he found himself wanting to protect you, to figure out a way to help, even if you didn’t think you needed it.

He really needed to get his head checked out finally. 

As the song wound down, Bakugou assumed it was over, but he couldn’t really tell with the hurricane of dollar bills and coins raining down on you and your friends. The stage was a mess of cash and glittering lights, obscuring his view as the crowd went wild. Some of your friends pulled out big trash bags, efficiently collecting the money while you grabbed a broom, doing your best to sweep the stage clean. Katsuki ordered a water and drank it slowly, trying to counteract the alcohol that was still buzzing in his veins.

Despite the chaos, he noticed how you deftly handled the crowd. Several people tried to stuff money into your clothes, but you just snatched it away, playing into the bratty persona you’d crafted online. It was shocking, really—how well you played the spoiled, mean girl while keeping those men drooling for more. Maybe that was your quirk after all, he thought. He didn’t know, and right now, it didn’t matter.

All he knew was that his heart hadn’t stopped racing since he met you. And like a drug, he needed more. There was something about you that pulled him in, made him want to dig deeper, to uncover the real you beneath all the layers of performance and secrecy. He left money for his tab on the counter, ordered a water bottle, and then made his way to the back, waiting for you.

As he leaned against the wall, watching the door to the private rooms, he felt an unfamiliar tension building in his chest. He had no idea what he was going to say to you, or if he even had the right to ask the questions that had been piling up in his mind. But one thing was clear—he wasn’t leaving this place until he had some answers.

Meanwhile–

Megumi worked swiftly with the vacuum, sucking up every dollar that fluttered on the stage, while the rest of you—eight in total, including Megumi's boyfriend and Eraza's girlfriend, who'd been blending into the crowd—hauled the bags to the trunk of their cars. You had the DJ, Freddy, close the curtains the moment the show ended, and now you were all stuffing your purses with decoy money, just in case things went south.

The plan was set: pay the house fees, none of the "protection" crap, and then quit. Tonight was your last night here. You were all moving to that new club, the one for pro heroes. Well… maybe not you. 

Freddy, the DJ—honestly too sweet for a place like this—came to warn you that the boss had "Big Ricky" waiting for you in your usual spot. The mention of Ricky made your blood run cold. He was the guy that would pretend to be all sweet before beating the girls senseless. You handed Freddy your purse full of money, insisting he take it, even as he tried to shove it back. You hugged him quickly, taking his business card from his back pocket. You knew they’d break his sweet face if they found out he’d warned you all and he’d have a better chance at the new club than you would. 

Why all this trouble? Your second day you found out, this wasn’t just a strip club. It was a front for dirty dealings—stolen goods, drugs, if you could name it, it was probably on the bathroom walls. Majority of the other dancers participated in the sex work, but your group was the last one standing—the only ones "unowned" by your boss, Yuji Tanaka. The only one’s he had nothing incriminating on to keep them there. He would’ve gotten rid of all of you by now if you all didn’t bring in such big spenders. 

Eraza and Megumi were gonna leave with their partners, Casey dashed to the backroom to grab her things, her usual gun in tow. That left you, Michael, and Diamond—Kimiko—without a car. Michael all but ordered Kimiko to go with the others, and Freddy decided now was a good time to offer her a ride. "No funny business!" he added, but they couldn’t chase all the cars at once. You Told everyone to regroup at the local church parking lot. They wouldn’t think to look there. Then you would change drivers of the cars to further throw them off and use old costumes from the dressing room. You were different people everyday anyway, how hard could it be?

They looked at you in shock and disbelief as Casey came back and you instituted it was the only way. Micheal nodded behind you, there was no other option. Some protests began, but Eraza's boyfriend reminded everyone the engines were running, and you all dashed for it. Not a dollar was left on the stage when you did. It was funny how clean the place looked now.

The curtains split open, but you didn’t wait to see the look on Nick's face. You and Michael took the back stairs to the lap dance section, where she quickly peeled off to take care of her regulars. Just as you were about to continue, you remembered the money in the ceiling and personal items you left in the locked drawer. 

“Shit!”

You could hear footsteps behind you. Michael had a pink stun gun hidden in her wing, just in case there was trouble—she’d be fine. Plus, you’d seen her bench at the gym; she could handle herself. You, on the other hand, had a different plan.

Using some nearby leftover furniture, you climbed up into the ceiling, trying not to touch anything too gross as you crawled through the dark, the trash bags crinkling beside you. You kept going until you reached the hallway where you’d last seen the ash-blond. Peeking through the tiles, you gauged the situation below, then dropped down behind him with a cat-like grace.

He was surveying the area tensely, every muscle coiled as if ready to spring into action. You felt a flutter of nerves as you reached out and gently tugged his jacket.

"Uh, hey," you tried to manage casually, hoping you didn’t sound as nervous as you felt.

Bakugou turned around, completely shocked to see you standing there. His eyes widened as if he couldn’t quite believe you’d just appeared out of nowhere. Before he could utter a word, you sighed heavily, grabbing his wrist firmly.

"Look, I don't have a lot of time, but I need your help. Follow me," you said, your tone leaving no room for argument.

Without waiting for a response, you began dragging him down the hallway, your grip on his wrist strong and unyielding. He followed, too stunned to protest, his mind racing with a million questions. What the hell was going on? Why did you need his help? And why did it feel like whatever was happening was serious?

You led him into the bathroom, pushing open a secret door that led into one of the empty lap dance rooms. The dim lighting barely illuminated the space, casting eerie shadows along the walls. Bakugou’s eyes darted around, trying to take in everything at once, but it was clear from the look on your face that whatever was going down took precedence over his questions.

You all but threw him into a chair, keeping the lights off in the room. The sudden buzz in your bra made you pause. You pulled out your phone, seeing that the other girls had already gotten away and were sharing their locations with each other. Before you could drop yours, Michael texted that she was finishing up and hiding out back, waiting for you because she had a taxi on the way.

You quickly texted back, giving yourself a ten-minute window, before sliding your phone back into your bra. When you looked up, Bakugou's intense red eyes were trained on you, his gaze filled with confusion and concern.

"I think we know who we are, don't we?" you said, your voice low but steady, breaking the silence that had settled over the room.

Bakugou's breath hitched for a moment as he processed your words. Everything about this situation screamed danger, but the way you looked at him, the way you moved with such purpose—it stirred something in him. This wasn’t the time for his usual bravado. Instead, he simply nodded, acknowledging the unspoken truth that had been hanging between you since that night at the police station.

"Spill, princess," Bakugou demanded, his voice gruff but edged with genuine concern.

"Please don't call me that." You flinched at the nickname, as if his words had physically hurt you. The reaction made him frown, hard. A deep crease forming between his brows. He hadn’t meant to upset you, and seeing you react like that unsettled him.

Without a word, he passed you the water bottle he had been holding, a silent gesture of peace. You took it gently from his hands, your fingers brushing against his for a brief moment. The touch was brief, but it left an imprint on both of you. You inspected the bottle as if checking it for any hidden intentions before unscrewing the cap and finishing it in one shot. The cold water was a small comfort, grounding you as you prepared to open up.

"So you already know who I am. I'm assuming you're Ground Zero, right?" you asked, trying to sound casual but failing to hide the tension in your voice.

Bakugou stiffened, the name hitting him like a jolt. He nodded slowly, confirming your suspicion. His mind was racing, trying to piece together what you might be about to tell him. He opened his wallet and slid you his pro hero license. You looked it over and used the condensation of your fingers to wipe over it and make sure it was legit before sliding it back. 

"Look," you began, your voice softer now, almost hesitant. "How you spend your time off duty is on you. Thank you for the save earlier and for being a good client, but I'm in a lot of deep shit—other than the shitty ex—and I need your help."

He leaned forward slightly, his full attention on you. “Go on.”

Taking a deep breath, you began to explain everything. How you ended up in this mess, the reasons behind your current situation, and what was happening right now.

"I was a registered pro hero, once," you started, your voice trembling slightly as you delved into the past. "I came here on a work visa after graduating, ready to start my career. But things didn't go as planned. My ex—he’s not just a shitty old flmae. He’s dangerous. He’s been controlling, manipulative... abusive. He’s a pro hero too, and not exactly the type to go down in a fight.”

As you spoke, Bakugou’s frown deepened. He could see the pain and frustration in your eyes, the weight of your words heavy in the room.

“Longer story short, he kicked me out and I couldn’t find another job. I was isolated, scared, and... I didn’t have anyone to turn to. I ended up here, doing this,” you gestured vaguely around the room, “because I needed to survive. But this place... it’s not just a strip club. There’s shady shit happening here. Stolen crap, drugs, sex, whatever. My group refused to hand over the cash haul tonight and now we’re on the run.”

Bakugou clenched his fists, the thought of someone like you being trapped in this kind of life making his blood boil. You continued, unaware of the storm brewing inside him.

“I need to get out, but it’s not that easy. Tonight, we planned to quit. But there’s a chance I’ll be caught before we can leave. The boss has people watching us, and if they find out what we’re doing... it won’t end well.”

You paused, looking down at your hands, which were now trembling slightly. “I need your help. I don’t know who else to trust, and I’m running out of options.” You sniffed and tried to bite your cheek to keep the tears forming in your eyes from spilling. 

Bakugou exhaled slowly, his mind reeling from everything you’d just told him. He hadn’t expected this when he walked into the club tonight. But as much as the situation was fucked up, there was no way he was going to leave you to deal with it alone.

“What do you need?”

You looked up at him, your eyes meeting his, and once again for the first time in a long while, you felt a glimmer of hope.

You looked up at him, your eyes meeting his, and for the first time took notice of how nice they were. "I'm sure Nick is still trying to find the money from the first performance. I know it's petty to just not leave it, but we worked hard for it, and you contributed too!"

Bakugou felt his ears get hot at that. The compliment caught him off guard, and he could feel the heat creeping up his neck.

"I know you're not the best with people from your interviews and whatnot, but you're great at rescue missions. I have a spare janitor's uniform in the back and two trash bags. I left my personal stuff in a cabinet and—" You turned around, fishing a small key out of your top, then turned back to see Bakugou’s face tilted toward the ceiling, clearly trying to give you some privacy.

"Hey, don't leave yourself exposed," you said, your voice firm but with a hint of a smile. "But I need my personal stuff. I ran here after the station, and I had my day job's crap on me. You’ll basically pretend to take out the trash, but one bag will be me and my stuff, and the other will be the money."

Bakugou lowered his gaze back to you, processing your plan. Before he could get a full sentence out, the door burst open with a loud crash.

You both whipped around to see a large, burly man standing in the doorway, his eyes narrowing as he took in the scene. It was Big Ricky, one of the club’s enforcers, and the menacing aura he gave off was enough to make anyone’s blood run cold.

Bakugou instinctively stepped in front of you, his posture tense, ready for a fight. "What's your problem, asshole?" Bakugou growled, his voice low and dangerous, already on edge from everything that had happened tonight.

Big Ricky’s eyes flicked between the two of you, clearly sizing up the situation. “Boss wants to see you, princess,” he sneered, ignoring Bakugou’s question entirely and focusing on you.

Your heart pounded in your chest, the plan you’d just formulated now hanging by a thread. You knew you didn’t have much time before everything went sideways.

“We were just heading that way,” you said, trying to sound calm, even as your mind raced for a way out. You gave Bakugou a quick glance, hoping he’d catch on to what you were about to do.

Bakugou’s eyes flashed with understanding. “Yeah, but we need to make a stop first. Girl’s got some stuff to pick up,” he said, his tone cold and authoritative, daring Big Ricky to challenge him.

Ricky hesitated, clearly not expecting Bakugou to be so bold. “Boss didn’t say anything about that,” he said, though there was uncertainty in his voice now.

“Then the boss can wait,” Bakugou shot back, his voice firm. 

Bakugou didn’t miss a beat. As Big Ricky continued to size the two of you up, he scoffed loudly, crossing his arms over his chest with a dramatic flair that surprised even you.

“What the hell is this?” Bakugou barked, his tone dripping with indignation. “I drop stacks in this place every time I walk in, and this is how I’m treated? Like some fucking nobody?”

You turned to Bakugou, eyes wide, momentarily stunned by his performance. It was as if he’d smoked something strong and was high on his own dramatics. But then you caught the look in his eyes—a silent plea for you to play along.

Realizing what he needed, you quickly slipped into the role, your expression turning icy. “Is this how you treat your best customers?” you chimed in, crossing your arms and adding a touch of haughtiness to your voice. “I’d think twice before coming back here if this is how you run things.”

The two of you made such a ruckus that it wasn’t long before the boss himself, Yuji Tanaka, appeared in the doorway. His expression was one of irritation mixed with curiosity as he took in the scene before him.

“What’s going on here?” Tanaka demanded, his gaze flicking between you, Bakugou, and Big Ricky.

“He says she owes him a lap dance or some shit,” Big Ricky muttered, trying to deflect the tension onto you.

Tanaka’s eyes narrowed, and for a moment, you feared he might see through the charade. But then he sighed, clearly more interested in keeping his high rollers happy than dealing with whatever drama was unfolding. “Fine,” he said, waving a hand dismissively. “One dance, then baby doll has to take care of something for me. Clear?”

“Crystal,” you spat, glaring at Tanaka with enough venom to make it believable. As soon as the words left your mouth, the lights dimmed, and the door clicked shut behind the two of you.

“I better hear that music!” Tanaka’s voice echoed from the hallway, making your heart race even faster.

Swallowing hard, you rushed over to the speakers and plugged in your phone, quickly selecting Doja Cat’s “Streets” on loop. You knew those old geezers outside wouldn’t notice if it played twice, but three times? That was pushing it, and you couldn’t afford to test your luck tonight.

As the sultry beats filled the room, you turned back to Bakugou, feeling a wave of nervousness wash over you. This was supposed to be a distraction, but now it felt too real. You took a step closer to him, trying to ignore the pounding of your heart.

Bakugou’s red eyes were locked on you, intense and focused. You could see the gears turning in his head, questions swirling just beneath the surface.

“Before we do anything,” he began, his voice low and steady, “I’ve got some questions.”

You bit your lip, knowing that time was ticking away but also understanding that he needed answers to trust you fully. “Okay,” you whispered, your voice barely audible over the music. “Ask away.”

Bakugou didn’t waste a second. “What’s really going on here? You’ve got the boss breathing down your neck, you’ve got some shitty ex who’s out for blood, and now you’re dragging me into this mess. Why are you doing this?”

You hesitated, feeling the weight of his gaze on you. “I didn’t want to involve anyone,” you confessed, your voice trembling slightly. “But I’m out of options. This place... it’s not just a strip club. There’s dirty money, drugs, all kinds of shit going down. And I’m stuck in the middle of it.”

Bakugou’s jaw tightened, but he remained silent, letting you continue.

“I was trying to save enough to get out, to disappear for good. But then my ex found me, and everything went to hell. I don’t have a choice, Bakugou. I need to get my stuff, get the money we earned tonight, and get the hell out of here before they catch on.”

The raw honesty in your voice seemed to soften Bakugou’s expression, though his eyes still burned with determination. “And you think sneaking out in a fucking trash bag is gonna work?”

“It’s the best plan I’ve got,” you admitted, feeling a bit foolish as the words left your mouth. “Unless you’ve got a better idea?”

He sighed, rubbing the back of his neck, clearly torn between the urgency of the situation and the questions still swirling in his mind. “Alright, we’ll do it your way,” he finally said, his tone begrudging but resigned. “But don’t think this means I’m done asking questions.”

You managed a small smile, the tension between you easing just a fraction. “I wouldn’t expect anything less.”

With the music filling the room and time running out, you hoped this dance wouldn’t be your last. And with Bakugou by your side, maybe—just maybe—you’d make it out of this mess alive.

Maybe. 

As the door suddenly swung open, you didn’t have time to think. You instinctively threw yourself into Bakugou’s lap, catching him completely off guard. His arms reflexively wrapped around you as he tried to steady both of you. Nick, standing in the doorway, scowled at the sight.

“Hey, don’t get too handsy with the merchandise,” Nick sneered, his eyes narrowing at Bakugou.

You shot Nick a glare, brimming with defiance. “Close the door,” you demanded, your voice sharp and unwavering. You didn’t wait for him to respond, your body still pressed against Bakugou’s, your heart pounding against your ribs. Maybe it was adrenaline or desperation, but you decided to give Bakugou a dance anyway, hoping it would keep up the charade just long enough.

But before you could move, Bakugou’s hands were on your shoulders, gently pushing you back. “Stop,” he said, his voice low and firm. He sat you up on the table instead, his gaze locking with yours, something unreadable flickering behind his crimson eyes.

“What if you had someone to take care of you?” he asked suddenly, the words catching you off guard.

Your eyes widened at his question. A sense of dread washed over you, freezing you in place. “No,” you whispered, shaking your head slowly. You knew where this conversation could lead, and it terrified you. “No, I can’t let that happen again.”

Bakugou inhaled deeply, his chest rising as he tried to temper his frustration. He exhaled slowly, his breath matching yours without either of you realizing it. There was something painfully familiar in his expression—an understanding that only came from experience. He wasn’t just seeing you; he was seeing a reflection of his own struggles.

He glanced at your hands for a moment, noticing the slight tremor in them before wiping the sweat off his palms on his pants. “Look, I know you don’t trust the cops,” he began, his voice tinged with uncertainty. “And maybe you hate pro heroes too. But…”

“But?” you prompted, trying to keep the tremor out of your voice.

“God, I don’t know how to say this without it sounding shitty,” Bakugou muttered, the frustration evident in his tone.

“Then just spit it out,” you urged, your impatience growing with every second.

He sighed, clearly struggling with the right words, before reaching out to take your hands in his. You hesitated, then placed your palm flat against his, just like that night behind the glass. His hands were still larger than yours, strong and capable, enveloping both of your hands in one of his.

“Look, this isn’t how I wanted to do this, but… what if I gave you a job?”

You tilted your head, confusion flickering across your face. You’d heard of his agency with Red Riot. “Like hero work? Can’t do that right now, I’m afraid.”

He blinked, a storm brewing in his eyes. His irises, a deep, fiery red, seemed to hold a world of emotions—anger, frustration, determination, and something softer, something that made your heart skip a beat. His brows furrowed, casting shadows over those intense eyes that never left yours.

“No, I mean a desk job,” he clarified, his tone softer but still resolute. “Something simple, behind the scenes.”

You shook your head, the weight of the day pressing down on you. “I can’t do that either,” you said, your voice tinged with regret. “I had a meeting with my boss this morning… and I ran into my ex in the elevator. It’s all a mess.”

Bakugou’s jaw clenched so tightly you could practically hear his teeth grinding. The muscles in his neck strained, tension radiating from his entire body. You were surprised he didn’t crack his teeth with how hard he was biting down.

“What about if I paid you to live with me?” he asked, his tone suddenly intense, like he was trying to push you toward an answer. “Your apartment is cute, but it’s compromised. So is your little friends’ place. If they can’t find you again, they can’t release anything to the public. But I’m assuming he doesn’t want to let you go because you have something equally bad or worse on him that could end his career and put him in jail.”

He raised his eyebrows, waiting for your response, but before he could react, you grabbed his face in your hands, holding it firmly. You stared deeply into his eyes, searching for something, anything, that would give you a reason to trust him. His eyes, those stormy, crimson orbs, were a whirlwind of emotions—strength, vulnerability, anger, and a fierce protectiveness that made you wonder if he could really be the one to save you.

The room seemed to hold its breath as you searched his gaze, trying to decide if you could trust this man who was offering to take you away from everything you’d known, who was willing to fight for you when you didn’t know if you could fight for yourself.

Bakugou didn’t flinch under your scrutiny. Instead, he let you see everything—the pain, the regret, the resolve. It was as if he was saying, 

“I’m not perfect, but I’m here. I’ll be here.”

Fuck, that was a whole lot more than you ever had before. 

“Let’s entertain the idea of me living with you. What did you have in mind?”

You could hear the door starting to rattle, and a wave of panic surged through you. Without a second thought, you pulled Bakugou’s face into your chest, shielding him from view. As you pressed him close, Ricky felt the sudden, sharp impact of your heel against Nick’s face, followed by another swift heel.

“Get out!” you shouted, your voice echoing with desperation. You snatched your heels back, glaring fiercely as you slammed the door shut and locked it. It wouldn’t hold for long, you knew, but it bought you a moment.

Bakugou, still flushed and bewildered, looked up at you with wide eyes. “What? First time?” you asked, noticing his shocked expression. His pupils were dilated, and he was trying to wipe the shock from his face, his breath coming in quick, shallow gasps.

‘ Fuck, she does smell good, ’ he thought, his senses overwhelmed by the close contact. He nodded slowly, still trying to process everything. You walk back over to him, “Mine too.”

You slid onto his lap, shifting slightly to test his reactions. “So, I live with you and then what? You have me all to yourself?” you teased, your voice a mix of temptation and challenge. 

Bakugou shook his head quickly, his face turning even redder. “No, that’s not what I meant,” he said, his voice strained. “Do you always offer your personal home to civilians in trouble or am I just that special?”

“It’s just you,” he replied firmly, “Because I know I could protect you better than any of those other fuckers.”

You sat on his waist, starting to grind softly, feeling the tension in his body as he tried to keep control.Without warning, he lifts you up and places you back on the table, his movements abrupt but controlled. 

“I’m not one of them, pretty,” he said, his voice low and intense. “You can’t hide behind that persona. Now, are you gonna keep being stubborn or—”

Before he could finish, you slapped him hard. The sting of the impact seemed to resonate through him, and to his surprise, tears welled up in his eyes. When did he become such a punk? You hit harder than his old hag. But as he looked at your flushed face, your tired eyes, he felt a pang of guilt and a rush of protectiveness.

“I’m sorry,” he said, his voice breaking slightly. He was out of his depth, and it showed.

You started to move away, but Bakugou quickly grabbed your hand again. “No, really, I am. I’m not good at this shit. My mouth gets in the way. Look, is there anything I could do to prove myself to you?”

You swallowed hard, forcing your emotions back behind a blank expression. It pains him how easily you do that. “First, if we’re gonna do this, I’d rather do it like a sugar baby relationship. That would ironically make it easier for me right now. No sex.”

“None needed,” he confirmed quickly.

“Good. And no falling in love. Also, give me your hero license.”

Bakugou stiffened at that request, his eyes narrowing slightly. You could see the hesitance in his eyes. But before you could even react, he had already pressed the cool metal into your palm. You didn’t even see him open his wallet to retrieve it. 

“One condition,” you said, your gaze steady as you looked up at him. With your heels off, you were shorter, and the fire in your eyes was even more apparent.

“You have to trust me,” he added, his tone firm.

“Trust isn’t given, it’s earned,” you said, your voice suspicious.

“Trust me, princess, I know that better than anyone else,” Bakugou replied. “But right now, I need you to trust me and to know I can trust you, or neither of us is going to make it out alive tonight.”

You bit your plump lip, staring deeply into his eyes, challenging him to prove his sincerity. Katsuki held your gaze, his eyes dark and intense, a silent battle of wills playing out between you. 

He was right, now without the heels, you were even shorter than he thought and your eyes burned like a wildfire, like you were daring him, and Katsuki stares like he's daring you right back.

The raw honesty in his voice made you pause. His eyes, sharp and unwavering, meet yours with a steely determination. You feel the intensity of the moment, a palpable tension that crackles between you. Emotions flickering wildly within your chest and you feel like a dragon. The unspoken question lingers in the air:

‘What if you fuck me over?’

The tension in your body is visible as you weigh his words and your lack of options. Your gaze remains steady, daring him to prove himself, and Katsuki’s eyes meet yours with equal intensity, as if daring you to see past the angry facade. 

“Deal?” he asked finally, his voice steady despite the tension.

“Deal,” you responded, your voice barely more than a whisper.

You both shook on it, a silent agreement sealed between you. Bakugou then scooped you up, carrying you as if you were weightless, and stood on the table. With a grunt of effort, he pushed the ceiling tiles aside, revealing the escape route.

“I hope this plan works,” you said, your voice filled with a mix of hope and anxiety.

“Me too,” Bakugou replied, his voice firm with determination.

As you both prepared to make your escape, the urgency of the situation was palpable. The night had been a whirlwind, and as you climbed through the opening, you could only hope that this risky plan would lead to safety.

"THEY'RE GETTING AWAY!"   

"SHOOT THEM!"

BANG BANG!

Chapter Text

BANG! BANG!

You and Bakugou plunge into the dim, cramped crawl space above the club. Your breathing was steady, but the urgency of the situation hummed between you both, like an electric current running through the narrow gap.

‘Bitch men never fight fair.’

You led the way, carefully navigating the labyrinth of pipes and beams. Bakugou followed closely, his heavy boots thudding softly behind you. You could sense his tension, the way his muscles coiled like a spring ready to snap. The moment you reached the other side, you dropped down first into the dressing room, landing with a soft thud on the carpeted floor.

Bakugou followed, his landing much heavier, and as he moved forward, he suddenly tripped, nearly losing his balance. A loud metallic clatter echoed through the room as his foot struck something heavy.

He cursed under his breath, looking up to find a duffel bag stuffed with cash. You giggled softly at his discovery. 

"Found it, huh?"

He shot you a sharp look. "How the hell are you so calm during all this?"

You shrugged, nonchalant as ever, and replied, "I always am in these situations."

The casualness of your statement made his eyebrows furrow in thought. His mind flickered to assumptions—maybe it was your ex, maybe it was your hero training. He mentally filed it away for later.

You moved quickly, locking all the doors in the dressing room, a well-practiced routine that spoke volumes about your experience. Bakugou watched as you fished the small key out of your bra, unlocking a cabinet with a sigh of relief as you pulled out a beat-up pair of Converse. The heels you had been wearing clattered to the floor as you swapped them out for the more practical shoes.

With a swift, practiced motion, you began tugging off the rest of your outfit. As you stripped down to nothing but your undergarments, you glanced up to see Bakugou with his back to you, standing awkwardly by the wall. You couldn't help but grin and toss the janitor costume toward him.

"Here, put this on," you said hurriedly.

He turned slightly, catching the costume out of the air, but immediately turned his gaze back to the wall when he caught sight of your bare back. His face flushed red, and he muttered something under his breath about you being "too damn casual about it."

You chuckled softly, slipping into your old work skirt and blouse, the familiar fabric a comfort amidst the chaos. Once dressed, you quickly packed everything into your large black Juicy Couture purse, methodically clearing out anything left behind from the girls—bikinis, makeup, hair tools, shoes—everything. You didn’t want to leave any trace behind.

As you cleaned out the lockers, you kept one eye on your phone, watching as messages from the other girls came in. They’d all gathered at the spot and sent safety pics, but one name was missing—Michael.

She never took her phone out on the dance floor, a habit that suddenly seemed all too risky. You hesitated, thumb hovering over her contact. You wanted to text her, but something held you back, the nagging worry about whether it was safe.

Sighing, you switched tactics and logged into one of her social media accounts, tracking her last known location. Just last week she had given you access to her insta so you could take selfies for the website. Now you’re using it to make sure she’s not dead. 

Your heart skipped a beat when you saw the ping. It wasn’t inside the club. It was outside, in an alleyway nearby.

Bakugou said something, but his voice barely registered as you stared at the screen, your mind racing. You felt a warm hand on your shoulder, pulling you back to reality. You looked up to see Bakugou’s concerned face, his eyes searching yours as he looked at the screen.

"What’s going on?" he asked, his voice low and serious, but with an edge of worry that he was trying to mask.

You took a deep breath, steadying yourself. "Michael… she’s outside. Alone."

Bakugou adjusted the oversized janitor uniform, the fabric awkwardly hanging on his muscular frame. He pulled the cap low over his eyes, giving you a quick nod of acknowledgment. You pulled the money bag down by one of its straps, expertly tying it with a trash bag you’d had stashed on your garters. Then, with practiced efficiency, you filled it with old papers, fast food wrappers, and broken odds and ends. Satisfied with the disguise, you climbed into another bag with your purse, nestling it between the discarded clothes, your heels clutched close.

Bakugou watched you with a mix of admiration and concern. “Are you sure about this?” he asked, his voice low and rough as he placed you on a cart.

“Yeah,” you replied firmly. “I can’t leave without her.”

He took a deep breath, closing his eyes momentarily. You noticed, for the first time, his long lashes—unexpectedly delicate for someone as rough around the edges as him. Was that a hint of eyeliner? The observation slipped away as he opened his eyes again, the intensity of his bright ruby-red gaze, flecked with gold, pulling you back to the urgency of the moment.

“If I get hurt, I want you to call the hotline of my agency, Deku’s, or Icy Hot’s,” Bakugou instructed, his voice dropping to a more serious tone. “The code word would be ‘Dadzawa.’ If they need extra, you tell Deku ‘Forward march and here we go, members of the agency Bakugou.’”

“Bakugou?” you echoed, the name finally clicking into place.

“Yeah, that’s my name, princess. If no one else believes you, that nerdy bastard will.” His smirk was brief, but you caught a glimpse of something softer behind it. For a moment, your mind wandered to the top Pro Heroes you’d studied earlier. So they were friends outside of the media? It was kind of sweet, but you had more pressing matters at hand.

Before he closed the trash bag around you, you paused him and handed over the keys you’d swiped from the other janitors and managers. "These will make it look more real," you said, slipping an old baseball cap onto his head. You pulled Ruby’s (Megami's) bat from the vent and slid it into his oversized costume, the gesture surprising him.

“Just in case,” you added with a teasing tone. “I don’t want the club burning down because of you. But there’s a fire alarm at the back doors. Once we leave, pull it.”

He nodded, appreciating the foresight, before he gently covered you again, not tying the bag shut but keeping it closed enough to look convincing. You heard him struggle with the door before it creaked open, and the cart began to move.

Inside the bag, you pull out your phone, fingers trembling slightly, and quickly message your friends. I’m still in the club with Michael. Going to get her now. Almost immediately, they flood you with responses—prayers, offers to come back, even suggestions to bring the police. But you shut them down quickly. No more cops today.

You focused on your phone, her location being the only thing to keep your heart from stopping. As the cart continues to roll, you take a deep breath, steadying yourself for what’s to come. This plan has to work—there’s no other option.

Outside, Bakugou was surprisingly blending in, his movements casual yet deliberate as he filled more fake trash bags, wheeling them out as chaos erupted around the club. Women were fleeing with clients, security was tangled up in brawls, and you could hear shouts and breaking glass. The bartender and doorman were gone, meaning some of the more unsavory patrons were taking whatever they could grab. Bakugou’s sharp eyes caught sight of the man who had shot at him earlier, and who he assumed was your boss. He committed their features to memory, his expression unreadable as he continued to move.

No one even looked twice at him. It was weird.

At the back door, he was stopped by an older man who asked for his badge. Inside the bag, you tensed. ‘Shit, I forgot about that part,’ you thought, heart racing.

But Bakugou was unfazed. “Man, the floor is chaos out there. I just wanna clock out and go home. We don’t get paid enough for this,” he grumbled, his voice dripping with exhaustion.

The old man laughed, and you heard a loud slap on Bakugou’s shoulder. “Ain’t that the truth, son. Eh, just go ahead. Nothing much tonight anyway.”

You could hear Bakugou laugh in return, and you caught the tail end of him offering the guy a few cigarettes. ‘When did he get those?’ you wondered, but the thought slipped away as you felt the cold, humid air seeping through the bag.

He walked for a while longer, the cart bumping over the uneven pavement before he started throwing the bags out. You felt his hands gently help you out of your bag, your wig slightly askew and your expression adorably flustered. Your cheeks were flushed, and your ears were red from the tension, giving you a slightly unkempt look that was oddly endearing.

Without a word, you set your trash bag at Bakugou’s feet. He was in the middle of a four-way call, his attention divided as multiple voices filled the line. You caught bits and pieces of the conversation, recognizing the feminine tone on the line and another voice that sounded eerily like Red Riot. Tonight had been a whirlwind of chaos, and all you wanted now was to sleep—maybe even in the bathtub to save your poor bedsheets from the dirt and glitter clinging to your skin.

Bakugou, still on the call, handed you the baseball bat and covered the receiver with his hand. “Don’t wander far,” he muttered, his eyes locking onto yours with an intensity that made your heart skip a beat.

You nodded, placing the bat back at his feet. He looked shocked but kept his focus on you as you walked up to the dumpster. Using your heels like makeshift ice picks, you managed to get your smaller body over the side before jumping in.

“ FUCK! Just get your dumbasses over here!” Bakugou shouted into the phone, frustration lacing his words. You were already waist-deep in the trash, phone tucked securely into your tiddies, when you felt the dumpster tip. Bakugou had jumped in after you, wet hot garbage and all. It was almost romantic in a weird germy way. 

“ What the fuck are you thinking?! ” he whisper-shouted at you, his voice a mix of anger and concern. You didn’t respond, too focused on feeling around frantically for any sign of your friend. Bakugou grimaced before plunging his arms in, elbow-deep in the trash, helping you search.

“I’ll go back for your friend, she—” he began, but you both froze at the sound of a groan coming from the left corner. You and Bakugou scrambled towards the noise, digging through the trash with desperate speed. Your fingers accidentally scratched a chocolate-colored nose, and when you pulled your hand back, you saw blood.

Bakugou quickly lifted the young woman to the surface. It was Michelle—wig gone, nose bloody, barely conscious. The stun gun was still clutched in her hand, but her purse was missing. Thankfully, she still had all her clothes on. You quickly stripped off your blouse and dressed her in it while Bakugou held her head still. She had been crying, and you could see the bruises on her jawline and the cut by her eye. Lifting one of her legs, you sighed in relief when your phone’s flashlight revealed that the protective seal she wore was somehow still intact.

You nodded at Bakugou, then pointed towards the window. She must have jumped, and that was likely where the extra gunshot came from. Bakugou’s face contorted in disgust as he watched you stuff an unused tampon into Michelle’s nose to stop the bleeding. Despite his tough exterior, the idea of hurting a woman sickened him. A villain or sparring match was one thing, but beating someone just because you could? That was beyond wrong. His mother raised him better, Aizawa taught him better, and Izuku had shown him the right way to treat people. The phone in his right pocket grew hot. He knew Kirishima would be closing in any minute.

Michelle suddenly gasped and came alive in Bakugou’s arms, knocking her head back into his face and sending him tumbling into the trash. Before she could tase him, you quickly intervened. “Micky, it’s me!” you said urgently, placing an arm over Bakugou to protect him. His nose was bleeding, and before he could protest, you stuffed another tampon into his nostril.

“Who’s this bastard?” Michelle asked, her voice weak but laced with suspicion.

“He’s here to help,” you explained, your tone gentle. “He’s my regular, and he helped me escape when I asked for it. But we’ve got to go now. The heroes and police will be here soon.”

“They took pictures,” Michelle whispered, the weight of her words hanging heavy in the air. “They took pictures of me dancing and are gonna send them to my university.” She sighed, holding her head in her hands. “I knocked two of them out before they got me.”

“We’ll be able to help you, but—” Bakugou started, but stopped when you suddenly stood up, determination burning in your eyes. “Hey, I forgot something. I’ll be right back.” You passed your purse over to Micheal who had a shaky but firm grasp on it. You were already to the other side of the dumpster, heels in hand, ready to break that window. 

Before you could scale the wall, Bakugou grabbed your wrist, pulling you back into the trash. “No. I know how you feel right now.”

“Do you? Do you really?” you shot back, your voice tinged with anger. You looked like a wild animal—no, worse, like a wounded animal. A creature Bakugou didn’t recognize but desperately wanted to understand. He knew if he let you go now, you’d get yourself killed.

“You’re right, I don’t,” Bakugou admitted, his voice softer than usual. “But I don’t want you to get hurt.”

“Too late,” you whispered, your voice barely audible as you kissed Michelle’s forehead.

“Time for a new plan.”

Bakugou managed to get an arm around you, and with his help, you lifted Michelle out of the dumpster. She groaned softly, her eyes fluttering as she fought to stay conscious. As you settled her down, you looked back at Bakugou, your mind already forming a new plan.

"I'm gonna go back and hack into their phones, erase everything," you said, your voice steady despite the chaos around you. The statement shouldn’t have surprised Bakugou, considering everything you’d done tonight, but he still looked at you with a mixture of disbelief and concern.

“I want you to take Michelle to your car with the stuff,” you continued. “I know you park down the street on the ground floor of that garage. Keep her in the backseat, and make sure you let me know when your hero buddies are about to come in, because we’ll have to leave by then. She can hold out for twenty more minutes before we need to get to the hospital. Got any friends that can help with that?”

Bakugou nodded, his eyes narrowing as he considered your plan. He opened his mouth to protest, but you cut him off, knowing exactly what he was going to say.

“She’s all I have left,” you said, your voice dropping to a whisper. “I know I’m gonna go crazy if she’s gone. I’ve seen you do the same for your friends over the years. I know you wanna protect me, but I can’t let this slide.”

Bakugou’s jaw tightened as he stared at you, his mind racing. ‘This girl is fucking stubborn,’ he thought, eyes narrowing. ‘She’s got guts, I’ll give her that. But this is real shit. If she gets caught, she’s done for.’ The thought of you getting hurt gnawed at him, making his insides twist. He knew what it was like to fight for someone you cared about, but this? This was pushing the limits.

On the other hand, he also saw the fire in your eyes—the same fire he’d seen in himself countless times. You weren’t going to back down, no matter what he said. He just got you, found the person he had been pinning over since that first dance and he didn’t want to lose you that same night. ‘Damn it,’ he cursed internally. 

Before you could say anything more, Bakugou reached out, his hand moving faster than you could react. Instead of grabbing your arm as you expected, he snatched the phone nestled in your bust, making you gasp in surprise.

“What the hell—” you started, but he cut you off, his fingers flying over the screen as he punched in his phone number. He called it, feeling the familiar buzz in his pocket before handing the phone back to you, his touch lingering for a brief moment.

“Now ya got my number,” he said, his voice low and serious. “You have 10 minutes before I’m blasting in there. Got it?”

You nodded, your heart pounding as you looked at him. The gravity of the situation settled in, but there was no turning back now. You bent down and kissed Michelle’s nose softly, an apology for what you were about to do, before shimming up the wall and to the window.

As you climbed, your mind raced. ‘I can’t let her suffer because of me. I won’t. I know I’m risking everything. But she didn’t have to take me into her heart, yet she did. So I can’t leave her like this. Fuck them all.’

Bakugou watched as you disappeared through the window, a knot of worry forming in his stomach. ‘She’s got 10 minutes. Then I’m going in, no matter what.’

As you slipped through the narrow window, the cool night air brushed against your skin, mingling with the adrenaline coursing through your veins. Bakugou’s firm grip on your wrist still tingled, a silent reminder of the weight of the situation. Below, you heard the faint scuffling of Bakugou helping Michelle to her feet, his voice low and steady as he reassured her.

The room you entered was dimly lit, the remnants of the night's chaos casting eerie shadows on the walls. Your heels clicked softly against the tiled floor as you tiptoed across the room, every sound amplified by the tension in the air. You could still feel the imprint of Bakugou’s eyes on you, filled with a mix of concern and determination, a gaze that spoke volumes without words.

You glanced back at the window one last time, seeing Bakugou carefully lifting Michelle, his movements gentle despite the urgency. His earlier protest echoed in your mind, the way his voice had faltered when he tried to convince you to stay, to not risk everything for the chance to erase those damning photos. But you couldn’t let it go. Not after everything Michelle had endured. Not after everything the universe threw at you today. 

"I’m not scared," you'd confessed, your voice trembling with the truth you had tried to keep buried. His reaction was unreadable, his eyes flickering with an emotion you couldn’t quite place, a mixture of understanding and frustration.

Now, alone in the room, you focused on your task. The dance room was a mess, discarded dollars, empty bottles, and torn pieces of clothing scattered across the floor. You made your way to the back of the room, opening a secret door, and climbed into the old security room, where a small, battered laptop was tucked away in a locker. It was old, but it would do. You had to move quickly.

The first phone you picked up was a sleek, black device with a cracked screen. Your fingers danced over the keypad, pulling up the app you needed to bypass its security. It was a basic model, and you were able to break in with ease, your hands moving with practiced efficiency. Photos began to load—blurred images of Michelle on stage, her face flushed and vulnerable. Your heart clenched as you deleted them, the weight of what could have happened tightening in your chest.

You moved to the next phone, an older model, heavily used with a worn case. The lock screen was a picture of a dog, which made your heart squeeze a little. You quickly shook off the sentimentality and got to work, erasing any trace of Michelle's presence from the device. One by one, you hacked into each phone connected to the network, deleting any incriminating evidence, not just of her but dozens of girls. You could feel the seconds slipping away, the urgency building with each click and tap. You then set up a link where once it was opened it would destroy the phone memory and its backup cycle and sent it out to every employee in attendance. 

Finally, you reached the last phone, an expensive model with a triple-camera setup. The lock screen showed a gaudy nightclub scene, all neon lights and dark shadows. It took you a moment longer to break into this one, but when you did, you found a treasure trove of images—Michelle, scared and defiant, her eyes wide with fear as she danced. The anger in your chest flared white-hot, but you forced it down, focusing on the task at hand.

With a final keystroke, the photos were gone, wiped clean from the device. You closed the laptop and leaned back against the locker, your breath coming in shallow gasps. It was done. You had maybe a few minutes left before Bakugou would come charging in, and you knew you had to make your escape just as carefully as you had entered.

You checked your phone, the one Bakugou had programmed his number into, and sent a quick message to let him know you were almost done. He replied with a simple, "5 minutes," and you knew that was all the time you had.

The room suddenly felt too small, too claustrophobic. You could still hear the faint noises of the chaos outside, the remnants of the night's insanity. But here, in this room, it was just you and the fading adrenaline, the enormity of what you’d done slowly sinking in.

You tucked your phone back into your bra, grabbed the bag filled with personal items, and headed for the window. But before you could hoist yourself through, the door to the room swung open with a loud crash, and two of the club's bouncers stormed in, their eyes locking onto you with murderous intent.

“ THAT’S THE BITCH! ”

Panic shot through you like electricity. Without hesitation, you shoved the laptop into the bag and sprinted toward the exit, knowing the only way out was back through the club. They were faster than you expected, their heavy footsteps pounding the floor as they chased you through the narrow hallways.

The music from the club’s main floor pulsed louder as you burst through the door leading out of the locker room and into the dimly lit corridors. You could hear more voices joining the chase, the sound of their shouts drowned out by the bass thudding through the walls.

You took a sharp turn, skidding on the glossy floor as you made your way to the stairs. You stumbled, catching yourself just in time as you bolted up the steps, your heart hammering in your chest. The men were close behind, their angry yells echoing through the stairwell.

The second floor was a maze of private rooms and hidden alcoves, but you didn’t have time to lose them. You sprinted down the hallway, adrenaline pushing you forward as you dodged past a couple of confused patrons who were too high to register what was happening.

“ Stop her! ” someone shouted, and you risked a glance back, seeing more men joining the chase. You reached the end of the hallway and slammed into the stairwell door, barreling down to the first floor. Your lungs burned, but you couldn’t stop. Not now.

The club’s main floor was packed, but you ducked and weaved through the broken tables, using the chaos of earlier to your advantage. You could hear them pushing through the crowd, but you didn’t dare slow down. You were almost to the basement entrance when a hand grabbed your arm, yanking you back.

You reacted instinctively, your quirk flaring to life as you sent a burst of flame into the man’s face. He screamed, releasing you, and you bolted for the door, your heart pounding in your ears.

The basement was dark and musty, the air thick with the smell of mold and old sweat. You could hear the men behind you, the sound of their heavy breathing and footsteps closing in. You reached the far end of the basement and spun around, your back against the cold, damp wall.

Big Ricky was leading the pack, his massive frame taking up most of the narrow hallway. His eyes were dark with fury, and he grinned when he saw you cornered.

“End of the line, baby doll,” he sneered, cracking his knuckles as he stepped closer.

You clenched your fists, feeling the heat building in your palms. You raised your hands to the ceiling and shot the lights out, plunging the basement into darkness. You moved quickly, using the cover of darkness to slip between them. They cursed and stumbled, trying to find you in the pitch-black.

“ Where the hell is she? ” one of the men snarled.

You didn’t answer. Instead, you let your fire quirk light up the small space, flames flickering in your hands as you attacked. You moved swiftly, taking them down one by one with calculated strikes. The darkness was your ally, and they never saw you coming until it was too late. Maybe you should thank Kyoya for that. 

‘Nah .’

Big Ricky was the last to go down, a hard smack from your open palm sending him crashing into the wall. You didn’t wait to see if he got back up. Instead, you rushed to the basement doors and concentrated, forcing the sweat and humid air to condense into water. With a flick of your wrist, the water froze, sealing the doors shut.

The barrier would hold long enough for you to finish what you started. You sprinted back up the stairs, racing toward the manager’s office. The laptop was still inside your bag where you’d left it, but you weren’t done yet. You hacked into the manager’s computer, fingers flying over the keys as you destroyed every piece of evidence he could use against the girls. You sent yourself copies of everything, just in case.

Your phone buzzed with a text from Bakugou. “Where the hell are you?”

You were way past the time limit, but you couldn’t leave just yet. You texted him back quickly, telling him you were on your way.

You could hear the men trying to break through the ice barrier you created, but you knew it would hold long enough. Everything tech-wise was done, but the anger in your chest was still burning, hotter and fiercer than ever. You couldn’t leave it like this. Not after what they did to Michelle. Not after everything they’d taken from her.

Your hands itched with the need for justice, for revenge. 

You ran your hands across the desk and chair, your flames licking up the walls and around you. The fire wouldn’t hurt you—it was yours, born from your rage and will. But you had no intention of burning your work jacket, bra, and skirt off before help arrived. 

With the bag holding the laptop tucked securely under one arm, you slid your hands along the wall, down the hallway, and toward the last dance floor. Your heels had melted in the fight downstairs so you didn’t have to worry about them anymore. 

You turned back to the main floor, your steps purposeful as you let the flames in your palms grow hotter, brighter. The club was going to burn for what it had done. 

Evidence for the heroes be damned.

You took a deep breath, feeling the heat pulsing through your veins, and let the fire consume you. The flames roared to life, spreading out from your hands and igniting everything they touched. The walls, the furniture, the very air around you—everything caught fire, feeding off your rage.

The fire alarm blared, but you didn’t care. The sprinklers were too old and no match for you. You watched as the inferno grew, swallowing the club whole. It wasn’t enough to destroy their files. You wanted to destroy them, to erase every trace of the hell they’d created.

When the flames were too high to control, you turned and sprinted toward the exit. You pushed through the panic-stricken stragglers, ignoring their screams and the heat licking at your heels. With the laptop tucked securely under one arm, you slid your hands along the wall, down the hallway, and toward the last dance floor.

Just as you were about to make your escape, the night was shattered by the screech of tires. You turned to see a yellow Lamborghini crash through the blacked-out glass doors of the club. The car skidded to a stop, its bright yellow paint almost glowing against the burning building. The doors flew open, and a pink-skinned woman leaped out, her eyes blazing with determination.

“Everyone freeze!” she yelled, her voice cutting through the chaos. The remaining patrons and dealers froze, eyes wide with fear as they took in the sight of the pro hero, Pinky, standing amidst the wreckage.

Your heart skipped a beat as you realized your time was up. You glanced at the burning club, then at Pinky, who was already scanning the crowd, her gaze narrowing when it landed on you. Without a second thought, you turned and bolted. 

“Hey! Stop!” she yelled after you, her voice ringing with authority. But you didn’t stop. You couldn’t. You sprinted toward the basement, your feet pounding against the floor as you ran faster than you ever had before. You reached the basement doors and slapped your hands against them, the wood igniting instantly under your touch. The flames roared to life, blocking anyone from following you.

“Stop right there!” a voice shouted, closer now. You didn’t even turn around. Instead, you jumped, grabbing hold of the ceiling tiles and pulling yourself up into the narrow crawl space. The tiles shifted beneath your weight, and you crawled frantically, your breath coming in short, ragged gasps.

You could hear them below, the pros yelling and organizing as they tried to contain the inferno you’d unleashed. But you kept moving, pushing yourself through the tight space until you reached the old security room. You shoved open the secret door and threw yourself through the window, landing with a hard thud on the ground outside.

But it wasn’t over yet.

You started running down the block, your lungs burning with every breath. The smoke from the flames still clung to you, and the distant sound of sirens filled the air. You turned, just for a moment, to see your masterpiece—the club was engulfed in flames, a towering inferno against the night sky.

You weren’t worried, though. You could already see the ice spreading over part of the building, courtesy of the pro hero Shoto Todoroki. More heroes were arriving by the second, flooding the streets as they worked to control the blaze. But you knew the scare you’d given everyone would be better than any prison sentence. You’d made your point.

Or had you?

‘Stop. This is what got you in trouble in the first place,’ a voice nagged in the back of your mind. ‘You could’ve hurt some innocent people.’

You gritted your teeth, pushing the thought away. The place had been mostly empty, save for about twenty customers and dancers—the rest were the shady crooks you’d locked in the basement. You had been careful.

Unfortunately, you hadn’t been careful enough to see the orange Ferrari in your path until you were literally running into it.

The impact knocked the breath out of you, and you stumbled back, blinking in shock as the sleek sports car loomed in front of you. The driver’s door swung open, and Bakugou stepped out, his expression a mix of fury and exasperation.

“What the hell are you doing, idiot?!” he snapped, striding over to you. He grabbed your arm, pulling you to your feet and looking you over, as if making sure you hadn’t somehow managed to get yourself seriously injured.

You stared at him, still trying to catch your breath, your heart pounding in your chest. Behind you, the club continued to burn, the flames licking at the sky as the heroes worked to put out the blaze.

“I—” you started, but Bakugou cut you off with a growl.

“No time for excuses. Get in the damn car.” He yanked the passenger door open and practically shoved you inside before slamming it shut behind you.

You barely had time to process what was happening before Bakugou was back behind the wheel, the Ferrari’s engine roaring to life. He tore down the street, leaving the burning club—and your impulsive decision—far behind.

You sat in the passenger seat, trying to calm your racing heart as the adrenaline slowly began to fade. You knew Bakugou was pissed, and rightfully so. But you also knew you had done what needed to be done. The club was gone, the evidence destroyed, and Michelle was safe. That was all that mattered.

Bakugou didn’t say a word as he drove, his jaw clenched and his knuckles white as he gripped the steering wheel. You didn’t push him, knowing he was furious and that any attempt at explaining yourself would only make things worse.

Instead, you sat still, trying to catch your breath and steady your nerves as the city blurred by outside the window. You’d made it out. You’d done what you needed to do. But as the smoke from the burning club faded into the distance, you couldn’t help but wonder if you’d crossed a line that couldn’t be uncrossed.

Bakugou was speeding in his car, his eyes wide with shock as you ran toward him. The fire reflected in his eyes, casting an orange glow over his face as he took in the sight of the burning building behind you. And before he could hit the breaks he had not only hit you, which you took like a pro. But he also managed to scream at you and throw you into the passenger seat of his car. 

‘Fucking gold star on that one.’ 

You didn’t say anything as you looked into the backseat, where Michelle was resting. Bakugou’s eyes locked onto your form in the rearview mirror, but he didn’t ask any questions. He was already feeling guilty from letting you go, to not rushing in after you, and now hitting you with his big ass car and yelling at you before manhandling you. 

“Let’s go,” you said, your voice steady despite the adrenaline still coursing through your veins.

Bakugou nodded and peeled out of the street, leaving the burning club behind as you sped off into the night. The fire roared behind you, a nasty symbol of the destruction you’d left in your wake, but you couldn’t bring yourself to care. 

Bakugou's hands gripped the steering wheel so tightly that his knuckles turned white, his foot pressed heavily on the gas pedal as the car sped down the dark, empty streets. The orange glow of the flames in the rearview mirror faded into the distance, but the memory of it burned just as hot in his mind. The silence in the car was deafening, broken only by the occasional, shallow breath he took to steady himself.

You sat still in the passenger seat, your gaze locked on Michelle’s resting form in the backseat. Despite the chaos and danger, she looked peaceful now, her breathing steady as she lay half-conscious. You swallowed hard, feeling the weight of everything you’d just done pressing down on you. But you couldn’t let yourself think about it—not yet. There were still too many things that needed to be done, and you couldn’t afford to lose focus.

Bakugou glanced at you through the rearview mirror, his heart pounding for a different reason now. Guilt gnawed at him, twisting his gut into knots. You were a force of nature, that much was clear, but he couldn’t shake the feeling that he had failed you somehow. Here you were, having somehow survived—again. He still couldn’t wrap his head around it.

He stole another glance at you, his gaze lingering this time. You were fiddling with the edge of your skirt, your fingers twisting the fabric anxiously. It was such a small, human gesture, so out of place considering the storm you’d just walked out of. You looked vulnerable, scared even—something he wasn't used to with you. He noticed the way you shrank away from him, as if trying to make yourself smaller, less noticeable. It made his chest tighten in a way he hated .

At a red light, Bakugou finally allowed himself a moment to breathe. He turned to look at you, his eyes scanning over your form. He noticed how you’d already changed out the tampon in Michelle’s nose, the blood-soaked one discarded somewhere out of sight. The bag at your feet caught his eye, and he unconsciously licked his upper lip, tasting the remnants of blood from earlier. Michelle had managed to land a solid hit, and it was clear she was as tough as you were.

But tough or not, he didn’t like what had happened back there. The image of you walking out of that burning building, smoke and ash swirling around you like some avenging angel, was burned into his mind. And with it, the fear that he could’ve lost you, that you could’ve been hurt—or worse. His throat burned with the need to say something, not to ease the tension, but the words wouldn’t come. He was used to being the strong one, the one who always knew what to do, but right now, he felt helpless. When did you bring him to your mercy?

You sighed, finally breaking the silence. “Bakugou…”

He blinked, realizing he’d been staring. “What?”

“Thanks,” you murmured, your voice soft. “For everything.”

He wanted to scoff, to brush it off like it didn’t matter, but he couldn’t. “Yeah, whatever,” he grumbled, his eyes darting back to the road as the light turned green. He pressed down on the gas, the car lurching forward as he drove on.

But his mind wasn’t on the road—it was on you. The image of you shrinking away from him, so unlike the fiery, fearless person he knew, gnawed at him. He needed to say something, to let you know that he had your back, that he wouldn’t let you face this alone. But the words were stuck, tangled up in his frustration and guilt.

“You—” he started, his voice rough, but he cut himself off, unsure of what he even wanted to say.

You glanced at him, noticing the way his jaw tightened as if he was fighting to keep something in. It was strange seeing him like this—vulnerable, hesitant. It was a side of him you weren’t used to, and it made your heart ache.

“What is it?” you asked gently, your voice barely above a whisper.

He clenched his teeth, gripping the steering wheel even tighter. “I don’t like this,” he finally admitted, his voice low and strained.

“Like what?”

“Like what you did back there,” he growled, his eyes flicking toward you, then back to the road. “Runnin’ in like a damn maniac, almost getting yourself killed—twice! And then just… acting like it’s nothing.”

You opened your mouth to respond, but he wasn’t finished.

“You don’t get it, do you? You can’t just do shit like that and expect me to be okay with it. I can’t—I don’t wanna see you get hurt.” The silence between you was thick, and for a moment, he just stared straight ahead, gripping the wheel as if it could anchor him. But he couldn’t ignore the way you looked, so tense and defensive, it was killing him inside.

With a deep breath, he finally turned to you, his expression softening in a way that was rare for him. “Look… I need to say somethin’,” he began, his voice uncharacteristically quiet. “I’m sorry.”

You blinked, surprised by the sudden apology. Bakugou wasn’t one to apologize often, and when he did, it usually came with a lot of stubbornness and grumbling. But this was different. He sounded sincere, almost vulnerable.

“I’m sorry for how I acted,” he continued, his eyes searching yours. “For yellin’ at you, for manhandling you like that. It wasn’t right. I was just—” He paused, struggling to find the right words. “I was scared, alright? Scared that you were hurt or worse. And when I saw you runnin’ toward me, all I could think about was how I couldn’t hit the brakes fast enough and that I killed you.”

He shook his head, frustration evident on his face. “I don’t… I don’t have the right words for this, but I feel really strongly about it. I know what I did was wrong, and I’m not gonna press you to talk about anything if you don’t want to. But I need you to know that it wasn’t okay. I don’t want you to think that what I did was tolerable or acceptable. It wasn’t.”

His hand twitched on the steering wheel as if he wanted to reach out to you but wasn’t sure if he should. “You bein’ safe and alive… that’s all that matters to me. It’s more important than anything else, even if I acted like an asshole back there. And I’m sorry, for all of it.”

His words hung in the air, the weight of his apology settling over you both. It was clear that this wasn’t easy for him, that he was struggling to express what he was feeling. But the sincerity in his voice, the way he was opening up to you, was something you couldn’t ignore.

You could see the guilt in his eyes, the way it gnawed at him, and it made your heart ache. Ground Zero wasn’t someone who apologized often, and when he did, it was usually laced with anger or pride. But this was different. This was him being Bakugou Katsuki, honest, raw, and vulnerable in a way you’d never seen before.

“I forgive you,” you said softly, your voice trembling slightly. “And I’m sorry too, for scaring you like that.”

His shoulders relaxed slightly at your words, and he gave a small nod, though the guilt still lingered in his eyes. “Just… don’t do that again, alright? I don’t know if I can handle seein’ you like that again.”

You nodded, understanding the depth of his concern. “I won’t.”

Bakugou let out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding, his hand finally reaching out to rest on yours. It was a small gesture, but it carried a lot of weight.

You squeezed his hand gently, the connection between you strengthening in that moment. Despite everything that has happened, you think you can rely on him. And for now, that was enough.

Before the light turned green, you moved your hand slowly, sliding it across Bakugou's chest. His breath caught immediately, and you could feel the tension in his muscles as your palm pressed flat over his heart. You wanted to feel it—his heartbeat, fast and strong, a steady rhythm that matched the intensity of him that you’d grown to know.

He didn’t disappoint, his pulse pounding beneath your fingers as you traced a heart over his, just like you had done on the glass earlier. It was a simple gesture, but the connection was palpable. As you pull your hand back, you let your nails gently scratch along his arm, leaving a lingering sensation that he’d feel long after.

You settled back into your seat, the weight of his apology still hanging in the air. It was more than you’d ever heard from Kyoya, more genuine, more heartfelt. You didn’t want to think about him right now, but your mind couldn’t help but play a game of ‘compare and contrast.’ Bakugou’s honesty, his vulnerability—it was something Kyoya never gave you. The difference was vast, and it left a bitter taste in your mouth.

But as you glanced at Bakugou, his focus returning to the road as the light changed, you felt something shift inside you. Maybe it was the way he opened up, the way he was willing to admit his mistakes, or maybe it was just the simple fact that he cared enough to apologize. Whatever it was, it felt different, and it was something you couldn’t ignore.

"Y'all cute," came a soft, groggy voice from the backseat.

"Micheal!" you squealed, throwing half your body into the backseat in a rush of emotion. Bakugou swerved slightly, his focus torn between controlling the car and trying to avoid glancing at your suddenly very close and exposed rear.

"Baby, please, I need to breathe," Micheal groaned from the impact, her voice muffled as you planted kisses all over her face and hands. Despite her words, she managed a weak smile as you rubbed your warm hand over her tummy, trying to comfort her.

"Mama, you got knocked the fuck out," you said, your voice a mix of teasing and concern.

"Ugh, I know," she muttered, her hands shakily cupping your cheeks. She squeezed gently, trying to keep her vision steady as she looked into your eyes. "Wait... what did you do?"

You froze, a brief moment of hesitation passing over your face. Out of the corner of your eye, you noticed Bakugou giving you a pointed side-eye, his attention clearly piqued by the question.

"I took care of it," you replied, your tone calm but firm, as if that alone should be enough to assure her.

Bakugou sped toward the hospital, his grip tight on the steering wheel, glancing back at you and Micheal every few seconds. Upon arrival, he didn't waste time—his private doctors were already on standby, ready to check you both out. They were thorough but discreet, keeping your injuries and condition confidential.

Soon after, the girls showed up, along with Erza's girlfriend, Megumi's boyfriend, and Freddy. They arrived dressed in random jeans, skirts, and sweaters thrown over their tops, clearly having rushed over as soon as you sent them your new location. Relief washed over them as they hugged you and Micheal tightly, grateful that you were both safe. They exchanged worried glances and quickly filled you in on the news: the club had gone up in flames, and your old boss had been arrested.

While it wasn't the most appropriate place, you had brought the trash bags filled with cash and so did they. With Micheal’s purse and the evidence laptop securely locked in Bakugou's trunk, you all began to count the money, dividing it equally among yourselves. It was an odd, almost surreal moment, sitting in the hospital and splitting the haul, but it felt necessary. The police would surely be questioning you within a few days and you weren’t sure if being seen together would be the best in your case. 

Micheal, though bruised and battered, was in better shape than expected, thanks to her healing quirk. It helped her manage to stay conscious and aware despite her injuries. The tension in the room gradually eased as the money was counted and divided, each of you finally feeling a sense of closure, if only for a moment. 

As you sit in the hospital room, the quiet hum of activity around you is interrupted by a knock at the door. Bakugou’s posture stiffens, his eyes narrowing as he squares his shoulders, ready for whatever—or whoever—was about to enter. You notice the shift in his demeanor and subtly nudge Megumi, who slips her bat to her boyfriend just in case.

The door opens to reveal a smoky but still grinning Red Riot, his bright red hair a stark contrast against the ash smudged across his face. Despite the exhaustion clinging to him, he sports that familiar, infectious smile. Bakugou’s tension eases slightly as he exchanges a few words with his old friend outside the room. After a moment, Red Riot gestures for you to join them. You hand your share of the money to Micheal, who quietly passes you her stun gun—a silent reminder of the night’s events. You tuck it into your pocket, feeling the weight of it as you follow Bakugou outside.

You're met with an unexpected bear hug from Red Riot, who nearly knocks the breath out of you with his sheer enthusiasm. The rough material of his hero suit presses against you, and the scent of smoke and charred wood clings to his skin, but his warmth is genuine. “It’s so good to meet you!” he cheers, spinning you around before setting you back on your feet. The ash that rubs off on your clothes almost makes you cough, but you can’t help but smile at his energy.

Bakugou is quick to steady you, his hand firm on your arm as he glares daggers at his overzealous friend. Red Riot just laughs, brushing off the glare as he continues, “Bakugou here was the one who told us the bar you tended at was shady, so we wanted to thank you for helping to stop the crime ring!”

You blink, momentarily confused. Bartender? He told his friends you were a bartender? The thought of it makes you pause, but then you shrug internally, deciding it’s for the best. The last thing you wanted was for anyone to know you had been a stripper. Smiling up at the big redhead, you try to lighten the mood. “Dude, what do they feed you?”

Kirishima laughs heartily, clapping you on the back with enough force to almost knock you over again. “Buildings, of course!” he jokes, clearly pleased with your reaction. Bakugou’s grip on your arm tightens slightly as he pulls you a bit closer, his expression unreadable but his presence reassuring. 

Bakugou’s eyes narrow slightly as he looks at Kirishima, his voice carrying a hint of urgency. “So, how’d it go back at the club?”

Kirishima scratches the back of his head, his grin fading into something more serious. “Honestly, we were almost toast until Todoroki showed up. The whole place was going up in flames, but no one got killed. We did find a bunch of beat-up guys in the basement, though—slash marks, burns, the works. They were cursing about some ‘doll’ or something.”

You feel your ears get hot, and even though Bakugou doesn’t look directly at you, you can see the veins in his neck and hands throbbing, his anger barely contained.

“What about Mina?” Bakugou asks, his voice low and tense.

Kirishima brightens a bit at the mention of their friends. “She and Denki are fine. They were watching Jiro perform and didn’t want to waste time getting involved, but it looked like the building was coming down anyway. I don’t think the Hero Committee’s gonna like that Mina drove his car through the doors, though. And Denki… well, he was still a little tipsy.”

Bakugou lets out a small huff, but there’s a flicker of relief in his eyes. Kirishima continues, “Izuku and Shoto mostly handled the press, and I got everyone to the squad cars with Mina while Denki kept the lights running long enough for the detectives to get pictures of everything. I guess someone called a taxi driver too because there was one out there that a lot of people were fighting over.”

You glance at Bakugou, noticing how tightly his jaw is set. Despite the tension, there’s a hint of gratitude in his eyes as he listens to Red Riot’s report. You finally begin to feel a mix of emotions—relief that your friends are  now safe, unease about the club and… oh shit your apartment was probably compromised. The adrenaline is wearing off now and you can feel your muscles screaming at you to sit your adventures ass down. Your feet are probably blistered and you seriously need a cold shower after everything. Also when did you scrape your knee??

The atmosphere in the room shifts as you speak up, drawing the attention of the pro heroes. Suddenly, you’re acutely aware of how much taller they are—Kirishima’s broad, muscular frame towers over you, his crimson hair almost brushing the doorframe. Bakugou, with his sharp, intense gaze and powerful build, stands close by, his stance protective yet tense.

Your voice, though steady, betrays a hint of nerves. “Um, not to bring down the mood or anything, but will it be safe if my friend and I return to our apartments? I’ll sign whatever documents necessary, and I can take care of her once we get home.”

You clasp your hands behind your back, trying to keep them still, but Bakugou notices the subtle movement in your sneakers as you softly squirm your toes. He watches you intently, his expression a mix of concern and determination.

Kirishima sighs and squats down to your level, now shoulder-height with you, making the difference in size feel less intimidating. His kind eyes soften as he speaks. “So, we did want to talk to you about that. You refused help at the police station, and Bakugou here tells me that you’re not exactly comfortable with the police due to previous incidents.”

Your eyes flicker to Bakugou, who looks guilty but unapologetic, his mouth set in a firm line. Kirishima continues, “We think it would be safer, considering everything that happened tonight, if you went to a safe house or came forward with a full report on your ex. It was your right to refuse assistance, but it’s going to make things a bit difficult now, especially if he escalates the situation.”

A surge of defiance rises within you. “No. No safehouse. I like my freedom. You can look at me like I’m reckless as much as you’d like, Mr. Pro Hero, but I just escaped one Hell. I’m not going back into another. I’d like the paperwork for my friend, if you please.”

Before Kirishima or Bakugou can respond, the door swings open, and the detective from earlier walks in, accompanied by a uniformed officer. The detective’s expression is stern as she addresses the room. “Sorry to interrupt, but you and the other girls need to be brought in for questioning. It’s standard procedure, given the circumstances.”

The weight of the situation settles over you, and despite your resolve, you can’t help but feel that sense of dread creeping back in.

The nightmare isn’t over yet. Far from it, actually. 

Chapter Text

Two hours later, you and the girls were far from being "happy campers." The incident had left everyone in a sour mood, frustration and exhaustion hanging heavily in the air. Megumi had sent her boyfriend home to feed their tabby cat, Kirby, while Freddy decided to wait for Kimiko. His brother wasn’t home yet, and he felt like he owed you for saving him back at the club. Plus, he’d always had a little crush on pink haired cutie.

Casey, always resourceful, had her gun stashed into her wig. Yeah… you all knew she’d be in jail that night considering Japan’s strict gun laws. You were allowed a moment to use the restroom, where you fixed your own wig and tried to clean up the sweaty makeup from your sensitive skin. 

Erza and her girlfriend, Hinata, were also taken in, as the police assumed Hinata was a stripper too. Which was embarrassing for them considering that she was a lawyer. You hated leaving Micheal behind, but you had no choice. She blew you a kiss as you were handcuffed and escorted out, a gesture you returned by catching it in the air. None of you wanted to use the money you’d earned that night to post bail. It would have made everything you went through for nothing.

Red Riot had disappeared with Megumi's boyfriend, Akiria, and the money was gone too, but Megumi's calm demeanor reassured you that it was in a safe place. Megumi’s quirk lets her hear from miles away, a useful but exhausting ability. Akiria could communicate telepathically so she probably told him to stash the goods. Erza remained relaxed, though the incident had startled her enough that she couldn’t use her quirk much. However, she was starting to catch glimpses of the future again, a sign that she was slowly recovering. Casey’s quirk allowed her to teleport herself and objects short distances, and Kimiko could create bubble-like force fields, though they were never larger than three people. Micheal had the ability to heal herself and others, hence why she was in nursing school. Plus, she just had a knack for loving on people and making them feel better. 

For the record, everyone still thought you were quirkless, and you planned to keep it that way. You sat there, hands cuffed, wishing they’d take the damn things off. Micheal had been spared initially due to her injuries but was later taken to the station once she was deemed stable enough. You loathed the police force for that, and the fact that you knew Bakugou and his buddies were behind the mirrored glass only made it worse. 

'Doing what exactly?' you wondered.

You still had Bakugou’s hero license tucked safely in your bra, which, thankfully, none of you were frisked. Micheal was still wearing your office blouse, a much better alternative than her club outfit, while you kept your jacket wrapped around her for warmth. With her head in your lap, you gently swung your feet under the bench, trying to ignore the growing tension in the room. You hated this—being here, being cuffed, being watched. It felt like another trap, another cage you’d have to find your way out of. You coulda done this shit for free by staying with Kyoya! The police weren’t exactly having an easy time with you ladies either. 

Megumi’s Interrogation

Megumi sat across from the stern-looking detective, her expression calm as she nonchalantly twirled a strand of her hair. The detective leaned forward, his fingers steepled, as he tried to intimidate her.

“So, Miss…Megumi, was it? Tell me, what exactly were you doing at that club tonight?”

Megumi looked at him with a perfectly innocent smile. “Just enjoying the music. I’m a big fan of, you know, beats and bass drops.”

The detective narrowed his eyes. “Really? And you just happened to be there during a raid?”

“Pure coincidence,” she replied, her smile widening. “Besides, you wouldn’t believe the things I hear at clubs. I could tell you about the time—”

The detective held up a hand, cutting her off. “We’re not here to talk about your eavesdropping skills, Miss Megumi. We’re here to talk about what happened tonight.”

She shrugged, leaning back in her chair. “I mean, if you want to talk about me overhearing stuff, I did catch something about you guys liking dog treats. Is that true?”

The detective blinked, momentarily thrown off his game. “What?”

“Dog treats,” Megumi repeated, her tone completely serious. “It’s all anyone in the building can think about right now. Glazed, peanut butter-filled, toasted—”

The detective sighed, realizing he wasn’t getting anywhere. “Let’s move on.”

Casey’s Interrogation

Casey sat with her legs crossed, looking utterly bored as the detective flipped through his notes. Her wig was slightly askew, revealing a peek of the gun stashed underneath. She raised an eyebrow as he finally looked up.

“Miss Casey, care to explain why you had a firearm hidden in your wig?”

She rolled her eyes. “It’s called being prepared. You never know when you’ll need to teleport a gun somewhere.”

The detective frowned. “Teleport? You have a teleportation quirk?”

Casey gave him a lazy grin. “Yup, and I can teleport things. Like, for example…” She snapped her fingers, and suddenly, a dog treat an officer was holding vanished and reappeared in her hand. “This.. ew you can have it back.” She slide in on a napkin back to the detective. 

He stared at her, speechless, as she casually tossed the pen back onto the table. “So you really do eat these, huh?”

The detective pinched the bridge of his nose, clearly frustrated. “This is serious, Miss Casey. You were involved in a criminal operation tonight.”

Casey shrugged, leaning back in her chair. “ Involved? I would have never helped those criminals out. I’m not that nice.”

The detective sighed. “Let’s just continue.”

Erza’s Interrogation

Erza sat quietly in her chair, wishing her girlfriend beside her, holding her hand. The detective glanced between them, trying to figure out the dynamic.

“So, Miss Erza,” he began, “you’re a…fortune teller?”

Erza nodded solemnly. “I see glimpses of the future. Like right now, I see that you’re going to ask me a lot of questions I don’t care to answer.”

The detective’s eyes narrowed. “Is that so? And what else do you see?”

Erza closed her eyes, pretending to concentrate. “I see you getting a headache in approximately…two minutes.”

Her girlfriend stifled a laugh behind the glass, and the detective clenched his jaw. “Miss Erza, we’re trying to determine your involvement in tonight’s events. Were you aware of any illegal activities at the club?”

Erza opened her eyes, her expression serene. “I foresaw we’d have this conversation. I also foresaw that you wouldn’t believe a word I said.”

The detective’s patience was clearly wearing thin. “So, you admit to knowing something was going to happen?”

Erza tilted her head, as if considering. “Not exactly. I see possibilities, not certainties. But I did see you getting frustrated right about now.”

The detective groaned, rubbing his temples. “Next question…”

Kimiko’s Interrogation

Kimiko sat with her arms crossed, glaring at the detective as he paced the room. Her irritation was palpable, and the detective seemed wary of provoking her further.

“So, Miss Kimiko, do you often create…bubbles?”

Kimiko rolled her eyes. “Force fields. They’re force fields, not bubbles.”

The detective raised an eyebrow. “Right, force fields. And these force fields were…used tonight?”

Kimiko nodded. “Yeah. To keep people safe, you know, since the building was collapsing.”

The detective scribbled something in his notebook. “And did you use these force fields to assist in any criminal activities?”

Kimiko snorted. “If by ‘assist’ you mean ‘protect innocent people,’ from being shot? Then sure. I’m guilty of that.”

The detective looked up, giving her a pointed look. “I’m serious, Miss Kimiko. We need to know if you were complicit in any illegal operations.”

She leaned forward, her eyes narrowing. “Look, I’m not some criminal mastermind. I just don’t like people getting hurt. If that’s a crime, then go ahead, lock me up.”

The detective paused, unsure of how to respond to her defiance. “We’re just trying to figure out what happened.”

Kimiko leaned back again, crossing her arms. “Then maybe you should focus on the actual criminals, not us.”

The detective sighed, knowing this wasn’t going to be easy. “Let’s move on.”

Michael’s Interrogation

Michael was lying on a cot, her injuries still fresh, as a concerned-looking detective hovered nearby. She waved him off, clearly annoyed at the attention.

“Miss Michael, you’ve been through a lot tonight. We just need to ask you a few questions.”

Michael groaned, closing her eyes. “Can’t you ask someone else? I’m tired.”

The detective hesitated, not wanting to push her too hard. “I understand, but it’s important that we get your statement.”

She opened one eye, giving him a withering look. “My statement is that I’m exhausted, my head hurts, and I’d really like to go home now.”

The detective cleared his throat, trying to maintain his professionalism. “You have a healing quirk, correct?”

Michael sighed. “Yes, and it’s working overtime right now. So maybe you could let me rest?”

The detective glanced at his notes, clearly unsure of how to proceed. “We’ll be quick, I promise. Just tell us what you saw tonight.”

Michael groaned again, turning her head away. “I saw too much. Can we be done now?”

The detective sighed, clearly realizing this wasn’t going to be a productive session. “Alright, we’ll wrap this up.”

Michael muttered something under her breath, something about “finally,” and the detective quickly made his exit, relieved to be done with the ordeal.

Now it was your turn.

As you're escorted down the dimly lit hallway, the cold, industrial walls echoing with each step, you catch sight of Big Ricky and Nick being dragged in the opposite direction. Their faces are swollen, eyes bruised nearly shut, lips split, and blood crusting on their knuckles. Ricky's nose looks broken, and Nick's left arm hangs at an odd angle, a clear sign of a fracture. Several burn marks cover their bodies. They look like they’ve been through a meat grinder. When your eyes lock with theirs, they flinch, visibly shrinking back. 

You crack your knuckles, the sound sharp and menacing in the quiet corridor. They both involuntarily jerk, a flash of fear crossing their battered faces. Satisfied, you let a small smile play on your lips as you continue on your way, your expression shifting back to a stony calm as you near the interrogation room. 

Once inside, you’re guided to a metal chair bolted to the floor. The room is cold, sterile, and reeks of stale coffee. Nasty. You sit with deliberate slowness, crossing your arms and legs in a manner that dares them to make the first move. You’re sweaty, your skin clammy beneath the synthetic hair of the rose gold wig that you’re itching to rip off. The mini pencil skirt and black thigh highs that cling to your legs make this look like the opening of some bad porno. But you maintain your composure, keeping your expression cold and your breathing steady, working to slow your racing heart. The stomach knots twisting inside you are another battle altogether, a reminder of how deep in the trenches your tummy problems are.

Damn, when did you become such a badass?

Your gaze, now as cold and unyielding as ice, sweeps across the room, landing on the familiar faces of the officers and detectives from this morning. Their expressions range from stern to mildly surprised, no doubt recognizing you despite your slight change in attire. It’s clear they’re waiting for you to crack, to offer up some nugget of information they can use. But you’ve been through hell and back tonight, and there’s no way you’re folding that easily.

You know what’s at stake. Snitching isn’t an option—it never has been. You’d never rat out your friends, but telling on a crime boss would be a death sentence, and you were not about to become a dead bitch walking. Besides, judging from the whispers exchanged between Megumi and Erza, it’s clear that Akira and Hinata heard your ex-boss was already trying to pin everything on your group. Specifically, on you. They only have your appearance to go on, thanks to that fake name you gave them. And because you didn’t ditch the wig, you were easy to find. 

But two can play at that game.

Your face remains impassive, every fiber of your being focused on maintaining that cold, stone-like exterior. You’re in a war zone now, and this is just another battle you intend to win. 

‘But where the fuck is Bakugou!?’

The detective leading the interrogation leans forward, his forearms resting on the table between you, his expression a mix of suspicion and restrained impatience. He’s clearly been doing this for a while, and he expects to break you, to extract whatever information you’re hiding. His partner stands behind him, arms crossed, playing the silent enforcer. The room is dimly lit, the harsh fluorescent light casting sharp shadows on their faces.

“So,” the detective starts, his voice low and measured, “you’ve had quite the night. Care to explain how you ended up at the center of all this?”

You maintain your calm, letting the silence hang between you for a moment before tilting your head slightly. “First things first, I want my lawyer. I could ask you the same thing. How did you end up at the center of all this? I mean, shouldn’t you be focusing on the real criminals here? You know, the ones who’ve been running a whole underground operation while you’ve been playing 20 questions with me.”

The detective narrows his eyes, clearly not amused. “This isn’t about us. We’re here to figure out your involvement. You’ve been identified as being in the club tonight, and your ex-boss seems pretty convinced you’re behind the whole thing.”

You raise an eyebrow, letting out a soft scoff. “My ex-boss? The same guy who’s probably up to his neck in illegal activities and now conveniently trying to save his own ass by pinning everything on a group of young women? Yeah, I’m sure he’s a real trustworthy source.” You fixed your nails before rolling your eyes back to the officer. 

The detective’s partner shifts slightly, clearly annoyed by your nonchalant attitude. “Listen, we’re not here to play games. We have enough evidence to keep you here for a long time. The question is, do you want to make this easier on yourself?”

You lean back in your chair, crossing your legs as you look at him with a bored expression. “Easier? I think the real question is, why aren’t you out there dealing with the actual criminals? I mean, you’ve got Big Ricky and Nick in custody. Maybe you should be asking them about their involvement. Or better yet, about their boss’s involvement. I’m sure they have plenty to say, considering the state they’re in. Or is that too much work for you?”

The detective’s face tightens, clearly irritated. “You’re not in a position to be making demands or giving us directions. You’re the one sitting in that chair, not us.”

“True,” you reply, your voice calm and unbothered. “But let’s be real here. You know I’m not the mastermind behind this. I’m just a convenient scapegoat because I happen to know a few people and was in the wrong place at the wrong time. But you’re smart, right? You can see through the bullshit. So, why not cut to the chase and start focusing on the ones who actually deserve your attention?”

The detective leans back, clearly frustrated that his usual tactics aren’t working. “So, what? You’re saying you’re innocent? Just a bystander who got caught up in this mess?”

You shrug, giving him a small smile. “Innocent is a strong word, but let’s just say I’m not the criminal mastermind you’re looking for. And if you want to get to the bottom of this, you might want to start looking elsewhere. Like I said, you’ve got bigger fish to fry than little old me.”

The detective’s partner steps forward, placing his hands on the table and leaning in close. “You think this is a joke? You think you can just walk out of here without giving us something?”

You don’t flinch, meeting his gaze with your own unblinking stare. “No joke. Just the truth. And the truth is, you’re wasting your time on me. But hey, if you want to keep going in circles, be my guest. I’ve got all night.”

The two detectives exchange glances, clearly debating their next move. They didn’t expect you to be this tough, this unyielding. But you’ve been through hell and back tonight, and there’s no way you’re giving them an inch.

“You know,” you continue, your tone casual, “I’m curious. What’s it like being so close to the action but still missing the mark? You’ve got criminals right under your nose, and instead of nailing them, you’re here grilling me. It’s almost like you’re afraid of what you’ll find if you dig a little deeper.”

The detective’s jaw clenches, but before he can respond, you lean forward, your voice dropping to a whisper. “You want real answers? Go interrogate the ones who’ve been running the show. Maybe then you’ll actually get somewhere.”

The silence that follows is thick with tension. You’ve successfully turned the tables, and now they’re the ones on the defensive. You can see the frustration in their eyes, the realization that this isn’t going the way they planned.

Finally, the lead detective stands up, his expression unreadable. “We’re not going to be patient forever. ”

You give him a small nod, your expression as cool as ever. “I wouldn’t dream of it.”

As they pace the room, you can’t help but feel a small surge of satisfaction. They came in thinking they could break you, but all they did was confirm what you already knew—they can’t do their job for shit. And as long as they keep focusing on you, the real criminals are getting away. That irked the fuck outta you though. You’ve done your part, and now you were practically willing them to figure out the rest.

Suddenly, the door swung open, the air thickened with tension. In walked Hinata, Erza’s short caramel-complexioned girlfriend with a curly afro that framed her face and shoulders. She was the embodiment of unamused authority, her eyes sharp and her posture rigid. You could tell she meant business. Bakugou and  pro Hero Deku followed, the latter standing tall and muscled, a far cry from the boyish figure you might have imagined. His broad shoulders and the gentle but firm expression on his face contrasted sharply with the tension in the room. He still had those shining green eyes and adorable freckles on the apples of his cheeks. The light caught his metallic arm, making it gleam with an almost ethereal glow, a reminder of how he was willing to sacrifice for the innocent.

The officers and detectives scrambled to stand, ready to report on your "difficult" behavior. But before they could speak, Bakugou raised a hand, cutting them off with a look that brooked no argument. Deku stepped forward, his presence somehow both commanding and kind.

“Ground Zero asked Pro Hero Tempest to go undercover in regards to the recent string of robberies,” Deku explained, his voice carrying a weight of authority and calm. “As it turns out, the stolen goods were being sold at the 'Golden Palace' once obtained. She’s been committed to her role undercover since.”

The revelation hung in the air, heavy and surprising. You whispered softly, almost imperceptibly, "It’s a cover," knowing that if Megumi was near, she’d catch the message. Your lips barely moved, and with the noise from the open door, no one else would have picked it up. You made brief eye contact with Bakugou. Hearing your hero name, "Tempest," in such an official capacity felt surreal. It stirred something deep within you, a rush of adrenaline and nostalgia that you hadn’t felt since your early days in the field.

The officers were stunned, their accusations now seeming flimsy in the face of this new information. Hinata, still unamused, crossed her arms and waited for someone to speak, her presence demanding an explanation or perhaps just waiting to see if anyone dared question the situation further.

On your tiptoes, you caught a glimpse of Red Riot and Shoto dashing past the doorway, the jingle of keys echoing down the hallway. The officers, now visibly shaken by the unexpected turn of events, turned their wide eyes toward you. One of them finally mustered the courage to ask, “Why didn’t you just tell us the truth?”

Before you could respond, Bakugou stepped forward, his voice low and dangerous. “Tell you the truth? Are fucking you shitting me?” His words dripped with disdain. “This station has spent more time interrogating dancers who were just doing their jobs than focusing on the pig-headed criminals you did manage to arrest. Why would she—or any of them—feel comfortable telling you anything?”

The tension in the room rose as Bakugou’s anger became palpable. “Give me your badge numbers,” he demanded, his voice a growl. “I’m personally filing a complaint with the Hero Commission. And trust me, the press is going to have a field day once word gets out about how this place is run.”

The detectives exchanged nervous glances before sighing in resignation. They stood to unlock your cuffs, but before they could reach you, you smoothly dropped the already unfastened cuffs into Deku’s waiting hand. A faint smirk played on your lips as you watched the officers realize they’d been outmaneuvered.

Deku’s expression was calm, but there was a glint of amusement in his eyes as he pocketed the cuffs. The officers, now thoroughly chastised and out of their depth, could do little more than stand in stunned silence, the power dynamic in the room having shifted entirely in your favor. Bakugou’s glare lingered on them, making it clear that this wasn’t over—not by a long shot.

You reached out, your fingers brushing against Hinata’s hand. She squeezed it three times—your silent code for “I’ve got your back”—before letting go and slipping back into her lawyer persona. You couldn’t help but smile, thinking how much you hoped Erza would lock things down and marry her. She was a keeper, no doubt about that.

Meanwhile, Deku was doing his best to keep Bakugou from literally eating the officers as his jaw unhinged. The tension was thick in the air, but then you heard a soft “Psst.” Glancing down the hall, you spotted a familiar head of red and white hair. Red Riot was waving you over, his usual big grin in place, though there was a sense of urgency in his eyes.

Deciding that Bakugou and Deku could handle the rest, you gently tugged Hinata’s sleeve, leading her down the corridor. As you approached, you saw that the rest of the girls had been released. They looked relieved, though some were still a bit shaken. Your gaze quickly found Michael, who was being "assisted" by Red Riot. His strong arms were steadying her, but the slight blush on his cheeks and ears was impossible to miss.

Shoto stood nearby, giving you a slight nod as if to say, “It’s all under control.” The sight of your friends safe and sound brought a wave of relief washing over you. With everything that had happened, it felt good to know that the people who mattered were okay. You gently squeezed Hinata’s hand again, grateful for her quick thinking and support. ‘Maybe she could help me with my day job?’ You filed that into your back pocket for now. 

As you stepped outside into the cool night air, the tension from the station began to lift. The parking lot was a mix of harsh overhead lights and deep shadows, but the sight that greeted you was nothing short of heartwarming. Freddy and Akira were waiting by the cars, arms crossed but with relieved expressions as they spotted the group emerging from the building.

“Finally, free at last!” Freddy called out, throwing his hands up dramatically as he saw you approaching. Akira rolled his eyes but couldn’t hide the smile tugging at the corners of his lips.

Everyone quickly gravitated towards their partners or formed little groups, the collective sigh of relief almost palpable. The serious atmosphere from the station dissolved as everyone started to let their guard down and return to their usual selves.

“So, who had the dumbest interrogation question?” Casey asked, plopping down on the hood of one of the cars with a grin. She reached into her wig, still securely fastened, and pulled out her stashed gun, waving it playfully before throwing it into the car. ‘UGGGAHHHHHH!! I WANNA DO THAT!’ you screamed internally wishing you could burn your shitty wig when you got home and just be done with it. You didn’t wanna see another wig for a looong time. Fuck a secret identity you needed a vaction after tonight. 

“Definitely me,” Megumi chimed in, leaning against her boyfriend who was busy trying to get a smudge of dirt off her cheek. “Some rookie asked if I could hear what color the walls were. Like, seriously?” 

“Better than being asked if I was the ‘muscle’ of the group,” Kimiko said, shaking her head in disbelief. She demonstrated by flexing her arm, which earned a round of playful jabs from the others. Akira jumped next to her and a really bad gun show ensued that ended with Megumi threatening to get her bat from the trunk. 

“Oh, please,” Michael cut in, her arm around Red Riot’s neck, who was still blushing from the contact. “One of them actually asked me if I knew any good spots for post-clubbing breakfast. Like, hello, I’m the one covered in ash and bandages, do I look like a Yelp reviewer?” She rolled her eyes before gagging and you giggled at the action. 

This earned a chorus of laughter from the group, even Shoto cracked a rare smirk as he leaned against a nearby car. Kirishima, always the upbeat one, chuckled deeply. “They asked me if I needed to file an injury report for my hair,” he said, running a hand through his crimson locks. “I think they thought it was burnt!” 

Freddy burst out laughing at that. “Well, it does look a little crispy, man.” Kimiko pinched his side and he yelped like a flustered puppy. ‘ Mmm, they looking pretty cozy with each other!~’ She shot you a “Girl stop it” look and you shrugged in response. 

“Oh, I got a good one,” Erza piped up, leaning on her girlfriend Hinata, who was smoothing out her curls with an amused expression. “They asked if my quirk was being ‘too serious for my own good.’ I mean, I’ll take it, but really?”

“Wow, that’s a compliment and an insult all in one,” Hinata added, giving Erza a playful nudge.

Shoto, still quietly observing, finally spoke up, his tone calm but with a playful edge. “One of them asked me if I was related to Endevor, the pro hero. I said, ‘Yes,’ and they looked like they’d solved some great mystery.”

The group erupted in laughter again, the tension completely gone now. Freddy shook his head, chuckling. “Man, and here I was worried. I guess we all survived the worst of it. But hey, who do you think had it the roughest?” Feeling eyes turn to you for a story you decided to do what you did best, deflect! 

“Honestly, I think it’s a tie between Michael and Megumi,” you said with a grin, causing Michael to dramatically bow and Megumi to wave as if accepting an award.

“But seriously, thank you, guys,” you continued, your voice softening as you looked around at everyone. “It’s been one hell of a night, and I’m glad we made it through together.”

The group murmured in agreement, with Kirishima adjusting hia arm around Michael, who was still comfortably settled against him. Akira hit the button to start his car, “Anytime. We’re all in this together, right?” 

“Right!” everyone echoed.

With that, the group began making plans to head out, some to finally get some rest and others to grab that post-clubbing breakfast Michael had joked about. The parking lot was filled with lighthearted banter and the sense that, despite everything, you all had each other’s backs.

As the parking lot emptied out, the laughter and chatter from earlier faded into the night, leaving just you, Michael, Todoroki, and Kirishima. The quiet allowed the reality of the situation to settle in, a stark contrast to the chaotic events that had unfolded. Michael, still wrapped in Kirishima’s jacket, looked over at you, her eyes searching yours with a seriousness that hadn’t been there before.

“We gotta talk,” she said, her voice soft but firm.

You sighed, feeling the weight of what was coming. Throwing her a small, reassuring smile, you walked over to where she stood. Todoroki and Kirishima, both dressed down in casual clothes, lingered nearby, subtly aware that this conversation might reveal more than they were ready to hear.

Michael looked at you with an intensity that made your stomach twist. “Why didn’t you tell me you were a pro?” she asked, her voice barely above a whisper, as if saying it any louder would make it too real.

You hesitated, glancing at the two pros standing a respectful distance away. Choosing your words carefully, you replied, “It’s because of my ex… It’s complicated, Michael. It’s something I had to keep under wraps for my safety—and for yours.”

Michael nodded slowly, processing your words. “And when did you meet Bakugou?” she pressed, her tone not accusatory, but genuinely curious, trying to piece together the puzzle.

You glanced at the ground, then back at her, trying to keep your response vague enough to avoid raising suspicion. “He’s been my… mystery regular for a while now. We crossed paths, and he figured out more than I wanted him to.”

The coded conversation hung in the air, both of you careful with your words but understanding the deeper meaning behind them. Michael’s gaze softened as she asked, “Why did you come back for me?”

You took a deep breath, feeling the weight of the truth between you. “Because you are family, Michael. I love you. Plus, the Muhammads would’ve never forgiven me if I didn’t. I couldn’t leave you behind. Not after all you’ve done for me. I wouldn’t.” You were trying not to let all the emotions you had pushed down spill out right now. The last thing you needed was to be sobbing in the police parking lot with two strangers and your jacked up best friend. 

Michael’s eyes glistened with unshed tears as she looked at you, her emotions threatening to spill over. “The block got really hot there at the end…. Some pretty nasty bruises on those guys…. ” Her voice trailed off, but the implication was clear.

You met her gaze, your voice steady. “I guess something boiled over… ,” you said, leaving the answer deliberately open-ended. There was no need for more details, not with Kirishima and Todoroki nearby, but Michael understood what you were saying.

Michael’s emotions overwhelmed her, and she struggled to keep her tears at bay. Kirishima, ever the gentleman, quickly handed her a pack of pocket tissues. She accepted them gratefully, her hands trembling slightly as she tried to compose herself.

Seeing her like that, you felt a rush of protectiveness. “Move it, Big Red” you said gently, pushing Kirishima out of the way (who almost fell on and crushed a bewildered Shoto) to pull her into a tight hug. Michael melted into your embrace, her tears finally spilling over as she clung to you. “Please don’t scare me like that again.”

Todoroki, who had been standing quietly nearby, stepped forward and offered you his jacket before you stepped outside earlier. The gesture had touched you, and now, as you held Michael, you couldn’t help but think back to everything you’d heard about his family in the media. The parallels between the two of you still got to you. Despite everything he’d been through, he had a good heart—just like you hoped you did, too.

Kirishima and Todoroki stood a few steps away, giving you both the space you needed. Kirishima’s easy smile was still there, but his eyes held a gentle concern for Michael. Todoroki’s expression remained calm, but there was a quiet empathy in his gaze, as if he understood more than he let on.

As you held Michael close, feeling the warmth of her tears on your shoulder, you knew that this was far from over. But for now, in this moment, you were together, and that was all that mattered.

As you shifted your weight to better support Micheal in your arms, you heard the sound of footsteps approaching. Turning, you saw Bakugou storming over, his face still flushed from his earlier outburst. Right behind him, Deku followed, looking just as flustered, with a blush spreading from his ears down to his neck.

"What happened to you two?" you asked, adjusting Micheal so she could lean more comfortably against you.

Micheal, ever the one to lighten the mood, quipped, "They look like they just got caught making out in the janitor's closet."

You couldn't help but snort at her outrageous comment. "You might be onto something, Mick."

Kirishima let out a hearty laugh, his sharp teeth gleaming in the dim parking lot lights, while even Todoroki's lips curved into a rare smile. Bakugou, though, just glared at Micheal, but there was a tiny, reluctant smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. You caught a glimpse of a dimple in his cheek and found yourself wondering if he had a matching one on the other side.

As the laughter subsided, you took a deep breath, trying to pull yourself together. Your gaze shifted to the jacket Shoto had offered you, which was still draped over your shoulders. Bakugou's eyes lingered on it for a moment, making you suddenly aware of the warmth it provided, and the unspoken tension that it carried.

Deku, ever the polite one, stepped forward with a bright smile. "Hi, I'm Deku. It's nice to finally meet you."

He was like if a puppy became a human person, and you found yourself instantly warming up to him. "Nice to meet you too," you replied, offering a small smile of your own. Your eyes drifted to his arm, which caught the light in a way that highlighted its metallic sheen.

"So, about your arm," you began, curiosity getting the better of you.

Deku's face lit up as he launched into a small, enthusiastic ramble. "Oh, this? It's actually something Bakugou helped with! He and one of our old classmates, Hatsume, worked together to design it. It's got all these cool features, and it’s really helped me with my mobility and control…"

You glanced over at Bakugou, who looked both annoyed and flustered at the mention. The contrast between Deku’s eager explanation and Bakugou’s uncomfortable expression made you smile. It was moments like this that reminded you that while this was a weird “relationship” he seemed to be a good guy. 

Just emotionally constipated, that’s all. 

Kirishima and Todoroki took a step forward, their expressions softening as they introduced themselves. Kirishima gave you one of his signature wide grins, though it was tinged with concern, while Todoroki's gaze was calm but serious. 

"We were behind the glass earlier," Kirishima began, his voice low and gentle. "Listening in while you made the report about your ex." Your face was anything but pleasant and before you could let your temper slip Micheal squeezed your hip. Todoroki nodded, his mismatched eyes focused on you. "We wanted to make sure everything was okay and that it wasn’t a villain attack. We didn’t know it would be a domestic violence case."

You felt a knot form in your stomach at the mention of your ex. It was easy to push him out of your mind when surrounded by friends, but now that you were reminded of his presence, the weight of everything came crashing down again. Your job, the bomb, that joke of a meeting, the fucking elevator and that nasty text message. 

Breaking your thoughts, Izuku stepped in, his tone gentle but firm. "We know you're dealing with a lot right now, and we want to offer our services. With your status as a pro hero, we can make sure things go a lot smoother. It would be discreet."

You glanced at Micheal, who looked up at you with wide eyes, then back at the heroes. "What do you mean, 'services'?"

"Why don’t you both sit down for a moment?" Deku suggested, gesturing to the hood of the car.

You and Micheal hesitated for a second before sitting down, side by side. Kirishima and Todoroki exchanged a brief look before Todoroki took the lead.

"We checked on the mail that’s been sent to your apartment recently," Todoroki said, his voice even, though there was a flicker of anger in his eyes. "Several of them contained death threats."

Your stomach dropped as he continued.

"There were also photos of you," Kirishima added, his usually cheerful demeanor replaced with something more serious. "Pictures of you shopping, running at the gym, and even some from when you lived at your previous address. Some of the images were of you sleeping or doing everyday things—cleaning, cooking. More recently, they’ve included… other types of photos." His gaze looked over to Micheal and he dropped his eyes before looking at you. 

Your breath caught in your throat, and your hold on Micheal instinctively tightened. The reality of how much your life had been invaded was overwhelming. You could feel the panic starting to creep in, but you force yourself to stay calm for Micheal’s sake. At least, that’s what you kept telling yourself. 

Kirishima stepped forward, concern etched on his face, but you waved him away. "So now what?" you asked, your voice steady despite the turmoil churning inside you.

Izuku took a deep breath before speaking. "We want to provide you with protection. We can help track down whoever's been doing this, and with the resources we have, we can make sure they don’t get close to you again. But we need you to trust us and let us help." Poor thing looked like he would kill over if he couldn’t help you. 

Micheal looked up at you, her eyes searching yours for an answer. You could see the fear and uncertainty in her expression, and you knew you needed to make a decision that would keep her safe as well as yourself.

After a moment of silence, you nodded. "Okay. What do we need to do?"

Kirishima's serious expression softened slightly, and Todoroki gave a slight nod of approval.

"First," Todoroki said, "we'll need to get you somewhere safe for the night. We can discuss the details in the morning, but for now, let's focus on getting you out of here."

You glanced at Bakugou, who was still lingering nearby, his gaze locked on you with an intensity that made you feel both safe and exposed. Deku was watching too, his usual kindness tempered with a fierce determination.

"Thank you," you said, your voice barely above a whisper. It was hard to let others help, to admit that you needed it, but seeing the resolve in their eyes made you feel like maybe, just maybe, you could trust them to handle this.

As you stood, Kirishima offered Micheal his arm for support, which she gratefully took, while Todoroki readjusted his jacket over your shoulders, which you hadn't even realized had slipped from your shoulders in the midst of the conversation. You gave him a little smile and playful nudged his arm with your elbow. He hummed and you swore you saw the faintest hint of a smile at the gesture before he helped open the door for Micheal so Kirishima could assist her into the passenger seat of Bakugou’s car. 

Bakugou stepped forward then, his voice gruff as he spoke. "Let's get moving. We’ll figure out the rest later."

That wasn’t good enough for you though. "Nope. I'm not moving until you tell us what the plan is." With that, you sat your throne worthy buttcheeks on the roof of his ferrari and crossed your ankles. 

Bakugou looked like he was on the verge of arguing with you, his eyes narrowing, but you could see the exhaustion in his posture. He knew you well enough by now to realize that you weren’t going to budge without getting some answers, and if there was one thing he was too tired for right now, it was a battle of wills. 

You looked pretty cute up there, he wouldn’t lie. And the idea of you and him spending time sitting on his car and stargazing may have crossed his mind in one of the many daydreams he’s had about you. But Katsuki was only human too and he just wanted to make sure you were safe before he closed his eyes tonight. 

So, here was the girl of his dreams, sitting on the roof of his car, carefully making sure her sneakers didn’t scuff the paint. Bakugou watched you for a moment before he sighed and took a seat on the hood, the weariness in his eyes softening just a bit. 

“I already have it arranged,” he started, his voice a mix of annoyance and concern. Bakugou's face was calm but his ears were burning hot. You couldn't help but wonder how he was able to do that while having spent over $10,000 on you already. “The apartment above ours was vacant, so you and Micheal can stay there. I know you do school and work online, so either I or Shitty Hair will be watching one of you, and when we can’t be there, Midoriya and Todoroki will take over. If you want, that is. We have other friends if you’d be more comfortable with women or—”

You held up your hand to stop him mid-sentence. Bakugou’s mouth snapped shut, and he raised an eyebrow as you leaned over to peek into the open car window like some kind of strange spider woman.

“Whatchu think, babe?” you asked Micheal, your voice light despite the heaviness of the situation. You didn't get a chance to tell her about what happened during Bakugou's "lap dance" earlier and you had been replaying it all night in your cell. 

Micheal, who had been sitting quietly in the passenger seat, blinked at you in surprise before a small smile tugged at the corners of her lips. She looked from you to Bakugou, then back at you, her expression thoughtful.

“Well,” she began, her tone teasing, “as long as it means we get to keep an eye on you and make sure you’re not doing anything reckless, I’m in.” You stuck your tongue out at her and she pretended to bite the air before giggling. 

You snorted, pulling your head back out of the window with a grin. “You heard her,” you said, glancing over at Bakugou. 

“Looks like we’re taking you up on that offer.”

Chapter Text

Bakugou rolled his eyes, but you caught the small, almost imperceptible smile that tugged at the corner of his mouth. It wasn’t often you saw him relax enough to let his guard down like this, and for a moment, you wondered if that dimple on his left cheek had a matching one on the right.

“Good,” he muttered, crossing his arms as he leaned back on the hood. “Just don’t make me regret it.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” you shot back playfully, feeling a little lighter now that a plan was in place.

Micheal let out a small laugh, and you could see the tension easing from her shoulders. Kirishima, who had been watching the exchange with a grin, nodded approvingly while Todoroki stood by, his calm demeanor a steady presence in the midst of the chaos.

Deku, who had been patiently waiting, finally introduced himself, his voice warm and cheerful. “Sorry, I forgot to do this earlier,” he said, offering a hand. “I’m Izuku Midoriya, but you already knew who I was.” His face broke out into a shade of baby pink and you had to resist the urge to pinch and squish his cheeks. Maybe he was like what having a little brother would have been like and Kirishima definitely fit the older brother mold. 

You took his hand, noticing how his grip was firm but gentle, and how his eyes were still as bright and kind as they were in the station. “Nice to formally meet you too, Izuku,” you replied, feeling a bit playful despite everything. The lack of formality must have sent him spiraling because he made a noise and Shoto pulled him back before he could combust. 

You heard someone clearing their throat and looked up to see Bakugou glaring daggers at Izuku, who looked a bit flustered. Kirishima, ever the peacemaker, coughed and tried to subtly discourage Bakugou from being temperamental in front of you. But when Bakugou noticed your keen gaze locked on him, Kirishima whistled innocently and turned around as if he had seen nothing.

Before things could get too awkward, Micheal shouted something funny from the car, breaking the tension. Everyone laughed, and the decision was made to head to your old apartment to gather your belongings. Just as you were about to head to the car, you suddenly remembered, "Oh shit! The cash!"

Bakugou, with a heavy hand, tapped the trunk of his car. "It’s safe," he grumbled, his voice carrying just a hint of reassurance. You sighed in relief before hopping down from the roof of his car, which you noticed gave him a mini panic attack as he watched.

Todoroki and Izuku decided to ride together in Todoroki's car, leaving you, Micheal, and Kirishima to file into the back of Bakugou's vehicle. As you slid into the backseat, you gave Bakugou your address anyway, just in case.

Micheal started making some pleasant conversation with Bakugou, her voice light and friendly, as if the night’s events hadn’t shaken her at all. Meanwhile, you turned to Kirishima, who was sitting beside you, and asked, "Hey, would it be okay if I rested my head on your shoulder?"

Kirishima's face lit up with a bright smile. "Of course!" he said, clearly thrilled to oblige. You leaned your head against his sturdy frame, finally allowing yourself to relax a little. The comfort of having Micheal close and the warmth of Kirishima beside you made you feel safe, even after all the chaos. 

What you didn’t notice was Bakugou glancing at you through the rearview mirror. His usually icy heart softened a bit at seeing you so comfortable, though he couldn't help but feel a slight twist of jealousy that it wasn’t him you were leaning on. Still, he knew he didn’t have to worry about Kiri.

Todoroki tailed Bakugou's car as you all made your way to your apartment. The drive was relatively quiet, with Kirishima occasionally humming along to a song playing softly on the radio. When you finally arrived, the doorman greeted you with a polite nod and informed you that you had more packages waiting.

At first, your heart skipped a beat in worry, but when he mentioned they were from the "furniture store," you quickly realized it was code for the sugar baby site. You nodded in understanding, and Bakugou volunteered to take the packages to his car. You raised an eyebrow, wondering how he had so much space in there, but you had a feeling he knew exactly what was in those boxes.

Once that was sorted, you were grateful that you hadn’t fully moved in yet. Your belongings were mostly packed, which made the process of getting everything together much easier. You led the group to "the Lemon," your beloved car with its disco cow-print interior. The moment they saw it, Todoroki’s eyes widened slightly, and Kirishima let out a low whistle.

Shoto couldn’t help but ask, “How is it still running?” He got some looks from the guys but you were quickly realizing that social cues weren’t really his thing. He took a closer look at your fuzzy dice, diamond studded steering wheel, and the beads that adorned your drivers seat. 

You laughed, more at the absurdity of it all than anything else. “It’s the first thing I ever bought by myself,” you explained, pride evident in your voice. “It means a lot to me, even if it is a 2001 Saturn in the ugliest beige color you’ve ever seen.” 

Actually the car had been spray painted at one point during a party in your old neighborhood. The streaky colors never fully came out so it looked almost iridescent. Almost being a very strong word in this case. But it was yours in every way of the word and you loved that thing like it ain’t nobody’s business. 

Izuku and Bakugou worked together to disassemble your "cam room," though you had told them it was just your bedroom. The actual bedroom, where Micheal mostly stayed, served as your guestroom. Thankfully, you still had the original boxes, making it easier to pack everything neatly into the Lemon. The sight of your little apartment, now barren and stripped of everything that had made it feel like home, tugged at your heart and you felt that familiar hot air bubble rising in your throat again. The kind that made you wanna gasp for air and cry at the same time. 

As the final box was loaded into the car, you felt a lump in your throat and quickly excused yourself to the bathroom. Inside, you leaned against the door, trying to steady your breathing. The dim light cast a shadow over your pro hero license as you held it up, staring at it in silence. Memories of what it took to get here, the sacrifices, the struggles, and the victories all flashed before your eyes. You glanced at Bakugou’s license, remembering how surreal it felt to hear him call you by your hero name earlier. It had been so long since you used it, and the weight of it now felt heavier than ever.

Tears welled up in your eyes, and you squeezed them shut, trying to push back the overwhelming emotions. You had fought so hard to create a life for yourself, only for it to be disrupted again. The reality of having to leave this place behind, of uprooting everything you had built, was crushing.

A soft knock on the bathroom door startled you. “You alive in there?” It was Bakugou’s voice, gruff yet with an undercurrent of concern that he rarely showed.

“I’ll be out in a minute,” you replied, your voice barely above a whisper.

You took a deep breath, tucked the licenses back into your pocket, and steeled yourself. The tears could come later. Right now, you needed to get through this, for your sake and Micheal's. You couldn’t afford to fall apart—not yet.

When you finally emerged from the bathroom, the group was waiting for you, concern etched on their faces. Bakugou’s eyes softened just a bit when he saw you, and without a word, he handed you a bottle of water. You took it with a small smile of thanks, grateful for the quiet understanding he offered.

"Ready to go?" Kirishima asked, his voice gentle.

You nodded, feeling the weight of your hero license in your pocket as a reminder of who you were and what you were capable of. "Yeah, let’s get out of here."

Next on the list was Micheal’s apartment, which you knew would be a heavier hit. With the three cars at your disposal, you were hoping to make at least two trips, but as soon as she unlocked the door, that gnawing feeling that had been plaguing you all day finally hit you, hard . Instinct kicked in, and you pulled Micheal back, pushing her gently into Kirishima’s arms. His brows furrowed in confusion, but he held onto her without question. You turned the lock, slowly opening the door, and used the light from your phone to scan the area.

Nothing looked out of place. The furniture was untouched, no shoe prints on the pristine white rug. Yet, it was too dark, too still. Something was wrong. The tension in your shoulders grew as you stepped inside cautiously, still not turning on the lights. Micheal had mentioned leaving her charger in your bathroom earlier, so you sent her and Kirishima to retrieve it while Izuku and Todoroki guarded the cars outside.

Bakugou entered behind you, his sharp eyes narrowing in concern. “What’s wrong?”

You didn’t answer immediately, still surveying the apartment, trying to pinpoint the source of your unease. Every instinct screamed that you weren’t alone, that something was out of place even if you couldn’t see it yet. You moved into Micheal’s room, pulling her suitcase from under the bed. Bakugou followed, holding both you and his phone’s flashlight steady as you began packing. Clothes, documents, electronics—all the essentials were packed into suitcases, bins, and bags. You moved with urgency, trying to get everything loaded as quickly as possible. Trash bags filled with other items were taken to the cars until all that was left was her furniture.

When the last of her belongings were packed, you paused, still unsettled. Your eyes roved the room one final time, searching for what you couldn’t quite identify. Bakugou watched you, tension building in his own stance. 

“What are you looking for?” he asked, his voice a mix of patience and desperation. He needed you to talk to him, to tell him what you were feeling.

“Something… something’s just not right here,” you muttered, turning to face him. You expected an argument, but instead, you found Bakugou’s gaze steady and serious. He believed you, and that made something spark inside you—something that felt almost like relief, or maybe you were still tripping from the smoke fumes. 

Before you could delve deeper into that thought, Kirishima’s voice echoed from the hallway. “Hey, you guys alright?” He appeared at the doorway, his sharp red eyes and fierce features momentarily startling you. On reflex, you threw your phone at him, which bounced off his forehead with a dull thud. Kirishima groaned but took it like a champ, rubbing his head as Bakugou stifled a laugh and went to help him up.

As you all moved to leave, you caught sight of Micheal down the hall, still wrapped in Kirishima’s large jean jacket with the fuzzy lining. Despite everything, she looked like she was holding up well. “Let’s head out, Shitty Hair,” Bakugou muttered, his voice low and gruff.

You both turned to leave, but then you smelled it—something acrid and chemical. Your senses went on high alert, and before you could react, Kirishima spoke up. “Wait, I think I dropped my contacts in the doorway. Lemme just—”

But it was too late. Kirishima flicked on the lights, and you barely had time to react. The moment the light switch was activated, you felt the energy shift in the room, and without thinking, you forced an ice shield around the three of you.

BOOOOM!!!

The explosion went off in a deafening roar, the heat of it intense even through your ice barrier. 

The force of the blast rocked the apartment, sending debris flying, but your shield held. Bakugou cursed under his breath, his eyes wide as he stared at the destruction. Kirishima’s hardened form absorbed the shock, but he still looked shaken. 

As the dust settled, you quickly lowered the shield, your heart pounding in your chest. “Everyone okay?” you asked, your voice strained. Your head was pounding but you could faintly remember Bakugou pulling you into a protective hug before Kirishima covered you both. His shirt was half ripped- half burnt and his pants were smoking. 

Kirishima nodded, though his expression was grim. “That was too close.” He looked down at his pant leg to see it on fire and proceeded to throw himself down and roll down the hallway as much as his big body self could before it subsided. 

Micheal, who had been safely down the hallway ran to you, looked on in horror, her warm face paler than you had ever seen. “What the hell just happened!?”

Bakugou was already moving, his eyes blazing with fury as he assessed the situation. “Someone set a trap,” he growled, his voice low and dangerous. “They knew we’d be here.” 

You took a deep breath, trying to steady your racing heart. “We need to get out of here, now.”

You could still hear the faint ringing in your ears as you took in the devastation. The remnants of the explosion were all around you, and the reality of what had just happened settled in. The apartment was obliterated, the once familiar space now a war zone of shattered glass, debris, and smoke. From where you stood, you could easily see that her bedroom wall was no more. Which meant that the wall where your TV once hung was gone too. If you didn’t know any better, you’d think it was one large apartment. Without all the smoke a debris. 

The thought of what could have happened if Michael had been inside gnawed at you, taking everything in you not to double over and puke all over the hallway carpet for some unexpecting person to find later. 

You kept a tight grip on Michael's hand, feeling the tremble in your own. She wasn't crying, probably too shocked to process it all. But she looked dazed and you were sure her ears were ringing. You realized you were biting your tongue so hard that the metallic taste of blood filled your mouth. The pain was grounding in a twisted way.

Izuku and Shoto were quick to arrive, their faces a mix of worry and urgency. The doorman, pale and shaken upon seeing the burned space, ran back downstairs to call the police. The thought of dealing with more cops made you want to scream. Not again. Not after everything that had already happened tonight.

It was 3 a.m., and exhaustion weighed heavily on you, but you couldn't afford to rest now. You turned to Bakugou, who was already surveying the damage with a scowl that promised retribution.

"We need to get out of here," he said, his voice a low growl. "This place isn't safe anymore."

You nodded, still gripping Michael's hand like a lifeline. "Yeah, let's go."

The sound of footsteps echoed as everyone moved swiftly, gathering what little they could salvage. You could feel Bakugou's eyes on you, a look of something that you couldn't quite place.

As you made your way out, you took one last look at the destroyed apartment, the life you'd tried so hard to build reduced to rubble in an instant. For what? Because you didn’t give into that stupid creep earlier? Because you agreed to break up and left him? Most people would be happy their ex left quietly! But no, not Kyoya, never him. Everything had to go his way otherwise the world was ending. He was worse than a prima donna! 

A murderous, bratty, shit eating asshole prima donna that you wanted to burn alive with your bare hands. 

Izuku led the way to the cars, and you followed, your heart heavy with a mix of fear, anger, and a growing temper. Whoever was behind this, they had no idea who they were messing with. 

Bakugou leaned against the hood of his car, arms crossed as he watched you get into your car with Michael. He couldn’t help the tightness in his chest as he saw the way you moved, your body language still protective, still on edge. Kirishima slid into the passenger seat beside him, the silence between them heavy with unspoken words.

Izuku and Shoto had volunteered to wait for the police, giving you all a chance to get some rest. When Shoto had insisted that you keep his jacket, you threw your arms around the icy hero and Bakugou had to physically restrain himself from stepping in. The sight of you hugging the icy-hot bastard had nearly sent him over the edge, especially when Shoto had the nerve to actually return the embrace. Bakugou’s hands twitched with the need to do something—anything—to get you away from him. But he held back, knowing you didn’t need him to suffocate you right now.

Still, the feeling gnawed at him, driving him insane. He had offered to drive you, suggesting that Kirishima trail in his own car, but you’d declined, saying you needed a minute. Bakugou didn’t push, even though everything inside him was screaming to do just that. He didn’t want to lose you, but he also didn’t want to scare you away.

The night had been a nightmare, and he couldn’t shake the feeling of helplessness that had clung to him ever since the moment you walked into that club.  He had felt like a sitting duck just waiting for you to get out of that hell hole, trying to keep your friend alive and being on the phone with the doctors of the hospital. He wasn't much for prayer, but he hoped the man upstairs was listening when he was pleading for your safety. He must  have too, because here you are in that cin tan on wheels, arguing that your car decor was “ cute ” and not “ hippy dippy ”.

Embarrassment still burned in his veins from his outburst earlier. He’d yelled, lost control, and it wasn’t justifiable at all. How the girl he met turned out to be completely different than what he thought, and it wasn't even in a bad way. You were smart, strong, reliable, caring, you helped others before yourself, and that wasn't even you being a hero, that was just you being you. He could see that, he hadn't stopped seeing that for one moment tonight. 

And it scared the hell out of him.

He knew he shouldn't be thinking of this considering what just happened, but he was scared to lose you. And that he wasn't good enough for you. What if he couldn’t protect you the way you needed?

Bakugou clenched his fists, trying to dispel the thoughts, but they lingered, festering in the corners of his mind. He knew he shouldn’t be thinking about this now, not after what just happened. But he couldn’t help it. The fear of losing you, of not being enough, was overwhelming.

He glanced at Kirishima, who seemed to sense the turmoil swirling within him. His friend’s usual easygoing demeanor was tempered with concern, but Kirishima didn’t push. Instead, he offered Bakugou a reassuring nod, as if to say that he was there, that they would talk about this later. 

Bakugou’s gaze shifted back to your car, where you were seated with Michael. The sight of you, still wearing Shoto’s jacket, still dealing with the aftermath of everything, made his heart clench. He wanted to be the one to hold you, to make sure you were safe, but he didn’t know how to be that person.

But he would be damned if he didn’t try. 

Bakugou's grip tightened on the steering wheel as he drove, his eyes focused on the road ahead. The tension in the car was palpable, and he could feel the weight of the day pressing down on him. He glanced in the rearview mirror at your car, following closely behind with Michael inside. You’d been talking to her for most of the drive, and Bakugou’s mind was a turbulent mess of worry and frustration.

He had seen the way you’d looked at the apartment earlier, the way your eyes had darted around, searching for something—anything—that might tell you what had gone wrong. The explosion, the destruction—it was all too much. He couldn’t help but feel responsible, even though he knew it wasn’t his fault.

The hum of the engine filled the silence, and Bakugou’s thoughts wandered to you. The way you handled yourself tonight was impressive. And yet, seeing you so vulnerable, so distressed, stirred something inside him. It was a feeling he wasn’t used to, and it both annoyed and unsettled him. He felt like he didn’t protect you and therefore, already failed you. 

–

You followed closely behind Bakugou, the car’s orange paint job sticking out against the dark blues of the night sky. The darkness outside seemed to close in, but inside your car, there was a faint glimmer of comfort. Michael sat beside you, her silence a mirror of your own thoughts. You could feel the weight of the day pressing on you, but you tried to keep it together.

Every time you glanced at Bakugou’s car ahead, you saw the faint glow of his tail lights, a small beacon guiding you through the night. The familiar rumble of “The Lemon,” was a small comfort. You knew you had to keep moving, had to get through the night and find some semblance of normalcy.

Michael broke the silence, her voice soft but filled with an underlying tension. “Do you think they’ll find out who did this?”

You sighed, trying to push away the heaviness of the night. “I hope so. I really do. It’s just... a lot to process.”

Michael reached over and gave your hand a reassuring squeeze. “We’ll get through this. You’ve got me, remember?” You didn’t know how she could be focused on others when someone literally just tried to kill her because she’s friends with you. 

–

Kirishima had been quietly observing, his usually bright and confident demeanor softened with concern.

“Alright, Bakugou,” Kirishima said, placing a hand on Bakugou’s shoulder, “you need to calm down. You’re doing great, but you’ve gotta keep your head cool.”

Bakugou grunted, gripping the steering wheel tighter. “I’m not exactly known for being calm, Eijirou. This whole night’s been a mess, and I’m just trying to figure out how to fix it.”

Kirishima’s expression was one of shock that he masked with calm understanding. “I know. But the best way to handle this is to not let it overwhelm you. The more you panic, the harder it’ll be to figure things out. Trust me, you’ve got this.” He looked back to you both in his side mirror before looking at Katsuki again. He knew that man was stressed and down bad for you but this was beginning to scare him. 

Bakugou shot Kirishima a sideways glance, his annoyance giving way to grudging appreciation. “Yeah, yeah. Thanks for the pep talk. Just… keep me posted on any updates, alright?” 

Kirishima gave him a quick side hug, which Bakugou accepted with a resigned sigh before delivering a sharp punch to Kirishima’s arm. It was his way of saying thanks, the rough gesture softened by the sincerity behind it.

–

The cool night air felt like a balm against the stress you were carrying as you and Micheal sat in the car. The interior was dimly lit by the streetlights filtering through the windows, and the silence between you was heavy with the weight of the night’s events.

Micheal’s gaze was fixed out the window, her face pale but determined. “I don’t know how to thank you enough for everything tonight,” she said quietly, her voice steady despite the crack in it.

You glanced at her, noting the bruises still visible on her face. “You don’t have to thank me. I did what anyone would’ve done. But seriously, why aren’t you more angry? That was insane.” 

Micheal gave a small, weary smile. “I’m angry, trust me. But right now, we’re safe, and that’s what matters. There’s nothing we can do about the past, so I’m trying to focus on what’s ahead.”

Tears welled up in your eyes as you heard her words. “I guess we’re both just trying to keep it together.”

Micheal reached over, gently wiping a tear from your cheek. “Hey, you don’t have to be strong for me. We’ll get through it together, okay? I don’t want “ Tempest ” right now. I want my sister.” She reached over and wiped the stray tears from your face, making you almost feel like a baby. 

You pointed out softly, “You’re crying too, you know.” You grabbed some napkins from your cup holders and weakly threw them at her, promoting giggles of exhaustion and stress to leave your bodies. 

Micheal’s eyes glistened, but she nodded. “I guess we both are. But we’ll be okay. We’re okay.”

And for that, you said a quiet thanks for the answer of your prayers. 

—

Bakugou’s mind raced through the details of the night—the club, the confrontation with your ex, the fires, the near-disaster. He was still processing it all, trying to piece together what went wrong and how he could make things right.

Kirishima’s voice cut through the chaos in Bakugou’s thoughts. “You’re doing the right thing, man. Just remember, it’s okay to let your guard down a little. Sometimes giving space and showing that you care is the best way to get through to someone.”

Bakugou’s brows furrowed. “What if she doesn’t want me around? What if I just make things worse?”

Kirishima nodded, “She’s been through a lot tonight. She needs support, not judgment. Just be there for her. If you show her you’re genuine and not just trying to control her, she’ll appreciate it. Trust me.” There he goes again, giving bomb-ass relationship advice despite being a single lad. Kirishima rested his head against his first as he gazed out at the mirror to Micheal who was trying to wipe some smudge off your cheek. 

Maybe that could change soon. 

Bakugou nodded, his resolve strengthening. He glanced at Kirishima then back at you with a newfound determination. ‘I’ll be damned if I don’t try.’

“Alright,”

–

The tension in the car had begun to lighten, and as you drove, the conversation between you and Micheal took a more playful turn. After everything you’d been through tonight, it was a relief to focus on something lighter—like teasing her about a certain red-haired hero.

“So,” you began, glancing at Micheal with a smirk, “what’s the deal with you and Kirishima? I saw the way he looked at you back there. Don’t tell me you didn’t notice.” You look at the two figures in the car ahead of you and deduce they are talking about somethin’. 

Micheal’s eyes widened, and she shot you a playful glare. “Oh, please! I might’ve been half-conscious, but I’m not blind. The man is FOINE !” She dragged out the last word, fanning herself dramatically. “And did you see those muscles? I swear, he’s like a walking statue.” Okay, the girl do got a point though. 

You laughed, shaking your head. “So you’re into him, huh?”

Micheal shrugged with a sly grin. “Can you blame me? But what about you and Ground Zero? I saw how he was all over you, making sure you were okay every second. You can’t tell me there’s nothing there.”

Oop.

Your face flushed at her words, and you shot her a look. “Me and Bakugou? No way, he’s just… being protective, I guess.” You wanted to jump outta the car now. ANYTHING but this conversation right now as you remember you basically stuff his face into your boobs back at the club and how he refused to give into your touches. 

“Uh-huh, sure,” Micheal teased, her voice dripping with sarcasm. “You know, for a guy who’s all rough and tough, he sure seems soft around you. You sure you’re not into him?” Her eyebrows wiggled dangerously. 

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t suppress the small smile tugging at your lips. “He’s just looking out for me. That’s all.” Your ears were on fire with how hot they felt and you were sure you’d melt the steering wheel again if you weren’t careful. 

“Uh-huh,” Micheal hummed knowingly, her tone teasing. “If you say so. But just so you know, you two would make a hell of a couple.” She eyed you up and down from her seat worse than the detectives did. 

You bit your lip, shaking your head at her teasing. “Let’s just get through tonight first, okay?”

–

As they drove, Kirishima couldn’t resist poking at Bakugou’s recent behavior.

“So, Bakugou,” Kirishima started, trying to keep his tone light, “what’s the deal with you and her? You were acting all weird when she wasn’t around.” He cocks his head to the side, “Then you act all weird when she is, what’s up man?”

Bakugou shot Kirishima a sharp look, his voice defensive. “I wasn’t acting weird, dumbass. I was just making sure she was safe.” He has to restrain himself from looking back at you when the giggles from your open windows tumble into his car. What were you and your friend so giggly about?!

Kirishima chuckled, clearly enjoying the reaction he was getting. “Uh-huh, sure. You’ve never been that protective over anyone before. You sure there’s nothing going on?” He loomed closer to Bakugou, knowing he was playing a dangerous game of chicken but it was worth whatever blast. 

Bakugou’s eyes narrowed, and he growled, “Shut the hell up, Kirishima. I’m just doing what any hero would do.”

Kirishima leaned back in his seat, a grin spreading across his face. “Right, right. Just like how I’m sure you noticed how I was looking at Micheal.”

Bakugou rolled his eyes, but there was a smirk hiding at the corner of his lips. “Yeah, you’ve been drooling over her all night.” Kirishima shrugged, unfazed. “Can you blame me? She’s awesome. But hey, I saw how you were when you didn’t see your mystery girl. You were pacing, getting all worked up.”

Bakugou’s smirk vanished, and he turned to face Kirishima head on. “Watch it, Kiri.”

Kirishima mimicked Bakugou’s earlier demeanor, crossing his arms and putting on a gruff voice. “ ‘Where is she? What if something happened? I’m gonna kill those bastards if they touched her! ’” He laughed, clearly enjoying himself.

Then Bakugou’s fist connected with Kirishima’s throat and the ladder returned it with much vigor, “You wanna get your head blown off, shitty hair? And don’t act like you weren’t just as worried about bandages.” 

Bandages = Micheal’s new nickname

Kirishima rubbed his neck with a chuckle. “Maybe, but at least I’m not in denial about it. I’ve got my eye on her, and you’ve got your eye on—”

Bakugou cut him off with another hard punch, though there was a hint of a smirk on his face. “Shut up, shitty hair!”

Both cars pulled up side by side at a red light, and Micheal’s eyes lit up with mischief as she saw Kirishima and Bakugou in the next car. She quickly leaned over you and rolled down your window, her grin wide and mischievous.

“ Hey, sexy!~ ” Micheal called out, her voice sultry as she leaned out of the window, waving at the boys. “How ‘bout you give me a smile, hot stuff?”

You immediately slumped down in your seat, covering your face with your hands in embarrassment. “Oh my God, Micheal , what are you doing?!” You did everything in your power not to floor the gas pedal from nerves. 

Kirishima, never one to shy away from a bit of fun, leaned out of his window and grinned back. “Hey there! I’m always ready to give a pretty lady a smile!” He shot Micheal a wink that she returned and you could physically taste the cheese. 

Bakugou groaned, his face flushing slightly as he reached over to roll up the window, but Kirishima was quick to block him, enjoying the moment far too much.

“You’re gonna regret this, Kirishima,” Bakugou muttered under his breath, trying to ignore the way his heart skipped a beat at the whole situation. He really needed to see a doctor about this. 

Kirishima just laughed, giving Bakugou a quick nudge. “Come on, man, it’s all in good fun! Just think of it as payback for all those times you’ve teased me.”

You peeked out from behind your hands, shooting Micheal a mortified look. “You’re evil.”

Micheal just grinned, clearly pleased with herself. “What? I’m just helping you loosen up. You gotta admit, it’s fun to see them squirm.”

Before you could respond, Kirishima managed to blow a playful kiss out the window, earning a half-hearted glare from Bakugou and a chorus of giggles from you and Micheal before she caught it.

As the light stayed stubbornly red, Micheal leaned further out of the window, continuing her banter with Kirishima. “You know, Red Riot, I’ve seen you in action. But I bet you’re even more impressive up close,” she teased, her voice dripping with playful flirtation.

Kirishima, never one to back down from a challenge, grinned wider. “Oh, I’ve got plenty of tricks up my sleeve, miss. Maybe you’ll get to see them someday.” It should have been impossible but his smile got wider and you wondered how he flossed with those teeth. 

You slumped further into your seat, silently begging for the light to change. ‘ Why, God? Why won’t this light turn green? Why must you make me suffer like this?’ You peeked out from between your fingers, hoping to catch a glimpse of the traffic signal, but instead, you caught sight of Bakugou peeking over at you from the driver’s seat.

Your breath hitched as his crimson eyes met yours, and for a brief moment, you both just stared at each other, the cheesy flirting around you fading into the background. It wasn’t long before Micheal and Kirishima noticed the silent exchange, their teasing immediately shifting focus.

“Ohhh, looks like someone’s interested,” Kirishima drawled, a wicked grin spreading across his face as he nudged Bakugou. “Hey, Bakubro, you sure you don’t wanna join in on the fun?”

Micheal, sensing an opportunity, quickly jumped in. “Yeah, Ground Zero! You’ve been staring pretty hard at my girl here. You got something to say, or are you just enjoying the view?” You sat up quickly and snapped your neck at Micheal, “I am going to spank you when we get home.” She shrugged, “I’ll shake my ass for more.”

Bakugou’s cheeks flushed a deep shade of red, and he quickly turned his attention back to the road, grumbling under his breath. “Shut up, shitty hair. I’m just keeping an eye out, that’s all.”

Kirishima laughed, clearly enjoying the rare opportunity to fluster his friend. “Come on, man, don’t be shy! I’m just saying, if you’re gonna stare at her like that, you might as well tell her how you feel.”

Micheal leaned back into the car, a triumphant smirk on her face as she crossed her arms. “See? Even Kirishima thinks you should make a move, Bakugou.” She cupped your face in her warm palms and turned you to face him head on. 

You, on the other hand, were ready to melt into the seat, your face burning with embarrassment. “Can we please stop talking about this?” you muttered, hoping to end the conversation before it spiraled even further out of control. You could’ve easily wiggled out, but her hands were really soft and you didn’t mind being a trophy if it meant Micheal was holding ya. 

But Micheal and Kirishima were relentless, and they weren’t about to let either of you off the hook so easily.

“Actually,” Kirishima said, leaning out the window with a mischievous glint in his eye, “I think Bakugou here has been acting a little too cool lately. He’s all business and no fun! I say we make him loosen up a bit.”

Micheal grinned, clearly enjoying the turn of events. “Oh, I like the sound of that! Maybe we should get him to admit that he’s got a soft spot for someone special.”

Bakugou’s hands gripped the steering wheel tightly, his knuckles turning white as he shot Kirishima a murderous glare. “I swear, if you don’t shut the fuck up right now, I’m gonna blast your ass all the way back to U.A.”

Kirishima just laughed, unfazed by Bakugou’s threat. “Yeah, yeah, Mr. Tough Guy. But we all know you’ve got a heart under all that attitude. Just admit it, you care about her.~”

Micheal, sensing Bakugou’s discomfort, decided to go in for the kill. “And you know what? I think Mr. #2 Pro Hero of Japan is kinda cute when he’s all flustered like this. Don’t you agree?” she asked, turning to you with a wink. Frustratingly, Bakugou did look over at you and you slammed yourself down into the driver's seat again. 

You groaned, burying your face in your hands. “Why are you all like this?”

Kirishima shot you a thumbs-up from his window. “Because it’s fun! And besides, it’s not every day we get to see Bakugou squirm.” Katsuki was now taking the time to pain Kirishima’s slow and painful death. 

Micheal leaned out the window once more, flashing Bakugou a teasing grin. “Hey, grumpy! How about you smile for me, and maybe I’ll forgive you for stealing all the attention tonight!” You were now fighting to push her back into her carseat while she all but strangled you with your seat belt. 

Before Bakugou could respond, Kirishima leaned over and added, “Yeah, Bakugou, give us that million-watt smile! Come on, don’t be shy!~” He was pushing it, Eijirou knew that. But when would he ever get another opportunity like this again?

Bakugou’s eyes narrowed dangerously, and for a moment, it looked like he was about to leap across the car and strangle Kirishima. Instead, he rolled his eyes, muttering under his breath as he reached over and punched the button to roll up the window, and lock it. But not before muttering loud enough for everyone to hear, “You’re all idiots,” before the window clicked shut. 

Kirishima’s roaring laughter filled the car as he gave Bakugou a punch to the arm, one that the ash blond accepted before punching Kirishima right back. It was a little fun to see you flustered, even if he’d never admit it out loud with witnesses around. That would be for just the two of you, later. 

You peeked out from under your hands just in time to see the light finally change to green. ‘Thank you God!’ With a sigh of relief, you pressed on the gas, eager to put some distance between you and the embarrassing situation. But you couldn’t help the small smile tugging at your lips, knowing that despite everything, you weren’t alone in this crazy, messed-up night.

As the group drove on, another stoplight caught them by surprise, and once again, the cars rolled to a halt side by side. This time, however, a mischievous glint sparked in both Micheal and Kirishima’s eyes. They exchanged a knowing look, and before you or Bakugou could react, they bolted from their respective seats, dashing into the street like a pair of crazed maniacs.

“What the hell ?!” you shouted, instinctively reaching out to grab Micheal as she slipped from your grasp, laughing hysterically.

Bakugou’s reaction was immediate and intense. “KIRISHIMA, YOU IDIOT!” he roared, lunging out of his seat to wrestle Kirishima back into the car. It was like trying to contain a hyperactive dog—Kirishima twisted and turned, managing to escape Bakugou’s grip just as the remains of his shirt tore off, leaving him half-naked and triumphant.

Micheal, now standing in the middle of the road, pumped her fists in the air. “Whoo! Now that’s what I’m talking about!” she whooped with joy, causing you to squeal and cover your eyes in mortification.

“Micheal, stop!” you hissed, your face burning with embarrassment. “I swear, I’ll kill you!”

Micheal just grinned wickedly, and as if to add insult to injury, she gave a little booty shake in your direction, a gesture that only you could see. Your eyes narrowed dangerously, your patience finally snapping. Without a second thought, you grabbed your converse and flung them out the window at her.

Micheal laughed even harder, dodging the shoes with surprising agility. “Nice try, baby!” She taunted and scooped them up as Kirishima, ever the gentleman, ran over to grab her hand and help her into Bakugou’s car like she was a princess. She accepted his hand with a dramatic flourish, settling into the passenger seat with a satisfied smirk.

Meanwhile, Kirishima sprinted over to your car, jumping into the passenger side with an excited grin plastered on his face. You just stared at him in disbelief, your mind struggling to process the utter craziness that had just unfolded. Then, with wide eyes, you glanced over at Bakugou and Micheal, who were both watching you with varying degrees of amusement.

“THE FUCK IS MY LIFE!!!” you finally screamed, throwing your hands up in exasperation before slamming your head onto the horn. The loud blare echoed through the street, cutting through the laughter.

“Ah no, please don’t do that,” Kirishima winced, trying to gently lift your head off the horn. But you shot him a look that made him freeze in place.

“Keep those hands on the dashboard,” you ordered, your voice firm. “And for the love of everything holy, I prefer all my passengers to be fully clothed!”

Kirishima huffed gently, his lips curling into a small pout. “Sorry, ma’am,” he muttered, placing his hands obediently on the dashboard as you requested. But the slight teasing tone in your voice wasn’t lost on him.

You couldn’t help but smile a little, despite the insanity of the situation, and you playfully swatted at him. “You better behave, or I’ll throw you out at the next light.”

Kirishima let out a mock squeal, raising his hands in surrender. “Help! Bakugou, save me from this cruel fate!”

Bakugou was watching the whole scene go down from his car, his eyes locked on you as if the rest of the world had slowed to a crawl. There was something mesmerizing about the way you handled the situation, your mix of frustration and humor, the way you kept everything under control even as the night descended into madness.

Micheal noticed the look on his face and nudged him with her elbow. “Careful, now. Don’t drool all over the car,” she teased, her voice soft but playful. As the light continued its agonizingly slow countdown, Micheal and Kirishima, ever the instigators, decided it was time to up the ante.

“So, Bakugou,” Micheal began, her tone light but with a sharp edge of curiosity, “what exactly are your intentions with my girl here?” She leaned back in the seat, crossing her arms with a sly smile, clearly enjoying the sudden tension she was stirring.

Bakugou shot her a glare that could’ve melted steel. “What the hell are you talking about?” he growled, his usual bravado faltering slightly under the weight of the unexpected question.

Kirishima, sensing the perfect opportunity, leaned over you with a grin that could only be described as mischievous. “Come on, man, don’t be shy! We all know you’ve got a soft spot for her. I mean, the way you’ve been watching her all night—just admit it!” He turned his head to give you a wink, clearly in on the joke. 

If he didn’t get his big man boobies out of your face–

Your eyes widened at the implication, and without thinking, you grabbed the spare taco blanket you kept in the car and threw it over Kirishima, muffling his laughter. “Would you stop?” you hissed, trying to hide the blush creeping up your cheeks.

“Oh, come on!” Kirishima’s voice was muffled but still clearly amused as he tried to wiggle free from the blanket. “We’re just looking out for you!”

Micheal was having the time of her life watching Bakugou squirm. “Yeah, Mr Pro Hero, what are your intentions? You planning to treat her right, or do I need to step in?” She gave him a mock-serious look, leaning closer as if she was ready to take him to task.

Bakugou’s face turned a shade darker, a mix of irritation and something else entirely. “You’re both insane,” he grumbled, trying to dismiss the whole conversation. But the tension in his voice betrayed him, and Kirishima wasn’t about to let it slide.

“You know, Bakugou,” Kirishima said, finally managing to push the blanket off his head, “if you don’t step up, someone else might.” He shot a playful glance at Micheal, who raised an eyebrow in amusement.

Bakugou’s glare intensified, but there was a flicker of something else in his eyes—a possessiveness that he couldn’t quite hide. “Like hell,” he muttered, more to himself than anyone else, but it was enough to make Micheal and Kirishima exchange knowing looks.

“ Oh , I see how it is,” Micheal teased, turning back to Bakugou with a grin. “You’ve got it bad , don’t you?”

The light finally turned green, and before anyone could say anything more, you floored the gas pedal, the car jerking forward as you sped through the intersection. “Enough of this!” you shouted, more to yourself than anyone else, trying to escape the embarrassment that had settled over you like a heavy cloud.

Micheal laughed, clearly enjoying the chaos she had caused, while Kirishima struggled to keep his balance in the passenger seat, the blanket still half-draped over him. 

Fuck being a passanger princess , he was about to be a victim . 

Bakugou, on the other hand, was left glaring at the road ahead, his thoughts swirling with a mix of frustration and something he couldn’t quite name.

But despite the awkwardness, there was an undeniable warmth in the air—an unspoken connection between all of you that even the teasing couldn’t break. As you drove on, you couldn’t help but glance over at Bakugou’s car, where Micheal was still teasing him mercilessly. Something that made you wonder what exactly was brewing beneath all that bravado and bluster. He was soo different from how he acts in the media. 

It’s nice. 

Kirishima, now bundled up in a blanket you threw over him, glances at you with an apologetic smile. "Hey, I’m really sorry if that was too much back there. We were just messing around."

You give a small, reassuring laugh, shaking your head. "No, it’s fine. Really. I’m just not used to… you know, the flirting and all that stuff." You keep your eyes on the road, feeling the tension in your shoulders slowly melting away now that the playful chaos has passed.

Kirishima leans back in the seat, the blanket slipping slightly off his shoulder as he studies your profile. "I get it. It can be a bit much sometimes, especially with Bakugou involved. But you handled it like a champ!"

You glance at him, a small smile tugging at the corner of your lips. "Thanks. I guess I’m more comfortable with straightforward conversations. All that teasing can be fun, but I prefer knowing where I stand."

Kirishima nods thoughtfully, his tone softening. "That makes sense. Honestly, I think that’s what makes you… well, refreshing. It’s nice to just talk to someone without all the extra stuff, you know?"

You glance over at him, surprised by his sincerity. The playful banter from before seems miles away now, replaced by a genuine connection that you hadn’t anticipated. "Yeah… I know what you mean. It’s kind of nice to just… be."

Kirishima grins, his usual enthusiasm shining through. "Exactly! Just being ourselves. No pressure, no expectations."

As the two of you continue the drive, the conversation flows easily. You talk about everything from favorite foods to childhood memories, and it feels like you’re reconnecting with an old friend rather than getting to know someone new.

Meanwhile, you assume Micheal and Bakugou are having a similar conversation in the car behind you. The thought brings a small, warm smile to your face as you realize that despite the chaos of the night, things are starting to feel a bit more normal.

The drive is smooth, the road ahead clear, and for a moment, everything feels like it’s going to be okay.

As Bakugou navigated the streets with his usual precision, Micheal leaned back in her seat, her gaze steady on him. "You know, she's not the type to rush into things," she began, her tone calm but firm. "It takes time for her to warm up, and she’s got strong morals she won't bend on."

Bakugou's grip on the steering wheel tightened slightly, his eyes flickering to the rearview mirror as if searching for something to say. Micheal noticed and decided to cut to the chase. "....And she’s in school for cyber security. Comes home gushing about the cutest stuff after her exams. That’s probably why she grabbed that laptop for evidence." She’d seen you sitting on the floor with all your notes surrounding you as you plowed through your homework while she tried to wrestle some dinner into you. 

The connection clicked in Bakugou’s mind, and he nodded, realizing there was more depth to the night's events than he initially thought. Micheal watched him carefully before continuing. "Look, if you’re not serious about her, leave her alone. She doesn’t need any more bullshit in her life."

Bakugou looked over at her, surprised by the directness in her words. Micheal met his gaze with a small, knowing smile. "But if you are serious, good luck," she said, her tone lighter. "Just know, if you fuck up, I will kill you." She made a slicing notion with her coffin nails and moved to change the radio station. 

Bakugou raised an eyebrow, unsure whether she was joking or not. Micheal's smile widened, but her eyes were deadly serious. "You'll go to sleep and slip into a coma. Everyone will wonder what happened, but I’ll save you  the mystery— I did it. "

Bakugou let out a short, incredulous laugh, shaking his head. He couldn’t help but admire Micheal’s loyalty and fierce protectiveness. It made sense why she and you were so close, and in a weird way, it made him like her more. Maybe Kirishima had found his perfect match too.

With the tension easing between them, Bakugou’s thoughts shifted back to you. Micheal’s warning echoed in his mind, but instead of deterring him, it solidified his resolve. He wasn’t about to mess this up.

As Bakugou pulled into the parking lot of his condo, the familiar gates of the upscale community slid open. He punched in his code with practiced ease, the gate’s mechanical hum a comforting sound after the chaos of the night. Kirishima waived to the security guard, following suit. You tailed closely in “The Lemon,” your headlights a soft glow in the dimly lit lot.

Bakugou and Kirishima’s condo was in a quiet, upper-class area, where everything was meticulously maintained and security was tight. He appreciated the calm it offered, especially on nights like this when all he wanted was peace.

Kirishima pointed at the spot beside Bakugou, “Hey, park in my spot! I haven’t gotten around to bringing my bike back downstairs yet.”

You glanced at him, a question in your eyes, but shrugged and did as he suggested, parking in the spot designated with his condo number. When Kirishima hopped out of your car, you noticed something that made you groan internally—you still didn’t have your shoes.

Micheal noticed it too and smirked, waving your well-worn blue Converse at you from her spot in the passenger seat. You were about to retort when Kirishima, ever the gentleman, bundled her up in the blanket you threw over him and easily scooped her up to carry her inside.

You sighed, resigning yourself to your current predicament. You popped open the trunk and grabbed one of the suitcases, knowing it had some of your body washes and a change of clothes. After the night you’d had, the thought of a hot shower was the only thing keeping you sane. You looked around for your emergency sandals, hoping they were still in the trunk, but they were nowhere to be found.

Determined not to let the lack of shoes stop you, you decided to just walk barefoot to the entrance. The pavement was cool underfoot, but you were too tired to care—until Bakugou freaked out.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?!” Bakugou’s voice was sharp as he strode over, his eyes narrowing at your bare feet on the pavement. Before you could answer, he scooped you up and threw you over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes.

“Put me down!” you yelped, kicking your legs in protest, but Bakugou wasn’t fazed. He held onto you firmly, his grip unyielding.

“We can come back for the stuff later,” he grumbled, his voice laced with irritation. “You’re gonna get sick if you walk around without shoes. Are you crazy?”

“Well, I wouldn’t do that if SOMEBODY didn’t have my shoes!” you shot back, trying to wriggle free from his hold.

Micheal, still comfortably bundled in the blanket, giggled as she watched the scene unfold. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. Shoes? What shoes?” She waved your Converse in the air, her laughter contagious.

Bakugou didn’t miss a beat, shifting his grip on you so you were now cradled in his arms, your face close enough to his that you could see the exasperation in his eyes. “Hold on,” he commanded, and you reluctantly wrapped your arms around his neck to steady yourself.

Micheal sauntered over, still giggling, and slipped your shoes onto your feet. As she did, Kirishima caught sight of your pineapple-and-avocado-themed socks and barely contained his laughter, his shoulders shaking with the effort.

“Nice socks,” Kirishima managed to choke out, his grin wide as he tried to keep a straight face.

Bakugou raised an eyebrow, his expression a mix of amusement and bewilderment. “You’re seriously walkin’ around in those?” They were cute, even for being mitch matched, he’d give you that.  

You glared at him, your cheeks flushing with a mix of embarrassment and defiance. “Shut up, it’s a free country.”

Micheal grinned as she finished tying your laces. “I didn’t hear a thank you,” she teased, her eyes sparkling with mischief.

You tried to kick her lightly, but Bakugou shifted you in his arms, holding you back with ease. “Alright, alright, break it up,” he muttered, though there was a faint hint of a smile tugging at his lips.

With your shoes finally on and Bakugou still refusing to put you down, you resigned yourself to your fate, rolling your eyes at the absurdity of the situation. “Fine. Thank you, Micheal. Happy now?”

Micheal chuckled and leaned in to point at her cheek, which you promptly leaned into and kissed as she smirked. 

“Much better.”

Bakugou started toward the building, you still in his arms, and you sighed in defeat. “You can put me down now, you know.” His body was so fucking warm and while you would have loved to curl up and sleep on him, you needed a shower. 

Bakugou didn’t even glance your way, his grip secure as he carried you toward the entrance. “Not a chance. You might try to pull something else stupid.” Kirishima gave him a look before slipping his arm around Micheal as they took the lead. ‘Yeah, yeah,’ he thought. But you were so soft and cute, how could he resist you acting like a bratty kat? 

He couldn’t help the smirk that crossed his face as he carried you up the steps, the weight of the night lightening just a bit. 

A staff member, dressed in a sharp, tailored uniform, was already waiting at the door to hand Bakugou the keys to the apartment above. Bakugou thanked him with a nod before he finally set you down on your feet, still carrying your bag. As you all reached the top floor, the soft hum of the elevator faded, revealing a sleek, modern hallway bathed in warm light. 

The moment your sneakers hit the polished hardwood floors, you couldn’t help but take in the expansive luxury of the apartment. It was massive, even for a place in this upscale area. The floor-to-ceiling windows offered a panoramic view of the city, the skyline glittering in the night. High ceilings added to the sense of space, and the open floor plan made the entire place feel airy and light. The minimalist decor was tasteful, with wall furniture that looked as though it had never been used, and the kitchen was outfitted with state-of-the-art appliances that gleamed under the recessed lighting.

But it was the emptiness of the apartment that made your heart ache. It was too pristine, too perfect, lacking the warmth of a home. As you walked further inside, the vastness of the place made you feel small, almost like a child discovering their surroundings for the first time. Bakugou watched you carefully, noticing how your eyes flicked from one corner to another, as if trying to make sense of this new, sterile environment.

Micheal, ever the practical one, broke the silence as she stepped in behind you, holding her pair of hospital slippers. "You wanna take a shower first?" she offered, her voice soft but firm.

Kirishima and Bakugou exchanged a glance, a silent conversation passing between them. They had both forgotten a key detail in their haste to get everyone settled—despite the apartment’s size, it only had one bathroom.

"You can use our shower if you want," Bakugou quickly offered, his tone more gruff than he intended. Kirishima shot him a look, eyebrows raised in surprise, but there was a hint of admiration in his eyes as well.

Your voice floated in from one of the bedrooms, a mixture of curiosity and suspicion. "And where are you two gonna wait out?"

The guys hadn’t exactly thought that part through. Bakugou’s mind raced for a solution, but it was Micheal who spoke up, half-smirking as she looked between them, “Was this your plan?” Kirishima’s face had never been redder. 

You sigh before rubbing your eyes, "One of you needs to protect us, so Blasty and I can get some bedding and other stuff from the car before we finally crash." 

There was a brief moment of protest from Micheal, but you silenced her with a gentle look. "You've had a rougher night. Go take a shower downstairs." Before Kirishima could leave, you caught his sleeve, your hand igniting with a quick flash of red and blue flames that extinguished just as quickly. The sight made Kirishima’s eyebrows shoot up in surprise.

"I'm watching you," you warned, your voice light but with a teasing edge that made Kirishima grin sheepishly.

You pat him hard on the back and he stumbled along after Micheal, still trying to process what just happened, when you called after them, "Micky, if he gets fresh, scream, and I'll be there!" Micheal rolled her eyes with a smile as Kirishima followed her out the door, leaving you and Bakugou alone in the spacious apartment. 

You stepped into the hallway, rolling your shoulders as you tried to shake off the tension that still clung to you from earlier. You turned to Bakugou, who was leaning against the wall, his arms crossed as he watched you with that intense gaze of his.

"Come on," you gestured toward the door, your voice calm but tired.

Bakugou pushed himself off the wall, his expression softening slightly as he fell into step beside you. The night had been chaotic, to say the least, but now, in the quiet of the apartment, there was a sense of relief that washed over both of you. The promise of sleep—of finally shutting out the world, if only for a few hours—was enough to keep you both moving forward.

As you walked side by side, Bakugou couldn’t help but glance over at you, noticing the way your shoulders had relaxed a bit since you’d stepped inside. He wasn’t one for words, especially not now, but something about the way you held yourself, even after everything that had happened tonight, made him feel… proud. Proud to have you as an ally, and proud to have you as someone who could stand by his side.

Jesus, he made it sound like the two of you were getting married. 

The fact that you were willing to trust him with something as simple as this—to let him be the one to keep an eye on things while you rested—meant more to him than he could express. And even though he wouldn’t admit it, the thought of you being comfortable enough to let down your guard around him made his heart beat just a little faster. If that were possible. 

As the two of you made your way down to the car, Bakugou felt a strange sense of peace. It was an unfamiliar feeling, one he wasn’t used to, but he didn’t mind it. Not when it was with you.

Katsuki wordlessly takes the bulk of your bags, effortlessly hauling ten while leaving you with only five. His silent determination contrasts with the earlier chaos, and you follow him upstairs, feeling a mix of gratitude and exhaustion. As you reach the apartment, he gently sets down the bags, his gaze briefly meeting yours, offering an unspoken acknowledgment of the night’s madness.

You notice that Micheal has already started unpacking, her things scattered from the first suitcase. The sight brings a small sense of relief, knowing she’s safe and settling in. Bakugou glances at the bedding and, without waiting for your input, begins setting it up. His movements are careful, almost tender, as if he’s trying to restore some semblance of normalcy after everything that’s happened.

The shower beckons like a sanctuary, a chance to wash away the grime and glitter, the tension, and the lingering adrenaline. You decide to take it, hoping the hot water will soothe both your body and your mind. As you move towards the bathroom, you give Bakugou a quiet nod of thanks. He responds with a barely perceptible nod, his eyes still carrying the weight of unspoken thoughts.

The sound of the water running fills the small bathroom as you strip off your clothes, avoiding the mirror’s reflection. You take extra care to drop both hero licenses into the drawer along with your phone. Next, you hang Todoroki’s jacket up on one of the door hooks. You’d have to make him a thank you note for that later.

You can see the small scraps and scratches as you survey your now nude body in the mirror. Nothing too bad, thankfully. There is a bruise on your hip from where the car hit you–you’ll feel that in the morning– and some scraps on your toes from the broken glass. Your face doesn’t look too bad, nothing sleep couldn’t fix. Your arms were definitely sore though and you were kinda thirsty and dizzy after not using your powers like that in about two years. 

Whatever. That’s to cry about tomorrow. Because you knew you wouldn’t get out of the shower tonight if you started crying now. Sighing, you continue to check for anything new or bleeding before you step into the tub.

The steam envelops you, and as you step under the stream, the heat sears away the remnants of the night, though the memories remain vivid. With a deep breath, you finally remove the evil wig, tossing it aside, snapping that stupid hair tie, and letting your hair fall freely. The sensation of your natural hair against your fingertips was grounding, a small piece of relief. You stepped under the showerhead, letting the water cascade over you like a healing balm. You close your eyes, allowing the warmth seep into your muscles as you scrub your scalp and body, the suds washing away not just the grime, but some of the stress clinging to you.

As you rinsed off, the steam filled the room, enveloping you in a comforting embrace. You allow yourself to just be—to feel the water on your skin, to hear the gentle patter against the tiles, to breathe in the clean, warm air.

Meanwhile, outside the bathroom, Bakugou was having a moment of his own. After setting down the bags, he had intended to leave the room, but something caught his eye—a glimpse of your underclothes peeking out from one of the suitcases. His face turned beet red as he quickly shut the suitcase, his heart racing. He ended up flat on his back against the floor, staring up at the ceiling as if it could provide some sort of reprieve from his embarrassment.

He cursed under his breath, trying to calm down. Why did everything with you make him feel so off-kilter? He wasn’t used to this—this vulnerability, this strange mix of frustration and something else he didn’t want to name. All he knew was that he was in way deeper than he had ever planned, and there was no turning back now.

Bakugou trudged downstairs to check on Kirishima and Micheal, only to find them cozied up on the sofa in their pajamas. He rolled his eyes, a mix of exasperation and amusement playing on his face. Without a word, he grabbed your taco blanket and draped it over them, then moved the coffee table a bit to make sure they wouldn’t get hurt. It was one of those rare moments where he openly felt a faint warmth of contentment in the act of caring for someone, no matter how begrudgingly.

Returning upstairs, he decided he’d just wait it out in your living room. He had no intention of getting in the way, but he also didn’t want to leave you alone, not after everything. As he reached the top of the stairs and approached your apartment door, he could hear the soft hum of the shower being turned off and the sound of you moving around.

When he entered, he was caught off guard by the sight of you. You had just stepped out of the bathroom, your hair free and dripping with a towel draped around your neck, with some little black shorts and cherry red robe on. The robe was pulled tight, a hint of your bare skin peeking out, and it made Bakugou’s eyes widen ever so slightly. You’d hung Todoroki’s jacket neatly over one of the counters so it didn’t get ruined by the steam, which reminded him of the thoughtfulness you always showed, even in the small things.

Bakugou turned and was about to head back downstairs, not wanting to intrude, when he felt a gentle tug on his sleeve. He stopped and looked down, seeing you standing there with those bright, doe eyes of yours.

“Hey, where’re you going?” you asked softly, your voice tinged with curiosity and a hint of worry. The warmth in your gaze made him pause. He was gonna put a bell on you if you kept scaring him like this. 

“Uh, they fell asleep downstairs,” Bakugou started, scratching the back of his head. “I didn’t want to wake them. I’m just gonna—” He didn’t get to finish his sentence as you stepped closer, your eyes pleading just a bit. 

‘Shit, Shit, Shit.’ Bakugou’s mind was a whirlwind of thoughts, each more distracting than the last. He could barely focus on the conversation at hand, the urge to throw himself into your arms or better yet, pick you up again and keep you all to himself for the night, felt like an intense battle of self-control. All he could smell was that sweet bakery scent—the one that lingered in his mind since you pushed him into your bust at that club—but now it was intensified, enveloping him like a warm, irresistible cloud.

It was as if you had just stepped out of an oven, fresh and perfectly baked, with a flaky golden crust, crispy edges, and a soft, inviting center. His thoughts betrayed him, slipping into dangerous territory, and he clenched his fists, mentally shaking himself. No! Nope! If he was hungry, he might as well start cooking instead of letting his mind wander where it shouldn’t.

But damn, you did look sweet standing there, dripping wet and wrapped in that cherry robe, the fabric already slipping off your shoulder. The hallway light cast warm hues against the deep red, highlighting the beads of water clinging to your hair. They sparkled like sugar, tempting him to taste—’ NO, STOP!’

Bakugou turned away quickly, his heart pounding in his chest. ‘Focus, idiot,’ he scolded himself. ‘You’re just here to help her. To be useful, That’s all. Don’t make her feel weird.’

But his thoughts wouldn’t quiet down, not with you so close, looking like you had been handcrafted by God himself to torment him. He busied himself with focusing in on your glossy pink lips, trying to ignore the warmth creeping up his neck. Maybe cooking wasn’t such a bad idea after all—anything to distract himself from how sweet you looked right now, like a perfectly baked treat he had no business wanting.

“You don’t have to go,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper. “I was just about to get settled in. Maybe you could hang out for a bit?” You shifted your weight onto your hip and played with the hemline of your shorts 

Bakugou hesitated, a little thrown off by your unexpected kindness. He looked at your face, taking in the genuine concern in your eyes, and something in him shifted. He noticed how fast you’d moved to reach him, how effortlessly you’d tugged at his sleeve. There was something endearing and genuine about it, and it made him feel oddly vulnerable in a way he wasn’t used to.

Eye adjusted to the low lights, Bakugou paused, his hand still on the door handle. The sight of you made him freeze for a moment. The robe clung to your frame, tied snugly at your waist, and your legs were bare except for the little black shorts peeking out from underneath. But it was your hair, loose and free, still damp from the shower, that really caught his attention. He had only ever seen you with a wig on, always styled perfectly. Now, seeing your natural hair, soft and unrestrained, left him momentarily speechless.

You weren’t wearing any makeup either, and he realized just how different you looked—how beautiful you were. He didn’t have a word for it. There was a rawness, a realness to you like this that he found himself drawn to. His gaze softened as he took in the sight of you, and he almost forgot what he was going to say.

“Alright, fine,” he grumbled, though his tone was softer than usual. “I’ll hang out. Just… don’t make it weird.”

You smiled, a touch of relief washing over your face. “I promise, no weirdness, tonight. You can sit over there,” you said, pointing to a spot on the floor that looked like a good spot to settle in for some quiet company.

Bakugou walked over and sat down, trying to shake off the lingering awkwardness. He watched as you went about setting up the space he laid out, adding pillows, making it cozy. It was strange, but he found himself easing into the situation, allowing a rare moment of peace to settle around him.

His eyes were still all over you. The softness really was all you. There was a rawness, a realness to you like this that he found himself drawn to. His gaze softened as he took in the sight of you, and he almost forgot what he was going to say.

"Just for the night," he repeated, his voice quieter now. "You still need to sleep."

He swallowed hard, not sure what to do with the sudden rush of emotion that hit him. You grabbed his wrist, sending a hot jolt of electricity up his arm and through his chest before dragging him down to the bed he just made for you. “What… what are you doing?” he asked, though his tone lacked its usual gruffness.

You smiled softly, still holding onto his sleeve. “I was going to tell you the same thing. You look like you need some rest, too.”

Bakugou’s gaze flickered to the side, trying to find his usual bravado, but your presence made it difficult. “I was just checking on everyone. Making sure you’re okay.”

Your grip on his sleeve tightened slightly, grounding him. “And who’s checking on you?”

That question hung in the air between you two, and for a moment, neither of you said anything. The softness of your eyes, the way your hair frames your face, how your shorts peeked out from your robe, the robe that reflected his eyes, and the quiet sincerity in your voice—it all cracked the walls Bakugou had spent years building.

He exhaled, feeling the tension leave his body as he finally let go of the door handle. “You should get some rest,” he said, though even he could hear the reluctance in his voice. 

You didn’t let go of his sleeve. “I’m not going to bed until you do,” you replied, a playful edge to your tone that made him smirk despite himself.

“Stubborn as hell,” he muttered, but there was no bite in his words. 

You laughed softly. “Takes one to know one.”

He couldn’t help but chuckle at that, shaking his head slightly. “Fine. But only because you’re going to drive me crazy if I don’t.”

Bakugou let you pull him down on the living room floor, where he finally allowed himself to sit down, feeling the exhaustion of the day catching up to him. As you moved around, grabbing a blanket and getting comfortable on the makeshift bed, he watched you, still amazed at how different you looked without the mask of the persona you usually wore.

You caught him staring, and when you looked up at him with a raised eyebrow, he quickly looked away, cursing himself under his breath. But the truth was, he couldn’t stop thinking about how much he liked seeing this side of you—the real you.

You watched Bakugou for a moment, lying cross-legged on the floor, your fingers absentmindedly tugging at the sleeve of his jacket. Without a word, he slipped it off and handed it to you, his movements slow and deliberate. You took it, feeling the warmth from his body still lingering in the fabric, and shifted slightly, pointing to your hair.

“Not rose gold,” you murmured, watching his reaction.

He nodded, his gaze flicking to the dark walls around you before settling back on your face. The dim light cast shadows across his features, accentuating the sharp lines of his jaw and the intensity in his eyes. You noticed how his broad shoulders tensed slightly as you inched closer, crawling on your hands and knees, your eyes locked on his.

“And no, I don’t have gold eyelids,” you added, your voice softer now, almost teasing.

He huffed a small chuckle, but you could see the surprise in his expression. His usual frown had softened, his eyes wide with a mix of confusion and something else—something almost vulnerable. His neck and ears were tinged with red, a stark contrast against his blond hair, and you couldn’t help but notice the glint of his earrings, catching the light.

His face, usually so composed and serious, was different now. His lips parted slightly as if he wanted to say something but couldn’t find the words. You continued to move closer, your gaze never leaving his, until he was backed up against the wall, staring at you with that same startled expression.

From Bakugou’s perspective, he felt like he was trapped in a dream. Everything about this situation was so unlike anything he’d ever experienced before. You were right there, closing the distance between you two with an intensity that made his heart pound. He could see every detail of your face—the way your eyes seemed to sparkle with mischief, the curve of your lips as you focused on him like a predator stalking its prey. His breath hitched as you drew nearer, feeling the coolness of the wall against his back.

Bakugou’s mind raced, trying to process what was happening. He’d seen you in action tonight, strong and capable, but this—this was something else. You were free from any wig or makeup, natural and unguarded, and he was entranced by the contrast. His usual confidence was nowhere to be found; all he could do was watch as you closed in, his eyes wide and heart thudding in his chest.

Back to your perspective, you leaned in even closer, your hand hovering in the air for a moment before– 

“Boop!”

Bakugou flinched, his reaction almost comical as his eyes squeezed shut for a second, his face contorting in a way that made you giggle. Thank God Kirishima and Micheal were downstairs. You pulled back, still laughing softly, and crawled back to your bed, the tension breaking as you wrapped yourself in the cherry red robe.

“I’m leaving now,” Bakugou muttered, more to himself than to you, trying to regain his composure.

“Oh, don’t you dare!” you called out, still giggling, looking over your shoulder at him. His expression was a mix of exasperation and something you couldn’t quite name.

Bakugou, still lingering near the wall with an indecisive look on his face. You patted the spot next to you on the floor, a silent invitation that had his eyes narrowing slightly. For a moment, he hesitated, but then he pushed himself off the wall, his movements slow and deliberate as he crawled back towards you.

As he approached, you couldn’t help but notice the way his muscles rippled beneath his black t-shirt, the broadness of his shoulders more prominent now that you were eyeing him so closely. There was something almost hypnotic about the way he moved, and for a brief moment, you had an overwhelming urge to reach out and ruffle his spiky hair. He looked less like the explosive hero you’d met and more like a tamed Pomeranian—or maybe a lethargic hedgehog. The thought brought a smile to your lips, and you had to bite down on your bottom lip to keep from laughing.

When he finally sat down next to you, there was a brief silence, both of you unsure how to start the conversation that was obviously looming between you. You took a deep breath, deciding to break the ice. “We gotta talk about that conversation back in the club,” you began, your voice quieter than before.

Bakugou shifted slightly, his eyes darting away from yours for a moment before he nodded. “Yeah,” he muttered, looking awkward for perhaps the first time since you’d met him. “I meant it when I said I wanted to help you.” His voice was steady, though there was an underlying vulnerability there that you hadn’t heard before.

You sighed, bypassing his comment. “I’m sorry for slapping you. And for testing you like that.” You looked at him, your eyes earnest as you spoke. “I needed to know if I could trust you.”

He shook his head, dismissing your apology with a small wave of his hand. “I get it. You had to know where I stood, right? You had to make sure I wasn’t just saying shit.” His eyes softened slightly, and you could see that he wasn’t holding any grudges. “And…you trust me now?”

You hesitated, then nodded. “A little, yeah,” you admitted, a small smile playing on your lips. He returned the smile, and you were surprised to see the other dimple appear on his cheek, the one you thought about before. It made him look almost boyish. It was cute. 

You both settled into a more comfortable silence before Bakugou spoke again, his tone more relaxed now. “I gotta admit, you really surprised me with that dumpster dive,” he said, shaking his head as if he still couldn’t believe it. “I thought you’d lost your damn mind.”

You chuckled, leaning back on your hands. “It was the best option at the time,” you said with a shrug. “And, well, Micheal’s my best friend. I couldn’t just leave her behind.”

He nodded, understanding flashing in his eyes. “Yeah, I get that. You and her…you’re loyal to each other. You smiled at the comparison, feeling a warm sense of camaraderie with him. “Exactly. We’d do anything for each other. Like you and Big Red downstairs.” He huffs at the nickname but nods in approval. 

There was a beat of silence before Bakugou spoke again, his voice quieter, almost hesitant. “You know, your plans were pretty cool,” he admitted, his usual gruffness softening just a little. “In a weird, chaotic kind of way.” He was trying to keep his hands from warming too much by wiping them on the sides of his jeans. 

You laughed, shaking your head. “Thanks, I think. But I’m sorry we gave the police a hard time. I know you probably have a mountain of paperwork because of that.” You were twisting the ends of your robe ties and hoping that you could get another chance at touching his big clammy hands. 

They were really nice, actually. 

He sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. “I’m the one who should be apologizing for that. I couldn’t get you guys outta there fast enough because I had to arrange all of this.” He gestured to the empty apartment around you. You blinked, taking it all in. “This place… it’s really something else,” you murmured, the sheer size and emptiness of it making you feel small in comparison.

Bakugou nodded, his gaze following yours as you looked around. “It’s yours now,” he said simply, as if it were the most natural thing in the world. “And I’ll help you put your furniture together tomorrow, take you to the bank, whatever you need.”

You groaned at the mention of your job, the reality of your situation crashing down on you. “I forgot about that,” you muttered, rubbing your temples. “I’ll need to find a lawyer too.”

“I can help with that,” Bakugou offered, his voice steady and sincere.

You looked at him, a question in your eyes. “Why are you offering to help so much?” you asked, genuinely curious. “What’s in it for you?”

For a moment, he seemed to struggle with how to answer. His eyes flicked away, then back to you, his expression more open than you’d ever seen it. “I… I don’t know why,” he admitted, his voice low. “I just want to.”

The honesty in his voice caught you off guard, and for a moment, you didn’t know what to say. The silence stretched between you, not uncomfortable but filled with words that couldn't quite leave you guys lips.

Finally, you broke the silence, your voice soft. “Thank you, Bakugou,” you said simply, the words carrying more weight than you expected.

Bakugou shrugged, trying to play it off, but you could see the tension in his shoulders easing, just a bit. He glanced around the empty apartment again, then back at you, his gaze lingering on your face, your hair, the way the towel hung around your neck. 

He was gonna have a heart attack and die before he could even hold your hand again.

You felt a sudden urge to reach out and touch him, to close the distance between you that still felt too wide. But instead, you just looked at him, really looked at him, taking in the way the dim light played across his features. Okay, you were a girl, you could admit he was attractive. But it was still late and you’d never seen him in the daylight before. Even in the darkness, his eyes were intense, but there was a softness in them that made your chest tighten in a way you didn’t want to think about right now. Not after all that just happened. 

Instead, you wanted to cack his walls one more time. You moved closer to him, crawling forward until you were right in front of him, your eyes locked onto his. He didn’t move, didn’t say a word, just watched you with that same wide-eyed, slightly startled expression. You could see the confusion on his face, the way his brows furrowed slightly, but there was something else there too—something that made your heart skip a beat.

Without thinking, you reached out and lightly tapped his chest with your finger. “Boop,” you whispered, watching as he flinched slightly at the unexpected contact. But you felt what you needed again. That strong thunderous heartbeat that you had no clue yet if it was strong nerves or that was just how they made him. But you wanted to find out. 

Katsuki.exe, however, had stopped working and was blinking rapidly as he tried to remember how to breathe, when to do it, and that you were just naturally playful and this in no way could be flirting. Right? God he was acting like such a teenager right now!

You giggled, the sound light and almost childlike, and pulled back, retreating to your pillow. You could feel the tension in the air ease, the awkwardness slipping away as you settled back down. 

Bakugou was busying himself with the bedding, his back turned to you, but you could tell he was more focused on anything but the blankets he was messing with. The air between you both was thick with unspoken words, and you decided now was as good a time as any to clear the air.

"So," you began, trying to keep your voice steady, "about you wanting to pay me to live with you. What's all that about?" You pat the remaining droplets from your hair and throw the towel into an open suitcase. 

Bakugou paused, his hands hovering over the pillows he had just fluffed. He took a deep breath before turning to face you, his eyes searching yours. "Why did you want to be my sugar baby instead?" It had been bothering him since the words left your mouth. 

You blinked, taken aback by the bluntness of his question. "Why did you continue to request me at the club?" you countered, raising an eyebrow. It was a question that had been gnawing at you ever since you found out.

He rubbed the back of his neck, a rare sign of nervousness from him. "I didn't… I didn't realize it was you at first," he admitted. "And then, when I figured it out, I was already… interested." His eyes flickered away, almost embarrassed. "It wasn’t about your body. I just wanted to enjoy your dances, I didn’t know how to explain it. But I did want to help you.”

You nodded slowly, understanding dawning on you. "And that's why you wanted me to move in with you? To… help?" You counter, letting a teasing smile tug at your lips. You remember the other offers he had for you but those might seem dangerous now. Even more with your ex planting bombs everywhere you went. 

"You were being like a stubborn cat," he replied, his face hard but his voice softening. "Look, I know it sounds fucked up, but I didn’t want you to struggle alone. I thought if I could take some of the pressure off, you could focus on… I don’t know, school, life, whatever you needed to get right. I just didn’t want you to feel like you had to do it all by yourself."

His words hung in the air, and you could see the sincerity in his eyes. It was strange, seeing him so open, so vulnerable. You couldn’t help but wonder how long he had been carrying those thoughts around. Kyoya had never been the type to help you with anything. Claiming he wanted a 50/50 relationship. Which ended up with you sometimes struggling to pay your bills while he couldn’t care less. It wasn’t his responsibility to pay them, but judging from how other girlfriends talked about their boyfriends, it was bullshit. Cause if the roles were reversed you would’ve helped his sorry ass in a heartbeat.

‘Ugh, whatever.’

“Why did you stay in the club?” Bakugou scoffs, running a hand through his hair, making it stand even wilder. “Because I wanted to keep an eye on ya. Make sure no idiots got too close,” he grumbles, but there’s a flicker of something in his eyes—protectiveness, maybe, or something deeper.

“That’s sweet, but unnecessary. I can take care of myself.” Your voice softens, eyes searching his face. You can see he’s about to argue so you throw another question at him, “But really, why do you want to pay me to live with you?”

His gaze sharpens, and he uncrosses his arms, taking a step toward you. “Because I want to and I’m not treatin’  ya like some kinda charity case. You’ve been through enough, and I can help. Plus, it’s not like you’d just be freeloadin’. We’d both get somethin’ outta it.” His tone is serious, almost challenging you to argue.

You hum thoughtfully, leaning back against the wall and letting your eyes wander over his kitchen. “And what would you get out of it?” you ask, tracing the edge of the counter with your fingers, a small, almost mischievous smile playing on your lips. 

Katsuki takes a hard look at you, no smile on his face. His vermillion eyes bare down on you and you begin to wonder if he was going to shoot you with a laser beam from them. You couldn’t tell if he was breathing now and the veins in his neck seemed stressed. Flicking your eyes back up, you were surprised to find his wet and he was taking in a deep, shaky breath.

“Company,” he replies after a long moment, then adds, almost grudgingly, “And someone who’s not a complete idiot to talk to.” Katsuki almost did it. He almost fully admitted he was lonely and only wanted your company. Maybe Kirishima was the only person he let get close to him and it was oblivious that while he had friends, he did struggle with other people. 

Something you both have in common. 

You chuckle softly, the sound light in the otherwise quiet apartment. “What about this whole sugar baby thing? How would that even work?” You don’t want him to cry so you gotta keep his mind going. Mainly because if he cries, you’ll cry, and then you’ll wake up hugging a man you barely knew. 

A man you barely knew but trusted completely versus a man you’d known most of your life and never found comfortability with. 

Bakugou shifts again, a hint of pink coloring his cheeks as he rubs the back of his neck. “Dunno, we could figure it out. But don’t think for a second I’m gonna let ya just get away with being reckless.” His eyes narrow slightly, watching your reaction closely.

You laugh, and shake your head. “I wasn’t planning on it. But… maybe we could try something else instead? Like, I don’t know, a roleplay scenario?”

He blinks, caught off guard, and you see his interest piqued. “Roleplay?” His voice dips, curious.

You nod, taking a slow, deliberate step closer, your bare feet silent on the floor. “Yeah. We could try out different scenarios, see what we’re comfortable with, what we’re not.”

Bakugou’s eyes darken slightly, and he uncrosses his arms fully, his posture straightening. “Alright, I’m listenin’. What kinda scenarios?”

You bite your lip again, thinking, and Bakugou’s gaze flickers to the movement. “Let’s see… Maybe something simple, like a casual date night at home. Or maybe we could pretend we’re just friends hanging out, see where that leads. But no crossing lines we’re not ready for.”

His eyes narrow in contemplation, and he nods slowly. “Yeah I remember the rules. No sex and no falling in love.” It shouldn’t have come as a shock that he has such a sharp memory. But the knowledge that you were heard and respected made you wanna jump up and squeeze him until all that grumpiness melted out of his socks. 

“Yeah,” your voice tinged with an underlying sadness. “I can’t handle that right now… with everything going on.”

Bakugou’s expression softens just a fraction, and he reaches out, hesitating before placing a hand in front of you. “Fair ‘nough. But we’re gonna be honest with each other. No bullshit, no lies. Deal?”

You nod, swallowing the lump in your throat. “Deal.” You give him a small, genuine smile and shake, feeling the weight of the conversation settling between you.

He grunts in acknowledgment, his hand lingering in yours for just a moment before he pulls back. “And for the record, I’m not doin’ this outta pity or some shit. I just—” He pauses, searching for the right words. “I just want ya to be safe. That’s all.”

Your heart skips a beat at his words, and you glance away, feeling a mix of emotions swirling inside you. “I know,” you reply softly, the words heavy with unspoken understanding.

As the two of you stand there, the tension in the air begins to dissipate, replaced by a strange, comforting sense of companionship. You can feel the warmth of his presence, steady and unwavering, and it reassures you in a way you didn’t expect.

“Alright then,” Bakugou finally says, his voice gruff but not unkind. “Let’s get this shit figured out.”

You nod, feeling a sense of relief wash over you. “Yeah. Let’s.”

Both you goofs sat there for a moment, letting the weight of everything you both discussed settle in. The room was quiet, save for the occasional hum of the fridge in the kitchen. Bakugou leaned back against the blankets, his arms crossed over his broad chest, eyes half-lidded in thought. You glanced at him, noticing the way the dim light highlighted the sharp angles of his face, the way his hair fell messily over his forehead, and back to the soft gleam of the piercings in his ears. You wondered if he and Kirishima had matching earrings the way you and Micheal did. 

An idea popped into your head, and before you could second-guess it, you blurted out, "How about we play 21 questions?"

Bakugou scoffed, his lips curling into a smirk. "Isn’t that something I’m supposed to take you out on a date for?"

You rolled your eyes, but there was a playful glint in them. "Well, I’m too tired to go out right now, and it’s not like we’re actually dating." You watched as his eyes narrowed, a flicker of something—maybe irritation, maybe curiosity—passing through them.

He pulled out his phone, checking the time. "It’s 4 AM," he muttered, more to himself than to you. Then he looked at you, his expression softening just a bit. "Alright, I’ll play…but only if you promise to go to sleep afterward."

You nodded eagerly, and before he could change his mind, you tugged on his arm, pulling him beside you. The two of you shifted until you were facing each other, lying on your sides. You gave him your pillow, which he reluctantly accepted, and you used Michael’s. Bakugou’s expression softened as he buried his face into your pillow, his eyes closing for a moment. You could see the way his body tensed, then relaxed as he fought against whatever emotion was threatening to surface. He inhaled deeply, and you swore you saw a hint of moisture in his eyes, but he quickly blinked it away.

You settled in, tucking your hands under your cheek as you watched him. His usual scowl was gone, replaced by something almost serene as he adjusted to lying beside you. For a moment, you both just lay there, the silence comfortable, like the calm after a storm.

Alright," Bakugou said, breaking the silence, his voice low and a little rough. "You go first."

You thought for a moment, trying to come up with something that wasn’t too deep, but still gave you some insight into him. "What’s your favorite food?" you asked, starting with something simple.

Bakugou’s eyes flicked open, and he gave you a look that was almost amused. "Karakarakuo tsukemen," he said, without hesitation. "My mom used to make it for me all the time. I guess it just stuck."

You smiled at the image of a younger Bakugou enjoying a homemade meal. "That’s cute," you teased lightly, and he rolled his eyes but didn’t protest.

"My turn," he said, his tone a bit more serious. "Why did you start the stripper stuff?"

The question caught you off guard, but you appreciated his directness. You stared at the ceiling for a moment, gathering your thoughts. "I needed money, and it seemed like an easy way to get it without…without putting myself in too much danger," you admitted. "Plus, it gave me control over who saw me, what I showed, and when I worked." You tugged the rob back into place and he noticed how it was similar to his eye color. 

Bakugou nodded slowly, as if weighing your answer. "Makes sense," he muttered, then fell silent for a moment before continuing. "What’s something you wish you could change about your past?"

You hesitated, the question striking a chord deep within you. "I wish I hadn’t let myself be controlled by others," you finally said, your voice barely above a whisper. "I wish I’d realized my worth sooner." Bakugou’s gaze softened, and he nodded again, understanding evident in his eyes. He didn’t press further, giving you space to breathe before asking his next question. "What’s your biggest fear?"

"Being alone," you replied almost immediately, surprising yourself with how quickly the answer came. " But I hate the idea of having to rely on someone else, then not being needed or wanted."

Bakugou’s eyes flickered with something you couldn’t quite place. "You’re not alone," he said quietly, almost as if he was reassuring himself as much as you. You turned your head towards him and caught those eyes again. 

Your heart skipped a beat at his words, and you found yourself leaning a little closer to him. "What about you? What’s your biggest fear?"

He hesitated, his jaw clenching slightly as he considered his answer. "Failure," he finally said, his voice low and laced with an edge of vulnerability. "Failing the people I care about, failing myself…just failing in general."

You reached out, your fingers brushing against his arm in a gesture of comfort. "You won’t fail," you said softly. "You’re stronger than you think."

‘So are you.’

He didn’t respond right away, but you could see the gratitude in his eyes. "What’s your dream?" he asked, changing the subject slightly.

"I don’t know," you admitted. "I used to dream of a normal life, but now…now I just want to survive and maybe find some peace along the way." You were picking at your nails, a habit he wanted to break you of as soon as possible.

Bakugou looked at you, his expression unreadable. "You deserve more than just survival," he said, his voice firm. "You deserve to live." 

You swallowed hard, emotions welling up inside you. "What about you? What’s your dream?"

His gaze shifted to the ceiling, his brow furrowed in thought. "I want to be the best," he said, but there was more to it than that. "But not just for myself. I want to be the best so I can protect the people I care about. So I can prove to myself that I’m worth something."

You nodded, understanding the weight of his words. "You’re already worth something, Bakugou," you said quietly. "You don’t have to prove that to anyone."

He didn’t respond, but the look in his eyes told you he heard you.

The questions continued, each one peeling back another layer of the guarded walls you both had built around yourselves. You learned about his childhood, his friends, and his struggles. He learned about some of your past, your fears, and your hopes, fragile as they were.

At some point, you found yourself lying even closer to him, his jacket over your robe and your head resting on your pillow just inches from his. The soft light from the hallway cast gentle shadows across his face, highlighting the strong lines of his jaw and the softness of his lips. His eyes, usually so intense, were warm as they gazed at you.

You couldn’t help but admire him, the way his muscles shifted beneath his shirt, the way his lips quirked up slightly when you said something that amused him. You noticed his ears were a good sign to tell if he was flustered, a detail that made you smile. It suited him, adding to the edge he carried so naturally.

As you inched closer, your eyes locked onto his, the world outside this little bubble fading away. You were like a predator, slowly stalking your prey, but instead of fear, you felt a strange pull, a need to be even closer. You could see the surprise in his eyes as you closed the gap, his wide eyes and slightly parted lips betraying his usual composure. His neck and ears were flushed, a deep red that only made you more determined.

You raised your hand slowly, your eyes never leaving his. His breath hitched as you reached out, your fingers hovering just above his face. You could feel the tension radiating off him, his muscles tight, as if he was fighting the urge to move. But he didn’t. He stayed perfectly still, his gaze locked onto yours, as if waiting to see what you would do.

With a playful glint in your eye, you leaned in just a little closer, your fingers brushing against the tip of his hand. You drew a little heart over it and pressed the center like you were activating a magic button. His eyes widened in shock, his breath catching in his throat as your nails scratched him gently. You giggled, the sound light and soft, and his reaction was instant. He flinched slightly, but the look on his face was priceless, he really was cute when you had him all to yourself. 

Bakugou hesitated, his eyes flicking back to you as he tried to regain his composure. You could see the internal struggle on his face, the way his jaw clenched and his fists tightened. But then, slowly, he relaxed, letting out a heavy sigh as he settled back down beside you. His broad shoulders seemed to take up all the space, but instead of feeling intimidated, you felt a strange sense of security.

As he settled down, you couldn’t help but reach out and brush your fingers through his spiky hair, resisting the urge to pull on it. He shifts awkwardly, clearly unused to this kind of closeness but not quite resisting it. You can’t help but notice the way his eyes soften as he tries to make himself comfortable. He’s attempting to hide the fact that he’s slowly melting into the pillow, his usual gruff demeanor faltering. The sight of him so unexpectedly relaxed and almost vulnerable brings a small, genuine smile to your face.

“Alright,” you begin, propping yourself up on your elbow and looking at him with a playful glint in your eye. “ Favorite childhood memory?”

Bakugou rolls his eyes but answers nonetheless, his voice gruff but carrying a hint of nostalgia. “When I finally found this limited edition All Might trading card.” You nod, making a mental note of his answer. “Your turn.”

Bakugou shifts slightly, his hand gripping the edge of the pillow as he tries to think of a question. “Alright, what’s one thing you’ve always wanted to do but haven’t yet?”

You ponder for a moment, the exhaustion making your thoughts a bit hazy. “I’ve always wanted to travel to Paris. See the art, the history, the food... Just experience a new culture.”

He nods, clearly interested despite his gruff exterior. “Paris, huh? Sounds nice.”

As the questions continue, you both fall into a rhythm, the earlier tension melting away with each answer. Bakugou’s questions start to soften, and you catch glimpses of a side of him that’s rarely seen by others—thoughtful, almost gentle. You find yourself revealing more than you expected, sharing little pieces of your life that you usually keep guarded.

Bakugou, in turn, starts opening up as well, though he tries to mask it with his usual ego. It doesn’t work though, he’s sure you can see right through his center. You notice the way he shifts, his eyes moving to the ceiling as he thinks, or the way his lips twitch into an almost-smile when he talks about something he’s passionate about.

At one point, you catch him staring at you with an intensity that makes your heart skip a beat. The weight of his gaze makes you shift uncomfortably, but you try to maintain your composure. His usual scowl is softened, and there’s a vulnerability in his expression that’s both surprising and endearing.

As the game continues, you find yourself growing more comfortable with him. The exhaustion that had been weighing you down seems to lift slightly, replaced by a warmth that spreads through you. Bakugou, despite his gruff exterior, is showing a side of himself that’s rarely seen, and it’s oddly comforting.

You leaned in, your voice low as you continued the game. “What’s something you’ve never told anyone before?”

Bakugou’s eyes widened slightly, his usual bravado faltering for a moment. He rubbed the back of his neck, clearly uncomfortable with the question. “I… I don’t really talk about this much, but I used to be terrified of not being strong enough. It’s why I pushed myself so hard. I didn’t want anyone to think I was weak.”

You nodded, taking in his answer. “I get that. It’s hard feeling like you have to prove yourself all the time.”

His gaze softened, and he turned to look at you, his voice more thoughtful. “What about you? What’s something you’re afraid to admit?”

You hesitated, the question hitting a little too close to home. “I’m scared of not being able to trust anyone. It’s hard to let people in, especially after everything I’ve been through.”

Bakugou’s expression grew more serious, his eyes searching yours. “I understand. Trust is hard to build, especially when you’ve been let down by shit people before.”

The room fell into a contemplative silence, the weight of the conversation settling between you. Bakugou’s usual brashness seemed to have faded, replaced by a genuine, almost tender concern. You could see the conflict in his eyes as he wrestled with his emotions, his usual composure slipping away in the face of your honesty.

Inside, Bakugou was a storm of conflicting emotions. His heart raced, a mix of excitement and anxiety churning in his chest. He wanted to be close to you, to wrap his arms around you and hold you until all your fears dissipated. But he was unsure how to do that, how to be the comforting presence you needed without crossing the lines you had set.

The thought of simply cuddling you, of feeling your warmth against him, was both exhilarating and terrifying. He had never been one to express affection this way, had never been in a position where he wanted to. But now, as he lay beside you, he could feel an overwhelming urge to make you feel safe, to protect you in a way he hadn’t allowed himself to before.

His mind raced with thoughts of how he could make you comfortable, how he could help you relax so you weren’t too tired for the day ahead. He wanted to plan something special, but the idea of taking you out was still a blur in his mind. What mattered most right now was being here, with you.

He cast a sideways glance at you, watching as you looked more relaxed, your eyes half-closed and your breathing steady. He longed to pull you closer, to offer you the comfort he so desperately wanted to give, but he was unsure how. He had never been good with gentle affection, and the thought of doing something wrong or overstepping made him hesitate.

But seeing you so vulnerable, so in need of a reprieve from the chaos, ignited a fierce determination within him. He wanted to be the one you turned to for comfort, for reassurance. He wanted to be the one who could make everything just a little bit better, even if it was just by holding you. 

He just wanted you happy. 

You shifted slightly, your hand brushing against his as you adjusted your position on the blankets. Bakugou’s heart skipped a beat, his breath hitching as he felt the touch. He really wanted to offer to hold you but he wasn’t sure how to initiate it without making things awkward. It would also be great if he knew how to cuddle in the first place. 

His eyes were locked onto yours, a mix of anxiety and desire reflecting in their depths. He took a deep breath, forcing himself to stay calm. “You should try to get some sleep,” he said softly, his voice barely above a whisper. “You’ll need your rest for tomorrow.”

You nodded, a tired smile spreading across your face. “Yeah, I guess so. Thanks for staying with me, Bakugou.”

He nodded back, the corners of his mouth twitching upward in a small, genuine smile. “Yeah, well, it’s not like I have anything better to do. Besides, I want to make sure you’re okay.”

As you settled into the blankets, Bakugou’s internal struggle continued. He almost exploded when you said his  family name. How was he gonna hold it together when you said his first? He wanted to be the one you felt safe with, but he was unsure if he was doing enough or if he was doing it right.

He took a deep breath, his mind made up. He carefully slid closer, gently wrapping an arm around your shoulders, trying to be as unobtrusive as possible. He wanted to be close, but he didn’t want to intrude. His arm rested lightly around your shoulders, the warmth of his body a steady presence beside you.

You shifted slightly, leaning into his side, and Bakugou felt a wave of relief and contentment wash over him. He adjusted his position, making sure not to crowd you, but wanting to be close enough that you could feel his presence. He could feel the steady rise and fall of your breath, the soft warmth of your body against his.

As he lay there, his thoughts swirled with the promise of tomorrow. He didn’t yet know where he wanted to take you for breakfast, but the idea of spending more time with you, of helping you find some peace, was enough to keep him focused. He was determined to make things right, to show you that you could trust him, even if he had to navigate his own uncertainties along the way.

With a final, tender squeeze, Bakugou let his eyes drift shut, allowing himself to relax for the first time in what felt like forever. He was here with you, and for now, that was enough.

Eventually, the questions dwindle, and the room falls into a comfortable silence. You both lie there, the pillow beneath Bakugou’s head now slightly askew as he adjusts to the comfort of the bed. You can hear the steady rhythm of his breathing, a reminder of how close and yet how distant he still feels.

You look over at him, noticing the subtle way his shoulders relax, his eyes drifting closed. He’s trying to maintain his usual tough guy act, but there’s a softness in his features that you haven’t seen before. It’s strangely endearing, and you find yourself feeling a pang of something you can’t quite place.

With a soft sigh, you reach over and gently tuck a loose strand of hair behind his ear, your fingers brushing against his skin. He tenses slightly at the touch but doesn’t pull away. His eyes flutter halfway open, meeting yours with a look that makes your tummy fold into knots something softer—gratitude, maybe.

“Good night, Grumpy,” you say quietly, your voice barely above a whisper.

He blinks–tired, a small, genuine blush spreads across his cheeks as he nods. “Yeah, good night, princess.”

As you settle back into Michaels’ pillow, you let out a contented sigh, feeling a strange sense of peace settle over you. The exhaustion that had been gnawing at you is now a gentle, comforting presence, and the warmth of Bakugou’s presence beside you feels oddly reassuring.

You close your eyes, letting the soft sound of his breathing lull you to sleep, feeling a sense of unexpected contentment in the midst of everything that’s happened.

Too back you guys weren’t awake to see those cameras flashing.

Chapter Text

“Yeah I don’t know if she’d like that…”

“Well I wouldn’t have called you if I knew…”

“Yeah she’s still sleepin’....”

“Alright thanks…” 

When you woke up the first time, it was still early enough in the morning where you could see the pale blue light glowing from the window to accompany the hip pain from sleeping on the floor. Katsuki’s arm was around your shoulders. When you turned your head to face him the ash blond was still mostly asleep, his head lolled to the side with a little drool glistening at the corner of his mouth. It was almost cute, in a way that only Katsuki Bakugou could be. 

His leather jacket with the different hero patches was still on you, and you could tell they were the symbols of his old classmates and a few retired pros. It was comforting, in a way. A reminder that even though you were on the floor of his apartment, wrapped up in makeshift bedding, you were still safe.

You sighed and drifted back off before catching one more glance at the light. Happy to not be in the dark for once. 

–

When Katsuki woke up the first time, it wasn’t from the gentle embrace of the morning light or the soft hum of the city outside. It wasn’t from you straddling him and giving his face kisses that he couldn’t move to reciprocate because he was nervous. It wasn’t him finally having enough and pulling you into his arms so he could finally kiss you and ask you to marry him. 

No, it was from the sharp, unexpected pain of your forehead colliding with his chest.

“Shit!” he grunted, instantly snapping awake and ready to throw hands. His eyes darted around, looking for a threat, but when he realized it was just you—sleeping soundly and blissfully unaware of the damage you’d just caused—he let out a breath and relaxed. He adjusted you gently onto your pillow, his hand brushing against your hair as he did. But sleep wouldn’t come back as easily for him.

No sooner had he closed his eyes again than your leg shot out, connecting with his shin in what felt like a professional Muay Thai kick. Katsuki grumbled under his breath, trying to ignore the throbbing pain. He attempted to tuck the blankets around you more securely, hoping it would keep your limbs in check.

But if anything, it only seemed to make things worse. You flailed, tossing and turning like you were wrestling a wild animal in your dreams. Katsuki could only groan in frustration as you continued your midnight assault, your fists flying with the precision of a trained fighter.

“Shit,” he muttered again, his patience wearing thin. He finally resorted to throwing his arm around you, pinning you down with the weight of his body to stop your flailing. For a moment, it worked. You stilled, your breathing evening out as you relaxed against him. Katsuki allowed himself a sigh of relief, his eyes closing as he settled back into the blankets.

Until the punches started. This time, your fists were aimed at his ribs, and they weren’t gentle. 

Katsuki’s eyes snapped open, his body jolting upright as his mind registered the sharp, repetitive pain. It was like you were channeling the spirit of a little Mike Tyson, hammering into his side with all the force of All Might in his prime.

He shot up, instinctively taking a fighting stance before his still-groggy brain caught up to what was happening. It was just you, sleeping peacefully with the serene face of an angel, completely unaware of the chaos you were causing. Katsuki let out a frustrated groan, running a hand through his hair before dropping his arms and slapped his hands into his face before squatting down to look at you. 

He stared at you for a moment, torn between amusement and exasperation. You looked so innocent, so peaceful in your sleep, the face and otherworldly grace of an angel in his presence, with the hands and feet of an ancient shaolin monk. Your body was a weapon of mass destruction in the dead of night.

It was pretty hot!~

“What the hell am I supposed to do with you?” Katsuki grumbled to himself. He considered his options, finally deciding on the simplest solution. He threw the blanket over you again, covering you from head to toe, and laid belly-first across your legs, effectively trapping you beneath his weight.

You stirred slightly, but instead of waking up, you shifted into a new position, throwing your arm around his neck in a headlock that had him momentarily panicked. But when he realized you were still asleep, he couldn’t help but chuckle to himself. “Great,” he muttered, half in jest. “I’m gonna die like this.”

But despite the discomfort and the bruises you were undoubtedly leaving, Katsuki couldn’t help but feel a strange sense of contentment. There was something about this—about you—that made all the chaos worth it. Maybe it was the challenge, or maybe it was just you. Whatever it was, he knew that tonight—or this morning—wouldn’t be the end. There was still so much more to experience with you, so much more to figure out.

For now, though, he’d settle for keeping you from killing his ass in your sleep. And maybe, just maybe, he’d find a way to get some rest himself. Or at least try.

 Was it already morning? 

—Back to you–

The room was dim, bathed in the pale blue light of early morning filtering through the curtains. Katsuki’s voice, low and gravelly, was the first thing you heard as you began to drift into consciousness. He was on the phone, somewhere near the kitchen, talking in that half-asleep tone that he used when he was trying not to wake anyone else up.

“Yeah, I don’t know if she’d like that…” he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper. You could hear the rustling of fabric as he shifted, probably trying not to disturb you.

There was a pause, then he spoke again, his tone a bit more awake but still quiet. “Well, I wouldn’t have called you if I knew…”

You stirred slightly, feeling the familiar ache in your hip from sleeping on the floor. You were cocooned in blankets, Katsuki’s leather jacket draped over you like a makeshift comforter. The smell of leather and his faint, caramel scent filled your senses as you blinked your eyes open, taking in the soft, blue glow from the window. The room was peaceful, with the early morning light casting a gentle hue over everything.

“Yeah, she’s still sleepin’....” Katsuki’s voice was closer now, and you felt the warmth of his arm still draped over your shoulders. You turned your head slightly, catching sight of him leaning against the kitchen counter with his back to you. 

You sighed out gently, your breath barely disturbing the quiet of the room. The warmth of Katsuki's arm still lingered on your shoulders, a comforting weight that grounded you in the present moment. You wiggled your toes, the small movement reassuring you that everything was still in place, that you were still here, wherever here was.

The last 24 hours flashed through your mind like a frantic slideshow, each image and sensation rushing past too quickly to fully grasp. The uncertainty of where you were, what time it was, or even which country you were in gnawed at you. But it was more than just disorientation—it was the kind of exhaustion that came from being stretched too thin, pushed beyond your limits until your mind and body simply shut down.

Your dreams had been strange, a reflection of that overwhelming stress. You recalled a warm hand pulling you through a thick layer of dark jelly, guiding you through a dark forest before it waited for you to step into place beside it, and you both crossed into an area bathed in blinding light. It was vivid yet distant, like trying to recall a scene from a movie you watched years ago.

You needed to write it down, to record the details before they slipped away, but your journal wasn't with you. With a frustrated sigh, you remembered tossing your phone somewhere last night. Probably not far, but in this disarray, it felt like it could be anywhere.

Katsuki’s voice, still on the phone, was a low murmur in the background, a steady rhythm that matched the slow beat of your waking heart. His words faded into the periphery as you focused on the familiar ritual you did every morning—a quick prayer of thanks. Even now, with everything feeling upside down, it was a small anchor of normalcy.

You wiggled out of the blanket prison, the heavy layers falling away as you sat up, pulling Katsuki's jacket against your chest. It was an instinctive gesture, the worn leather comforting against your skin. You glanced around, your eyes catching the subtle hints of morning creeping through the window, painting the room in soft hues of blue and gray.

Katsuki was still leaning against the kitchen counter, his back to you. The way he stood, one hand resting on the counter while the other held his phone, gave you a moment to observe him. There was a tension in his shoulders, a quiet alertness that told you he was always ready, always on guard. But there was something else too, a subtle relaxation in his posture that you rarely saw. He was still Bakugou Katsuki, always ready to explode into action, but here, in this quiet morning, there was a hint of peace.

You shifted slightly, causing the floorboards to creak under you. Katsuki’s head turned just enough to acknowledge that he heard you, but he didn’t turn fully. Instead, he finished his conversation with a quiet, “Alright, thanks,” and slipped his phone into his pocket.

His gaze finally met yours, and for a moment, there was a flicker of something unspoken between you. You couldn’t quite place it—whether it was concern, curiosity, or something else entirely—but it was there, hovering in the space between your tired eyes and his.

“Morning,” he said, his voice still a little rough from sleep.

“Morning,” you replied, your voice softer, still waking up. You adjusted the jacket, letting it settle more comfortably around your shoulders as you tried to shake off the remnants of your dream. The room felt almost surreal, like you were still caught in the lingering haze of sleep, but Katsuki’s presence was grounding, a solid reminder that you were here, awake, and alive.

Katsuki pushed off the counter and walked over to you, his movements casual but deliberate. He squatted down in front of you, his eyes searching your face for any sign of how you were really feeling. You couldn’t help but notice how his gaze softened just a fraction when he saw you clutching his jacket.

“Did you sleep okay?” he asked, his voice low and steady.

You nodded, though you knew it was more of a half-truth. “Yeah, as well as I could on the floor,” you said, a small smile tugging at the corners of your lips. “You?”

He snorted softly, the sound a mix of amusement and exhaustion. “You kicked my ass in your sleep, so not great.”

You blinked, a little taken aback. “I did?”

“Yeah, you’ve got a mean right hook, even when you’re out cold,” he teased, the corner of his mouth lifting in a smirk.

Your cheeks flushed slightly in embarrassment. “Sorry about that,” you mumbled, looking down at your hands.

He waved it off, his smirk softening into something almost affectionate. “No big deal. I’ve taken worse hits.”

You rubbed your eyes, trying to clear the last remnants of sleep from your mind. “What time is it?” you asked, your voice still slightly raspy from sleep.

Katsuki glanced at his phone, his movements slow and deliberate, before replying, “It’s about 9 a.m.” He looked at you, his expression softening just a bit. “You wanna sleep more?”

You shook your head, the thought of returning to the floor far less appealing now that you were awake. “No, I’m up.”

He nodded, his gaze lingering on you for a moment, as if he was checking to see if you were really okay. Then, with a casual shrug, he asked, “What d’you wanna do?”

You thought for a moment, the familiar sounds of a quiet morning settling around you. “Are Micheal and Kirishima up yet?”

Katsuki’s eyes narrowed slightly as he considered it. “Don’t think so,” he replied. “I can still hear Kirishima’s snoring every now and then. If they are up, they’re being real quiet.”

A mischievous grin slowly spread across your face, the kind that made your eyes sparkle with mischief. Katsuki immediately noticed, his brow arching as he waited for you to share whatever wicked idea you were brewing.

“What I want,” you said, your tone light and playful, “is to go visit them.”

For a split second, Katsuki just stared at you, and then a wicked grin of his own began to form, sharp and full of mischief. He didn’t need any more explanation; the idea had taken root in his mind, and you could almost see the gears turning in that explosive brain of his.

“Put your sneakers on and come on,” he said, his voice low and conspiratorial as he straightened up.

You could feel the excitement bubbling up in your chest as you quickly searched for your converse. Katsuki watched you with a grin that only grew wider when he saw how eager you were. You slid your feet into your sneakers, the familiar feel of them grounding you as you stood up, took a few steps on your tiptoes and dropped to your feet to show Katsuki that you were ready. 

Katsuki was already by the door, one hand on the doorknob, the other resting casually at his side. He was practically vibrating with energy, that signature restlessness of his seeping into every movement. His eyes glinted with a mix of amusement and anticipation as he watched you finish tying your laces.

As soon as you were ready, he opened the door with a quiet, deliberate motion, leading you out into the hallway. You both moved silently, the soft padding of your sneakers barely making a sound against the floor as you followed him.

You could tell Katsuki was already in full stealth mode, his steps measured, his body low and alert, like a predator stalking its prey. Every so often, he’d glance back at you, checking to make sure you were keeping up. His lips were pulled into a tight, determined line, but the light in his eyes betrayed just how much he was enjoying this.

You both snuck down the stairs and gently caught the door of some kids with their nanny on their way to school. You continued to slink down the hall until you reached an apartment with a welcome mat that was obviously Kirishima’s as Katsuki scoffed when he saw it as he fished a key out of his jeans. 

He pushed the door open just a crack, peeking inside. You leaned in close behind him, the warmth of his body radiating against yours as you both surveyed the scene. The room was dimly lit by the soft morning light filtering through the curtains, and the only sounds were the steady breathing of your unsuspecting targets.

You both poked your heads inside and focused on the couch where Micheal and Kirishima were likely still sleeping. Katsuki paused for a moment, his hand hovering over the doorknob, his gaze locking with yours. There was a silent agreement, a shared understanding that whatever was about to happen would be epic.

You could barely contain your grin as you nodded at him, giving him the go-ahead. Katsuki’s fingers closed around the doorknob, turning it slowly, the quiet click of the latch releasing almost deafening in the stillness of the morning. He carefully pushed the door open wider, the hinges thankfully silent, and motioned for you to follow him inside. You stepped in lightly, every muscle in your body tense with anticipation as you moved closer to the bed.

Kirishima was sprawled out on the couch, his bright red hair a mess, one arm hanging off the edge while he snored loudly, the sound filling the room. Micheal was on the other side, curled up under a blanket, her face peaceful and unaware of the impending chaos.

Katsuki turned back to you, his grin almost feral now. You could feel your heart pounding with excitement as you exchanged one last glance. There was no need for words; you were both on the same page.

He carefully pushed the door open wider, the hinges thankfully silent, and motioned for you to follow him inside. You stepped in lightly, every muscle in your body tense with anticipation as you moved closer to the sectional.

Katsuki stopped at the foot of the cushion, his eyes locked on Kirishima, who was still snoring away without a care in the world. He looked back at you, waiting for your signal.

With a mischievous glint in your eyes, you raised your hand, counting down with your fingers. Three… two… one…

And then, with a burst of energy, Katsuki pounced, yanking the blanket off of Micheal and throwing it over Kirishima’s head. The reaction was immediate. Kirishima let out a startled yelp, flailing as he tried to figure out what was going on, while Micheal shot up, blinking in confusion as she tried to process what had just happened.

You burst into laughter, the sound filling the room as Katsuki grinned like a madman, clearly pleased with the chaos he’d just unleashed.

“Good morning, sunshine!” Katsuki called out, his voice dripping with mock sweetness as he dodged a wild swing from Kirishima, who was still half-blind from the blanket.

Micheal groaned, rubbing her eyes as she looked between you and Katsuki. “What the hell, guys?” she mumbled, though there was a hint of a smile on her face. Oh thank God she was wearing the PJ set you got her and not naked. You forgot she did that sometimes. 

You could barely catch your breath from laughing so hard, doubling over as you watched Kirishima finally wrestle the blanket off of him, his crimson hair sticking out in all directions. He shot Katsuki a mock glare, though his lips were twitching with the effort not to laugh.

“Man, I was having a great dream,” Kirishima complained, though he couldn’t keep the grin off his face as he shoved Katsuki playfully.  You plopped down on the sofa next to Micheal and gave her a good morning kiss before snuggling up with her and the stolen blanket. 

Katsuki just shrugged, still grinning. “Couldn’t let you sleep through all the fun.”

Micheal shook her head, chuckling softly as she stretched. “I should’ve known better than to expect a peaceful morning with you two around.” She nipped your cheek and you squealed before exchanging a glance with Katsuki, your heart still racing from the thrill of the prank.

The living room was a blend of personalities, a space that seemed to reflect the coexistence of two strong, distinct characters. On one side, you noticed the meticulously organized stack of weights, a couple of yoga mats rolled up neatly in a corner, and an assortment of protein powders arranged with almost military precision. That was definitely Kirishima’s influence.

On the other, there were small signs of Bakugou’s presence: a black and orange bookbag jacket slung over the back of a chair, a pair of combat boots lined up with almost surgical precision by the door, and a few hero figurines displayed on a shelf, probably gifts he couldn't bring himself to discard. Despite these individual touches, the space was clean, almost surprisingly so, with everything in its place. The faint smell of old spice lingered in the air, mingling with the scent of lavender from the diffuser in the corner.

As you took in the surroundings, Katsuki and Kirishima were engaged in a playful wrestling match on the floor. Bakugou had Kirishima pinned down, but he was giving as good as he got, laughing as he tried to wriggle out of his hold. You couldn’t help but smile at their antics before leaning into Michael, “Grand rising to you, how was your morning?”

Michael grinned down at you from her position on the couch, her hair a little disheveled from the lack of a bonnet. “Pretty peaceful, actually. Don’t worry, Big Red here was a perfect gentleman,” she replied, playfully patting Kirishima’s arm.

Bakugou chuckled and loosened his grip, allowing Kirishima to sit up. “You know me, I’m all about respect,” he added with a wink. You tossed a pillow on him that Kirishima pretended wounded his chest as he played dead on the floor. He peaked his eyes open to see you sticking your tongue out at him before Katuski huffed and Kirishima sat up. You felt a little pinch to your hip and turned to Michael giving you “that look” as she used her lips to gesture to Katsuki who was helping Kirishima not hit his head on the coffee table as he got up. 

“What?”

Michael raised an eyebrow, clearly teasing. “So, what about you and Grumps over there? What did you two get up to all night?” You shrugged casually, though the memory of the late-night conversation brought a small smile to your lips. “21 questions,” you said simply, catching Bakugou’s eye from across the room.

Before Michael could probe further, the two boys finally settled down, taking seats across from where you and Michael had perched on the couch. Kirishima eyed how Michael had an arm casually draped around your shoulders and then turned his gaze to Bakugou, who was pointedly avoiding eye contact. With a mischievous grin, Kirishima nudged Bakugou with his elbow.

“How come you never hold me like that anymore?” Kirishima asked, his voice taking on a mock-wounded tone.

Bakugou’s eyes widened, and he turned to Kirishima with an incredulous look. “What the hell are you talking about? Cut it out!” he snapped, but the hint of embarrassment creeping into his tone betrayed him.

Kirishima wasn’t deterred. He sighed dramatically, like a scorned lover, and pressed on. “You used to be so affectionate, Katsuki. Now you’re all distant and cold, it’s like you don’t even care anymore!” He clutched his chest theatrically, as if his heart were breaking.

Bakugou, now visibly flustered, grabbed a pillow from the couch and hurled it at Kirishima. “Shut up, shit for brains! You’re gonna get the police called on us again!” he growled, though there was no real heat behind his words.

You and Michael exchanged a surprised glance before exclaiming in unison, “Again?”

Michael placed a hand on her chest, feigning concern. “Oh, honey, I’m so sorry to find out this way. Why didn’t you tell us sooner?” she teased, her tone dripping with mock sympathy.

You joined in, your laughter barely contained. “Yeah, Big Red, if you’d told us sooner, we could’ve gotten you away from this jerk.”

“Jerk?!” Bakugou’s voice was a mix of hurt and indignation as he looked at you, a betrayed expression on his face that almost made you feel guilty. 

Almost.

Kirishima, ever the dramatic one, emerged from the kitchen with a red dish towel draped over his head like a damsel in distress. He walked with exaggerated slowness toward Bakugou, his arms outstretched. “Oh, Katsuki! How could you forsake me like this?" he wailed, before throwing himself into Bakugou’s reluctant arms.

The whole scene becomes too much for you to keep a straight face, and you burst out laughing, the sound filling the room. MichaeI joins in, her laugh echoing yours. Bakugou groaned but didn’t push him away. “You’re such a fucking idiot,” he muttered, but his grip on Kirishima tightened ever so slightly, as if he were trying to hide the fact that he didn’t really mind.

The whole scene had you and Michael doubled over with laughter, your sides aching from the sheer absurdity of it all. Bakugou’s eyes met yours, and for a moment, the corners of his mouth twitched upward as if he couldn’t help but join in on the joke. But he quickly masked it with a scowl, shoving Kirishima off him with a grunt.

Michael leaned into you, still chuckling, and whispered, “See? Perfect balance.”

You nodded in agreement, watching as the two boys continued to bicker like an old married couple. Despite the chaos, there was an undeniable warmth in the room, a sense of camaraderie that made you feel like you belonged.

Kirishima, with a sudden burst of melodramatic energy, clasped Bakugou’s arms, his voice rising in a pitiful wail. 

“I just want you to hold me!”

Bakugou’s eyes widened in pure horror as Kirishima attempted to pull him into an embrace. With the reflexes of a startled cat, Bakugou jerked away, getting into a boxing stance as if preparing for a street fight. “Fuck off me!” he growled, his voice laced with genuine alarm.

You couldn’t help but chime in, your voice dripping with playful sarcasm. “A little lovin’ goes a long way!”

Michael shot you a sad look, her eyes glinting with knowing. You shrugged, but before either of you could say more, Kirishima grabbed the dish towel from the kitchen counter and began chasing Bakugou around the dining table, the towel fluttering like a flag of war. Bakugou, looking more flustered by the second, darted around the table, his feet quick as he tried to keep distance between him and Kirishima.

“I SAID GET AWAY FROM ME!” Bakugou’s voice rang out, almost panicked, as he suddenly shifted gears, turning the tables on Kirishima. In a move that would make any gymnast proud, Bakugou leaped over the table with the agility and ferocity of a savage Pomeranian, his eyes locked onto Kirishima as he swiped at him mid-air. Kirishima barely dodged the attack, his laughter bubbling up as he realized just how serious Bakugou was.

Kirishima, still shirtless and grinning like a kid in a candy store, dove back onto the sofa with a yelp of surprise. He hadn’t expected Bakugou to go full attack mode, but the thrill of it was too much to resist. As his large frame landed on the cushions, you and Michael squealed, startled by the sudden proximity of his broad chest. Without missing a beat, you both sprang into action. Michael, quick as ever, yanked a blanket from the back of the couch and threw it over Kirishima, cocooning him in a makeshift shield.

“There, there,” Michael cooed, her voice dripping with mock sympathy as she patted Kirishima’s shoulder. “You were too good for him, anyway.”

Kirishima’s eyes widened in shock, his face buried under the blanket, but he couldn’t stop the grin that spread across his face as he played along. “He was so cruel to me!” he wailed dramatically, clutching the edges of the blanket like a scorned lover.

You grabbed the dish towel from Kirishima’s hand, stepping between Bakugou and the couch, brandishing it like a knight defending their charge. “What?” you taunted, giving Bakugou a pointed look. “You think you’re so big and buff, you orange Cheeto puff?” Katuski looked at you like you’d grown an extra head as he opened his arms in a “What the fuck?” gesture. 

A ripple of giggles sounded behind you as Kirishima and Michael both stifled their laughter. Bakugou’s eyes narrowed, and he took a step forward, his gaze never leaving yours. “Well, come on and fight me!” he challenged, his tone deadly serious, though you could see the faintest hint of a smirk tugging at his lips.

“Too scared to pick on someone your own size?” you teased, cracking your knuckles and rolling your shoulders, as if preparing for an actual fight. You could feel the warmth in your palms, your quirk ready to flare up if needed.

Bakugou stalked closer, his gaze flicking to your hands. He knew better than to take you lightly, especially when you had that determined look in your eyes. “One,” he began, his voice low and dangerous, “Shit for brains is bigger than all of us. Two, you and I don’t exactly see eye to eye.” He smirked as you stood there agasp. 

‘Oh the nerve of this bitch!’

You squared up, fists raised, your stance solid. “Sounds like you’re scaaared ,” you goaded, your voice playful but firm. The energy between you crackled with tension, though it was more of a playful challenge than anything else.

Behind you, Kirishima let out another exaggerated wail, playing up his role. “He even forgot our anniversary!” His voice was pitiful, his acting truly Oscar-worthy, and you could only imagine what the neighbors must be thinking if they could hear this commotion. Michael was laughing so hard she was crying and he had to hold onto her so she wouldn’t slip on the polished floor. 

Bakugou rolled his eyes, his shoulders tensing as if ready to charge again. But instead of leaping into action, he tilted his head, regarding you with a mix of annoyance and grudging respect. “You really want to go, princess?” His tone was sharp, but there was a glimmer of something in his eyes—maybe it was amusement, or maybe it was the realization that he might actually be having fun.

Kirishima, still draped in the blanket, peeked out with a mischievous grin. “Come on, Katsuki, admit it. You love us.”

Michael snorted, barely containing her laughter as she continued to pat Kirishima’s shoulder. “Yeah, Bakugou, we’re just trying to show you a little affection. No need to be so prickly about it.”

Bakugou groaned, rubbing the back of his neck as if trying to shake off the ridiculousness of it all. “You guys are such idiots,” he muttered, though there was no real bite to his words. He looked at you, his expression softening just a fraction as he noticed the way you were holding back your own laughter.

“Yeah, but we’re your idiots,” you replied, your voice light and teasing.

Bakugou let out a long sigh, finally letting his posture relax. “Fine, whatever,” he grumbled, though the corner of his mouth twitched upward in what could almost be considered a smile.

The tension broke as Kirishima, sensing victory, threw the blanket off and lunged at Bakugou, wrapping him in a bear hug. Bakugou yelped, struggling against Kirishima’s iron grip as he was dragged back onto the couch.

You and Michael couldn’t contain your laughter any longer, the sound filling the room as you watched Bakugou begrudgingly accept his fate, sandwiched between Kirishima and the couch cushions. For a moment, the air was filled with nothing but the sounds of out of breath laughter. 

You made the executive decision that peace was never truly an option. 

With a mischievous grin spreading across your face, you launched yourself onto Bakugou’s back, clinging to him like a determined octopus. Michael, not one to be left out, followed Kirishima with a pillow in hand, swinging it like a battle ax as Kirishima let out a very manly—though undeniably high-pitched—scream, scrambling to run and take cover under the dining table.

Bakugou groaned, his strong hands reaching behind him as he tried to pry you off, his movements more careful than usual as he attempted to gently toss you onto the sofa. But you were relentless, your arms and legs wrapped tightly around him as you clung on with all the tenacity of a barnacle. His usual scowl softened, and he couldn’t help the small, almost affectionate growl that rumbled from his chest.

His grip found its way to the back of your thigh, hoping to startle you into letting go before he accidentally hurt you. But instead of releasing him, you stopped your playful shaking and nuzzled closer to his warmth, your arms sliding up to cradle his head against your soft stomach. The unexpected gentleness left Bakugou momentarily dumbstruck. For a second, he hesitated, caught off guard by the sudden shift from playful combat to a cozy embrace.

Seeing your opportunity, you quickly looped the blanket Kirishima had abandoned around Bakugou’s torso, effectively trapping him. His eyes widened in realization as you secured him, his attempts to escape becoming more frantic but still mindful of not hurting you.

Meanwhile, Michael and Kirishima had escalated their pillow fight into a game of keep-away with the dish towel. Kirishima, still laughing and squealing, ducked and weaved under Michael’s playful swings, the dish towel fluttering just out of reach. Bakugou, despite his predicament, couldn’t help but shout, “I’m gonna get you!” His voice was a mix of determination and amusement.

You taunted him with a playful grin, backing away slowly before grabbing Michael’s hand. “Not if we get you first!” you called out as the two of you bolted down the hallway. The apartment, still shrouded in darkness with no lights or curtains drawn, felt like the perfect setting for a game of hide and seek.

You led the way, your heart pounding in exhilaration as you turned on the bathroom light and slammed the door shut, knowing full well the boys would think you were hiding in there. The sound of their footsteps as they tried the locked bathroom door echoed through the quiet apartment, buying you precious seconds. The tactic was one you’d picked up from past experiences—Kyoya had always fallen for the same trick.

As the noise of their attempts to open the bathroom door persisted, you quietly pushed Michael into a nearby room, quickly following suit by slipping into a different one. You closed the door gently, sliding behind it and holding your breath. The apartment fell silent, the only sounds being the occasional creak of the floorboards as the boys moved through the space, searching for you.

Slowly, your eyes adjusted to the dim light, and you realized the room you had stumbled into was not just any room—it was Bakugou’s bedroom.

The space was distinctly him, a reflection of his personality in every detail. The bed, large and neatly made, had dark sheets that were impeccably tucked in, with a military precision that spoke of Bakugou’s discipline. The room was organized, almost Spartan, with only the essentials—a sturdy desk, a few shelves lined with books and trophies, and a dresser that looked like it had been meticulously arranged. The faint scent of his cologne lingered in the air, a warm, spicy aroma that was undeniably Bakugou.

As you quietly step away from the door, your curiosity gets the better of you, and you find yourself drawn to Bakugou's closet. The door creaks slightly as you open it, revealing a treasure trove of items that offer a glimpse into his past and present.

Inside, neatly stacked on the shelves, are boxes labeled with “UA” in bold letters, likely filled with mementos from his school days. There’s a certain weight to them, as if they carry memories of the relentless pursuit of becoming the hero you know now. You run your fingers lightly over the top of one box, tempted to peek inside, but you decide against it, not wanting to risk making any noise.

Hanging in the closet are several versions of his hero costume, each looking slightly different from the next—some with more battle wear than others. His iconic gauntlets hang prominently, the metal gleaming even in the dim light. They look heavy and powerful, designed to channel his explosive quirk with deadly precision. You resist the urge to pick one up, knowing that even the slightest clink could give you away.

Your eyes fall on a collection of shoes at the bottom of the closet—his signature combat boots, a pair of battered sneakers, and, unexpectedly, a pair of slippers that seem comically large for your feet. You smile to yourself, imagining Bakugou stomping around in these, probably as grumpy in the morning as he is during the day.

A small box catches your eye, decorated with All Might’s colors, and you can’t help but chuckle. Of course, Bakugou would have All Might memorabilia—despite his tough exterior, the hero had always been his inspiration.

Next, you crouch down to peer under the bed. The space is surprisingly tidy, though you do spot a tablet and a laptop stashed away, likely kept there for late-night work or research. You decide not to touch them, figuring that Bakugou would definitely notice if they were moved. As you continue your search, you find a pair of sneakers and, curiously, a black skull tee shirt that smells faintly of burnt caramel—the scent is warm, sweet, and dear God you needed therapy you were sniffing the mans shirt! In his own house! Under his bed!

You hold the shirt for a moment, feeling its soft fabric between your fingers, before a thought crosses your mind. Still wearing Bakugou's leather jacket, you decide to “borrow” a pair of his large slippers for added stealth. The shirt, warm and smelling like him, gets pulled over your tank top, offering an unexpected sense of comfort.

As you stand back up, your eyes land on the window across the room. A daring idea forms in your mind—if you’re going to escape this game of cat and mouse, you’ll have to get creative. You hear Michael's squeals from down the hall, accompanied by Kirishima’s teasing quips, signaling that she’s been found. But what worries you most is the absence of Bakugou’s voice. The silence is unnerving, and you can’t shake the feeling that he’s up to something.

Determined not to get caught, you quietly unlock the window, sliding it open just enough to squeeze through. The cool morning air greets you as you step out onto the fire escape, the metal grating cold beneath your borrowed slippers. You gently pull the window closed behind you, leaving it slightly ajar—just enough to cover your tracks.

You glance down, assessing your next move as the city stretches out below you. With your heart racing, you crouch low, trying to stay out of sight. Your breath comes in quiet puffs as you strain to hear any sign of Bakugou. The tension in the air is palpable, and the thrill of your escape only heightens the anticipation of what might come next.

–

Bakugou paced through the living room, his eyes scanning every corner with sharp precision. The apartment, which had been a war zone just moments ago, was now filled with the aftermath of their playful chaos. Kirishima was still catching his breath on the sofa, a red dish towel draped over his head like a makeshift wig, while Michael was busy pretending to console him with exaggerated pats on the back. But something felt off—too quiet.

Bakugou’s instincts kicked in, the same ones that had kept him alive on the battlefield, and he knew immediately that you were up to something. You and Michael had bolted down the hallway, giggling like kids, and while Michael’s location had already been betrayed by her squeals of laughter, you were a different story. He hadn’t heard a peep from you since you ran off, and that silence was unsettling.

He stalked toward the hallway, his steps deliberate and soundless, scanning for any signs of movement. The bathroom door was closed, and he could hear Kirishima grumbling behind him as Michael continued to playfully console him. Bakugou’s eyes narrowed. You’d used that trick before, locking the bathroom door to throw him off. He wasn’t about to fall for it again.

Without a word, he moved past the bathroom, quietly testing the other doors. The guest room was empty, its door swinging open with no resistance. The other room down the hall belonged to Michael, and he could hear the muffled sounds of her struggling to stifle her laughter. Bakugou smirked. That left only one place.

His room.

Bakugou’s smirk faded into a more serious expression as he turned and headed toward his bedroom. He’d kept that door closed, assuming you wouldn’t dare sneak in there, but the thought of you rummaging through his personal space made his pulse quicken. He couldn’t help but imagine you snooping through his things, maybe even finding some of the stuff he preferred to keep private. The idea made his chest tighten—not with anger, but with something else, something he couldn’t quite name.

He paused outside the door, listening. Silence. That was enough of a clue. Bakugou pushed the door open slowly, the hinges creaking just enough to make him wince. The room was dark, the curtains still drawn, and it took a moment for his eyes to adjust.

His gaze swept across the room, noting the slightly ajar closet door and the displaced items under the bed—subtle signs that you had indeed been there. His stomach did a weird flip when he spotted his black skull tee shirt missing from the pile he’d left out. He was hyper-aware of how personal this was—how close you were getting, even in the middle of a game.

But there was no time to dwell on that now. Bakugou’s eyes landed on the window, slightly open, and that’s when it clicked. You’d escaped onto the fire escape.

A slow grin spread across his face, and he felt a surge of pride in your cleverness. You were making this game interesting, but he wasn’t about to let you win so easily.

“Gotcha,” he muttered under his breath, striding toward the window. He pulled it open just enough to peer out, careful not to make any noise. He could see the faint outline of your figure crouched on the fire escape, trying to stay hidden.

Bakugou shook his head, both impressed and a little exasperated. He would’ve never expected you to use the fire escape, but here you were, doing exactly that. He allowed himself a brief moment of admiration before his competitive spirit kicked back in.

Bakugou quietly made his way back to the dining room, his mind racing as he formulated a new plan. The sliding door was just ahead, and with a steady hand, he carefully opened it, making sure it didn’t make a sound. The gap between the fire escape and the balcony was narrow, but nothing he couldn’t handle. His heart was already pounding, not from the challenge, but from the thought of getting closer to you, catching you off guard.

The wind brushed past him as he scaled the building’s side, his movements swift and precise. He glanced down at the fire escape where you were perched, completely unaware of his presence. You were kneeling, your small figure wrapped in his oversized leather jacket, and—he noticed with a smirk—wearing his slippers. Despite the adrenaline of the chase, a warmth spread through him at the sight. At least you put some shoes on before coming out here, he thought, the image of you looking so cozy in his things sending a strange flutter through his chest.

He landed softly on the fire escape behind you, his feet making no noise as he approached. For a moment, he just watched, his gaze lingering on the way you leaned against the wall, straining to catch any sound that might betray his location. You looked so intent, so focused, and yet completely oblivious to the predator lurking just behind you.

Bakugou could feel his heartbeat in his ears, each thud growing louder as he took in the sight of you—his jacket enveloping your small frame, your legs tucked beneath you in his slippers. The combination of the cool morning air and the warmth emanating from your body as you tried to listen for him did something to him, stirring emotions he usually kept under tight control.

He let himself savor the moment, the thrill of the hunt mixing with the softer emotions you always seemed to draw out of him. You made him feel things he wasn’t used to feeling, things that made his chest tighten and his pulse quicken in ways that no battle ever had.

But the game wasn’t over yet.

With a swift, deliberate motion, Bakugou slipped his strong arms around your waist, pulling you back into his solid warmth before you could react. He felt you stiffen for a second, caught off guard, and then relax into his hold as his body heat seeped into you, the cool metal of the fire escape contrasting with the warmth of his embrace.

“Caught you, princess,” he whispered against your ear, his voice low and satisfied, tinged with the thrill of victory.

Your breath hitched, and he couldn’t help the smirk that tugged at his lips as he felt your heartbeat quicken against his chest. The way you fit so perfectly in his arms, the way you melted into his touch—it was everything he hadn’t known he wanted, and more.

Bakugou held you there for a moment longer, his grip firm but gentle, his heart still pounding in his chest. You always managed to do this to him—make him feel things he couldn’t fully understand, but didn’t want to let go of either.

“Ready to come back inside?” he murmured, his voice softer now, the playful edge giving way to something gentle, something only for you.

“Hm, no.”

Bakugou blinked, momentarily thrown off. “No?”

“Nope!” you chirped, a mischievous grin spreading across your face.

Before he could even begin to decipher your intentions, the world around him spun. One second he was holding you close, and the next, he found himself flipped over, his stomach pressed against the cool metal of the fire escape, with you now pinning him down. His arms were secured behind his back, and you were sitting triumphantly on his ample rear, a victorious glint in your eyes.

“What the—” he started, but his words were cut off as you let out a cheer, basking in your success. “I still got it!”

Bakugou lay there, momentarily stunned, his mind catching up with what had just happened. You were doing a little victory dance behind him and as the initial shock wore off, he couldn’t help but admire the way you handled him with such confidence and skill. You had him completely pinned, and the ease with which you’d done it was… downright sexy.

His gaze trailed up to your face, taking in the determined way you made sure your hold was secure, your eyes focused and your lips curled into that playful smile that always made his heart skip a beat. Even now, flat on his stomach and at your mercy, he couldn’t muster a single ounce of anger. Instead, all he felt was a rush of affection, admiration, and something else, something that made his chest tighten.

Damn, he was so in love with you.

With a resigned sigh, he tapped his fingers against the metal, signaling his surrender. “Alright, alright, I tap out.”

You grinned, releasing his wrists as you climbed off him, your energy still buzzing from the playful tussle. Just as Bakugou pushed himself up, shaking his head with a wry smile, Kirishima’s red head popped out of the window.

“Hey, what’s going on out here?” Kirishima asked, his curious gaze flicking between the two of you.

Bakugou rolled his eyes, but there was a fondness in his expression as he glanced at you, still feeling the warmth of your touch lingering on his skin. “Just got my ass handed to me, that’s all,” he muttered, though there was no hiding the affection in his tone.

Kirishima’s grin widened as he took in the scene. “Man, I knew you were tough, but taking down Bakugou like that? Impressive!” He gave you a thumbs-up, clearly impressed. You held up your hand for a high five and Kiri returned it with much vigor. You shot Bakugou a teasing look, shrugging your shoulders as if to say, “What can I say?” before standing up and offering him a hand. Michael said something and Kirishima returned inside. 

Bakugou took it, letting you pull him up, but as soon as he was on his feet, he tugged you close, his eyes locked on yours. “You’re lucky,” he said, his voice a low rumble, the intensity of his gaze making your breath catch.

“Lucky? Or just that good?” you teased back, a playful glint in your eyes. His hands were twitching and Katsuki wondered how the small of your back would feel in his hand with his other gripping your hip. 

He smirked, leaning in so that his lips brushed your ear. “Maybe both.” 

You both stood there watching each other for a very long moment. The air outside was still cold as the sun hadn’t warmed the city up so you could see each other’s small breaths. You’re eye’s flickered towards his chest and you wanted to feel his heartbeat again. 

Part of you wondered why you were so comfortable with a man you barely knew but it was probably because you didn’t really like Kyoya’s “affection”. Whatever you didn’t need to think about him so early in the morning, that was an afternoon problem. 

You and Katsuki were still leaning closer, and closer, and closer–

Michael pokes her head out of the window next, eyes narrowing as she spots you sitting on the fire escape in nothing but Bakugou’s oversized leather jacket and his slippers. "Are you serious?" she scolds, reaching out to pull you back inside. "You're outside in practically nothing!"

You laugh sheepishly as she tugs you off the metal grate, and Bakugou follows closely behind, watching as you slip back into the warmth of his room. You kick off his slippers and set them aside, ready to leave the room, but then you turn back to him with a casual, “Oh, by the way, I borrowed a shirt.”

He’s about to tell you it’s fine, thinking you meant something generic, but then he sees it—the skull t-shirt he loves, the white logo stretched just right over your chest. His breath hitches, and he gulps, trying to play it cool. “You, uh, can keep wearin’ it if ya want,” he manages to say, his voice a little rougher than usual.

You beam at him, chirping a cheerful thank you as you smooth the fabric over your body. Kirishima and Michael, meanwhile, have moved on to their next plan. “Alright, you two, get dressed! We’re going out for breakfast,” Kirishima announces, a grin splitting his face. “There’s this new diner that just opened up, and they serve American-style breakfast.”

Your eyes light up with immediate interest, the thought of fluffy pancakes and crispy bacon making your mouth water. But before you can voice your excitement, Michael is already pointing out the obvious. “You two need to bathe first,” she teases, scrunching her nose playfully at Bakugou, who’s still caught up in the sight of you wearing his shirt.

Bakugou's focus snaps back to reality as he realizes he’s been admiring you a bit too openly. He watches you chat with Michael, still processing the surreal moment—just weeks ago, he was watching you on a screen, and now here you are, standing in his room, wearing his clothes, and looking so effortlessly perfect.

Kirishima’s voice cuts through Bakugou’s thoughts. “Hey, is this cool with you? I know you usually eat healthy and it’s not a cheat day or anything.”

Bakugou is about to decline, ready to stick to his routine, but then he sees the look you’re giving him—those hopeful eyes that always seem to get what they want. He covers quickly, his tough exterior slipping just a bit. “Yeah, whatever. I’ll go check it out,” he grumbles.

Michael smirks, always ready to stir the pot. “You sure you’re not just going to check someone out?” she teases, her tone light but full of implication.

Bakugou’s ears burn bright red as he snaps back, “Shut up, Michael!” He tries to sound threatening, but the blush gives him away. But it was too late– Kirishima caught how he didn’t call her “Bandages” and Bakugou only called someone by their name if he respected them. What she had done to earn it, he didn’t know. But it was there and he was deff going to ask about it later. 

You and Kirishima exchange knowing looks, nodding in agreement as you both push Bakugou towards the bathroom. “Go on, wash up!” you laugh, your hands firm on his shoulders as he protests half-heartedly.

Michael watches the scene with a grin, but then turns to you, her eyes glinting with mischief. “Come on, let’s get ready,” she says, motioning for you to follow her. Kirishima, still slightly stunned at how easily you two handled Bakugou, is suddenly swept up in your energy as you drag him along upstairs.

“You girls are stronger than you look,” Kirishima comments, a bit breathless as you and Michael haul him into your bathroom, insisting he clean up before breakfast.

Michael only laughs, grabbing towels and shoving them into his hands. “We’ve got hidden strength,” she says, winking at you.

Once Kirishima is set up, you head back to your room with Michael, thinking about what to wear. You decide to keep Bakugou’s jacket on—it’s warm, smells like him, and just feels right. You pair it with the skull t-shirt and then slide into a cute skirt that stops just above your knees.

As you adjust the waistband, Michael kneels down beside you, pulling out a Hello Kitty bandaid from her pocket. “For your knee,” she says softly, placing it over the scrape you got during the earlier chaos.

You smile, touched by the small gesture. “Thanks, Mickey.”

After what felt like forever, the guys were still showering and getting ready, leaving you and Michael to entertain yourselves. Michael, ever the playful one, decided to raid Kirishima's closet for something to wear. She giggled as she sifted through his clothes, picking out a few tank tops and shirts until she found one that suited her taste, a soft red tee with a “Plus Ultra” logo emblazoned across the front. The oversized shirt hung loosely on her, giving off a relaxed yet stylish vibe as she turned to you with a playful grin. “Well, what do you think?”

You chuckled, admiring her choice. “It suits you,” you said, watching her twirl before the mirror.

But even as Michael busied herself with her impromptu fashion show, your thoughts wandered back to Bakugou's room. The large black bedspread had caught your attention earlier, its soft, inviting texture seeming to call you back. You mentioned this to Michael, who waved you off with a smirk. “Go ahead. I’m sure he won’t mind.”

And so, you slipped out of Kirishima's room and padded quietly down the hall until you reached Bakugou's door. As you pushed open the door, the room greeted you with its characteristic blend of warmth and a faint scent of caramel, the kind that always lingered in the air around him. You step in a little more, the large, neatly made black bed seemed to beckon you. The way the dark comforter was perfectly spread out, combined with the subtle scent of Bakugou’s cologne, a rich mix of spices and warm caramel, created an inviting atmosphere. You hesitated for a moment, fiddling with your nails, wondering if he would mind if you just laid down for a bit.

Deciding it couldn’t hurt, you carefully perched on the edge of the bed before allowing yourself to sink into the plush mattress. The blanket was soft and cool to the touch, contrasting with the warmth of Bakugou’s leather jacket that you still wore. You leaned back, stretching out fully as you nestled your head into one of the pillows. It felt so cozy, and despite knowing you should stay awake, your eyelids grew heavier.

Your gaze wandered to the nightstand beside the bed, where Bakugou’s phone was charging. The screen illuminated faintly with the image of his wallpaper—a collage of photos. You smiled as you recognized the familiar faces: Izuku with his bright, determined smile; Kirishima grinning with his signature shark teeth; Todoroki’s stoic but soft expression; and even pictures with their teachers and his parents. The centerpiece of the wallpaper was, of course, his hero logo, prominently displayed as a reminder of who he was and what he stood for.

Feeling a bit mischievous, you reached over and unlocked the phone, accessing the camera from the home screen. You quickly snapped a few selfies, making silly faces and even a couple of more serious, thoughtful poses. Some with your tongue out, others with your best attempt at his signature scowl. The thought of him finding these later made you giggle as you put the phone back where you found it. After checking the photos to make sure they were cute, you set the phone back on the nightstand exactly how you found it.

Looking around the room, you noticed a small shelf on the opposite wall. It was filled with books on suit mechanics and a few carefully placed figures of his friends in their pro hero costumes. There was Izuku, with his determined expression and signature green costume, Kirishima with his broad smile and unbreakable form, Todoroki looking stoic as always, Chargebolt sparking with energy, Pinky striking a playful pose, and Cellophane mid-action. The sight was unexpectedly sweet, revealing how much he cared for his friends and admired them in his own way.

A yawn escaped your lips as the coldness of the room and the comforting scent of hot caramel lulled you into a drowsy state. The plush blanket beneath you felt like a cocoon, and despite the earlier chaos, a sense of peace washed over you. Before you knew it, your eyelids grew heavy, and you drifted off into a light sleep.

It wasn’t long before Michael, having finished her wardrobe raid, wandered down the hall to check on you. She peeked into Bakugou's room, intending to drag you back out for snuggles, but the sight of you peacefully sleeping on his bed stopped her in her tracks. A soft smile tugged at her lips, and she leaned against the doorframe, quietly observing you.

Moments later, Kirishima appeared beside her, freshly showered and dressed in a simple black t-shirt and jeans with a red plaid jacket. His hair, still slightly damp, clung to his forehead as he glanced over Michael’s shoulder. When he saw you curled up on Bakugou’s bed, a fond smile spread across his face.

“She looks so comfortable,” Kirishima whispered, his voice full of warmth.

“Yeah, she does,” Michael agreed, her tone just as gentle. The two of them shared a look, a silent understanding passing between them. Rather than waking you, they decided to let you rest a little longer.

With a shared nod, they adjusted the blanket over you before quietly backing out of the room, closing the door softly behind them. As they made their way to the living room, they couldn’t help but chuckle at the thought of Bakugou’s reaction when he found out you had made yourself at home in his space.

“Think he’ll freak out?” Kirishima asked with a toothy grin. He had Mick sit first before he joined her.

“Maybe,” Michael replied with a smirk. “But I think he’ll be more flustered than anything. Especially when he sees how cute she is.” She rested her head on his biceps before muting the TV and cueing up Barbie: Life in the Dreamhouse. Kirishima laughed, imagining the scene. “Yeah, he’ll definitely have something to say about that.”

The two of them settled into the living room, waiting for you to wake up, both content in the knowledge that despite the teasing, Bakugou was probably just as fond of you as they were.

Bakugou emerged from the shower, his skin still warm from the hot water as he ran a towel through his hair. He padded out of the bathroom, dressed only in his sweatpants, and immediately noticed Kirishima and Michael lounging in the living room, their attention focused on the TV. They exchanged casual nods, and Bakugou’s gaze swept the room, half-expecting to find you snuggled up in Michael’s lap. But the absence of your familiar form piqued his curiosity, leading him to assume you were probably off somewhere else in the apartment.

Shrugging, he turned down the hallway and entered his room, letting the door close quietly behind him. As he flicked through his wardrobe, his hand settled on a slightly nicer-than-usual outfit—a crisp white t-shirt and dark jeans. It was casual enough to keep up appearances but with just enough effort to not seem out of place at breakfast. As he dressed, his mind wandered, replaying the morning's events in his head. After pulling on his shirt, he turned around to find his sneakers, only to freeze in place. 

There you were, nestled in his bed, completely unaware of his presence. The sight of you curled up so peacefully, with you having kicked off half of his covers, sent a shockwave through his system. Bakugou stumbled back, barely catching himself as he tumbled into his closet. His initial instinct was to yell, to demand what the hell you were doing sleeping on his bed of all places. But the words caught in his throat as he clamped a hand over his mouth, his heart racing faster than he could control.

Like an idiot, he crawled out of the closet on all fours, as if moving too suddenly would disturb the tranquility of the moment. His eyes remained locked on your sleeping figure, and every time he tried to look away, he found himself drawn back in. You were now wearing a skirt that hugged your hips and legs in all the right places. His shirt, oversized on you, draped loosely over your frame, and his leather jacket, which was clearly too big, added an extra layer of warmth. It was endearing in a way he hadn’t expected, seeing you so comfortable in his space. Almost like you were his girlfriend who raided his closet while he was away from home. 

Bakugou pressed his forehead into the edge of the bed, gripping his chest as if to steady the wild beating of his heart. He was losing it—absolutely losing it. The idea of making that doctor’s appointment, the one he’d been putting off, flared up in his mind again. But as he thought about it, he couldn’t resist glancing up at you one more time.

You looked so peaceful, so utterly content. It was hard to believe that just hours ago, he had fallen asleep with you in his arms, waking up to find you still there. The memory of your warmth, your scent mingling with his, lingered in his mind. He found himself lost in it, his breathing deep and steady as he simply watched you, captivated by the sight.

But then, a sudden alert from his phone cut through the silence. The sharp sound made you stir, your brows furrowing slightly as you shifted in your sleep. Bakugou’s body went rigid, and for a brief moment, he panicked, unsure of how to proceed. He considered just walking away, letting you wake up on your own, but something held him back.

Instead, he reached over and shut off the alarm before pocketing the deceive, then he moved to the far edge of the bed, sitting down carefully so as not to startle you. He stared at you for a moment, his mind racing as he tried to remember how he’d seen others wake someone gently. Izuku and Momo always seemed to do it with ease, a light touch on the shoulder, a soft voice calling their name. He could try that, right?

‘Right.’

Taking a deep breath, Bakugou reached out, his hand hovering uncertainly over your shoulder. He hesitated, his fingers twitching slightly as he steeled himself. Then, with as much gentleness as he could muster, he placed his hand on your shoulder, his thumb brushing lightly against the fabric of his shirt.

“Oi, wake up,” he murmured, his voice low, almost tender. He waited, watching as you stirred again, your eyes slowly blinking open.

Bakugou wasn’t sure what to expect when you finally looked up at him. Maybe a confused expression, maybe a sleepy smile. But as your eyes met his, he felt his breath catch in his throat. You blinked up at him, your lips curving into a small, soft smile as you recognized him.

It was a shock he didn’t code right there.

“Hi,” you whispered, your voice still thick with sleep. You rubbed your eyes before just laying there with a soft, dazed expression. 

“Yeah, hi,” he replied, his tone gruffer than he intended, but the corners of his mouth betrayed him, curling up slightly as he watched you.

He wasn’t sure what had him so worked up—whether it was the fact that you were wearing his clothes, the memory of waking up with you, or just the simple reality that you were here, in his room, looking up at him with those soft eyes. But whatever it was, he knew one thing for sure—he was completely, hopelessly in—

As Bakugou sat on the edge of the bed, still trying to collect his thoughts, the door to his room creaked open. He looked up just in time to see Kirishima’s broad form fill the doorway, his usual grin plastered on his face. Behind him, Michael peeked in, her expression softening as she took in the scene. Without a word, Kirishima walked over and, with surprising gentleness, scooped you up into his arms. You let out a sleepy hum, your eyes fluttering open as you instinctively reached up to tug on his vibrant red hair.

Michael followed closely, her eyes catching Bakugou’s. As she passed him, she leaned in and whispered, “You’re welcome,” with a teasing lilt, clearly enjoying the flustered state she had found him in. Bakugou huffed in response, quickly getting to his feet as the trio made their way out of the room. He caught a glimpse of himself in the hallway mirror, noticing with a start how red his face had become. His cheeks were flushed, his usual cool demeanor cracked wide open.

Kirishima cradled you securely as he carried you down the hall, your head resting comfortably on his shoulder. You blinked sleepily, still coming to full awareness, and lazily tugged at his hair, the soft strands slipping between your fingers. “Which car are we taking?” you asked, your voice still laced with drowsiness.

As you all entered the dining room, your eyes landed on the half-covered motorcycle parked near the wall. It was clearly out of place indoors, and you could almost hear Bakugou’s exasperated grumbling about it. He hated having it inside, but Kirishima had won the argument after whining about the rain for several nights in a row. Your lips twitched in amusement at the thought.

Michael’s voice broke through your thoughts as she stepped around the table, shaking her head with a fond smile. “As much as I love you and ‘The Lemon,’ your car is still full of stuff, and we don’t have time to move it all.” She glanced back at you, her fingers lightly brushing your cheek as she added, “Plus, Bakugou said he doesn’t mind driving.”

You perked up slightly at the mention of driving, a mischievous glint in your eyes as you half-jokingly asked, “Can I drive, then?”

Bakugou, who had been standing by the window, his gaze flicking between you and the others, actually considered it for a moment. He even reached into his pocket, his fingers brushing the car keys. But before he could make a move, Kirishima intervened, his protective instincts kicking in. “I’ll drive,” he said, his tone firm but light. “I’m the most awake and focused anyway.”

As he spoke, Kirishima turned and gave Bakugou a pointed look, his eyes flicking to the way he was holding you—a protective, almost brotherly gesture. Bakugou noticed the subtle shift in Kirishima’s demeanor and, for a moment, felt a pang of something close to envy. But then he caught the playful way you were starting to wake up more fully, now playing with Michael’s fingers as she cooed at you softly, and his heart softened.

He hadn’t even realized he was still holding your shoes until you all moved toward the door. You had kicked them off before climbing into his bed, and now, they dangled from his hand almost absentmindedly. As the group moved toward the hallway, you noticed this detail, your eyes trailing down to the shoes he carried.

You flashed him a small, grateful smile, the kind that made his chest tighten in a way that both thrilled and unnerved him. Kirishima, still carrying you, glanced back at Bakugou with a knowing smile, as if to say, “You’ve got it bad, man.” But Bakugou just rolled his eyes and grumbled something under his breath, quickly pulling himself together.

Michael, noticing the shift in energy, started to hum softly as she continued to play with your fingers. The melody was light, calming, and you found yourself leaning into it, feeling more awake with each passing moment. Kirishima adjusted his grip on you slightly, his strong arms providing a sense of security that made you feel safe even as you slowly emerged from the remnants of sleep.

As you all moved through the apartment, the sound of Kirishima’s deep laugh echoed through the hallway, mixing with Michael’s softer giggles and Bakugou’s quiet, almost reluctant smile. The air was filled with a warm, easy camaraderie, the kind that made you feel like you were exactly where you were meant to be.

When you reached the door, Kirishima shifted you in his arms one last time before setting you down gently. You steadied yourself, feeling the coolness of the floor under your feet as you glanced back at Bakugou. His eyes met yours, and for a moment, the world seemed to shrink down to just the two of you. He still held your shoes, his grip on them almost tender, as if he wasn’t quite ready to let them—or you—go just yet.

But then, Kirishima’s voice cut through the moment, light and teasing as he clapped Bakugou on the shoulder. “Come on, man. Let’s get this breakfast before someone falls asleep again.”

Bakugou shot him a glare but didn’t argue, slipping your shoes back into your hands with a barely-there smile. You took them, your fingers brushing his for a fraction of a second, and then you were moving again, the moment slipping away but leaving behind a warmth that Bakugou knew he’d be carrying with him all day.

You slide into the back seat of Bakugou's car, feeling a sudden rush of awareness as you settle in beside Katsuki. Michael is already buckling up on your other side, and without missing a beat, she reaches over and links hands with you. Her grip is warm and reassuring, a silent promise that today would be full of lighthearted fun. Kirishima, ever the responsible one, turns around to check that everyone has their seatbelts on before starting the car. 

The engine roars to life, and with it, the reality of how close you are to Katsuki hits you all at once. His presence is magnetic, almost overwhelming, especially after everything that happened last night. You can feel the residual exhaustion and hunger from using your quirk so intensely, a gnawing sensation that you do your best to ignore for now.

As the car pulls out onto the street, the energy inside shifts from a sleepy calm to something more lively. Kirishima fiddles with the radio, and soon enough, the unmistakable beat of Mariah Carey’s “Fantasy” fills the car. Michael’s eyes light up instantly, and she nudges you with her shoulder, already swaying to the music.

“Come on!” she urges, her voice full of excitement. “Let’s sing!”

Without hesitation, you join in, your voice blending with Michael’s as you both belt out the lyrics. Kirishima doesn’t miss a beat, singing along from the front seat, his deep voice surprisingly melodic as he adds his own flair to the song. You’re all caught up in the moment, the music lifting your spirits, when you notice Bakugou sitting rigid beside you, his arms crossed over his chest, a slight huff escaping him.

You can’t help but laugh at his reluctance. “Oh, come on, Bakugou!” you tease, playfully nudging him with your elbow. “It’s a classic!”

He gives you a side-eye, his expression a mix of irritation and something else—something softer that he tries to hide. But he stays silent, refusing to join in on the fun. Kirishima catches the interaction and decides to jump in. “Bakugou’s more into heavy metal and some hip-hop,” he explains with a grin. “This might not be his thing.”

You tilt your head, considering this new information. “Heavy metal, huh? Interesting. I’m not really a fan of country music myself,” you admit, wrinkling your nose at the thought. “Can’t stand it, honestly.”

Michael laughs, shaking her head. “I never got into a lot of techno, but give me bounce or classical any day. Total opposites, I know, but they just do it for me.”

Kirishima nods in agreement. “I’m more into pop, heavy rock and metal, and uplifting songs. Anything that gets me pumped up, y’know?”

You smile, feeling the conversation flow easily. “I like a lot of different things,” you say, shrugging. But before you can say more, Michael pinches your side, causing you to squeal in surprise. The sound is high-pitched and full of playful energy, making Kirishima chuckle from the driver’s seat.

The playful atmosphere continues as you pull out your phone, deciding to check for any messages. Sure enough, you see a few texts from the girls, checking in on you. You quickly respond to them, making sure to include a little update for Michael as well before closing your phone and slipping it back into your pocket. When you look up, you catch Katsuki watching you, his eyes unreadable but intense.

As Kirishima’s car rumbles along the road, you’re still buzzing from the impromptu karaoke session and light teasing from earlier. But as the ride continues, you start to realize that sitting next to Katsuki is becoming a bit of a challenge. He’s taking up more space than he probably realizes, his broad shoulders edging into your side of the seat, and the middle seatbelt digging into your hip isn’t helping matters. The irritation begins to bubble up, and before you know it, you find yourself nudging him with your elbow.

“Move over, Bakugou. You’re hogging the seat,” you huff, trying to shove him gently to the side.

Katsuki narrows his eyes at you, his competitive nature flaring up at the challenge. “What are you talking about? I’m in my spot. You’re the one crowding me!” he snaps back, refusing to budge.

“Oh, please!” you retort, leaning in to push him further. “If your big booty wasn’t taking up the whole seat, we wouldn’t have this problem!”

Katsuki's eyes widen, his cheeks flushing slightly, though he’d never admit it was from anything other than irritation. “What did you just say?” he growls, leaning in as if to intimidate you, but you’re too fired up to back down.

Kirishima, who’s been focusing on the road, glances in the rearview mirror and lets out an exasperated sigh. “You two, knock it off! I swear, I’ll turn this car around if you don’t stop fighting!” His tone is that of a tired parent, though there’s a playful edge to it.

Michael, who had been laughing uncontrollably at the exchange, finally manages to catch her breath. “You both need to behave,” she chides, her voice laced with humor. “Seriously, act your age!”

You cross your arms and stick your tongue out at Katsuki, who rolls his eyes in response. “Tell Bakugou to back his big booty off the seat!” you complain, gesturing toward him dramatically.

Michael snorts, trying to suppress another fit of laughter. “Alright, alright, enough. Both of you—if you can’t share the seat like adults, you’re going to get a time-out.” She shoots you both a mock-serious look, but her grin gives her away.

Kirishima chimes in, playing along. “And the only way to avoid your punishment is to kiss and make up,” he announces, winking at Michael, who nods in agreement, her eyes sparkling with amusement.

You and Katsuki both freeze, your wide eyes locking in mutual surprise. The thought of actually having to kiss each other—fake punishment or not—sends a jolt of panic through you. Katsuki, who rarely loses his cool, looks uncharacteristically flustered, his cheeks burning a deeper shade of red. You can’t tell if it’s from embarrassment or anger, but it’s probably a mix of both.

Before the tension can build any further, Kirishima’s voice cuts through the air, filled with relief. “Hey, we’re here! ‘Happy Times Diner,’ with the smiling sunny-side-up egg sign!” He points out the window as the cheerful logo comes into view, but you’re not even listening. 

Without a second thought, you find the window button and press it down, the rush of cool air hitting your face as you throw yourself out of the moving car. “See ya!” you shout, hitting the ground running and bolting toward the diner’s entrance.

“WHAT THE FUCK!”

Behind you, you hear Kirishima and Michael’s panicked voices. “Wait—did she just—?!” Kirishima stammers, his hands gripping the steering wheel in disbelief. “Are you serious?!” Michael yells, her laughter returning as she watches you sprint across the traffic filled streets.

But Katsuki is already out of the car before it’s fully stopped, hot on your heels, his expression a mix of frustration and determination. “Get back here, idiot!” he yells, his voice cutting through the noise of the street as he chases after you, his strides long and powerful.

You can hear his footsteps getting closer, your heart racing not just from the run but from the thrill of the chase. The diner’s neon lights grow brighter as you near the entrance, the smell of sizzling bacon and freshly brewed coffee wafting through the air, urging you to move faster.

Kirishima finally parks the car with a sharp turn, Michael already halfway out of her seat, both of them watching the chaotic scene unfold. “You’ve got to be kidding me,” Kirishima mutters, shaking his head with a mix of disbelief and amusement.

Michael, catching her breath from laughing so hard, shouts, “Hurry up! Don’t let her get away, Bakugou!”

You glance back, just in time to see Katsuki close the gap, his hand reaching out to grab your arm. You barely manage to slip through the diner door before he catches you, the bell above it jingling wildly as you dash inside. The startled faces of the other diners turn toward you, but you don’t care—you made it.

But as Katsuki bursts through the door, his expression shifts from frustration to something more determined, his eyes locking onto yours with a look that says you’re not getting away that easily. The playful argument, the teasing, all of it fades into the background as the two of you stand there, catching your breath in the middle of the diner.

Kirishima and Michael finally catch up, breathless and laughing, with Michael shaking her head at the spectacle you two have made. “You guys are nuts,” she says, her eyes still twinkling with amusement.

Kirishima, always the peacekeeper, claps Bakugou on the shoulder. “Come on, let’s eat before you two start another round. Breakfast is on me.”

You exchange a glance with Katsuki's, the adrenaline slowly ebbing away, leaving behind a strange mix of embarrassment and something unspoken. But whatever it is, you push it aside for now, your focus shifting to the delicious smells filling the diner. It’s time to eat, and for the moment, that’s all that matters.

You brush off the dirt from your converse as you walk up to the hostess stand, acting as if sprinting into a diner mid-morning is the most natural thing in the world. Katsuki's heavy breathing subsides behind you as he catches up, his glare searing into the back of your head, but you ignore it, greeting the hostess with a bright smile.

“Party of four, please,” you say, your tone pleasant and unbothered.

The hostess, a young woman with her hair neatly tied back in a bun, blinks at you before nodding, her gaze briefly shifting to the slightly disheveled Bakugou. “Of course! Would you like a booth or a table?” she asks, her voice warm despite the busy din of the restaurant around you.

“A booth, please, if possible,” you reply, then glance back at your friends, noticing Michael’s smirk and Kirishima’s raised brow. With a playful grin, you add, “And could we also get a child’s menu?”

The hostess tilts her head, but doesn’t question it, grabbing a kids’ menu along with the regular ones and a small pack of crayons. “Sure thing! Follow me, please.”

As she leads the way, you take in the cozy atmosphere of the diner. The smell of sizzling bacon and freshly brewed coffee fills the air, mixing with the warm, buttery scent of fresh biscuits. The place is bustling with families, couples, and groups of friends enjoying their breakfast, the clatter of dishes and cheerful chatter creating a lively ambiance. You feel a sense of comfort as you follow the hostess to a sunlit booth by the window, where the rays of morning light pour in, bathing the space in a golden glow.

‘Awe, yeah!’

You slide into the booth, settling in on one side as Michael takes the spot next to you, Kirishima and Bakugou sitting across from you. The hostess hands out the menus, placing the child’s one in front of you with a wink. “Feel free to order anything off the menu,” she explains, her voice carrying the cheerful cadence of someone who loves their job. “We also have fresh biscuits and a buffet-style breakfast. Enjoy!”

“Thank you!” you chirp, flashing her another smile before she walks away.

As you start to stretch your arms over your head, enjoying the spaciousness of the booth, Michael gives you a knowing look. “So, care to explain what that little stunt in the car was about?” she asks, one eyebrow arched.

You meet her gaze with an innocent smile, feigning ignorance. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you reply, shrugging as you pick up the crayons and start doodling on the kids’ menu, as if that were your main concern.

Michael’s eyes narrow, but there’s a playful glint in them. “Really? Because it looked like you were trying to escape something—like, oh, I don’t know, a certain someone,” she teases, nodding her head toward Bakugou, who’s flipping through the menu with an annoyed expression.

You roll your eyes and sigh dramatically, setting down the crayon. “It’s not the first time I’ve had to make a quick exit to avoid a situation,” you admit with a casual shrug, as if jumping out of moving cars was a regular occurrence.

Kirishima, who had been sipping his water, chokes back a laugh. “Has she done this before?” he whispers to Michael, who shakes her head with an amused grin.

“No, but she’s wonderful, isn’t she?” Michael replies softly, clearly entertained by the entire ordeal.

You glance at Katsuki, who’s still visibly flustered, his fingers gripping the edge of his menu a bit too tightly. You can’t help but smirk, leaning forward a little as you meet his eyes. “And don’t pout, Bakugou. I think you’re nice and all, but I don’t kiss with an audience,” you tease, keeping your tone light.

Katsuki's face turns a deeper shade of red, his eyes widening in surprise. He quickly averts his gaze, staring down at his menu as if it suddenly became the most interesting thing in the world. “Tch, whatever,” he mutters under his breath, but you can tell he’s rattled.

Kirishima, sensing the tension, stands up abruptly and grabs Katsuki's arm. “Come on, man, let’s go check out the buffet,” he says, dragging him out of the booth before Katsuki can protest. “You’ll feel better with some food in you.”

Katsuki stumbles slightly as Kirishima pulls him along, shooting you one last flustered look before allowing himself to be guided to the buffet. You watch them go, biting your lip to suppress a giggle as Michael nudges you with her elbow.

“You’re incorrigible, you know that?” Michael says with a grin, her eyes sparkling with mischief as she picks up her menu. “Poor Bakugou didn’t know what hit him.”

You laugh softly, feeling a bit flustered yourself now that the adrenaline from earlier is wearing off. “I didn’t mean to fluster him that much,” you admit, your fingers absentmindedly tracing the edges of the menu. “I just didn’t want to make things weird.”

Michael shakes her head, still smiling. “Well, you definitely succeeded in making things interesting.” She glances toward the buffet, where Kirishima is piling food onto a plate while Katsuki stands beside him, clearly still trying to compose himself. “But I’m sure he’ll survive.”

You nod, taking a deep breath to steady yourself as you glance over the menu. The variety of dishes is impressive—pancakes, waffles, omelets, bacon, sausage, and so much more. Your stomach growls, reminding you of how hungry and thirsty you are after everything that’s happened. You’re about to suggest something when Michael suddenly points to a section of the menu.

“Ooh, look, they have a build-your-own breakfast platter. You can mix and match whatever you want!” she says excitedly, her eyes lighting up.

You nod in agreement, scanning the options. “That sounds perfect. I think I’ll get one of those,” you say, your mood lifting at the thought of a hearty meal. You glance back at Bakugou and Kirishima, who are heading back with their plates loaded with food. “Think they’ll be okay?”

Michael chuckles, reaching over to smooth your hair. “They’ll be fine. Now, what’s the first thing you’re going to eat? Pancakes? Eggs? Bacon?” You smile, the earlier tension melting away as you focus on the delicious options in front of you. “I think I’ll start with pancakes and go from there,” you say, feeling your excitement build.

As you start planning out your meal, the boys return to the booth, setting their plates down. Katsuki's face is still slightly red, but he seems more composed now, though he pointedly avoids looking directly at you. Kirishima, on the other hand, grins as he slides back into the booth.

“Alright, let’s dig in!” Kirishima declares, handing you a plate of fresh biscuits as you and Michael eagerly pick up your menus to make your final decisions.

– At the buffet counter

Kirishima takes a deep breath as he walks up to the buffet, his eyes scanning the various trays of food lined up in a mouthwatering display. He reaches for a plate, trying to focus on piling it high with biscuits, sausages, and hash browns. He glances at Bakugou, who’s standing beside him, scrutinizing a stack of pancakes with a furrowed brow.

“Dude, chill out. She was just messing with you,” Kirishima says quietly, his tone calm and reassuring as he nudges Katsuki with his elbow.

Katsuki huffs, his gaze shifting from the pancakes to Kirishima’s plate. “I’m not worked up,” he grumbles, though the tight grip on his plate says otherwise. “Just trying to figure out why American pancakes are so flat. Japanese ones are thicker.”

Kirishima chuckles, shaking his head as he adds another sausage to his plate. “No idea, man. Maybe it’s the flour or something. But they’re still good, right?”

Katsuki doesn’t respond immediately, his eyes narrowing as he admires the quality of the food. The golden-brown pancakes, the crispy bacon, the perfectly seasoned hash browns—it all looks delicious. He nods reluctantly, grabbing a few pancakes for himself. “Yeah, they look alright.”

—Back

As they finish filling their plates and rejoin you both, Michael has finished scanning the menu, her eyes lighting up when she spots the peach and strawberry French toast. She ordered a few slices on her plate, adding a dollop of whipped cream on top and thanked your waitress as she placed it down. Kirishima watches her, a grin spreading across his face.

“French toast, huh?” Kirishima teases, leaning in to steal a bite from her plate. Michael playfully swats his hand away before feeding him a piece herself, the sweet syrup dripping from the fork.

“Try it, it’s amazing,” she says with a wink, her smile brightening even more when Kirishima’s eyes widen in delight at the taste.

“Damn, that’s good,” Kirishima admits, offering her a piece of bacon in return. Michael accepts it with a grin, and the two of them share a quick, playful exchange of food, laughing quietly to themselves.

Meanwhile, back at the booth, you and Katsuki sit across from each other, the space between you feeling both too close and too far at the same time. The din of the restaurant seems to fade into the background as the two of you avoid eye contact, each aware of the other’s presence in a way that feels almost too intense. It’s like being back in high school, the awkwardness of a first date settling over the table as you both struggle to find something to say. 

‘If I had ever dated anyone else.’

You can’t help but feel silly. This isn’t how things are supposed to be—just two friends grabbing breakfast after a night of chaos. But the emotions from the past 48 hours, the stress, the exhaustion, the unspoken tension, all come crashing down on you at once. Your stomach tightens, and suddenly, the food in front of you doesn’t seem as appetizing. There’s a hot and cold feeling running up and down your spine that settles on the back of your neck before a bubble of hot air rises in your throat. You pick at your plate, pushing a piece of pancake around with your fork as you try to calm the fluttering in your chest.

Katsuki's eyes, a sharp vermillion that usually exude confidence, are now watching you with an intensity that makes your breath hitch. He’s clearly flustered too, his usual bravado tempered by something softer, more uncertain. He picks up his silverware, but his hands are so sweaty that he drops his fork with a clatter, his jaw tightening in frustration.

Kirishima and Michael return to the lack of conversation, laughing quietly about something, but the atmosphere shifts when they see you and Bakugou sitting there in tense silence. Kirishima readjusts in the booth, across from you, with Michael next to him. Kirishima’s eyes dart between you and Bakugou, who’s now glaring at his dropped fork, clearly annoyed.

Sensing the awkwardness, Kirishima subtly kicks Bakugou under the table. Katsuki jerks slightly, his eyes widening as he glances up at Kirishima, who’s giving him a pointed look that says, Chill out, man.

Michael, catching on, leans in slightly, trying to diffuse the tension. “So, how’s everyone enjoying the food?” she asks brightly, cutting into another piece of her French toast. She’s such a mom. It's so good and it hurts too. 

“Good,” you mumble, but your voice lacks the usual enthusiasm. You’re too focused on the knot in your stomach and the way Bakugou’s eyes keep flicking back to you. You know he’s trying to gauge what’s wrong, but his intense stare only makes you more self-conscious.

Bakugou picks up his silverware again, but his hands are still too clammy, and the knife slips from his grasp, clattering against the plate. He curses under his breath, clearly frustrated with himself, and you’re pretty sure you see Kirishima holding back a grin as he tries to cover for his friend.

“Well, you know,” Kirishima says, his tone light and teasing as he nudges Bakugou’s arm, “we’ve all had a pretty rough couple of days. I’m sure once we start eating, we’ll feel better.”

Michael nods in agreement, but she doesn’t miss the way you’re just picking at your food. Her eyes soften as she looks at you, clearly concerned. “Hey, you okay?” she asks, her voice quieter, more personal.

You force a smile, trying to play it off. “Yeah, just… I don’t know, I guess I’m not as hungry as I thought.” But even as you say it, you know it’s not just the food that’s making you uneasy.

Bakugou, who’s been quiet this whole time, finally speaks up, though his voice is still gruff and low. “You should eat something,” he says, not quite meeting your eyes, but the concern is there in his tone.

You nod, trying to muster the appetite to take a bite, but the tension at the table doesn’t exactly help. You notice Bakugou trying again to steady his silverware, and this time he succeeds, but he still seems off-balance. Kirishima gives him another nudge under the table, trying to get him to relax, but Bakugou just glares at him in return.

Michael, sensing the mood needs a shift, suddenly beams and claps her hands together. “How about we all try something from each other’s plates? It’s a good way to break the ice,” she suggests, her smile warm and inviting as she looks around the table.

Kirishima quickly jumps on board, grinning as he holds out a piece of bacon. “I’ll trade you some bacon for a bite of that pancake,” he offers to Bakugou, who hesitates but eventually relents, swapping the food with a begrudging grunt.

Michael cuts off a piece of her French toast and offers it to you, and you take it with a small smile, grateful for the distraction. As you taste the sweetness of the syrup and the tang of the fruit, you feel a bit of the tension ease, if only just a little.

Bakugou watches the exchange, still a bit stiff, but when he sees you relax, his own posture loosens, if only slightly. He starts to eat, focusing on his food instead of the awkwardness that still lingers.

The mood isn’t completely back to normal, but it’s better, and as the conversation turns to lighter topics, you feel the knot in your stomach slowly begin to tighten more. 

The booth felt stifling as you tried to push down the rising tide of anxiety. Your chest tightened with every passing second, the laughter and chatter around you becoming a distant hum as your thoughts spiraled. You needed a moment—just a moment to gather yourself before the dark walls closed in completely.

“I’ll be right back,” you mumbled, your voice strained, barely audible over the noise. You forced a smile that didn’t reach your eyes and slipped out of the booth, trying to appear casual. Michael’s eyes followed you with concern, and for a second, she made a move to get up. But Kirishima caught her hand, gently pulling her back into her seat. 

“Let’s give her a minute,” he whispered, his voice low and calming. “We can tease them later, okay? She might just need some space.”  Michael hesitated but nodded, her gaze lingering on the path you took to the restroom. She trusted Kirishima’s judgment, though the worry in her eyes didn’t fade.

As you pushed open the restroom door, the cool air hit your face, a stark contrast to the warmth of the restaurant. The door swung shut behind you with a soft click, sealing you off from the world outside. You made a beeline for the nearest stall, your breaths coming in shallow, uneven gasps. The room spun slightly as the adrenaline surged through your veins, making it hard to focus on anything other than the rising panic threatening to engulf you.

The cold, sterile environment of the restroom provided a temporary refuge from the overwhelming storm brewing inside you. As you stared at the plain, white walls, the gravity of everything crashed down, threatening to suffocate you. The memories, the fears—they all collided in your mind, a whirlwind of emotions you couldn’t escape. The sting of your past was raw, and your chest tightened with each breath, each beat of your heart pounding louder in your ears.

You leaned against the stall door, trying to steady yourself, but the torrent of thoughts was relentless. Images and memories flashed through your mind—Kyoya’s cold, calculating eyes; the suffocating atmosphere of the club; the girls you felt you’d left behind, your unknown fate. The weight of your old life pressed down on you like a vice, and the new pressures you faced only made it worse. The thought of finding a new job, of dealing with lawyers, of that old phone sitting in the bank with secrets too dangerous to reveal, all swirled together in a sickening mix of dread and hopelessness.

And then there was Bakugou. What the hell were you thinking, letting him into your life like this? Calling yourself a sugar baby in front of him, of all things—what a stupid, reckless move. Now everything felt awkward, forced, and you couldn’t help but wonder when he’d reveal his true colors. 

How long before he pulled the rug out from under you? When would he drop the knight-in-shining-armor act and show you the real him? The media painted him as a ticking time bomb with an ego and temper that could rival the worst. Was he really different, or was this just another manipulation, another trap waiting to snap shut the moment you let your guard down?

God, you’d seen too much. You’d spent countless hours watching his life through a lens because Kyoya had been obsessed with him, wanted to mold himself into a Bakugou clone. It was creepy, unsettling, and you hated that you knew so much about someone you’d never really met until now. Your skin crawled just thinking about it, and the bile rose in your throat. 

You needed help—real help. Therapy, maybe. But you didn’t trust therapists anymore, not after everything you’d been through. And you weren’t going back to depression, not after what those vices had done to you. No, you had to face this, somehow. But it felt like too much, too fast, and now it was all coming down at breakfast.

‘Fuck those pancakes.’

You were crying softly now, tears slipping down your cheeks as you tried to hold yourself together. The soft sobs were barely audible, but they echoed loudly in the empty restroom, a testament to the pain you’d kept buried for so long. You reached for some toilet paper, only to find the roll empty. A frustrated whimper escaped your lips as you frantically searched the stall, but there was nothing.

Taking a shaky breath, you steeled yourself and called out, your voice cracking, “Excuse me? Could you… could you pass me some toilet paper, please?”

There was a pause, then the sound of soft footsteps approaching your stall. A moment later, a hand appeared under the stall door, holding a fresh roll. “Here,” a woman’s voice said, calm and familiar.

You reached for it, muttering a quiet “Thank you” as you wiped your face, trying to regain some semblance of composure. But as you took the roll from her, your eyes caught a glint of something—a ring on her finger. Your heart skipped a beat as recognition set in, your breath hitching in your throat.

It was your old engagement ring.

Chapter Text

The design was unmistakable—elegant yet simple, with a small cluster of diamonds set in a delicate band. It was a ring you knew well, one you had worn with pride and love once upon a time. The sight of it now, on someone else’s hand, sent a wave of cold dread washing over you, freezing the blood in your veins.

Your mind raced, trying to make sense of it. How could she have it? How did it end up here, now, after everything? Your stomach twisted painfully, the panic threatening to overtake you as the realization sank in.

You knew that ring, and more importantly, you knew who it belonged to. It was hers now. The woman who had replaced you, who had taken your place in Kyoya’s life. The one who had everything you had once dreamed of, everything you had lost.

The toilet paper roll slipped from your grasp, hitting the floor with a soft thud as your hands trembled. You couldn’t breathe, the walls of the stall closing in on you as the memories came flooding back in vivid detail. The engagement, the promises, the life you had once imagined—all shattered, all gone, replaced by a reality that was so much darker, so much more twisted than you had ever imagined.

The woman outside the stall shifted slightly, her shoes making a soft scuffling sound on the tiled floor. “Are you okay?” she asked, her smooth tone gentle, concerned. But to you, it sounded like a knife being twisted in an old, unhealed wound.

You couldn’t answer. You couldn’t move. The world was spinning out of control, and all you could do was sit there, frozen in place, as the tears flowed freely, your breath coming in ragged, desperate gasps.

What was happening? Why now, of all times? You had tried so hard to leave it all behind, to move on, to start over. But here it was, your past, staring you in the face, mocking you, reminding you of everything you had lost, everything you had tried to forget.

Your fingers clenched around the edges of Katsuki's jacket, your knuckles white as you fought to keep yourself from breaking down completely. But it was no use. The panic was too strong, the fear too overwhelming. All you wanted to do was run, to escape, to get away from everything that hurt, everything that threatened to pull you back into the darkness you had barely escaped.

“Yeah, I’m fine!”

But there was nowhere to go. No way out. And so, you sat there, helpless, as the world around you crumbled, leaving you with nothing but the pain, the fear, and the haunting reminder of what you had once been, and what you had become.

You pressed your back against the stall door, trying to keep yourself grounded, your fingers trembling as they clutched the flimsy toilet paper. You’d asked for it as a simple act, a mundane request to anchor yourself to the present. But that ring—the one you knew all too well—had shattered that fragile tether. The memories associated with it were too powerful, too overwhelming to ignore.

Sayuri Minami, known to the world as Gleaming Siren, had taken so much more than just a ring from you. Actually that was a complete lie. She took your problem away because if the fucker did at least love you he wouldn’t have been fooling around with her. But everyone in the office knew you two were together but oh well. 

She was a tall, striking woman, her figure accentuated by well tailored outfits. Her midnight blue hair flowed down her back like a waterfall, and her bright, unnatural golden eyes always seemed to pierce through you, stripping away any defenses you might have. Sayuri had an aura that demanded attention, one that made everyone around her feel both drawn to and intimidated by her. 

She was everything you once thought you had to be—strong, confident, alluring. But her beauty was skin-deep. Underneath the facade lay a personality that was cold and calculating, traits that made her as dangerous as she was captivating. She was in the top 30 heroes, but you knew that wasn’t enough for her. She was always striving, always clawing her way up the ranks, no matter the cost.

You took a deep, shaky breath, trying to calm your nerves. The last thing you needed was to fall apart in front of her. You’d already done that once, and it had cost you dearly. But as you struggled to regain control, you heard the restroom door creak open, and light footsteps echoed through the empty space.

You froze, your breath hitching as you instinctively held back another sob. There was a brief pause, then the sound of someone quietly moving closer. You clenched your fists, trying to steady yourself. You couldn’t let anyone see you like this—vulnerable, broken.

But it wasn’t Sayuri’s voice you heard next. It was Michael’s.

“Hey… you in here?” she whispered, concern lacing her tone.

For a moment, you considered staying silent, hiding away in the stall until she left. But Michael knew you too well. She wouldn’t leave until she was sure you were okay. And right now, you weren’t okay. You couldn’t lie to her and you wouldn't.

Wiping your eyes quickly, you pushed open the stall door before she could find you huddled inside. Michael’s eyes widened with concern when she saw your tear-streaked face. She opened her mouth to say something, but you quickly held up a hand, gesturing for her to stay quiet.

You moved to the sink, grabbing some paper towels and running them under cold water. The coolness helped, grounding you as you patted your face and nose, trying to erase any trace of the tears that had fallen. Michael stood behind you, her worry palpable as she watched you closely. She didn’t say a word, but you could feel her questions hanging in the air.

As you turned off the faucet and dried your face, Michael finally pulled out her phone, typing something quickly. The vibration in your pocket caught your attention, and you hesitated before pulling out your phone, knowing exactly what she would ask.

‘What happened?!’

You stared at the screen, debating how much to tell her. Michael was your friend, your closest confidant, but even she didn’t know everything. Not about Kyoya, not about Sayuri, and certainly not about the twisted history you shared with them.

But you couldn’t hide this. Not now. You took a deep breath, still feeling shaky, and leaned in close to her, lowering your voice to a whisper. “We need to leave. Now .”

Michael’s eyes widened in alarm, but she didn’t question you, just nodded, understanding the urgency in your voice. You glanced at the stall door, feeling a fresh wave of anxiety crashing over you. “That was the woman my ex left me for,” you explained in a low voice, your words trembling. “If she’s here… I don’t want to know if he is too.”

Michael’s face went through a myriad of emotions—shock, sympathy, and a flash of anger on your behalf. She nodded again, her expression hardening as she readjusted Kirishima’s jacket, which she had been wearing with a casual confidence that now seemed forced. She wasn’t just ready to leave; she was ready to protect you, no matter what.

‘Michael, I love you.’

You both exited the restroom quietly, but your heart was still racing, the fear and dread building with every step you took. Back at the booth, the atmosphere had shifted. Bakugou was surrounded by kids, some of whom were now crawling on him with unabashed excitement, while their embarrassed parents tried to wrangle them back. Kirishima was handling the situation with ease, answering the kids' questions with a big, friendly smile as they oohed and aahed at everything he said.

You noticed that the kids had play placemats that looked suspiciously like the one you had in front of you earlier. Kirishima must have grabbed it to help them with their puzzles and games. His enthusiasm was infectious, and for a moment, you were able to breathe, the sight of him interacting with the children calming your nerves.

Bakugou, however, was less at ease. He looked awkward, his usual confidence faltering as he tried to maintain his cool while tiny hands tugged at his shirt and poked at his spiky hair. He was clearly uncomfortable, but he didn’t pull away, his crimson eyes softening just a fraction as the kids continued to swarm around him. You could tell he wasn’t used to this kind of attention, at least not from such an innocent audience.

Michael quickly made her way over to Kirishima, leaning in to whisper something in his ear. His expression changed instantly, the playful smile fading as concern took over. He glanced at you, his brows furrowing slightly, but he didn’t say anything, just nodded and turned back to the kids with a forced grin.

The kids had moved on from Bakugou and Kirishima, their attention now focused on you and Michael. A few of them tugged at Michael’s sleeve, asking about her job. Bakugou seized the opportunity to tease Kirishima, making a comment that earned him an elbow to the ribs from the redhead.

One of the bolder kids, a little girl with pigtails and wide eyes, turned to you, curiosity written all over her face. “Are you a hero too?” she asked, her voice filled with awe.

You blinked, caught off guard by the question. But before you could respond, Bakugou answered for you, his voice gruff but not unkind. “She’s a hero,” he said, his gaze softening as he looked at the kids. “One of the best.”

Fuck him and his Bakughoe’ness

The kids gasped, their excitement renewed as they peppered you with questions. “What’s your quirk? What can you do? Why haven’t we seen you before?”

You forced a smile, trying to keep your voice steady as you answered them. “I work in a office most of the time,” you explained gently, trying to hide the unease still lingering in your chest. “So I’m not always in the spotlight.”

The kids seemed satisfied with your answer, their eyes shining with admiration as they asked more about your powers. But your focus was slipping, your mind still reeling from the encounter in the restroom. Michael, sensing your distress, stayed close, her hand resting lightly on your arm as a subtle gesture of support. Suddenly, a voice cut through the chatter, sharp and unmistakable. 

“Well, well, if it isn’t the underground hero herself.”

You turned, your heart plummeting as you saw Sayuri standing a few feet away, surrounded by a group of lower-ranked heroes from the agency. Some of them were clearly her friends, their adoring expressions making it clear they looked up to her. And standing just behind her, almost like a shadow, was Kyoya.

The sight of him hit you like a punch to the gut. Your breath caught in your throat, your pulse racing as the world seemed to slow down. His presence was suffocating, his eyes locked on you with a cold, calculating gaze that made your skin crawl. The last time you’d seen him, he’d been just as composed, just as manipulative, and the fear that had taken root in you back then flared up again, burning with an intensity you hadn’t expected.

Sayuri’s golden eyes were sharp, her lips curving into a smile that didn’t reach her eyes. She was shocked to see you, but she quickly masked it with that same confidence she always exuded. “Didn’t expect to see you here,” she said, her voice smooth, laced with a subtle condescension that made your blood boil.

You ignored her, focusing instead on the kids in front of you. You turned on your heels,  the cold air from the vent over your head blasting you as you tried to calm yourself. The noise of the restaurant was a welcome distraction, drowning out the noise of your racing thoughts. Michael stayed by your side, her presence a comforting anchor in the storm of emotions swirling around you. 

The tension was thick, almost suffocating as Sayuri continued to stare at you, waiting for a reaction. But you refused to give her the satisfaction. You flexed your hands calmly, keeping your movements steady and deliberate, even as your heart pounded in your chest.

Michael didn’t say a word, but you could feel her gaze on you, her concern palpable. She was ready to get you out of there, and so were you. You quickly whispered to her, your voice barely above a breath, “Let’s go.”

Michael didn’t hesitate. She nodded, her expression hardening as she prepared to help you make your escape. She picked up the bill, determination in her eyes as she took a step toward the exit.

But before you could leave, Kyoya spoke, his voice cutting through the tension like a knife. “Running away again, are we?” His tone was cold, devoid of any emotion, but his words were like daggers, each one striking you where it hurt the most.

You froze, your blood turning to ice. You’d been expecting this, dreading it, but the reality was so much worse. You wanted to turn, to face him, to tell him to go to hell. But your body wouldn’t move, fear and anger warring inside you, paralyzing you.

Sayuri’s smirk grew, her eyes gleaming with satisfaction as she watched you struggle. “Some things never change,” she remarked, her voice dripping with false sweetness.

You clenched your fists, your nails digging into your palms as you tried to keep your composure. You weren’t that person anymore. You weren’t the weak, broken shell they’d left behind. You were stronger now. You had to be. But you knew that Kyoya hated to be ignored and that’s the weapon you were best equipped with right now: 

Silence. 

Sayuri’s smirk faltered, and Kyoya’s eyes narrowed, but they didn’t move to stop you. Maybe they knew better, or maybe they just didn’t care. Either way, you didn’t wait for them to change their minds.

You didn’t say a word as you grabbed your things, your hands trembling slightly as you shoved your phone and wallet into your bag. Michael exchanged a quick glance with Kirishima, and he nodded, understanding the situation without needing to be told.

Bakugou, however, wasn’t so easily appeased. “What the hell happened?” he demanded, his voice low and dangerous as he looked between you and Michael.

But you couldn’t bring yourself to answer. You were too drained, too overwhelmed by everything that had just happened. You could still feel Kyoya’s cold gaze on you, his words echoing in your mind like a twisted mantra.

Michael stepped in, her voice calm but firm as she addressed Bakugou. “We need to go. Now.”

Bakugou didn’t argue, but his jaw tightened, his eyes flashing with a mix of anger and concern. He didn’t like being left in the dark, but he trusted Michael enough to follow her lead.

As you tried to walk to the exit, you could feel Sayuri’s eyes on you, her presence a dark shadow that clung to you, even as you tried to shake it off. But you kept walking, refusing to look back, refusing to let them see how much they still affected you.

As you reached for your bag, trying to ignore the heaviness in the air, Kirishima stood up with a friendly smile and excused himself to pay the bill. “Be right back,” he said with a wink, his tone light, but you could tell he sensed the tension. Bakugou just gave a curt nod, his sharp eyes still scanning the room, always alert.

Kirishima weaved through the crowd toward the front counter, leaving you with Michael, Bakugou, and the sea of children that had gradually become the restaurant’s main focus. For a moment, the attention drifted away from you and onto Kyoya, who had already started turning on his well-rehearsed charm. His smile was bright, his voice just the right mix of enthusiasm and warmth as he began engaging with the kids, effortlessly slipping into his role as the beloved public figure.

But you weren’t fooled. That charm was as fake as the smile plastered across Sayuri’s face. You caught sight of them both, standing side by side, a perfect picture of charisma and poise, but their eyes betrayed them—sharp and calculating, watching your every move.

That’s when you noticed them. Standing just behind Kyoya, almost like shadows, were Mr. Yakimoto and Ms. Hayashi. Mr. Yakimoto, your boss, looked as stern as ever, his brows furrowed slightly as he observed the scene. Ms. Hayashi, Kyoya’s manager, had a small, satisfied smile on her lips, her eyes gleaming with the same cold calculation that Kyoya’s did. They were all watching you, and suddenly, the weight of their stares felt suffocating.

But then, as if the universe decided to add insult to injury, the kids noticed Kirishima heading for the counter. Their excitement peaked, and they began to shout, their voices blending into a high-pitched chorus of disappointment. “Don’t go, Ground Zero and Red Riot! We want to stay with you!”

The entire restaurant fell silent, the attention shifting abruptly from whatever conversation or meal had been happening to the sudden outburst. It was like the room froze for a second, every eye turning toward Bakugou and Kirishima, who were now at the center of it all.

Kyoya’s reaction was instantaneous. His head snapped to the side, his gaze zeroing in on Bakugou with a look that was equal parts shock and fury. You could almost see the thoughts racing through his mind as he realized that the kids—no, everyone in this place—cared more about Bakugou and Kirishima than they ever would about him.

That was better than the pancakes.

But before Kyoya could even try to regain control of the situation, the kitchen doors swung open, and the staff poured out, eager to greet the heroes in their midst. The restaurant owner, a stout man with a wide grin, practically rushed forward, already fumbling in his pockets for something.

“Red Riot! Ground Zero! It’s such an honor to have you here!” he boomed, his voice filled with genuine excitement. He handed Kirishima a stack of coupons with a wide grin. “For your mentor Fat Gum. Tell him he’s welcome anytime, on the house!”

Kirishima, ever the polite one, accepted the coupons with a grateful nod and a broad smile, thanking the owner for his kindness. But you could see it—the strain beneath his smile, the way his eyes flickered back to you and Bakugou, to the tense standoff happening just a few feet away.

Because while Kirishima handled the sudden social onslaught with grace, the real storm was brewing between Bakugou and Kyoya. You could feel the tension crackling in the air, like static electricity just before a lightning strike. Bakugou’s expression was thunderous, his eyes narrowed into slits as he stared down Kyoya, who was doing his best to maintain his charming facade but failing miserably.

Sayuri, ever the opportunist, tried to move closer to you, her eyes glinting with something between curiosity and malice. But before she could get too close, Michael stepped in, her body blocking Sayuri’s path with a cold, silent warning. Sayuri hesitated, her smile faltering just slightly before she retreated, realizing she wouldn’t be able to get through Michael so easily.

As you watched the scene unfold, it finally clicked. This entire thing was a PR stunt—an attempt by Kyoya to capitalize on his recent climb to the top ten heroes, to be seen supporting a local business, playing the hero for a crowd of adoring fans. But no matter how much he tried, Kyoya had never had the star power of his idol, and now, surrounded by actual pro heroes, that fact was painfully clear.

The kids still hadn’t been wrangled by their parents, their excitement infectious as they bombarded Kirishima with questions. “Will you guys really do a school tour?” one of the kids asked, eyes wide with hope. Oh yeah, you had heard about that one through the grapevine. Most of the top hers and some retired did it about twice a year to motivate students and boost moral. 

Kirishima, always quick on his feet, crouched down to their level, his smile genuine as he reassured them. “You bet! That’s coming up pretty soon, so keep being good so we can visit your schools, okay!” His words only fueled the excitement, the kids bouncing with energy, their faces beaming. Kirishima let out a soft chuckle as he finally rose to his feet, the weight of the attention clearly taking its toll. But his eyes found Bakugou’s, a silent understanding passing between them as he began to make his way back.

The flash of cameras suddenly intensified, the media personnel who had been snapping pictures of the whole scene focusing now on the four of you. It was the perfect shot—the pro heroes, their fans, and… you.

Bakugou, who had remained quiet throughout the entire ordeal, finally moved. He stepped forward, his expression still dark but determined as he reached out for your hand. His eyes locked onto yours, and for a moment, everything else faded away—the noise, the cameras, the stares.

Without a word, he took your hand, his grip firm but not unkind. He pulled you in close, his movements smooth and deliberate, his gaze never leaving yours. “It’s a deal,” he said, his voice loud and clear, it wasn’t as if the two of you were actively talking but this setting and considering what your old role in the company was, it carried an undeniable weight. 

Before anyone could question it, before Kyoya could even react, Bakugou offered you his arm, the gesture as much a statement as it was an invitation. You understood immediately what he was doing, what he wanted to convey to everyone watching. Without hesitation, you took his arm, and in one fluid motion, he slid it around your waist, pulling you even closer. There’s an air of finality to it, as if he’s staking a claim that no one else can contest.

The cameras flashed again, capturing the moment, but Bakugou didn’t care. He turned, leading you toward the exit, his focus entirely on getting you out of there. Kirishima was right behind you, scooping up Michael as if she weighed nothing, carrying her like a princess as you all made a beeline for the door, her laughter bubbling up as they make a swift exit. The three of you move with purpose, the urgency in your steps clear as you try to escape before the media frenzy can latch onto anything more.

The restaurant erupted into chaos behind you. The staff, the patrons, everyone was trying to get one last look, one last picture, as you hurried out. But you didn’t stop, didn’t look back, even as Kyoya’s voice rang out, filled with a desperate fury.

“Wait!” he shouted, his voice cracking under the strain. But you didn’t slow down.

As soon as you stepped outside, the cool evening air hit you, a welcome relief from the stifling atmosphere inside. Kirishima set Michael down gently, the both of them quickly sliding into the backseat of the car as Bakugou grabbed the keys from him. 

You barely had time to register the sound of the car unlocking before Bakugou was opening the passenger door for you, his movements still precise, controlled. You slid into the shotgun seat, your heart pounding as you fastened your seatbelt, watching Bakugou out of the corner of your eye as he moved with the same single-minded determination.

He slid into the driver’s seat, the car roaring to life as he gripped the steering wheel, his knuckles white. Kirishima and Michael were barely settled in the backseat before Bakugou floored it, the car peeling out of the parking lot with a squeal of tires.

Behind you, you caught a glimpse of Kyoya bursting through the doors, a camera crew hot on his heels, but they were too late. Bakugou sped down the street, leaving them behind in a cloud of dust.You can’t help yourself—you wave goodbye to him, adding a little flourish for good measure, and for the first time all morning, you feel a sense of satisfaction.

A silent goodbye to the man who had once held so much power over you.

But as you turned back around, your heart finally beginning to calm, you felt a strange sense of relief wash over you. You were leaving it all behind—Kyoya, Sayuri, the lies, the manipulation. All of it.

And you weren’t alone. Bakugou’s hand rested on the gear shift, his expression still hard, but there was a softness in his eyes when he glanced over at you, a silent promise that he wouldn’t let them get to you again. Kirishima’s voice came from the backseat, a light-hearted joke that you barely registered, but it eased the tension in the car nonetheless. Michael leaned her head against the window, a soft smile playing on her lips as she watched the city lights blur past.

For the first time in a long time, you felt safe. And maybe, just maybe, that was enough.

As the car speeds down the road, the adrenaline begins to wear off, and Bakugou, his eyes still focused on the road ahead, asks, “What the hell happened back there?”

You take a deep breath, trying to collect your thoughts, and then you start to explain, “I met Sayuri in the bathroom earlier.”

Kirishima immediately perks up, his expression turning serious. “Sayuri? You mean, Sayuri that tried to hit on me at that hero party? I thought I was gonna have to jump out of the bathroom window before Sero came in and saved my ass.”

His words make you laugh, but it’s a hollow sound. “Yeah, that Sayuri. I didn’t know it was her at first. I was crying in the bathroom because everything just hit me all at once, and I asked the person who walked in for some tissues… It was her.” You pause, the next part making your stomach churn. “And she was wearing my old engagement ring.”

The car falls into stunned silence. Bakugou’s hand instinctively moves to the dashboard, and he quickly turns off the radio, the music cutting out abruptly. “What did you just say?” His voice is low, dangerous, as if daring the world to throw anything else at you today.

You repeat yourself, the words feeling heavier the second time around. Michael, sitting in the back, makes a disgusted noise, wrinkling her nose in disdain. “That’s so gross! Thank god Kyoya isn’t trying to turn her into a version of you 2.0. Seriously, that would’ve been a whole new level of weird.”

Kirishima’s face twists in discomfort. “I mean, I get recycling and all, but that’s not manly at all. You don’t just give another person a ring you proposed to someone else with. That’s just… wrong. And I’m not gonna lie, I love kids and all, but that was a lot for breakfast.”

You manage a small, apologetic smile, turning in your seat to face Kirishima. “I’m really sorry about breakfast.”

He waves off your concern, shaking his head. “Nah, don’t worry about it.”

“But you paid for it—”

“Actually,” Kirishima cuts you off, nodding toward Bakugou, “Bakugou already did when he got up to grab new silverware.”

You turn to look at Bakugou, but he keeps his eyes fixed on the road, refusing to meet your gaze. “Where did the whole ‘deal’ thing come from?” you ask, curious. You know the answer, but you wanna hear it from his lips anyway. 

“I did it to get everyone off our backs,” Bakugou replies, his tone gruff and unapologetic.

But you know better, and a small smile tugs at the corners of your lips. “You did it to piss off Kyoya, didn’t you?”

He doesn’t respond immediately, but you catch the slightest twitch of his mouth. “Maybe,” he mutters, his voice so low you almost miss it. “And because I don’t want you crying anymore.”

Before you can say anything else, the car’s Bluetooth system beeps, and Izuku’s name pops up on the screen, followed by a long list of missed calls and messages. Bakugou’s expression shifts, and without hesitating, he presses the button to answer.

“Midoriya,” he says gruffly, but there’s an underlying note of concern in his voice.

At the same time, your own phone, along with Kirishima’s and Michael’s, start buzzing incessantly. Notifications flood in—news outlets, social media mentions, texts from friends and colleagues—all asking the same thing: What’s the deal with your “double date”?

Your eyes widen in shock, and Kirishima, noticing your reaction, leans over, his big frame practically taking up half the car, and cranks up the volume on the car speakers.

Izuku’s voice fills the car, his tone panicked and slightly breathless. “Kacchan, what the hell happened? I just got a notification about you guys trending, and it’s all over the news! I thought we were keeping things casual!”

You hear another voice in the background—Todoroki’s, calm and measured as he says something you can’t quite make out. You lean forward, bringing the phone closer to your face as if that will somehow help you hear better. “Hey, Izuku! Hey, Todoroki!” you call out, trying to sound as nonchalant as possible, despite the chaos unfolding around you.

Izuku’s voice immediately softens as he hears you. “Hey, are you okay? What happened back there?”

You let out a sigh, trying to downplay the situation. “I’m fine. I had ‘scary dog privilege’ with the three stooges.” You chuckle, but it’s short-lived as Michael reaches over and pinches your arm playfully, a mock glare on her face.

The guys’ voices warm with concern, and you can almost picture them leaning toward the phone, their worry palpable even through the speaker. “We were worried when we saw the headlines,” Todoroki adds, his voice smooth and reassuring. 

The car speeds along the highway, Bakugou’s grip on the wheel tight, his eyes focused on the road ahead, 

“What are the articles saying?” 

Before you can respond, Kirishima passes his phone over to you, his face flushed with embarrassment as he sheepishly says, “Uh, it’s a lot. Might be best if you see for yourself.”

You take his phone and begin scrolling through the notifications, each headline more sensational than the last. Your heart skips a beat as you see the main story plastered across every major news outlet: “Number 2 and Number 7 Heroes Spotted on Double Date! Who Are the Mysterious Women?” The accompanying photos are startlingly clear—images of you and Michael, both wearing the heroes’ jackets, smiling and laughing as the four of you leave the restaurant together.

The articles are relentless in their speculation, questioning who the two “mystery women” are and how long you’ve been dating the heroes. There are interviews with the restaurant staff and patrons, who gush about how friendly and down-to-earth the heroes were. The children, particularly, are highlighted, their eyes shining as they talk about meeting Red Riot and Ground Zero. Some even go into detail about how kind Kirishima was, smiling and chatting with them despite the chaos.

One article stands out—a feature on the restaurant owner, who couldn’t be happier with the unexpected visit. He’s quoted saying, “It was an honor to have such esteemed heroes in our humble establishment. We hope they come back and bring their lovely ladies with them. They’re welcome anytime!” The pride in his words is evident, and you can almost picture him beaming as he speaks.

As you scroll further, you see more pictures of Kirishima carrying Michael out of the restaurant, her laughter caught mid-sound, her head thrown back in joy. The articles describe them as “in love,” their connection undeniable as Kirishima gazes at her with such care and affection. The media is eating it up, and you can’t help but feel a pang of anxiety as you realize the scrutiny you’re all under.

But the most unsettling part is how the articles focus on you and Bakugou. They detail how openly affectionate Bakugou was with you, from holding your hand to pulling you close to his side. The media has already spun a narrative of a deep, passionate relationship between you two, and the speculation is wild. You can feel your cheeks heating up as you read, your thoughts swirling.

Before you can say anything, Todoroki’s voice cuts through your thoughts. “The media is so nosy,” he says, his tone carrying a hint of exasperation. “I can’t deal with it.” His words catch you off guard, and despite everything, you burst into laughter. “Todoroki, you do know that I’m technically part of the media, right?”

There’s a brief pause, and then Todoroki responds in his usual deadpan manner, “Yes, but you act with dignity and grace, unlike them.”

Michael, who’s been silently reading over your shoulder, lets out an exaggerated “Aww!” as she clutches her chest dramatically. “Todoroki, you smooth talker! That was adorable!” Your face is heating up as you remember his jacket that’s in your new apartment right now. 

But before you can even react, Bakugou’s hand darts out and he snatches the phone from the dashboard, cutting the conversation short. “What the hell do you want?” he growls, clearly irritated by the whole situation.

You catch a glimpse of the skyline in the distance, the city bathed in the warm, golden light of the early  afternoon, and you allow yourself to relax a little. But then Izuku’s voice crackles back through the speakers, breaking the peace.

“Have you guys picked out your tuxes for the Hero Gala yet?” Izuku asks, his tone light but with an underlying excitement that’s impossible to miss.

Bakugou lets out a low growl of annoyance, clearly not thrilled with the topic. “Tch, I don’t even wanna go to that damn thing,” he mutters, gripping the steering wheel a bit tighter. It’s no shock to you later when Kirishima shows you the stockpile of steering wheels Bakugou has in the trunk for replacements. 

Michael, who had been leaning against Kirishima’s shoulder, suddenly perks up, her eyes sparkling with interest. “Oh, but you have to! I’ve always wanted to have a spicy dance with Hawks at one of these galas. It’s like a dream come true!” she says, her voice dripping with enthusiasm.

Kirishima looks slightly taken aback by her confession, his expression a mix of surprise and something else you can’t quite place. “Hawks, huh? I didn’t know you had your eye on him,” he says, trying to keep his tone light but failing to hide the slight edge in his voice.

Michael just grins, her eyes twinkling with mischief. “Who wouldn’t? He’s got that whole carefree, bad boy vibe going on. Plus, he’s a phenomenal dancer!” You chuckle softly, shaking your head at their banter. “You know, there was a pro hero a few years back that caught my eye too,” you say casually, earning a curious glance from Bakugou.

“Oh yeah? Who?” he asks, his tone a mix of curiosity and something else that makes your heart skip a beat.

You shrug, a playful smile tugging at your lips. “Oh, just someone who always seemed to do things their own way, didn’t care what anyone thought. A bit of a troublemaker, really.”

Bakugou narrows his eyes at you, clearly not amused by your teasing. “Troublemaker, huh? Sounds like a real pain in the ass.”

Izuku’s laughter fills the car, and you can’t help but join in, the sound lightening the mood even further. “Kaachan, it’s for charity,” Izuku reminds him, his tone gentle but firm. “And it’s a good opportunity to show your support for the cause.”

Bakugou sighs heavily, clearly not thrilled with the idea but relenting nonetheless. “Fine, whatever. I’ll go, but don’t expect me to enjoy it.”

You glance over at him, a soft smile on your lips. “It’s just one night. Besides, you clean up pretty well when you put in the effort.”

Bakugou snorts, but you catch the faintest hint of a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Yeah, yeah. I’ll believe it when I see it.”

The conversation shifts as you get an idea, something that could turn the upcoming event into a fun group activity. “Hey, Izuku, Todoroki,” you start, hesitating just for a second before continuing. “How about you both come over later to help me set up my new apartment? We can hang out, and I can finally give Todoroki his jacket back.”

There’s a brief pause on the other end, and then Todoroki’s voice comes through, calm and even. “You can just call me Shoto, you know.”

Your heart skips a beat, and you smile softly. “Okay, Shoto,” you say, and there’s a warmth in your tone that makes Bakugou’s grip on the wheel tighten ever so slightly.

Bakugou’s jaw clenches as he hears you say Todoroki’s first name so casually. His heart spikes with a surge of something he’s not ready to name—something that feels a lot like jealousy. He quickly pulls the car into a gas station, the need for a momentary distraction overtaking him. “I’m getting some water,” he mutters, his voice a bit gruffer than usual. Without waiting for a response, he steps out of the car, the door slamming shut behind him.

You watch him go, a small frown tugging at your lips as you take the phone from the dashboard. “So, how’s your day been?” you ask Izuku and Shoto, trying to shift the focus back to something more mundane.

“It’s been busy, but nothing out of the ordinary,” Izuku replies, his tone warm. “I had a few interviews earlier, and now I’m just finishing up some paperwork. I’d love to help with your apartment later—sounds like fun.”

Shoto’s voice is next, calm and collected. “Same here. It’s been a typical day, though I did have a rather intense training session with Endeavor this morning. But I’m looking forward to helping you set up. Maybe we can have dinner together?”

Before you can respond, Michael’s voice cuts in from the backseat, her tone playful. “Oh, dinner with Miss sunshine? Just a heads up, guys—if she’s cooking, you might want to bring some snacks. Last time she made stir fry, I nearly lost my taste buds.”

You gasp in mock offense, turning around to give her a playful glare. “You’re just jealous because you can’t handle a little spice. Besides, I seem to recall you going back for seconds.” Michael just grins, unrepentant. “Oh, I’m not complaining about the flavor—it’s the fire that comes afterward that gets me. But hey, if you’re offering to bite me instead, I’m all for it. Promise?~” She wiggles her eyebrows at you and you break out into a fit of giggles. 

You roll your eyes, but there’s a smile on your face as you threaten, “Don’t tempt me, Michael. I just might!”

The playful exchange has everyone laughing, even Kirishima, who’s trying and failing to hide the flush on his cheeks. The lighthearted atmosphere is a welcome change from the tension of earlier, and you can’t help but feel a sense of relief.

Izuku’s voice comes through the speakers again, this time more serious. “Just… be careful, okay? I know you’re trying to keep things normal, but we still can’t pinpoint where the bombs are. We’ll talk more tonight, but I just want you to play it safe.”

Your expression softens at his concern, and you nod, even though he can’t see you. “I know, Izuku. But I can’t live in fear. We’ve got to keep moving forward, right?”

There’s a brief silence, and then Izuku’s voice brightens, clearly relieved by your response. “Right. I’ll see you tonight then, and maybe we can brainstorm some ideas for your new place.”

As you finish the call, you glance toward the convenience store where Bakugou disappeared. The sun is setting, casting long shadows across the parking lot, and you can see him through the store’s large glass windows, pacing down the aisles with a slight furrow in his brow. You know him well enough to recognize that he’s not just looking for water—he’s lost in thought, trying to figure something out.

Inside the store, Bakugou stalks the aisles, his mind a whirlwind of conflicting emotions. He grabs a gallon of water and pauses by the refrigerated section, his gaze drifting over the various beverages. He wonders absently what your favorite drink is, if there’s something you’d like to have waiting for you back at the apartment. The thought catches him off guard, and he scowls, annoyed at himself for caring so much.

But it’s more than that. It’s the way you’ve been with him since the start—how you don’t treat him like some untouchable hero or a ticking time bomb. You see him, really see him, in a way no one else does. Like you’ve got some kind of special manual just for him, a guide to all his rough edges and hidden vulnerabilities. You make him feel like he’s more than just a collection of flaws and scars.

And that scares the hell out of him.

As he grabs a random bottle of your favorite drink on a whim, he can’t help but think about what’s under his hood—the parts of him he’s kept hidden, the parts he’s not sure you’ll like. He hopes, more than anything, that you won’t turn away when you see the whole picture. That maybe, just maybe, you’ll stick around to figure him out, piece by piece.

He heads to the checkout, aware of the stares and whispers around him. People pointing, recognizing him, treating him like he’s some sort of exhibit instead of a person. It grates on him, but he pushes it down, focusing instead on the thought of getting back to you. He’s tired of being seen as only Ground Zero, the explosive hero. With you, he’s Katsuki—just a guy trying to figure out how to navigate everything that’s been thrown his way.

As he pays for the drinks and heads back to the car, he catches sight of you through the windshield, laughing with Kirishima and Michael as you stretch your legs. You’re so at ease, so unbothered by everything that’s happened today. He envies that, but more than that, he’s drawn to it. 

To you.

He hopes that when all is said and done, you’ll still want to be around. Because for the first time in a long time, he’s starting to think that maybe, just maybe, he doesn’t have to–

Any rational thought he was having came crashing down as Bakugou returns to the car, to find a small army of paparazzi emerges seemingly from nowhere. Their cameras flash wildly, the harsh white light casting erratic shadows over the parking lot. Their voices rise in a chaotic symphony of questions and speculation, punctuated by the blinding strobe of flashbulbs.

Without hesitation, you spring into action. A determined look crosses your face as you jump in front of the car, crouching down in a protective stance. You shield the license plate with your body, crouching low and striking a pose that draws immediate attention. Michael, ever the supportive friend, mirrors your movements with a dramatic flair, covering her eyes as if posing for the cameras herself.

The paparazzi’s frenzy intensifies, their questions becoming a jumble of overlapping queries about your identity, your relationship with the heroes, and the sudden appearance of these impromptu shields. The flashes continue to erupt, capturing the surreal moment from every angle. Shouts of “Who are you?” and “What’s your story?” fill the air, but you and Michael keep your answers to yourselves, focusing instead on maintaining your shield.

The commotion catches Kirishima and Bakugou off guard. Kirishima’s face goes from bewildered to amused as he watches you and Michael’s antics. “What are you two doing?” he shouts over the noise, his voice tinged with both worry and laughter. He’s momentarily paralyzed by the sheer absurdity of it all. Bakugou, meanwhile, reacts with a mix of frustration and urgency. He grabs Kirishima by the arm, pulling him towards the car with a sense of urgency.

“Move it!” Bakugou barks, shoving Kirishima and Michael into the backseat. His gaze flickers towards you as you continue to pose, a small, incredulous smile tugging at his lips. He watches as you eventually stand up, waving the paparazzi off with a playful flick of your wrist. His face is a mask of frustration as he grabs your arm and pulls you toward the car. 

“Damn it, this is exactly why I hate this shit!” he growls, trying to keep his anger in check while helping Michael into the car.

Kirishima helps you into your side before jumping in the seat behind you. As you and Michael scramble to get your seatbelts on, Bakugou’s not having a great day anymore in the eyes of the public. He’s clearly not happy about the sudden attention. You can see the flicker of frustration in his eyes and reach over to place your hand on his shoulder. Katsuki breathes out for a moment but you can tell the invasion of privacy is a lot for his mental state.

When you finally get your seat belts on, Bakugou slams the door shut and throws it into gear. The engine roars to life, the car lurching forward with a jolt as he speeds away from the gas station. His knuckles are white as he grips the steering wheel, and his eyes dart between the rearview mirror and the road, his expression a mix of irritation and constipation. 

“I swear, I’m gonna kill this plate,” he mutters under his breath, his voice a low growl of frustration.

You chuckle softly, Katuski gives you a funny look and you reach into your bag and produce the front license plate you had discreetly removed. Holding it up with a playful grin, you reveal a screwdriver you’ve been carrying around for emergencies. You sport a sheepish grin. “Sorry,” you say, your tone light and apologetic. “I didn’t want them to get a clear shot of it.”

Bakugou’s eyes widen in surprise, his frustration melting into a reluctant smile. Michael bursts into laughter, clutching her stomach as she giggles uncontrollably. Kirishima joins in, his laughter booming and hearty as he slaps his knee.

“Did you just…? That’s genius!” Michael exclaims between fits of laughter. “I love learning new things about you!”

Kirishima, still chuckling, nods in agreement. “Seriously, lady, you’ve got to teach me that trick someday. That was amazing!”

Bakugou, his cheeks slightly flushed from the mixture of embarrassment and amusement, shakes his head. He reaches over awkwardly to fist bump you, his earlier gruffness softened by a hint of gratitude. “Thanks for that,” he mumbles, his voice gruff but not unkind. “And sorry for dragging you into this mess.”

You return the fist bump with a warm smile. “No need to apologize. It was kind of fun, actually.”

As Bakugou focuses on the road, the car’s interior settles into a more relaxed atmosphere. Michael and Kirishima continue to chuckle, their laughter a welcome sound that contrasts sharply with the earlier tension. Bakugou’s grip on the steering wheel loosens slightly, his shoulders relaxing as he adjusts his grip on the wheel.

The sun begins to pick up in the distance, the afternoon settling in as Bakugou drives home. The evening has been a whirlwind of unexpected events, and as the car heads towards the comfort of your apartment, there’s a sense of relief mingled with a newfound camaraderie.

Bakugou’s mood has shifted from frustrated to oddly content, and he glances at you with a look of quiet appreciation. The playful chaos of the day has given way to a more grounded sense of connection between you all.

“Let’s just get home,” Bakugou says, his voice gruff but tinged with an unexpected warmth. “I’ve had enough of the public for one day.”

You nod in agreement, your smile still lingering as you settle back into your seat. The car’s interior feels like a small, safe bubble amidst the sprawling cityscape, and as the miles pass, you can’t help but feel a sense of satisfaction. You’re surrounded by friends who understand and accept you—peculiar situations and all. It’s a small victory, but it’s a victory nonetheless. 

The steady hum of the car’s engine had settled into a comforting rhythm as the four of you drove down the highway. After the earlier excitement with the paparazzi, the scenic calm was a welcome change. You slipped off your shoes, letting the stress of the day melt away as you watched the cityscape pass by in a blur of colors.

Beside you, Katsuki’s hand was cradled between yours. The warmth of his skin against your palms felt grounding, a small but intimate connection that made the world outside the car seem distant and irrelevant. You were gently running your nails along his calloused hand, unknowingly finding that secret spot in his palm that always got crampy after he used his quirk too much. His hand twitched slightly under your touch, but he didn’t pull away. Instead, he let out a low, contented sigh, his posture relaxing further into the seat.

In the backseat, Kirishima was doing his best to keep everyone entertained. “Okay, okay, I’ve got a good one,” he announced, his voice filled with enthusiasm. “What’s the highest-grossing hero movie of all time?”

Michael, sitting beside him, rolled her eyes playfully. “Please, Eiji, that’s too easy. Everyone knows it’s Hero’s Rising: The Return of All Might. ”

Kirishima grinned, shaking his head. “Wrong! It was just beaten out last month by Symbol of Peace: Legacy Reborn. Gotcha!”

The car filled with playful groans and laughter, the atmosphere light and carefree. You couldn’t help but smile at Kirishima’s excitement, his energy contagious. But even as you laughed, your focus remained on Katsuki, watching his reactions closely. His eyes were half-lidded, his expression softened into something that could almost be mistaken for contentment. The tension that usually radiated from him seemed to have eased, his shoulders loose, his breathing slow and steady.

You continued to massage his hand, tracing the lines on his palm with your fingertips. As you worked, you couldn’t help but steal a glance at his face, marveling at the rare sight of him so relaxed. His eyes were closed now, and you could see the faintest hint of a smile tugging at the corners of his lips. It was moments like these that reminded you underneath the layers of his rough exterior, he was probably just looking for companionship. 

You were still thinking about the sugar baby situation and wondered why he didn’t bring it up yet. Then again, he probably wanted to talk about it without Kirishima and Michael in company. Should you tell her about the deal you made with Katsuki in the club? Would he tell Kirishima? You didn’t know and you honestly didn’t think so. Katsuki had his issues, obviously. But everyone does and you could tell his was having more difficulty with expressing his feelings as he said versus him just being an angry person. 

You weren’t sure if anyone gave him credit for it but Katsuki is actually emotionally intelligent. He may not always voice his opinions but you can tell he’s constantly taking in information and observing people. It may seem a little unnerving but it’s his way of checking to see if you’re alright. Emotional intelligence is an attractive trait and he doesn’t abuse it either. And you liked watching him too, even if you didn’t wanna admit it.

But just as you were beginning to lose yourself in the moment, the car suddenly slowed to a crawl. The rhythmic hum of the engine was replaced by the sounds of other vehicles, honking horns, and the distant roar of traffic. Katsuki’s eyes snapped open, his body immediately tensing as he sat up straighter in his seat.

“Traffic?” Kirishima murmured, leaning forward to peer through the windshield. “That’s weird. There shouldn’t be traffic on this stretch of road.”

Michael nodded in agreement, her expression turning serious as she glanced at the cars around them. “Yeah, something’s up. It’s way too congested for this time of day.”

You felt the tension in the air shift, a subtle but unmistakable change as the reality of the situation began to sink in. Katsuki’s hand tightened around yours for a brief moment before he gently pulled away, his gaze sharp as he scanned the road ahead. The calm you had been enjoying moments ago was quickly evaporating, replaced by a growing sense of unease.

“Don’t like this,” Katsuki muttered under his breath, his eyes narrowing. “Too many cars. Too many people.”

You could see the gears turning in his head, the wheels of his mind already spinning as he calculated possible scenarios. You knew him well enough to recognize when he was on high alert, and right now, every fiber of his being was screaming that something was wrong.

Before you could say anything, Katsuki’s phone rang, the sharp sound cutting through the tension like a knife. He glanced at the screen, his brow furrowing as he saw the caller ID. “It’s Denki,” he said, his tone clipped.

For a moment, he hesitated, clearly torn between answering the call and staying in the moment with you. You could see the internal struggle in his eyes, the way his hand hovered over the phone as if he were weighing his options.

But before he could make a decision, Kirishima reached over and grabbed the phone, pressing the answer button. “Hey, Denki, what’s up?”

The sound of Denki’s voice on the other end of the line was enough to send a chill down your spine. He was screaming, his words barely coherent as the sound of explosions and chaos echoed in the background. Only seconds later did you hear the same thing several hundred yards ahead of you. The impact of the explosions was so intense that it shook the cars, causing nearby alarms to go off and filling the air with the unmistakable scent of burning rubber and metal.

“What the hell is going on?” Katsuki demanded, his voice rising in urgency as he leaned closer to the phone. His earlier relaxation was gone, replaced by the sharp, focused intensity of a pro hero ready to jump into action.

“It’s a water monster!” Denki yelled, his voice cracking with panic. “This huge-ass thing came out of nowhere! Sero’s trying to hold it back with Todoroki, but Izuku and Mina are trapped in the tunnel! I’m trying to get people out, but I can’t use my quirk without frying them! It’s a mess down here, man!”

Katsuki’s face went pale as he processed the information. You could see the fear and frustration in his eyes, the way his mind was racing to find a solution. He was already halfway out of the car, his body moving on autopilot as he prepared to leap into action.

“Kirishima, let’s go,” he barked, his voice leaving no room for argument. “You guys, stay in the car. We’ll handle this.”

Kirishima nodded, his usual easygoing demeanor replaced by a steely determination. “You got it, bro.” He quickly unbuckled his seatbelt and followed Katsuki out of the car, the two of them moving with the precision and urgency of seasoned heroes.

You watched as they disappeared into the crowd of vehicles, your heart pounding in your chest. Every instinct in your body screamed at you to follow them, to do something, anything, to help. But you knew that they were right. This was their fight, and the best thing you could do right now was stay safe and be ready to support them from a distance.

Still, the thought of sitting idly by while your friends were in danger made your stomach churn. You could feel the weight of the decision pressing down on you, the fear gnawing at the edges of your resolve. 

Worse– it was happening again. 

That sparky itchy feeling in your palms that make you want to run your hands over the problem until it was no more. That tingly feeling that scratched its way through your veins and blood circuit until you were running head first into danger with intent to kill. You tried suppressing this a long time ago but you guessed burning the club down was only the first step to opening this gateway. 

Michael’s voice broke through your thoughts, bringing you back to the present. “I’ve got Denki on the line,” she said, holding up Katsuki’s phone. “He’s trying to keep things under control, but he’s freaking out. We need to do something.” You were a fucking pro hero. You knew how to do this shit like you knew your last name. 

You nodded, your mind racing as you tried to come up with a plan. “Okay, let’s keep him on the line. We’ll give him updates from the live news feed. That way, he’ll know what’s going on around him, even if his radio is out.”

Michael quickly switched to the news app on Katsuki’s phone, pulling up a live feed of the scene. The video showed a massive water creature thrashing around on the bridge, its body made entirely of swirling currents and crashing waves. Cars were overturned, and people were scrambling to get to safety, the scene nothing short of chaos.

Denki’s voice crackled through the phone, shaky but determined. “Thanks for the help. I’m doing my best here, but this thing’s too strong. I can’t keep the evacuation going and fight it at the same time.” 

The feeling hit you harder than the hell you’d been through. 

You could hear the strain in his voice, the fear that he was barely keeping at bay. “You’re doing great, Denki,” you said, trying to keep your voice calm and reassuring. “Katsuki and Kirishima are on their way. Just focus on getting people to safety. We’ll keep you updated on what’s happening.”

Denki let out a shaky breath, his voice softening slightly. “Thanks. I’ll do what I can.”

As you continued to relay information to Denki, Michael shifted uncomfortably in her seat, her gaze flickering between the phone and the chaotic scene on the screen. “We can’t just sit here and do nothing,” she muttered, more to herself than to you.

You understood her frustration all too well. The idea of sitting idly by while your friends were in danger was unbearable. But you also knew the risks. This wasn’t just some minor scuffle; this was a full-blown crisis, and getting involved could mean putting yourself in serious danger.

But then, as you watched the water monster continue to wreak havoc on the bridge, a thought struck you. If this thing wasn’t stopped soon, it could bring the entire bridge down. And with so many people still trapped, waiting for backup wasn’t an option.

You took a deep breath, your mind racing as you weighed your options. You could stay in the car, play it safe, and hope that Katsuki and Kirishima could handle the situation. Or you could take a risk, use your own quirk, and try to make a dent in the situation.

Michael’s voice broke through your thoughts, her tone laced with determination. “I’m not just going to sit here and watch this happen. We need to help.”

You looked at her, seeing the resolve in her eyes. She wasn’t going to back down, and neither were you. It was clear that by the time another water or ice hero arrived, the villain would have already done too much damage. The bridge was at risk of collapsing, and the lives of everyone trapped depended on what you did next.

You looked on the floor of where Katuski’s water jug sat abandoned and back to the fight in the distance. 

“Alright,” you said, your voice steady despite the fear gnawing at your insides. “Let’s do this.”

Michael nodded, her expression fierce. “What’s the plan?”

You quickly ran through the options in your head. “I need to distract the water monster long enough for Katsuki and Kirishima to get to Izuku and Mina. If we can buy them some time, they can evacuate everyone and take down the villain together.”

Michael nodded, already unbuckling her seatbelt. “Got it. I’ll help evacuate the bridge and . You take over communication with Denki and make sure he knows what’s happening.”

You quickly moved to take Katsuki’s phone from her, your heart racing as you throw your arms around her. “Be careful out there, okay?”

Michael hugs you to her heart tightly and you can hear how fast it’s beating before she pulls away to give you a determined smile, her eyes filled with love. 

“You too.”

With that, she slipped out of the car and into the fray, her figure disappearing into the crowd of panicked civilians. You watched her go, your chest tight with worry. But there was no time to dwell on it. You had a job to do.

You held the phone to your ear, your voice calm and steady as you relayed the plan to Denki. “Denki, sweetheart, you don’t know me but I’m a friend of Bakugou and I’m going to help you, okay? I have a quirk that could help the situation, I just need you to hang in there a little longer for me. You focus on getting those people out of there, and don’t worry about the monster. I’ll handle it.”

Denki’s voice came through the phone, filled with a mixture of relief and determination. “I’ll trust you. I’ll get as many people out as I can.”

As you hung up the phone, you couldn’t help but glance at the live news feed again. The water monster was still wreaking havoc on the bridge, but now there was a flicker of hope. You could see Michael in the distance, helping other first responders to evacuate the panicked civilians.

It wasn’t much, but it was a start. And with Katsuki and Kirishima on the way, you knew that the tide was about to turn.

Taking a deep breath, you steeled yourself for what was to come. You were about to step into the unknown, to face a danger that you had only ever seen from a distance. You just had to be brave enough to take the first step. Actually, you needed to get out of this car but knowing that Katuski didn’t clean his trunk out yet, you hoped he wouldn’t mind as you threw his car into reverse and floored it until you were back in the city. 

The car screeched to a halt as you expertly slammed it into a parking spot, your heart pounding in your chest. The tension in the air was suffocating, but you pushed it aside, focusing on what needed to be done. You grabbed Katsuki’s water jug, the cold plastic slick against your sweaty palms, and began chugging the water as quickly as you could. The liquid was cool and refreshing, but it did little to quell the fire burning inside you, the adrenaline coursing through your veins. But it would give you everything you’d need if this was going to work. 

You barely noticed when you jumped out of the car without putting your shoes back on. The rough pavement scraped against your feet as you sprinted toward the bridge, weaving through the throngs of panicked civilians. You could hear the shouts and cries around you, but they were drowned out by the blood pounding in your ears. The only thing that mattered now was reaching that monster before it could cause more destruction.

Your breath came in short, sharp gasps as you ran, your legs burning with the effort. You hadn’t been in the field like this before, not in broad daylight, but the idea of people dying fueled your determination. The frustration and anger you felt toward your bosses, Kyoya, and everything else pales in comparison to the fury that surged through you now. This was a situation you couldn’t back away from, and you fucking had enough.

Without a second thought, you leaped over the edge of the bridge, the wind whipping through your hair as you plummeted toward the ocean below. You could hear the shouts of first responders behind you, Michael’s voice rising above the others as she urged them to let you go. But you didn’t look back. There was no turning back now. The cold water swallowed you up, the shock of it immediately cooling your overheated body. For a moment, everything was still, the water surrounding you like a cocoon. But then you kicked your legs, propelling yourself upward with renewed energy.

You broke the surface of the water, gasping for air as you shot up, using the momentum to glide across the water’s surface like a skating rink. The ocean was your ally, its cool embrace fueling your power as you hurled yourself closer and closer to the fight. 

As you neared the bridge, you saw it. 

The monster was a towering behemoth, a swirling mass of water and debris,  with jagged pieces of metal and concrete jutting out of its body that loomed over the shattered remnants of the bridge. What had once been a bright and sunny afternoon was now consumed by darkness as the creature's movements churned the very atmosphere, whipping up an overwhelming rainstorm that lashed at everything in its path. The sky, once clear and blue, had turned a menacing gray, thick clouds swirling above like the eye of a hurricane. Each step the creature took sent waves of water crashing down, its body a swirling vortex of destruction that seemed to absorb the light itself, casting long, ominous shadows over the chaotic scene below. It towered over the bridge, its every movement sending shockwaves through the structure.

The bridge was already cracked in half, cars teetering on the edge of the abyss, ready to plunge into the water below at any moment. Without hesitation, you raised your hands, praying that you were hydrated enough. You felt the water respond to your command, surging upward in a massive burst, filling the gaps in the bridge left by the creature’s rampage. With a sharp intake of breath, you froze the water solid, creating a temporary support that held the bridge together. The ice glittered in the sunlight, a fragile but necessary lifeline for the people still trapped on the bridge.

You could hear the screams of relief from the civilians as they realized that the bridge was holding, at least for now. But there was no time to savor the moment. You used the remaining water to whip yourself up and over the bridge, landing atop a deserted taxi with a heavy thud. The impact sent a jolt through your legs, but you ignored the pain, your eyes scanning the chaos around you.

People were still running, desperate to escape the looming threat of the monster. You could see the fear etched on their faces, the way their movements were frantic and uncoordinated. Denki was right. The monster’s form was amorphous, constantly shifting, with jagged pieces of metal and concrete jutting out from its watery core like grotesque limbs. It moved with a terrifying grace, its fluid body able to absorb the impacts of every attack thrown at it. Sero’s tape, Todoroki’s ice, and Bakugou’s explosions—all of them seemed to vanish into the creature’s form, their energy dissipating into the water with little effect. The sheer size of the beast was staggering, its presence dominating the landscape, dwarfing the remaining structures around it. Each movement it made sent tremors through the ground, and its roar was a deafening cacophony of crashing waves and grinding metal.

You could see Kirishima and Denki below, desperately trying to help the last of the civilians get to safety. Kirishima’s hardened form glinted under the sporadic sunlight that managed to pierce through the storm, while Denki’s electric charges crackled around him as he ushered people away from the danger. Their faces were set in grim determination, but you could see the fear in their eyes—the knowledge that time was running out and that their efforts might not be enough.

Above, Sero swung through the air, trying to restrain the monster’s movements with his tape, while Todoroki unleashed blasts of ice, trying to freeze the water and slow the creature down. Bakugou was a blur of explosions, his relentless assault echoing through the air as he screamed in frustration, trying to find a weakness in the beast’s watery form. But nothing seemed to work. The creature simply absorbed each hit, the water rippling and reforming with each attack, its massive bulk barely slowing down.

The monster roared, its voice a cacophony of crashing waves and grinding metal. The sound echoed through the air, sending a shiver down your spine. 

As you stood there, the cold wind whipping against your soaking wet clothes, you heard the crackling voices from nearby car radios. They were broadcasting updates from the other side of the tunnel, where Pinky and Deku were trying to lead civilians to safety. The blocked-off area was being used as an advantage, but they had less than ten minutes before the rising water levels would trap everyone inside, leaving them to drown. The situation was beyond dire. 

But amidst the chaos, your attention was drawn to a family standing near the edge of the bridge. They were refusing to leave, the mother clutching at Kirishima’s arm, her face pale with terror. Denki was beside her, trying to console her, but she was inconsolable, her eyes wild with fear. You immediately knew something was wrong, your instincts kicking in as you began to scan the inside of the abandoned cars littering the bridge, your eyes darting from one vehicle to the next, searching for any sign of life.

You sprinted toward the family, your feet slipping on the wet pavement as you reached them. The mother was sobbing uncontrollably, her hands shaking as she clutched a soaked piece of fabric—likely belonging to the child she was desperately searching for. Kirishima looked up, his eyes widening in shock as he saw you approach, drenched from head to toe, your expression stern and focused.

“Where are they?” you asked, your voice cutting through the noise around you. “What do they look like?”

The mother looked at you, her eyes filled with desperation. You expected her to pull out a picture, or at least give you some details—a license plate number, anything that could help you find her child. But instead, she did something that sent a chill down your spine. She raised a trembling hand and pointed directly at the creature looming above you. Your blood ran cold as realization hit you like a punch to the gut. 

The kid was inside the monster.

“Oh, shit,” you breathed, your mind racing as you processed what this meant. The monster wasn’t just a mindless beast; it had absorbed the kid, trapping them within its watery form. The thought of a child being caught in that swirling vortex of destruction was horrifying, and you could feel the panic rising in your chest. But you didn’t have time to freeze.

You turned back to the creature, your eyes narrowing as you assessed the situation. You had to act quickly, but recklessly charging in wouldn’t save the kid—it would only get you killed. You needed a plan, something that would allow you to reach them without being swallowed up yourself.

“Kirishima, Denki, keep her safe!” you ordered, your voice steady despite the storm of emotions raging inside you. You couldn’t afford to let fear take hold. Not now. Not when lives were on the line.

You took a deep breath, steeling yourself for what was to come. The freezing cold of the water, the roar of the monster, the screams of the civilians—it all faded into the background as you focused on one thing: saving that boy. And with that, you sprinted toward the edge of the bridge and dove back into the waters below. 

The weight of the ocean pressed around you as you hurtled downward, the icy water enveloping you like an old friend. It had been years since you last used your quirk like this, pushing it to its full potential. How could you slip back into it so easily? But then again, it had always been there, lurking beneath the surface like a second skin, just waiting for the right moment to crawl out. You’d never truly stopped training or practicing, even if you hadn’t gone all out in a long time. These thoughts raced through your mind, a last-ditch effort to keep calm as you plunged into the dark depths, feeling the cold seep into your bones.

You hit the water and felt your quirk surge to life. The sensation was almost overwhelming—a flood of power rushing through you as you connected with the ocean, drawing from its immense energy. You could feel every ripple, every current, and for a moment, it was almost too much. But you forced yourself to focus, channeling that energy into something tangible, something you could control.

As you resurfaced, you began to shape the water around you, molding it like clay. You whispered to it, your commands soft but firm, instructing the water to take form, to become an extension of yourself. The water responded, coalescing into a massive avatar that rose from the ocean’s surface, a towering figure of liquid strength that mirrors your movements. It wasn’t as large as the creature looming above, not even close—500 feet of towering destruction versus your 70-foot creation—but this wasn’t school, and you had all the water you needed.

You pushed aside the fleeting thought that maybe you should’ve eaten those pancakes earlier, oh well. 

You directed your water avatar with precision, maneuvering it to pin the creature’s massive arms down. The monster’s resistance was fierce, but the cold power of your quirk surged through the water, freezing its limbs in place. As you concentrated, your eyes scanned the chaotic swirl of the monster's form, searching for any sign of the lost child.

Through the tumultuous water, a vague figure caught your eye, deep within the creature’s core, almost as if it were trapped in some nightmarish digestive tract. Your heart raced, realizing the child might still be alive but surrounded by an ocean of danger. You gave your avatar a silent command to continue fighting, holding the creature’s attention, while you prepared to make your move.

Letting go of the water that supported you, you felt yourself drop, only to be caught by a slick ice slide that materialized just in time. You couldn’t help but smile inwardly, grateful for Todoroki’s quick thinking. The ice carried you swiftly into Todoroki’s waiting arms, where Sero and a very pissed-off Bakugou stood by, the latter’s scowl deepening with each passing second.

Raising your hands in a gesture of calm, you quickly explained your plan. “I think I see the kid inside the monster. I can get to them, but you all need to get to the other side of the tunnel and help Pinky and Izuku get the citizens out before they drown.” Your voice was steady, despite the chaos around you. “If I’m lucky, I can bubble the kid in some water with air inside and send them down to Kirishima before trying to take control of the monster from the inside. I’m the only hero here who can control water, so it’s our best shot.”

Todoroki nodded in agreement, his face set in determination. Bakugou, however, was still on the fence. His eyes flicked down to your bare feet, still wet and muddy from your earlier plunge into the ocean, and you could see the flash of concern, anger, and something deeper in his eyes. This was worse than that night at the club—back then, he had some semblance of control, a way to protect you. But now? Now, he might lose you again, and the thought of it ripped at his heart, threatening to boil his blood over.

The two of you exchanged intense, arguing looks, the unspoken words passing between you like a heated exchange. Bakugou didn’t want to fight you, but he would be damned if he didn’t try. Pushing down the emotions that threatened to burst out of him, he finally relented, though his voice was tight with strain. “I’m going with you.”

You nodded before turning to the hysterical mother. “I’ll get your child back,” you promised, your voice carrying a conviction that made her sob even harder. Kirishima, ever the gentle giant, scooped her up and began running several feet back to safety, while you observed the other pro heroes desperately trying to stabilize the bridge.

“Todoroki, freeze the supports as much as you can without breaking them and then ice the entrance to the tunnel!” you ordered, your mind already racing ahead. “Cellophane, tape the bridge together as best as you can! Denki, keep time—we only have eight minutes left, and it takes fifteen to get through that tunnel!” Denki nodded and tossed you a spare communicator, which you quickly shoved into your ear.

With everything set, you called the water to whip you back toward the creature, your heart pounding as you and Bakugou prepared for the next phase of the fight. You knew Bakugou was likely struggling to use his quirk with all the water around—he needed to sweat to fuel his explosions, and the dampness was working against him. But maybe, just maybe, all his stress and pent-up emotions were helping to push his explosions to new heights.

As you got closer to the monster, you caught sight of news choppers hovering nearby, trying to get a closer look at the battle. A surge of anger flared within you—you sincerely hoped they would back off before they got hurt, but there wasn’t time to dwell on it. You had a mission and you couldn’t fuck it up. 

Bakugou leaped from the water’s surface, aiming his explosions at the creature’s face, trying to distract it while your avatar continued to grapple with its limbs. You focused your energy, pulling even more water from the ocean, hoping it wouldn’t affect the sea creatures too much as you added another 30 feet to your creation.

And then, you saw it again—the little figure, faint and small but undeniably there, trapped within the monster’s core. Your resolve hardened. ‘This is it.’ The battle to save the child, and maybe even the city, was about to reach its peak.

Todoroki’s ice surged over the entrance of the bridge, creating a thick, protective barrier that prevented more water from flooding in. As he worked, you cast a quick glance down, praying that Pinky and Izuku were succeeding in getting everyone out safely. The thought of the citizens trapped inside, their lives hanging by a thread, made your chest tighten. But there was no time to dwell on fear; you had a job to do.

Your earpiece crackled, and Denki’s voice cut through the chaos, “Most of the bridge has been evacuated! Start drawing the monster away from the tunnel entrance—the city’s under evacuation!” Relief washed over you, but it was short-lived as your phone buzzed in your pocket. You quickly fished it out, the screen lighting up with a thumbs-up emoji from Michael, signaling her safety. A small, relieved smile tugged at your lips as you stuffed the phone into your bra, hoping it would stay put amidst the turmoil.

With the immediate threat to the bridge mitigated, you grabbed the radio and barked out orders, “Sero, move the cars back as far as you can! Bakugou, start taunting the creature—lure it forward!” Katsuki didn’t need to be told twice; he was in his element now, launching a barrage of explosive insults and attacks at the creature, his rage fueling the blasts that sent shockwaves through the air.

As Bakugou drew the monster’s attention, you concentrated, pulling the water around you into a new form—a massive, almost squid-like creature, its tentacles thrashing with power. With a single, commanding thought, you sent it to restrain the monster’s arms. The creature screamed in fury as the watery tendrils wrapped around it, and you thanked the heavens for the water dampening the impact of the sound waves.

You slipped from the water’s embrace, landing lightly on the ground as your avatar swung a powerful, sweeping blow at the creature’s jaw. The impact sent a heavy downpour of water cascading below, drenching Denki, who was beginning to look alarmingly blue. You spotted him and Kirishima rushing toward the middle of the bridge, the child’s mother stumbling along behind them, her sobs echoing in the distance.

You were almost at the creature’s side when, in an instant, it sensed you. A massive, watery hand shot out, snatching you up and hurling you through the air. The world spun around you, and you crashed down hard on the roof of a large minivan. The metal crumpled beneath you, and you winced, hoping the owner would be understanding.

Katsuki's furious shout cut through the air as he saw what happened. “Be more careful, damn it!” Denki was already rushing toward you, and you could hear Kirishima's voice over the radio, sharp and filled with concern. 

But you knew careful wasn’t going to cut it. You couldn’t freeze the creature—it was being controlled by someone else with a water quirk, their energy possessing the liquid and making it impossible to solidify. You couldn’t hold it down forever, not with its sheer size, and burning it was out of the question. The child trapped inside could be fatally harmed if you tried. The mother’s desperate cries rang in your ears, and you wanted to smack a bitch.

Rage boiled up within you, a different kind of anger than you’d felt before.

This wasn’t like when you confronted Kyoya, or when you found Michael bleeding in that trash bin. It wasn’t like the anger when her apartment was bombed, or when your friends were arrested. It wasn’t even like the night you assulted those men and burned the strip club to the ground. This was a new kind of anger—a righteous, seething fury at the audacity of this creature to hurt innocent people, especially a defenseless child. A child who could be scarred for life.

Or worse.

You didn't have anyone to save you when you were younger. So you decided you'd save everyone else. That sharp, white hot feeling burned through your palms again and shot directly up your veins and into your set jaw. Your finger tips were on fire and it shot down to your ankles. You felt it, that second skin, the one that took over when you had enough. You fed this anger in a split second, the intensity of it propelling you back onto your feet. Your bare soles met the cold, wet ground as you channeled every ounce of emotion into your legs, and then you were running, sprinting at full speed toward the creature before anyone could stop you. 

'Cause fuck everybody else,' you were not gonna let this kid die. 

The creature seemed to sense you again as you launched yourself into the watery foot of your avatar, pulling more of the ocean into its form. It rose a few more feet, gaining size and strength, before the monster shook it violently, sending you flying once more. You hit the ground hard, pain radiating through your body as your knee throbbed, a fresh trickle of blood seeping from a reopened wound.

Kirishima and Denki’s shouts reached you, muffled through the water still lodged in your ears. Shoto was running toward you, having just finished securing the bridge. Katsuki, soaked head to toe, his usually spiky ash-blond hair matted down from the water, was close behind. They were all yelling something, but the words were lost to you. Three minutes had passed since this battle began, and you suddenly realized—

It had been right in front of you the whole time.

Without another thought, you broke away from them, sprinting again, with them screaming as you called the water to encase your body. The liquid wrapped around you like armor as you launched yourself at the monster, aiming directly for its face. The creature let out a deafening roar, its mouth wide open, and in that instant, you hurled yourself straight into the gaping maw.

The world turned to liquid chaos as you plunged into the creature’s core, the water around you surging like a living entity, desperate to drag you down. But you were ready. You had come this far, and you weren’t about to let anything stop you now.

You had jumped into the creature's open mouth and let it swallow you whole.

Chapter Text

‘I’m going to die.’

That was his first thought. 

Katsuki’s heart pounded so violently in his chest that he was certain it would burst. He had just watched you—his everything—charge headlong into the monstrous water beast, only to be swallowed whole. The creations you had summoned, one a formidable boxer and the other a writhing tentacle creature, were battling desperately against the beast, but even they seemed to struggle, barely holding their ground. Katsuki’s entire being screamed to throw up, to collapse onto the unforgiving black pavement, and claw his way to you, dragging you from the depths of that cursed creature. The thought of you being trapped inside, surrounded by crushing water, made his throat tighten with nausea.

His rage and terror boiled over. He wanted to yell at you for being so reckless, for risking your life like this, but he knew he couldn’t. You were trying to help; that’s what you always did. But in his mind, that didn’t justify you offering up your life. If you died right now, they might as well dig a grave for him too. The only solace would be the thought that, in some twisted way, he could meet you again in another world where you’d never known pain, and where he could love you freely, without the fear of losing you.

These thoughts consumed him as Kirishima, Sero, Shoto, and Denki piled on top of him in a desperate attempt to keep him from charging after you. It was chaotic, violent even, a tangle of limbs and sweat as they wrestled him down. Katsuki’s hands radiated heat, his palms itching to explode, but he held back. These were his friends, his family, but right now they were obstacles, standing between him and the one person he couldn’t bear to lose.

You. 

Kirishima had managed to secure his legs, locking them down with unyielding strength, while Sero’s tape restrained his arms, binding him tight. Denki was trying his hardest not to get bitten, all while struggling to keep Katsuki from breaking free. Shoto was speaking, trying to be the voice of reason, but the words were lost on Katsuki. He couldn’t hear anything over the roar of his own fear and the pounding in his ears.

His heart was going to burst any minute. 

Katsuki’s vision blurred with the intensity of his emotions, and he thrashed, desperate to break free. The pavement scraped against his skin as he crawled through his restraints, his body shaking with the force of his struggle. He didn’t care that they were holding him back for his own good. All he knew was that you were out there, in danger, and every second that passed without him at your side felt like an eternity. The two minutes that had gone by felt like two years, and with each passing moment, his desperation grew.

Love was something strange, almost foreign to Katsuki. Sure, he loved his parents, his hero work, and his country. He even loved his friends, though he rarely said it out loud. But you—what he felt for you was entirely different. You had stumbled into his life by chance, and the circumstances surrounding your arrival were nothing short of horrific. Yet, you had given him something he rarely allowed himself to feel. You gave him your trust, a simple courtesy that felt like a gift from a distant world. 

You made him feel so alive that it hurt.

You were just you, unapologetically so, and Katsuki loved that. He loved the way you existed, the way you breathed, the way you occupied space in a room. Every freckle, wrinkle, and dimple on your skin was a map he wanted to study, to become an expert in. He wanted to live in your heart the way you had unknowingly snuck  into his. The thought of you consumed him, and he found himself wanting you to be his in every possible way. He wanted you to be his owner, to mark him as yours, to claim him. He wanted you to be his property, someone precious that he could protect and cherish, to not share with anyone else. 

Katsuki knew he was stepping into unfamiliar territory, feeling things he had never felt before. He’d only known you for a week, maybe a few days at best, but the intensity of his emotions was undeniable. His heart screamed out to him, a deafening cry that he could no longer ignore. He was in love with you—really, truly, maddeningly in love. It was a realization that hit him like a freight train, knocking the wind out of him. He’d never been in love before, but he’d be a damn fool not to finally admit it to himself.

He wanted to make you happy, to see you smile every day, to be the one who put that look of contentment on your face. He wanted to take care of you, to follow you anywhere and everywhere, just to be by your side. These emotions were new, raw, overwhelming, and he didn’t want them with anyone else. He knew deep down that he had always been secretly lonely, that he had yearned for something more, someone to share his life with. 

And now, with you, he had found that someone.

But he also knew that it would take time. He knew there was a chance you could reject him, that you might not feel the same way. Yet, even with that fear gnawing at him, Katsuki was willing to risk it all. He’d rather die trying to win you and your heart than to have never met you at all. 

His hands trembled slightly as he clenched them into fists, his palms sweating despite the cool breeze that swept through the area. His breath came in shallow gasps, each one reminding him just how real these feelings were. He had spent his life being strong, being unyielding, but now, for the first time, he felt vulnerable. And it wasn’t a weakness. It was something he embraced because it was you who made him feel this way.

Katsuki’s mind raced as he stared off into the distance, the image of you swirling in his thoughts like a vivid dream. His chest tightened, a mix of fear and excitement swirling within him. He wanted to be yours, fully and completely. The idea of not having you, of you slipping away, was unbearable. He knew what he had to do, and he was determined to do it.

He took a deep breath, steadying himself as he made a silent vow. He would make you see him, make you feel what he felt, make you understand just how much you meant to him. No matter how long it took, no matter the obstacles, he was ready to fight for you. Because loving you was the most real thing he had ever felt, and he wasn’t about to let it slip through his fingers.

Katsuki's heart was hammering in his chest, fueled by a burning mix of adrenaline and fear. He could feel the heat rising in his palms, the familiar crackle of his quirk ready to ignite. He had to get to you—he had to make sure you were safe. Just as he broke free from the tangle of limbs that held him down, his body poised to launch toward you, Izuku’s voice crackled through the radio.

"We've got everyone out of the tunnel! They're safe on the other side, but we're still evacuating," Izuku announced, his voice steady but strained.

Katsuki's eyes darted around the chaotic scene. He could see other heroes beginning to mobilize toward the bridge, their figures a blur of movement against the backdrop of swirling water and debris. Behind him, Kirishima was once again by the mother's side, his voice low and comforting as he tried to console her. The woman’s sobs were quieter now, though her body still trembled with fear. Denki, drenched and shivering, was directing the incoming heroes, his hands gesturing frantically as he coordinated the evacuation efforts. Sero was up in the air, using his tape to maneuver cars and debris out of the way, making space for the remaining civilians to flee.

The world around Katsuki felt like it was moving in slow motion. The rush of water crashing over the bridge, the shouts of heroes and civilians alike, the distant rumble of the monster—it all seemed to blur into the background as his mind zeroed in on one thing: you.

He was snapped out of his trance by a sharp voice beside him. "Bakugou!" Shoto called out, his tone urgent yet calm. Katsuki turned to see Shoto’s mismatched eyes fixed on him, ice clinging to his left side as he continued to hold back the flood. "Have faith in her. She’s a hero for a reason."

Katsuki sneered, his voice a low growl. "That’s not what’s pissin’ me off right now!"

As if on cue, another wave of water slammed into them, the force nearly knocking Katsuki off his feet. The cold sting of the water against his skin sent a jolt through him, and for a split second, he was back in middle school, trapped in the suffocating grip of that sludge villain. Panic threatened to claw its way up his throat, but he swallowed it down, forcing himself to stay focused.

You were strong—stronger than anyone ever gave you credit for. But Katsuki couldn’t shake the worry gnawing at the edges of his mind. It wasn’t just the physical danger that concerned him, though that alone was enough to send him into a frenzy. It was the mental toll this would take on you, on top of everything else you were already dealing with. He knew the weight of those burdens, knew how they could wear a person down, and it tore at him to think of you facing them alone.

But you were just like him. When you got that determined look in your eyes, he knew there was no stopping you. That fierce resolve, the same one that burned in his own chest, was what made you a hero. And damn it, he respected that. But that didn’t mean he was just going to sit back and do nothing.

"Like hell I'm gonna stand around while she’s out there fighting that thing alone," Katsuki muttered under his breath, more to himself than to Shoto.

His decision made, Katsuki pushed himself up, his movements deliberate and fueled by sheer willpower. He felt the residual chill of Shoto’s ice on his skin as he brushed past him, but the heat radiating from his palms quickly chased it away. His muscles ached from the strain of holding back, but he ignored the pain, his focus solely on the monster before him.

The creature loomed ahead, a massive, writhing beast of water and rage. Your creations—one a boxer, the other a tentacled monstrosity—fought valiantly to keep it at bay, their forms straining under the force of the beast’s attacks. Katsuki could see the toll it was taking on you, the exhaustion etched into every movement as you poured everything you had into controlling the water.

Katsuki's heart clenched at the sight, but he refused to let fear paralyze him. You weren’t the only one who could fight like hell. With a deep breath, he gathered his strength, his hands igniting in a fierce explosion of light and heat.

"I’m coming for you," he muttered, the words lost in the chaos but resonating deep within him.

With that, Katsuki charged forward, his mind set on one thing: helping you finish this fight. He wasn’t going to let that monster have the last word. Not if he had anything to say about it.

As your eyes adjusted to the dim, greenish glow of the monster's belly, you found yourself surrounded by the surreal and unsettling sights of the ocean’s creatures trapped within. Fish swam aimlessly, their silver bodies shimmering faintly in the murk. A few sharks, their movements jerky and confused, darted past you, while panicked crabs scuttled along the uneven floor, desperately seeking an escape. Tangled seaweed drifted lazily, adding to the eerie ambiance as you sank deeper into the belly of the beast, your cheeks puffed with the precious air you held.

Your hands moved in slow, deliberate motions, attempting to sense the vibrations around you. The closer you got to the heart of the creature, the more intense and volatile the energy became. Whoever was controlling this water beast was angry—no, furious—and that anger resonated through the water like an oppressive wave. It made your heart race, each thud in your chest echoing through the thick, pudding-like water that surrounded you.

Your movements became more labored as you curled your legs, trying to sink faster. It was like wading through a dense fog, every kick of your legs and stroke of your arms met with resistance. You could barely tap into your own power, the oppressive weight of the creature's energy making it feel like you were fighting against a relentless current. Despite the struggle, you could still sense the distant impacts of your creations battling on the outside. Their blows reverberated through the water, but it only served to remind you how much danger you were in—and how much time was running out.

Panic began to creep in as your lungs burned for air. You knew you had only minutes left before you would have to resurface, but you pressed on, focusing on the vibrations that led you deeper into the creature’s core. Just then, something brushed against your foot, sending a jolt of fear through you. You instinctively jerked away, spinning around in the water, your eyes wide with alarm. As you looked down, your heart skipped a beat.

There, curled up and trembling, was the small form of the child you had seen through your water avatar. His shirt was torn, his tiny body almost lost in the murk of the monster’s insides. Relief and dread washed over you in equal measure. You had found him—but now came the challenge of getting him out.

As you swam closer, you reached out to touch the boy, but the creature reacted violently. A surge of water threatened to blast you out of its body, and you barely managed to grab onto a nearby taxi that had been swallowed up. The cold metal provided a brief anchor as you fought to regain your bearings. Forcing your power into the water, you created a protective bubble around yourself and the child, using the last of your air to form a breathable pocket. The effort left you gasping, coughing up some water as you tried to steady your racing heart.

The boy looked up at you, his eyes wide with shock and fear, like a newborn rabbit caught by a fox. His lower lip trembled as tears welled up, and his small hands clung to a torn piece of fabric—a stuffed animal arm, you realized, your heart breaking at the sight.

You held your hands up, your voice as gentle as you could manage despite the dire situation. "Hey, it's okay! I'm here to take you back to your mom, alright? Are you hurt?"

The boy’s response was a sniffle, his eyes filling with tears as he began to cry softly into your arms. His tiny body shook with each sob, and you felt the creature around you shudder in response, its rage flaring once more. You had to act quickly, to calm the boy before things got even worse.

You swam over to him, wrapping him in a comforting hug, trying to convey warmth and safety despite the cold, hostile environment. "Look, I know I’m a stranger, and that’s scary. But I’m here to help you, okay? Can you trust me?"

He hiccuped, burying his face in your shoulder. "B-Bun..."

You paused, confused. "Is that your name?"

The boy shook his head, his sobs quieting just enough for you to hear him whisper, "No."

You gently pried him back a little, looking into his tear-streaked face. His cheeks were round and flushed, his eyes red from crying. You noticed he was clutching that torn stuffed animal arm even tighter now, the fabric fraying at the edges. "Who’s Bun?" you asked softly, trying to piece together what had happened.

The boy sniffed again, wiping his nose with his free hand as he looked down at the toy. "Bun-Bun... My stuffed rabbit. Momma closed the window on him by accident... He got stuck, and when I tried to pull him back, his arm... his arm ripped off..." He began to cry again, this time harder, his small body shaking with the force of his grief.

The creature’s anger surged, the water around you swirling violently, but you held onto the boy tightly, trying to comfort him as best as you could. "Hey, hey, it’s okay. I’m sure Bun-Bun is still out there somewhere. Maybe he’s waiting for you in the ocean, and we can find him together."

But the boy only cried harder, his tiny fists clenching the torn arm as if it were a lifeline. The creature roared in agony, its movements becoming more erratic, more dangerous. It was then that you noticed the little ribbon on the boy’s shorts, decorated with confetti and the words "Happy Birthday!" scrawled in cheerful letters.

It hit you all at once. His fourth birthday. 

This was his quirk.

‘Shit.’

  You swallowed hard, your heart breaking for the boy. This monstrous, relentless creature was nothing more than a manifestation of a small child's overwhelming emotions and newfound powers. His panic and anger had taken on this physical form, a beast born from fear and confusion. It wasn’t just a creature of destruction; it was the cry of a terrified child who didn’t understand what was happening to him. 

The weight of it made your heart ache, and for a moment, you were reminded of your own struggles when you first discovered your powers, the confusion, the fear—things you had long buried in the back of your mind.

You couldn’t let him suffer like this.

His overwhelming emotions, his sadness, his anger, all culminating in this monstrous form. He was scared, confused, and his quirk had spiraled out of control in response. Everything was too much, too scary, too over stimulating for one four year old. You barely knew any adults that could handle their emotions. 

You being one of them. 

"Listen to me," you said firmly, though your voice remained gentle. "I know you’re scared, and I know you’re really upset about Bun-Bun. But we need to calm down, okay? I’m here to help, but I need you to take a deep breath with me. Can you do that?"

He looked up at you, his teary eyes searching yours for reassurance. Slowly, he nodded, his sobs tapering off as he tried to mimic your slow, deep breaths. The creature’s thrashing began to subside, the water calming just a little as the boy’s emotions started to settle.

You held him close, your own heart aching with the weight of his pain. "We’re going to get through this together. I promise. And when we get out of here, I’ll help you find Bun-Bun, okay?"

He nodded again, this time with a bit more confidence, his grip on the stuffed arm loosening slightly. The creature let out a low, mournful sound, but it was no longer thrashing—it was calming, responding to the boy’s changing emotions.

You knew you didn’t have much time left, but you also knew that this was the key to saving both him and everyone else. You had to guide him out of this nightmare, back to safety, and back to his mother.

With a determined breath, you shrugged off Katsuki’s jacket, the fabric heavy and damp with water, and carefully wrapped it around the boy’s small frame. The jacket swallowed him, the sleeves far too long and the hem brushing against his legs, but it offered some warmth and comfort in this cold, hostile environment. His trembling eased just a bit as he clung to the jacket, the familiar scent of Katsuki’s worn leather somehow soothing in this strange and frightening world.

"What’s your name, little guy?" you asked softly, your voice carrying the warmth and calm you hoped would reach him.

He sniffed, wiping his nose with the oversized sleeve before whispering, "H-Haru."

You smiled, trying to keep your voice steady and reassuring. "Haru, that’s a nice name. I’m going to get you out of here, okay? You’re going to see your mom soon, I promise."

His wide eyes searched yours, full of fear but also a flicker of hope. "Are… Are you a hero?"

‘Complicated.’

You nodded, giving him a reassuring smile. "Yes, I am."

He hesitated, his voice small and uncertain. "What’s your name?"

You took a deep breath, feeling the weight of the moment. "Tempest," you told him softly. "I’m Tempest, and I’m here to keep you safe."

Haru’s grip on the jacket tightened as he nodded slowly. "Okay…"

You gave him a gentle smile and kissed the top of his head, trying to offer as much comfort as you could. "Now listen, Haru. I’m going to drop the bubble, and when I do, I need you to take a big deep breath and hold on tight to me, okay? We’re going to get out of here together."

He nodded again, his small face scrunching up with determination as he prepared himself. "What about my mom? Will she be mad?"

Your heart broke a little at his question. You wrapped your arms around him tighter, pulling him close. "No, sweetie. Your mom’s waiting for you down there. She just wants you to be safe and not upset anymore. She loves you so much, Haru."

The moment those words left your lips the creature around you calmed down, its once-violent thrashing reduced to gentle ripples in the water. The opportunity to escape was fleeting—you couldn’t waste it. You pressed your hands against the inside of the bubble, feeling it tremble under your touch. It was like a fragile shell, barely holding together. With one last steadying breath, you concentrated, feeling the bubble still beneath your palms before it burst, sending you both back into the icy depths.

The cold water hit you like a shock, but you kept your focus, flipping onto your back to keep Haru securely in your arms. His small body was tucked against yours, his arms wrapped tightly around your neck, his face buried in your shoulder. You could feel the tremors of his fear, but he held on, trusting you completely.

You began to swim, pushing through the thick, jelly-like layers of the creature’s belly. It was like moving through molasses, every stroke of your arms and kick of your legs met with resistance, but you pushed on, your determination fueled by the small life clinging to you.

As you neared the edge of the creature, you gathered all the strength you had left, pushing harder, faster. The creature’s insides felt like they were giving way, the layers thinning, until suddenly, you felt a change—a loosening of the water, a lightening of the pressure. And then, with a sudden rush, you were free, the thick layers of the creature’s body giving way as you and Haru burst through its outer layer, shooting into the open air.

The world outside was a blur of sound and color as you fell through the air, Haru held tight in your arms. The ground rushed up to meet you, and for a brief, terrifying moment, you wondered if you’d have enough strength to protect him. Your vision darkened at the edges, the exhaustion from the struggle inside the creature catching up with you, but you forced yourself to stay awake, to think, to act.

With a desperate thought, you pulled at the moisture in the air, gathering every last drop of water you could find. It was a gamble, but it was all you had. The water responded sluggishly at first, but then it came, pooling beneath you in a swirling mass. You twisted your body in the air, positioning yourself between Haru and the rapidly approaching ground, wrapping him in a tight bear hug as you willed the water to cushion your fall.

The impact would be hard, harder than you anticipated, but the water would soften the blow, splashing out in all directions as you hit the bridge. Your back would take the brunt of the fall, the force knocking the air out of your lungs, and for a moment, the world would go black. But you held onto Haru, even as your vision wavered, your grip on consciousness slipping.

Your last thoughts were of him, of the little boy you had fought so hard to save. You prayed, hoped, that he would survive this—survive to grow up, to learn to control his powers, to be happy and loved.

As darkness closed in, you felt his tiny hands still clutching at you, his little heart still beating against your chest. That was enough. You had done everything you could.

For a moment, everything was a blur of light and sound. You braced yourself for the inevitable impact, but instead of crashing onto the unforgiving pavement, you found yourself enveloped in a soft, resilient embrace. The sunlight filtered through a rosy hue, casting everything in a warm, gentle glow. The air around you was calm and still, a stark contrast to the chaos that had consumed the last few minutes.

Blinking rapidly, your eyes adjusted to the brightness, and you realized you were suspended inside a large, shimmering pink bubble. The surface was smooth and slightly iridescent, undulating gently as it floated downward. 

Wait... a pink bubble ?

Your heart skipped a beat as the realization hit. You only knew one person who could create force fields like this—Kimiko. But she should’ve been on the other side of the city! Your head spun with the possibilities as you cautiously opened your eyes, turning your head ever so slightly. There, on the bridge below, you saw them: all of your friends gathered together, standing beside Haru's mother. 

As the bubble descended gracefully, you caught sight of a familiar group gathered on the bridge below. Haru's mother stood at the forefront, her hands clasped over her mouth, eyes wide with a mixture of hope and disbelief. Surrounding her were your friends from the club—Kimiko’s hands were still outstretched, eyes closed in concentration as she maintained the force field. Megumi stood beside her, a subtle smile playing on her lips, while Akira had his fingers pressed to his temple, likely coordinating everyone's efforts. Erza's eyes glowed faintly, hinting at recent use of her precognitive abilities, and Casey bounced on the balls of her feet, ready to blink you to her side at a moment's notice. Michael stood a little apart, waving energetically at you with both arms, her face flushed and eyes shining with relief.

In a blink, you and Haru were gently deposited from the sky onto the top of a sleek black Lincoln Navigator, the bubble dissipating like smoke in the wind. Your body still felt heavy, your ears still ringing from the waterlogged chaos you’d just escaped. With a groan, you fished your phone out of your bra, your fingers trembling as you unlocked it to see the flood of missed messages and calls. Everyone had been trying to reach you—

They were all worried, and now, they were all here.

The bubble gently touched down atop a sleek, black Lincoln Navigator, the car's polished surface reflecting the chaotic scene unfolding around you. As the force field dissipated with a soft pop, you steadied yourself, still clutching Haru securely in your arms. 

Before you could fully process the reunion unfolding before you, a flurry of movement caught your attention. Freddy, ever the showman, popped his head out of the car's sunroof, his flamboyant attire slightly askew and hair windswept. He shouted something exuberant, but the residual water clogging your ears muffled his words into an indistinct jumble. Nonetheless, his broad grin and enthusiastic thumbs-up conveyed all you needed to know. You couldn’t quite catch what he said, but his wide grin told you it was something teasing.

Around the car, a circle of familiar faces gathered. Kirishima's red hair was damp and spiky, his usually bright grin replaced with an expression of profound relief. Sero stood beside him, panting slightly but managing a cheeky salute in your direction. Denki bounced on his heels, electricity crackling faintly at his fingertips as he tried to contain his excitement. Shoto approached with his characteristic calm, one side of his uniform frosted over while steam rose gently from the other, evidence of his recent exertions. And then there was Katsuki, his gaze locked onto you with an intensity that made your heart skip a beat, his ash-blond hair plastered to his forehead and eyes blazing with emotion.

Your avatars, the ones you'd summoned earlier to hold off the creature, stood at attention, still as statues, watching you closely. The once-ferocious monster seemed to have stilled, no longer thrashing. It was as if it too recognized that the fight was over. The air was thick with tension as everyone on the bridge remained frozen, watching the strange standoff between you, the avatars, and the creature.

You took a deep breath, feeling the weight of it all in your chest. Everyone was safe. You closed your eyes briefly, gathering your strength, and then whispered to your avatars, "Return to the ocean."

They obeyed immediately, stepping back into the water without hesitation. As they sank beneath the surface, they saluted you—a silent goodbye as the water swelled around them and raised the tide. You watched as the last of their figures disappeared into the depths.

Haru, still bundled in Katsuki’s jacket, poked his head out, his wide, teary eyes scanning the crowd until they landed on his mother. "Mama!" he cried, his small voice breaking the silence as he stretched his arms toward her. A moment of stunned silence hung in the air before he let out a joyous cry, reaching his small arms toward her. She broke into a run, tears streaming down her cheeks as she closed the distance between you.

As Haru's mother climbed the car, she wasted no time in pulling her son into a tight embrace, her sobs of relief muffled against his messy hair. Haru clung to her just as fiercely, his small frame shaking with emotion as the crowd around you erupted into cheers and applause. The sound was deafening, a joyous cacophony that drowned out the lingering echoes of chaos.

At least that’s what Kirishima told you later when you got your hearing back. 

Behind you, Michael was waving frantically, but you couldn’t hear her properly with all the water still sloshing in your ears. You blinked a few times, trying to clear your head. There was still one promise you needed to keep. You turned to make your move, but before you could even take a step, a loud explosion shook the iced-off entrance to the bridge. Your head snapped toward the sound, your heart leaping into your throat.

There, standing amidst the smoking wreckage, were Pro Hero Pinky and Deku, both drenched and panting, but still very much alive. You caught a whiff of something acrid in the air—acid—likely from Mina’s quirk.

The sky above began to clear, the dark storm clouds dissipating to reveal patches of blue and rays of golden sunlight that bathed the scene in warmth. Michael continued to wave at you from across the way, her face split into a wide grin as she hopped up and down excitedly. You tried to shout back, but your voice was hoarse and your ears still muffled, so you settled for an enthusiastic wave and a nod, hoping she'd understand.

Seizing the moment, you gently disentangled yourself from the celebratory crowd and took off at a brisk pace, your feet pounding against the wet pavement as you dashed toward the scattered debris along the bridge. You didn’t get far before you heard the thunderous stomping of boots behind you. Behind you, you heard startled exclamations and the heavy thud of footsteps giving chase. Glancing over your shoulder, you caught sight of Katsuki barreling after you, his face a mixture of exasperation and concern, with Michael not far behind, her long legs carrying her swiftly in your direction.

And they were BIG MAD!

"Oh no you don’t!" you muttered, kicking into high gear. You ducked low, darting beneath Izuku’s legs as he let out a startled yelp, his eyes widening in confusion. Mina let out a shriek of surprise as Katsuki barreled through them both like a bulldozer. Katsuki thundered past them, his gaze never leaving your retreating form.

You sprinted across the length of the tunnel, your eyes scanning the wreckage intently until a small, sodden lump caught your attention near the twisted remains of a guardrail. Your legs pumped faster, your breath coming in quick bursts as you weaved through the chaos. You knew what you were looking for, and there it was, just ahead—half-buried in the muck, a waterlogged rabbit doll that had seen far better days.

Skidding to a halt, you dropped to your knees and carefully picked up the beaten rabbit plushie. It was drenched and muddy, one ear dangling by a thread and stuffing poking out from a torn seam, but it was intact. A surge of triumph and tenderness filled you as you cradled the toy gently in your hands.

But before you could even think about what to do next, strong arms encircled your waist, lifting you effortlessly clean off the ground.  A startled gasp escaped your lips as you were hoisted up and unceremoniously draped over a broad, muscular shoulder. The world tilted, your view now consisting of a very familiar set of ash-blond spikes and the unmistakable scent of burnt caramel and smoke. 

Katsuki had caught up to you.

"Dammit, woman, do you ever stop running headfirst into danger?" he growled, his voice rough but laced with undeniable relief.

You squirmed indignantly, kicking your legs in protest, but his grip was firm and unyielding. With a swift movement, he secured your flailing ankles with one hand, effectively immobilizing you. Before you could voice another complaint, he delivered a light, playful slap to the back of your thigh, the unexpected gesture sending a warm flush creeping up your neck.

"Hey! Put me down, Katsuki!" you protested, your voice muffled slightly by your awkward position.

He chuckled, the sound vibrating through his chest. "Not a chance. You're done running around for today. Time to get you checked out."

Michael caught up moments later, slightly out of breath but grinning widely at the sight before her. "Looks like you got yourself caught, huh?" she teased, her eyes twinkling with amusement as she reached up to brush a damp strand of hair from your face.

You huffed, crossing your arms as best you could while still hanging over Katsuki's shoulder. "I was fine. I just needed to get something."

At that, Katsuki paused, his stride slowing as he glanced back at you. "And what was so damn important that you had to take off like that?"

In response, you held up the soggy rabbit plushie, its bedraggled appearance eliciting a soft 'aww' from Michael. Katsuki's gaze softened slightly as he took in the toy, understanding dawning in his eyes.

"It's Haru's," you explained softly. "I promised I'd find it for him."

Katsuki was silent for a moment before he let out a resigned sigh, gently lowering you back onto your feet but keeping a firm hand on your shoulder. "You and your damn promises," he muttered, though there was no real heat in his words.

Before you could respond, a small voice piped up from behind you. "Bun-Bun!"

Turning, you saw Haru running toward you, his little legs pumping as he broke away from his mother's grasp. His face was lit up with pure joy, eyes shining as he barreled into you, nearly knocking you off balance. You laughed, crouching down to his level and presenting the rabbit with a flourish.

"One Bun-Bun, as promised," you said warmly.

Haru's eyes filled with tears as he clutched the toy to his chest, holding it as if it were the most precious thing in the world. "Thank you, Tempest," he whispered, his voice quivering with emotion.

His mother approached quickly, her eyes glistening as she knelt beside him, pulling both you and Haru into a tight embrace. "Thank you so much," she breathed, her voice choked with gratitude. "You saved my baby."

Emotion welled up within you, and you returned the hug wholeheartedly, feeling the weight of the day's events begin to lift from your shoulders. Around you, the gathered heroes and your friends looked on with smiles and expressions of pride, the camaraderie and shared relief palpable in the air.

Katsuki stood close by, his eyes never leaving you. As the embrace broke and Haru and his mother moved back, he stepped forward, his gaze softening as he reached out to brush a thumb gently across your cheek, wiping away a smudge of dirt.

"You did good," he murmured, his voice low and filled with a depth of emotion that made your heart skip a beat.

You looked up into his crimson eyes, seeing the worry, the relief, and something deeper swirling within them. A soft smile curved your lips as you placed your hand over his. "Couldn't have done it without all of you."

He huffed lightly, but the corners of his mouth quirked up in a rare, genuine smile. "Damn right."

As the monster crumbled back into the sea, its colossal form dissolving into the waves, you felt a collective exhale of relief from everyone around you. The tension that had gripped the air seemed to evaporate, replaced by a calm breeze that carried the scent of salt and the promise of safety. Haru clung tightly to you, his small hands still fisted in your jacket as you slowly made your way back to the bridge, where your friends awaited.

The moment your feet touched the pavement, they rushed to embrace you, their arms warm and familiar as they encircled you in a protective cocoon. Erza was the first to pull back, her sharp eyes immediately honing in on your feet. "Are you serious? No shoes?" she scolded, crossing her arms over her chest with a knowing smirk. "Not that I’m surprised. I foresaw that one."

You chuckled weakly, shrugging as best as you could with Haru still attached to you. "What can I say? I like living on the edge." Erza rolled her eyes, but the relief in her gaze was unmistakable. Megumi hovered nearby, her usually calm demeanor tinged with the exhaustion of having used her quirk to listen in from such a distance. 

"When Michael called, I knew something was off," she explained, her voice soft. "So we all got together. I heard bits of your conversation with Haru, and Kimiko and Casey figured they were the best shot at keeping you safe."

Kimiko stood nearby, rubbing her arms from the energy of her force fields. Casey flashed you a grin, her hand resting on her hip as she gave you a playful nudge. "We couldn’t just let you have all the fun, could we?"

Akiria stepped forward, giving you a nod. "And you’ve been good to Megumi. Consider this a thank you from both of us." He looked genuinely pleased, though his stoic expression didn’t waver much.

Before you could respond, Freddy bounded over, his grin wide and infectious. "And I couldn’t just sit this one out! Thanks for looking out for me all those times. Oh, and by the way," he added, jerking his thumb over his shoulder, "meet my brother, Mike."

Mike stepped forward, a near mirror image of Freddy but with a quieter presence. He offered a polite nod, his eyes filled with curiosity and gratitude.

You felt a warm sense of happiness swell within you as you took in the scene, surrounded by the people who had come together to help you in your moment of need. But that contentment was short-lived. The buzzing murmur of voices grew louder, and as you turned your head, you saw the media approaching—cameras flashing, reporters shouting, and microphones thrust forward.

Freddy acted quickly, herding the girls toward the waiting Lincoln Navigator. "Hop in! We’re getting out of here," he instructed, his voice laced with urgency. They quickly piled into the car, and in no time, the vehicle sped off, cutting through the crowd as it made its way to the other side of the city. Haru’s mother softly pulled him back into her arms as she took in the sight around her. 

As you stood there, watching them disappear from view, you felt a hand on your shoulder. Turning, you found yourself face-to-face with Shoto, his mismatched eyes searching yours with concern. You managed a small smile, one that he returned with a faint quirk of his lips—his version of a reassuring grin. But before you could say anything, you were engulfed in a bear hug that knocked the breath out of you.

Kirishima squeezed you tightly, his voice a mix of relief and lingering worry. "I’m so glad you’re okay," he murmured, holding on for a beat longer before letting you go.

But your respite was short-lived as Michael immediately pulled you into her arms, her hands glowing as she assessed the damage. "You’re scratched up, and look at these blisters!" she exclaimed, her brow furrowed in concern as she began to heal you. Katsuki loomed over you, scowling as he noticed the state of your feet.

"What the hell were you thinking, running around without shoes?" he barked, though there was a thread of worry woven into his gruff tone.

You gave a weak laugh, trying to lighten the mood despite the fatigue weighing heavily on you. "I guess I just wanted to keep things interesting." But they were right and your feet fucking hurt like all get out. You were going to soak them in the tub and not walk for days if you could help it when you got home. Fuck the mail, but also you should probably check in with the Muhammads. You made a mental note to see to it once this was sorted. 

Michael shot you a look that was equal parts exasperation and affection. "Well, you certainly managed that," she muttered, finishing up her healing with a quick once-over. Despite her efforts, you could feel the toll the whole ordeal had taken on you. Your breath came in shallow gasps, and your limbs felt heavy, as if the adrenaline that had carried you this far was finally ebbing away.

Sensing your distress, Katsuki whipped out his phone and barked orders into it, demanding transportation for everyone to the hospital. But before anything could be arranged, the media descended upon you all, the crowd closing in like a pack of wolves. Cameras flashed relentlessly, and reporters shoved their microphones into your face, their questions overlapping in a chaotic frenzy.

The other heroes and Michael immediately tried to form a protective circle around you, shielding you from the onslaught. But it was too late—one particularly determined reporter managed to grab your arm, pulling you away from the others.

"Can you tell us what happened? How did you survive? What’s your connection to the monster?" the reporter bombarded you with questions, her voice sharp and insistent.

You did your best to remain calm, answering as honestly as you could without revealing too much. "I just did what I had to do."

Despite your attempt to deflect the attention, the reporter’s grip on your arm tightened, as if sensing there was more to the story. Before she could press further, Katsuki’s voice cut through the din, his tone lethal. "Back off!" He yanked the reporter away from you with a glare that could melt steel.

With the circle of friends and heroes around you now reinforced, you were finally able to breathe again, though the media still swarmed just outside the protective barrier. Your heart pounded in your chest as you glanced around at your friends, all of them standing firm, protecting you from the chaos.

The world was a blur of noise, lights, and flashing cameras, but within that circle, you felt safe. And despite everything, you couldn’t help but feel a small spark of gratitude—gratitude for the friends who had your back, no matter what.

The next few minutes were a blur of movement and muffled voices as the pro heroes passed the baton to their interns and other pros from Class 1-A. You felt yourself being ushered toward a taxi, the world around you still spinning from the adrenaline crash. The taxi was damp from the relentless rain, its interior heavy with the scent of wet leather and the faint tang of seawater. You were sandwiched between Haru and his mother, Robi, who was cradling her son protectively. Michael was on your other side, her arm wrapped around your shoulder as if to anchor you to the present moment.

As the car jolted forward, you caught a glimpse of Cellophane, Denki, Kirishima, and Shoto piling into another car behind you. Denki’s face was tinged blue, his skin looking almost translucent as he shivered uncontrollably. He was clearly in the early stages of hypothermia. You rested your head against Michael’s shoulder, her warmth and steady presence a small comfort in the chaos. 

The last thing you remembered was her frantic voice calling your name as the darkness finally overtook you.

When you opened your eyes, the first thing you saw was a large, now dry, and carefully stitched-together bun-bun sitting on the chair beside your bed. The sight of it made you smile softly, its presence a comforting reminder that someone had taken care to mend it. As you glanced around, you noticed Haru in the bed next to yours, sleeping soundly, his tiny form curled up under a blanket. Michael was snuggled against your back, her breathing steady and warm. Kirishima and Katsuki were slumped in their chairs, sound asleep. You couldn’t help but wince in sympathy, knowing how uncomfortable hospital chairs were—designed, it seemed, to be as unforgiving as possible. You hoped their backs and butts would forgive them later.

Haru’s mother was asleep at his bedside, her head resting on the mattress as she held his hand protectively. You gently shifted out of your bed, careful not to disturb Michael, and propped a pillow against her to take your place. The cold floor beneath your feet was a stark contrast to the warmth of the bed, but you welcomed the sensation as it grounded you.

You carefully wheeled your IV pole out the door, its quiet squeaking the only sound as you padded down the hallway. The fluorescent lights overhead cast a sterile glow, making the hospital feel even more eerie in the silence of the night. When you reached the nurse’s desk, she looked up and smiled kindly, her eyes soft with understanding.

"Looking for your friends?" she asked, already knowing the answer.

You nodded, and she motioned for you to follow her. As you walked, she chatted lightly, her voice a soothing murmur that filled the otherwise quiet corridor. Soon, you reached Denki’s room. The door was slightly ajar, and a wave of warmth hit you as you entered—much warmer than the rest of the hospital.

Denki was in bed, his color much improved, though the room’s temperature was a bit too high for your liking. His skin was no longer tinged with the pallor of hypothermia, and he greeted you with a wide grin, his usual cheer returning.

Sero was the first to notice you, standing up from where he had been lounging against the wall. He offered a friendly smile. "Hey, I’m Sero. Good to finally meet you properly."

Before you could respond, Mina bounded over, her energy as infectious as ever. "Ignore him; he’s too formal. So, you’re Bakugou’s mystery girl, huh?" She nudged you playfully, her pink eyes sparkling with mischief.

You raised an eyebrow at the comment, a slight smirk tugging at your lips. "Mystery girl?"

Before you could get an answer, Shoto waved you over to an empty chair beside him. "Sit," he instructed gently, his calm presence a contrast to the lively energy in the room. You did as he asked, feeling a bit out of place but grateful for the friendly atmosphere.

Shoto had a chessboard set up in front of him, the pieces scattered as though mid-game. "I’ve been trying to teach Denki some chess to pass the time," he explained, his voice soft and even. "And to make sure he doesn’t have a concussion."

Denki chuckled weakly, rubbing the back of his head. "Yeah, I’m not sure I’m cut out for this old time-y stuff. But hey, thanks for saving our butts on that bridge. What you did was wicked cool!"

You blushed at the praise, feeling a warmth in your chest that had nothing to do with the room’s temperature. "I’m just glad everyone’s okay," you replied modestly, shifting in your seat. 

Mina took the opportunity to chime in, her voice full of admiration. "Seriously, you bought us the time we needed to get everyone out. We couldn’t have done it without you!" The blush deepened as you ducked your head, feeling flustered by the attention. Shoto nodded in agreement, his expression thoughtful. "I found the way you took charge very admirable," he said, his tone sincere.

Sero leaned forward, his grin widening. "And those water creatures you made? That was insane. I mean, who willingly gets swallowed by an ocean monster and lives to tell the tale?" They all laughed, the sound lightening the room’s atmosphere. You joined in, though your mind drifted back to when you first discovered your quirk and the concept of quirk marriages. It was a complicated, painful memory, but before you could dwell on it, the door opened, and Izuku walked in, balancing a tray of smoothies.

He looked surprised to see you there, his eyes wide with delight. "Hey! I didn’t expect you to be up. How are you feeling?" he asked as he handed out the smoothies, the bright colors of the drinks contrasting sharply with the dull, sterile surroundings.

You greeted him cheerfully, accepting a smoothie with a grateful smile. "I’m okay, just needed to stretch my legs a bit. And I think I could use this," you added, taking a sip of the cold, fruity drink.

Izuku nodded, visibly relieved. "The nurses didn’t want anyone eating solid food yet, so I figured this was the next best thing." Denki gently placed his down on the dresser next to him, “Dude would know,” he snickered before Sero shot him an elbow to the sternum. As everyone settled in with their smoothies, the room filled with light chatter and the occasional burst of laughter. Despite the lingering fatigue and the sterile hospital environment, you felt a deep sense of contentment. Haru was alive and you didn’t have to go to sleep with nightmares over this. 

Looking for anything to distract from the aches and bruises that still clung to your body you decide to turn the tv on. The soft hum of the hospital was a comforting backdrop as you flicked through the channels. The room around you seemed to dim, the only light coming from the muted glow of the screen and the occasional flicker of streetlights through the window. 

Finally, you landed on a news channel, and your finger hovered over the remote as you saw familiar scenes flash on the screen. It was the bridge incident, playing out in various clips and interviews. The footage seemed almost surreal, like watching someone else’s life unfold. But no, that was definitely you, running through traffic, dodging cars as if they were mere obstacles in a race you couldn’t afford to lose.

The camera shifted to a civilian interview, an older man with a shaky voice, talking about how Michael had healed his injuries and helped him off the bridge. The camera zoomed in on him, the gratitude etched deeply in his face as he described her as a beacon of hope in the chaos. There were other interviews, too—people recalling how Bakugou and Todoroki had charged the monster head-on, their sheer power on full display as they led the attack.

You watched as fans screamed out in concern for Denki, who had been drenched to the bone while directing people to safety, his usually lighthearted demeanor replaced with grim determination. The footage from inside the tunnel showed Izuku and Mina, their movements quick and efficient as they guided panicked civilians out of danger. And then there was Sero, securing the perimeter like a human tape dispenser, his quirk working overtime to keep everyone safe.

But then, the focus shifted again, and you saw yourself on the screen. The footage captured everything in vivid detail—your frantic sprint through traffic, the reckless leap off the bridge into the tumultuous ocean, the water avatars you conjured, each one a testament to the power you wielded. The camera lingered on your face as you stood resolute, challenging the monstrous creature that loomed over the chaos.

You saw clips of you comforting Mrs. Robi, your hand gently resting on her shoulder as you assured her everything would be okay. The scene where you were thrown across the street played out next, the impact causing those watching to wince, but there you were, getting right back up like it was nothing. The footage continued, showing you swimming through the avatars, desperately trying to reach Haru, only to be flung on top of a car. The gasps from the crowd were audible as they watched you disappear into the creature’s gaping maw, the screen cutting to black as panic rippled through the reporters.

The tension in the room was palpable, even as you sat in the safety of the hospital, watching yourself relive those moments. And then came the cheers—the moment when you emerged, Haru clutched in your arms, your determination and strength clear in every step you took back to safety.

The screen flickered to interviews with speculations swirling around you and your friends. Some wondered if you were off-duty heroes, answering a call of duty, while others recognized you from earlier footage at the diner with Katsuki. The chatter was nonstop, with news anchors discussing everything from your actions to your hero name, “Tempest,” as Mrs. Robi had called you during her tearful interview in the ER waiting room. Her words echoed in your mind, a mix of relief and gratitude as she told the world that you had saved her baby, her eyes shining with unshed tears.

Social media was ablaze with pictures of you, most notably one of you standing confidently in front of Katsuki’s car, your expression fierce and focused. People were already crafting headcanons, some guessing you were a new hero, others speculating you were an underground hero who had just surfaced. Michael, they decided, was "Sunshine," a nickname that had already started trending, her bright presence and healing touch a perfect match for the moniker.

One of the reporters made a comment that drew a chuckle from a few others—something about how your name, Tempest, suited your stern expression as you gave orders and fought the creature. They wondered aloud if hydrokinesis was your only power, or if you might have ice abilities as well, given the cold determination you displayed.

You felt Shoto’s gaze on you, his mismatched eyes catching yours from the corner of your vision. His expression was thoughtful, almost unreadable, as if he was trying to piece something together. The weight of his stare made you want to turn off the TV, to hide from the growing attention, but just as you reached for the remote, something on the screen caught your eye.

The footage showed you again, this time in a slow-motion replay, your face set with grim determination as you launched yourself at the creature. But in the background, barely noticeable unless you knew what to look for, was a flicker of something—something that sent a chill down your spine. It was subtle, almost imperceptible, but you knew what it was. The remnants of a power you hadn’t used in years, a power that had nothing to do with water. The faint shimmer of ice trailing behind your movements.

You paused, hand hovering over the power button, your mind racing. Shoto’s eyes were still on you, the question unspoken but evident in the way his gaze lingered on the screen. The others in the room hadn’t noticed, too absorbed in the action or their own thoughts, but you knew that he had seen it.

In that moment, you realized the implications of what the footage could mean—what it might reveal to those who knew what to look for. The secret you had kept for so long was no longer entirely yours, and the world was beginning to take notice.

It fucking scared you. 

As you continued to watch the screen, the image shifted, now filled with clips of what happened after you had jumped into the ocean. The camera zoomed in on Katsuki, his face twisted in a mixture of rage and fear as he screamed out for you. You could see the raw emotion in his eyes, the desperate way he fought to break free from the grip of his friends, blasting the creature’s face with explosive power even as he was tossed around like a ragdoll. His voice, usually so confident and brimming with harshness, was filled with a kind of panic you had never heard before.

Your heart clenched, a sick feeling rising in your stomach as you watched his frenzied attempts to get to you. The footage made it painfully clear that this wasn’t an act. There was nothing performative about the way Katsuki was fighting—this was real, raw, and visceral. But why? The question gnawed at you, a persistent whisper in the back of your mind. You’d only known him for three days, and yet, here he was, reacting as if your life meant everything to him. Was he always this secretly caring about his friends? You couldn’t recall seeing him react like this before, except maybe when All For One had tried to kill Izuku.

The thought made your chest tighten even more. Was this the real Katsuki Bakugou, the one who hid behind the bluster and bravado? Or was there something else at play? The news anchors continued to speculate, their voices like background noise as they discussed possible romances between Tempest and Ground Zero, and Red Riot and Sunshine. The insinuation made your face flush with heat, an uncomfortable knot forming in your stomach.

Finally, you couldn’t take it anymore. You grabbed the remote and turned off the TV, the room plunging into silence, save for the soft beeps of medical equipment and the gentle hum of the hospital air conditioning. The tension in the room eased slightly, though your mind was still racing.

“Yeah, I’d rather plug in my Xbox than watch the news after a fight,” Denki chimed in from across the room, his voice lighthearted but tinged with exhaustion. You glanced over at him, noticing the way he had wrapped himself up in the thin hospital blanket, his eyes half-closed as he tried to ignore the chill that had settled into his bones earlier. Mina had settled into your left side and placed her pink hand over yours to provide some silent comfort. 

Shoto nudged your right knee with his leg, drawing your attention back to the present. You looked down to see a fresh bruise forming on your left knee, a dark purple contrast to the little band aids that covered your right knee. His mismatched eyes met yours, a silent question in them, but you didn’t know how to answer. The turmoil inside you was too chaotic, too overwhelming.

Izuku, ever the concerned friend, asked softly, “Are you alright?” His voice was gentle, filled with a kind of warmth that made you feel like everything might be okay, even if you weren’t sure how.

Mina, who had been contemplating, waved off the news with a dismissive hand. “Don’t worry about that stuff,” she said, her tone reassuring. “They get paid to gossip. It doesn’t mean his hand on top of Mina ’ s, giving you a small smile. “Yeah, mamita linda, don’t let that get you down. You did something really great today.”

You tried to focus on their words, but it was like they were coming from a distance, muffled and faint. Your mind was too tangled up in everything that had happened—the fight, the sudden media attention, your hero name now being out there for the world to see. And then there was Michael. The thought of her, her soft smile and the way she had curled up behind you in the hospital bed, only added to the growing confusion.

The room filled with the quiet hum of conversation, the soft clinks of hospital equipment, and the warm, comforting presence of friends. But you were still lost in your thoughts, the events of the day swirling around in your mind, when suddenly, a voice cut through the air like a thunderclap.

“You’re all lacking in training for not noticing me sooner,” Katsuki’s gruff voice came from behind, startling nearly everyone in the room. Denki jumped, nearly spilling his smoothie, while Sero let out a small yelp, eyes wide as he turned to face the source. Even Mina jerked in surprise, her pink hair bouncing as she whipped her head around. The only one seemingly unaffected was Shoto, who simply raised an eyebrow and tilted his head slightly in acknowledgment.

Katsuki entered the room with Haru trailing behind him, the contrast between the two almost comical. Katsuki’s broad, imposing figure was a sharp juxtaposition to Haru’s small frame, the little boy holding tightly onto Bunbun, now patched up and dry, in one arm. Katsuki’s scowl was as fierce as ever, his crimson eyes scanning the room, daring anyone to comment on his sudden entrance.

You waved a hand at him, a casual greeting despite the lingering tension in the room. “Hey, Katsuki.”

He met your gaze, his stern expression softening just enough for him to return the wave with a subtle nod. His eyes lingered on you for a moment longer before flicking to the rest of the group, the intensity in his gaze making everyone straighten up a bit.

You turned to Shoto, your voice low as you leaned slightly toward him. “We’ll talk later, okay?”

Shoto nodded, understanding in his eyes, but before you could say anything more, you felt a small weight against your lap. Haru, with the ease and comfort of a child who trusts you implicitly, had climbed up into your lap, his small arms wrapping around your waist as he nestled against you. You smiled down at him, gently smoothing his hair as Bunbun rested beside him.

“Alright, Haru,” you began softly, “I want to introduce you to some of my friends.”

Haru looked up at you with wide eyes, nodding eagerly, Bunbun hugged close to his chest. One by one, the group introduced themselves to the little boy, their voices taking on a softer, more gentle tone than usual. Denki was the first, a broad grin on his face as he leaned in slightly.

“Hey there, little dude! I’m Denki. You like smoothies?”

Haru nodded shyly, and Denki handed over his smoothie, making sure to steady the cup as Haru took it. “Thank you,” Haru said, his voice small but polite, his manners surprisingly good for a four-year-old.

Sero, ever the charmer, crouched down to Haru’s eye level. “I’m Sero, buddy. And this,” he gestured dramatically to the room, “is where all the cool heroes hang out.”

Mina was less formal, her energy infectious as she waved at Haru with both hands. “Hey, Haru! I’m Mina, and I’ve gotta say, Bunbun looks awesome after that adventure!”

Haru beamed at her, holding Bunbun up proudly as if to show off the bunny’s new stitches. Each introduction seemed to make Haru a little more comfortable, his small body relaxing further against you.

Just as you were about to continue, the door creaked open, and Mrs. Robi, Michael, and Kirishima walked in. Mrs. Robi’s face lit up when she saw Haru, her steps quickening as she approached him. Kirishima gave you a warm smile and a thumbs-up, his red hair still slightly tousled from sleep.

As the nurses entered to check on everyone, you carefully handed Haru over to his mother, making sure he was comfortable in her arms before standing up. The IV pole beside you rattled softly as you adjusted it, the slight tug on your arm a reminder of your current state. You caught Michael’s eye and gestured subtly towards the door, and she nodded in understanding. Katsuki and Kirishima followed you, the four of you slipping out of the room quietly to not disturb the others.

The hallway was a little cooler, the fluorescent lights casting a pale glow on the polished floor as you made your way toward the outdoor area. The hospital was mostly quiet, save for the occasional beep of machines or the soft murmur of voices from other rooms. You could feel the weight of the day pressing down on you, but the fresh air was a welcome change as you stepped outside.

The outdoor area was a small garden, simple but serene, with a few benches scattered around and a small fountain bubbling softly in the center. You took a seat on one of the benches, adjusting your IV pole to keep it steady as you sighed, leaning back to take in the evening air.

You craned your neck up to the night sky, hoping to see any familiar constellations or just any stars tonight. There was a dull ache in your head when you did but that didn’t matter. The night sky was scattered by the stars above you, and if you got on your tiptoes, you were sure you’d be able to see the moon, round and full tonight. It was like a whole other word existed right above you. Sometimes, as a kid, you wished you had the power of flight instead, so you could fly away from your problems and begin a new life in the clouds above you. 

Michael sat beside you, her expression thoughtful as she gazed up at the darkening sky. “So, we saw the news too,” she said, her tone casual. “Not too bad, if you ask me. They’re already giving us nicknames.”

You let out a soft laugh, though it felt hollow. “Honestly, that’s not what has me freaked out.” You glanced over at her, your voice lowering as the weight of your thoughts pressed in again. “It’s everything else. Two hospital trips in three days… And then there’s the media. My hero name is out there now, and they’re already making up stories. I don’t know what to think.” You huffed and picked at your hospital issued socks, not realizing you weren’t barefoot anymore until now. 

Katsuki, who had been leaning against a nearby wall with his arms crossed, let out a frustrated huff. “They’re just a bunch of gossiping idiots. You shouldn’t care what they say.” Kirishima, standing next to him, nodded in agreement, his usual smile tempered with concern. “Yeah, Bakugou’s right. You did something amazing today. That’s what matters.”

You appreciated their words, but the knot in your stomach didn’t ease. Your mind kept circling back to the footage of Katsuki, the raw emotion in his eyes, the desperation in his voice. What did it mean? What did any of this mean? You had only known him for a few days, but it felt like something fundamental had shifted between you.

Michael reached over, gently squeezing your hand. “Whatever’s going on in your head, don’t let it eat you up. You’ve got us, and we’ll figure it out together, okay?”

You nodded, squeezing her hand back as you let out a slow breath. “Yeah. Okay.” But as you stared out at the darkening sky, you couldn’t help but wonder—

‘What am I going to do now?’

The weight of everything that had happened hung heavily on your shoulders, and as you looked at Michael, Kirishima, and Katsuki, you realized you couldn’t keep it to yourself any longer. The night air was cool, a soft breeze rustling the leaves of the small garden. 

“Guys, it’s not just the media stuff,” you began, your voice a little shaky as you tried to gather your thoughts. “It’s my ‘job’ too.”

Michael’s eyebrows furrowed in concern as she scooted closer to you on the bench, her hand resting lightly on your arm. Katsuki and Kirishima exchanged glances, both of them sensing the seriousness in your tone.

You took a deep breath, reaching into your pocket and pulling out your cracked phone. The screen was barely holding on, spiderwebbed with cracks from the earlier chaos. “I haven’t even opened my school or work email since this all happened. Thankfully, Michael and I were on a ‘break,’ so that’s one less thing to worry about, but still…”

You trailed off, your fingers hovering over the screen as you quickly drafted a message to your HR department. As you typed, you explained to Kirishima and Katsuki, “My boss suspended me without pay. He thought I might retaliate against my ex… Kyoya. I’m pretty sure they all know I’ve got dirt on him, but that’s not even the worst part.”

Kirishima’s eyes widened, his face a mix of shock and concern. “Wait, he suspended you for that? That’s insane!”

“Yeah,” you nodded, your voice laced with frustration. “I’m guessing Kyoya wants me to stay silent, or worse, stick around so he can keep controlling me. And even though I was part of the media team, my hero name is still in my file there—just not registered to that agency, thank god.” You type a bit hardened to not let the tears well up again. You were quite tired of crying actually, very tired. 

Katsuki’s jaw clenched, his eyes narrowing as he listened intently. “That bastard…”

You continued drafting your message, explaining what you were going to say. “I’m writing to HR right now. I’m telling them about Kyoya’s creepy text, and I’m resigning. I can’t go back there, not after everything that’s happened.”

Michael leaned over, reading the message on your phone and nodding in approval. “That sounds good. Just make sure you’re clear about why you’re leaving. You don’t owe them anything, but it’s important to have it on record.”

You nodded, appreciating her support, and continued typing. Katsuki, who had been pacing slightly, suddenly stopped and muttered, “I still can’t find my damn phone.They didn’t find it when we recovered my car, but now…”

Kirishima, ever the helpful one, pulled out his own phone and offered, “I’ll call it! Maybe someone will pick up?”

He dialed the number, and the group fell into a brief silence as they listened for the sound of ringing. After a few moments, you heard a faint vibration coming from… somewhere close. You paused mid-sentence, your eyes widening as you realized the sound was coming from you. The others stared at you in confusion as you felt around, trying to locate the source. Your hand hesitated near your chest, and then, with a dawning realization, you reached into your bra and pulled out Katsuki’s phone.

You stared at it for a moment, then glanced up at the group. Kirishima’s face had turned a shade redder than his hair, his eyes wide with a mix of surprise and embarrassment as he quickly looked away. Michael, on the other hand, burst into genuine laughter, clutching her stomach as she doubled over, her laughter echoing in the quiet garden.

“Oh my god, you are something else!” Michael managed to gasp out between laughs, tears forming in the corners of her eyes as she praised you. “That is priceless!” 

Katsuki’s expression was a mix of disbelief and something else you couldn’t quite place. He gently took his phone back, his fingers brushing against yours for a brief moment. “Uh… thanks,” he muttered, his voice gruff but not unkind. He looked down at his phone, noting how warm it was from being tucked away in your bra. His heart gave a harsh thump in his chest, the unexpected warmth spreading through him.

The atmosphere lightened a bit with Michael’s laughter, though Kirishima was still blushing furiously. You smiled sheepishly, sliding Katsuki’s phone back to him with a quiet, “Sorry about that.”

“No big deal,” Katsuki replied, sliding the phone into his pocket, though he couldn’t shake the warmth that lingered in his hand. Or the fact that his ears were giving Kirishima’s hair dye a run for its money. His neck was burning and he wondered how when the night was supposed to be a nice 72 degrees with light humidity. 

You took a deep breath, the humor of the moment easing some of the tension in your chest. “Okay, back to the serious stuff,” you said, your voice steadier now. “I’m sending this message, and then I’m done with that place. I need to move on, for my own sake.”

Kirishima finally seemed to recover from his embarrassment, giving you a supportive smile. “We’re here for you, no matter what. You don’t have to deal with this alone.” Katsuki nodded in agreement, his gaze softening just a fraction as he looked at you. “Yeah. And if that bastard tries anything else, he’ll have to answer to us.”

You smiled at them, your heart swelling with gratitude. “Thanks, guys. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

“Probably cry or have to burn down another strip club.”

“MICHAEL!!”

You giggle so hard you begin to cough as you hit send on your resignation email, the tension that had been building inside you slowly began to dissipate. The night air felt a little warmer, the stars above a little brighter, as you sat there with your friends, knowing that you weren’t alone in this.

There were still challenges ahead, you knew you could face them—because for once you actually had people who fucking cared, people who would stand by you no matter what.

You turn your attention back to the night sky. The stars glittered faintly above, a peaceful contrast to the chaos that had unfolded earlier. Unbeknownst to you, Katsuki was watching from a few steps behind, his gaze lingering on you as you soaked in the tranquility of the moment. His expression was unreadable, a mix of contemplation and emotions that he wasn’t quite ready to talk about yet.

Shoto’s voice gently interrupted the quiet moment, pulling you back to reality. “You’re all set to be discharged,” he said, his tone calm and reassuring. “Sero and Mina are taking Denki home, and Haru and Mrs. Robi are being picked up by her husband.”

You nodded, casting one last look at the night sky before stepping back into the hospital, Michael at your side, guiding your IV pole with care. The fluorescent lights of the hospital corridor felt harsh after the soothing darkness outside, but you were grateful to be surrounded by people who cared.

As you approached the exit, Haru’s father greeted you with a warm smile, his gratitude evident in his eyes. “Thank you so much for saving my wife and child,” he said, his voice filled with sincerity.

You waved it off with a small smile, “It’s no biggie, really. I’m just glad they’re okay.” You crouched down to Haru’s level, pulling him into a tight hug, Bunbun squished between the two of you. “Take care, little one,” you whispered to him. “And remember, I’ll see you again later—especially if you decide to become a hero.”

Haru’s sleepy smile warmed your heart as he waved goodbye, his tiny hand clutching Bunbun tightly. His parents, along with a few nurses, guided him out of the hospital, and you watched as they disappeared down the corridor, feeling a bittersweet pang in your chest. Again, you were happy to be an only child but there were some days where you wished you had someone to turn to that knew you for as long as you’d known them. 

‘What is that like?”

Soon after, Denki approached, looking like he was floating on cloud nine as he said his goodbyes. “See you later!” he called out, waving absentmindedly as he walked away, still grinning from ear to ear after his encounter with a particularly attractive doctor. You couldn’t help but chuckle when you noticed he’d accidentally taken the hospital blanket with him, trailing behind him like a cape.

Sero shook his head in amusement, promising to call ‘Jirou’ for him later. “Take care of yourself, alright?” he said, giving you a nod before turning to leave.

Mina was next, her energy still vibrant despite the late hour. She pulled you into a gentle hug, her warmth comforting. “I’ll get your number from Bakugou, okay? We’ll plan a fun outing so you can meet everyone properly.” Her excitement was infectious, and you found yourself nodding in agreement.

“It’s a date,” you replied with a smile, watching as Mina squealed in delight. She thanked you again for your help before heading out with Sero, leaving you with the core group that had been by your side through everything: Izuku, Shoto, Kirishima, Bakugou, and Michael. 

Michael and Bakugou.

Shoto stepped forward, his usual calm demeanor in place. “I’ll drive,” he offered. “I have my sister’s van, so there’s plenty of room for everyone.”

You all followed him outside, where a sleek Land Rover Range Rover awaited. You raised an eyebrow at Shoto, surprised by the choice of vehicle. Before you could comment, Shoto casually mentioned, “I bought it for family time.”

Michael chuckled softly at that, a knowing smile on her face. You, however, couldn’t help but think back to what you’d read about his complicated relationship with his family. Even now some hawk-like reporters tried to rile him up regarding the previous issues. It made you wonder just how much “family time” he really had, but you kept those thoughts to yourself.

As everyone began to discuss seating arrangements, you seized the opportunity, yelling, “Shotgun!” before anyone else could claim the coveted front seat. A nurse was already unhooking you from your IV, and you were buckled in before anyone could protest.

Izuku and Katsuki exchanged amused looks before climbing into the backseat, Katsuki muttering something under his breath about how fast you moved. Michael and Kirishima took the middle row, with Kirishima running around to Michael’s side to help her in before dashing back to his own seat.

Shoto moved gracefully to the driver’s seat, his movements fluid and practiced. He thanked the hospital staff once more, his voice polite and sincere, before starting the engine and driving out of the parking lot. 

As you settled into your seat, you couldn’t help but glance around the interior of the Range Rover. The leather seats were plush and comfortable, the dashboard sleek and modern with every button and dial in its place. It was a far cry from your own car, and you could see now why Shoto had been so taken aback when he first saw your vehicle. His was a picture of quiet luxury, designed for comfort and style, whereas yours was… well, functional, to say the least.

‘Nah fuck that, Lemon is still sexy.’

The hum of the engine was smooth, the ride almost too quiet as you all headed out. You turned to Shoto, who had his eyes on the road, his expression serene. “Nice ride,” you commented, a hint of admiration in your voice.

He glanced at you briefly, a small smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “Thanks.”

In the back, you could hear Izuku and Katsuki bickering lightly, their voices a soft murmur in the otherwise quiet car. Michael and Kirishima were chatting about something too, Michael’s laughter ringing out now and then, the sound comforting and familiar.

As you looked out the window, watching the city lights blur past, you couldn’t help but feel a sense of calm wash over you. The night had been chaotic, full of unexpected twists and turns, but now, in the safety of the car, surrounded by friends, you felt a little more at ease.

It wasn’t over, not by a long shot. But for now, at least, you could breathe. 

You glue your eyes to the window, watching the stars glimmer as they pass by, the city lights twinkling like constellations in the distance. The gentle hum of the engine combined with the rhythmic pattern of the streetlights creates a soothing lullaby, and the traffic slows things down a bit, but you don't mind. Each moment feels suspended, a brief respite from the chaos of the day.

After a few minutes, you break the comfortable silence. "Oh, are you guys still coming over tonight?" you ask, turning back to look at Shoto and Izuku.

Izuku meets your gaze in the rearview mirror, his eyes lighting up as he nods enthusiastically. "If it's okay with you!" His voice carries that familiar warmth, the kind that makes you feel at ease.

You nod back, a smile tugging at your lips. “Of course.” Shoto, sitting beside you, nods as well, his expression calm and reassuring.

The car comes to a stop at a red light, the world outside pausing for just a moment. You roll down your window, sticking your head out to feel the cool night air against your face. The wind plays with your hair, carrying with it the scent of the city—a mix of distant rain and concrete, tinged with the fragrance of nearby trees.

Behind you, a conversation unfolds between Katsuki and Izuku. Katsuki’s voice is low, his usual bravado softened as he talks about something that’s been bothering him. “The chest X-rays came back normal,” he says, frustration evident in his tone. “But I don’t feel normal. I can’t exactly put it into words.”

Izuku listens intently, his concern palpable. “How long have you been feeling this way?” he asks, his voice gentle yet probing.

Katsuki hesitates for a moment, as if searching for the right words. “A few weeks,” he finally admits. “I made another appointment, but they think it’s more… mental.”

Izuku furrows his brow in thought. “Mental? But you can feel it in your heart?”

Katsuki nods, a rare vulnerability in his usually guarded expression. “Yeah… I don’t get how it can be mental when it feels so… physical.”

Izuku considers this, then asks, “Did someone quirk you?”

Katsuki shakes his head. “No.”

A pause stretches between them, the car now moving slowly through the still city streets. “What else do you think it could be?” Izuku asks, his tone gentle, probing for the truth Katsuki might be avoiding.

Katsuki doesn’t answer right away. Instead, his gaze drifts to you. You’re leaning out of the window slightly, your eyes wide as you drink in the glow of the full moon. The silver light casts a soft halo around your head, illuminating your delicate features—your cheeks, flushed from the cool air, the curve of your adorable nose, your soft lips slightly parted in awe. Your eyes shine with a life and light that Katsuki finds himself mesmerized by, each star reflecting in your gaze as if you were part of the night sky itself.

‘Better than the night sky.’

He watches you for a long moment, his heart thumping in his chest, an unfamiliar warmth spreading through him. Izuku follows Katsuki’s gaze, his green eyes widening slightly as he realizes what’s going on. “Oh,” he notes softly, the single word heavy with understanding.

Katsuki doesn’t respond, his attention still fixed on you, the way the moonlight seems to wrap itself around you, making you look almost ethereal. For a moment, everything else fades away—the traffic, the city, even the conversation. There’s just you, bathed in silver light, looking like an angel sent to earth, and Katsuki realizes with a start that this feeling in his chest might not be something a doctor can fix.

As the car glides down the darkened streets, Izuku’s curiosity gets the better of him, and he turns his head slightly toward Katsuki. “Are you and her really dating?” His voice is gentle, cautious, as if he’s unsure how Katsuki might react.

Katsuki shakes his head, his gaze still lingering on you as you lean back into your seat, the moonlight reflecting in your eyes. “Nah,” he mutters, his voice low but honest. “We met by chance. Couldn’t get her out of my head after that. She ended up turning to me for help, and now… I guess we’re friends.”

Izuku processes this, his brow furrowing as he tries to piece together what he’s just heard. Katsuki isn’t one to let people in easily, let alone call someone a friend after such a short time. The realization that you’ve somehow managed to break through those walls leaves Izuku momentarily speechless.

In the middle row, Kirishima, who has been quietly listening to the conversation, pulls out his phone. A message in the notes app catches his eye—Michael’s handwriting, precise and thoughtful. She’s written, “Do you know any good therapists? I want to encourage her to get some help. I give her space to express herself, but I’m worried. Maybe talking to a professional would help.”

Kirishima reads the message, his expression softening with concern. He nods slightly before passing the phone back to the third row where Katsuki and Izuku are seated. Katsuki glances down at the screen, his expression unreadable as he absorbs the message. He hands the phone to Izuku, who reads it and then looks back at you with a newfound understanding in his eyes.

In the front seat, Todoroki’s focus remains on the road, his hands steady on the wheel as he switches lanes smoothly. The city lights flash by in a blur, casting brief shadows across his face. You glance over at him, noticing the calm determination in his expression. “Can you turn the radio on?” you ask, your voice breaking the silence that has settled in the car.

Todoroki nods, reaching over to adjust the dial. The soft click of the knob is followed by the gentle hum of static before a soothing melody fills the car. The music is a welcome distraction, its rhythm aligning with the gentle sway of the vehicle. You lean back in your seat, letting the sound wash over you as you close your eyes for a moment, trying to ground yourself in the present.

Izuku and Katsuki exchange a look, both silently agreeing that the topic of therapy might be best saved for another time. For now, they allow the music to fill the space between all of you, a temporary balm for the day’s worries. Michael leans back in her seat, a small smile playing on her lips as she watches the cityscape pass by, the lights reflecting in her eyes.

Kirishima shifts slightly, his mind still on the message Michael had written. He makes a mental note to reach out to a few people he knows who might be able to help, hoping that it could make a difference for you. Meanwhile, Katsuki’s gaze drifts back to you, his chest tightening slightly at the thought of you needing help and not being able to fix things himself.

As the music plays softly in the background, the car continues its journey through the night, the atmosphere inside growing quieter, more contemplative. Each of you is lost in your thoughts, the city around you a distant blur as you all inch closer to wherever this strange new path is leading you.

However, fate wasn’t having that and so as you all came to a standstill in traffic, Todoroki turned the radio up again and the first notes of Alicia Keys' "You Don't Know My Name" drifts through the car. Both you and Michael perk up instantly, recognizing the familiar melody. "Turn it up!" you both exclaim in unison, your voices filled with excitement. Todoroki glances over at you with a small smile, his fingers deftly turning the volume knob, letting the soulful tune fill the vehicle.

The music swells around you, and you and Michael start singing along, your voices harmonizing beautifully with Alicia’s smooth, heartfelt delivery. There's a lightness in the car now, a shared sense of joy that spreads from the front seat to the back, like a warm breeze on a cool night.

"Baby, baby, baby, 

From the day I saw you, 

I really, really wanted to catch your eye,"

Bakugou, who had been quietly lost in thought, is caught off guard by the song. As the hook hits, memories flood his mind like a dam breaking, and he’s suddenly transported back to the first time he saw you in that dimly lit strip club. He can almost hear the low hum of the club’s music fading as the memory sharpens in his mind. The way you moved, the way your eyes locked with his, the instant connection that crackled between you both—it all comes rushing back to him in vivid detail.

"There's something special 'bout you,

 I must really like you,

'Cause not a lot of guys are worth my time, oh,”

He can still feel the barrier between you, a thin veil that separated your worlds, yet it felt like nothing could keep you apart. He remembers the song "Loyalty" playing in the background as you traced a heart on the glass with your fingertip, leaving an invisible mark that seared into his memory. He recalls how he pressed his hand against the glass, feeling an inexplicable surge of connection, even though he couldn’t touch you yet.

“Ooh, baby, baby, baby, 

It's getting kind of crazy, 

'Cause you are taking over my mind,”

His mind jumps to the first time he truly saw you, outside the club when you returned his wallet. The encounter had been brief, but your eyes—those eyes that seemed to see right through him—had stayed with him long after you walked away. He thinks of the afternoon in the police station, the cold, sterile environment contrasting with the warmth he felt when you looked at him despite your circumstances. He thinks of the interrogation room when you were arrested, where you defied the cops bullshit questions, and how that defiance only made him want to protect you more. 

“And it feels like, ooh,

 You don't know my name I swear, 

It feels like, ooh,

You don't know my name, 

'Round and 'round and 'round we go, will you ever know?”

Alicia’s voice croons, and it feels like the song is speaking directly to his soul. He thinks of you after Michael’s apartment was bombed, standing in the dim light after a shower, your vulnerability hidden behind a brave facade and he thinks about how grateful he is to have shared those moments with you. 

As you, Michael, and Kirishima continue singing, Todoroki taps his thumbs rhythmically on the steering wheel, syncing with the beat. The atmosphere is electric, alive with shared nostalgia that none of you could fully articulate but all of you felt.

“Oh, baby, baby, baby,

I see us on our first date,

You're doing everything that makes me smile,

And when we had our first kiss It happened on a Thursday, 

Ooh, it set my soul on fire,”

Now the more intimate moments flash before him: carrying you when you were too stubborn, bringing you your shoes, and the simple but profound act of falling asleep beside you. Playing 21 questions, where he learned more about you in a few hours than he had about most people in years. The way you made him feel—happy, content, at peace—was something he had never expected but now couldn’t imagine living without. Katsuki wants to date you, he wants to kiss you, he wants to marry you. He just wants to respect and protect you. 

The song continues to play, the lyrics syncing perfectly with his thoughts as he processes everything. The warmth of your presence, the joy of being around you, and the longing that’s been steadily growing in his chest, all come together as he realizes something that has been creeping up on him for a while. He wants this feeling—this connection, this peace—for the rest of his life.

As the car begins to drift through the city streets, you let the night air wash over you, your head leaning out the window as the cool breeze tousles your hair. The city lights blur past, but your mind is somewhere else entirely. Mrs.Keys’ voice fills your heart, her soulful melody wrapping around you like a comforting embrace. You and Michael are still singing along, the lyrics slipping effortlessly from your lips.

"I'm sayin', he don't even know what he's doin' to me," you sing, but the words take on a deeper meaning as your thoughts drift to Katsuki. Your heart tightens, recalling how his presence has slowly but surely become a constant in your life. "Got me feelin' all crazy inside," the song continues, and you can’t help but agree. Katsuki does make you feel crazy—crazy in a way that’s both thrilling and terrifying.

You glance back at him, catching the subtle way his gaze lingers on you. It’s not the first time you’ve caught him looking, but this time, it feels different. There’s something in his eyes, a softness that wasn’t there before. It reminds you of the way he looked at you on that bridge, screaming your name as if it was the only thing that mattered in the world. The memory makes your chest tighten, a mix of fear and something warmer, something that feels a lot like hope.

"I'm feelin' like, oh, doing more than I've ever done for anyone's attention," you sing, and the words resonate with you deeply. (Katsuki is punching the air to this in the back and scaring Izuku but you can’t see.) With Katsuki, you find yourself wanting to do more, be more, even though he’s never asked for anything. He’s not like Kyoya in that way. Kyoya demanded your attention, your time, your everything, and yet it never felt like it was enough. There was always something more he wanted, something more you had to give, until there was nothing left for yourself.

‘Selfish bastard.’

You close your eyes for a moment, letting the memories of your past relationship with Kyoya surface. With him, it was all about appearances, about keeping up with the image of a perfect couple. He was charming, attentive in public, but behind closed doors, he was controlling, always needing to have the upper hand. You remember how he would manipulate your emotions, turning your own insecurities against you until you felt small and insignificant. "Take notice of what's in front of you, 'cause did I mention (oh) you 'bout to miss a good thing?" the lyrics sing out, and you wonder if Kyoya ever realized how much he missed by not truly seeing you, the real you. 

Probably not. 

But Katsuki... Katsuki is different. He’s rough around the edges, sure, but he’s real. Like, actually real. He doesn’t hide behind a facade; he’s unapologetically himself, and he’s given you the space to be yourself too. "And you'll never know how good it feels to have all of my affection," you sing, and the thought makes you smile. Katsuki might not be big on talking, but when he does speak, it’s genuine. He’s opened up to you in ways that Kyoya never did, sharing his fears, his dreams, and his loneliness. 

You think about how he admitted to you that he just wanted your company because he was lonely. The confession caught you off guard because, how could someone like Katsuki, someone so strong and fiercely independent, be lonely? But then you realized, he’s so used to being the one everyone relies on, the one who’s always in control, that he’s forgotten how to let others in. His friends want to be let in and Katsuki’s trying to leave the door open. But he’s still not used to it yet and he’s struggling.

"And you'll never get a chance to experience my lovin' (oh), 'cause my lovin' feels like ooh," the lyrics play, and you know that with Katsuki, it’s not about grand gestures or declarations of caring. It’s in the little things—the way he looks at you, the way he makes sure you’re safe, the way he respects your boundaries. 

"You don't know my name ('round and 'round and 'round we go), and I swear (will you ever know?) it feels like ooh," Alicia’s voice echoes your own doubts. Will Katsuki ever truly know you? The person behind the walls you’ve built up? It’s been so long since you’ve seen her yourself, would you even recognize her if you saw her? Will he ever understand the depth of what you feel for him, or is this just another fleeting connection, destined to fade like so many before it?

You open your eyes again, looking up at the night sky. The moon is full, its silver light bathing the city in a soft, ethereal glow. You think of Kyoya and the way he never truly saw you, only the version of you that fit his narrative. And then you think of Katsuki, who sees you—really sees you—and doesn’t try to change you. It’s a stark contrast, one that leaves you feeling both vulnerable and cherished.

“Will you ever know?” Alicia asks, and you find yourself wondering the same thing. But then you remember the way Katsuki looked at you when you were holding Haru, the tenderness in his eyes as if he was seeing a future he never thought possible. You remember the way he held you after everything fell apart, not saying a word, just being there, solid and steady. And you realize, maybe he doesn’t need to know everything right now. Maybe it’s enough that he’s here, that he’s trying, and that for the first time in a long time, you feel like you’re truly seen as you.

Just you. 

And that’s all you have to be. 

With Kyoya, everything was calculated, measured. He was charming, yes, but there was a coldness to him—a distance that made you feel like you were always grasping for something just out of reach. You recall the way he used to talk, always so smooth, but rarely ever about anything that truly mattered. He never let you in, not fully. Even when he held you, there was a sense of detachment, like he was physically present but emotionally miles away.

The lyrics echo in your mind, reminding you of how hard you tried with Kyoya. You bent over backward to keep him happy, to make him notice you, but it always felt like you were just another part of his meticulously crafted life. The way he would say all the right things but never follow through, leaving you feeling empty and unseen. You were in love with the idea of him, but in reality, you were just a piece of the puzzle he could rearrange as he pleased. And you knew that and stayed anyway, that part always fucked you so good. 

you can’t help but feel a pang of sadness. Kyoya never truly appreciated you—never really saw you for who you were. But here, now, you find yourself in a different situation altogether.

Katsuki. He’s nothing like Kyoya, and yet he’s everything you never knew you needed. He’s brash, yes, but there’s a sincerity in him that Kyoya lacked. He doesn’t hide behind words; he lets his actions speak. When you think of Katsuki, your heart softens, did you miss Kyoya? No-

That would be like saying you missed a hernia. 

You like that about him, how he’s not afraid to be vulnerable with you. With Katsuki, you feel like maybe, just maybe, you’re finally experiencing something real, something deep. But it’s not all easy. You worry sometimes, thinking about how intense he can be, how easily his temper flares. Yet, he’s never directed that anger at you—not in a way that hurts. 

He’s careful, in his own rough way, to make sure you feel safe. He doesn’t need to say much; the way he looks at you, the way he always seems to know when you’re struggling, it’s enough. He communicates with his eyes, his hands, the way he’s always there, hovering just close enough to catch you if you fall.

Katsuki makes you feel—alive, seen, cherished. How could someone so loved by others, like him, ever feel lonely? Yet, he admitted that to you, in a rare moment of honesty. 

Katsuki told you he just wanted your company because being around you filled a void in him that no one else could. 

The thought makes your heart ache in a way that’s both painful and comforting. You never wanted to be anyone’s burden, but with Katsuki, it doesn’t feel like a chore to love you. It feels like you’re finally where you’re meant to be, with someone who needs you as much as you need them.

You find yourself staring out the window again, your mind a whirl of emotions. You think about the future, about what this situationship with Katsuki could turn into. It’s scary, the unknown, but it’s also thrilling. With Kyoya, you always knew where you stood—on the outside, looking in. But with Katsuki, you’re right in the thick of it, part of something real, something that could grow into something beautiful if you let it.

So you make a silent promise to yourself to keep moving forward, to see where this road with Katsuki might lead. After all, you’re not the same person you were with Kyoya. You’ve grown, and now, you’re ready for something more. 

Something real.

The car begins to move forward, you find yourself smiling softly. Whatever this is with Katsuki, it’s different. It’s messy, it’s complicated, but it’s real. And maybe, just maybe, that’s enough.

As the next verse of Alicia’s song starts to play, you and Michael exchange a mischievous glance, both of you clearly on the same wavelength. The playful energy in the car is contagious, and the boys can sense it too.

You start first, putting on a flirty, exaggerated voice, mimicking Alicia's sultry tone. "Well, I'ma have to just go 'head and call this boy… Hello? Can I speak to, to Michael?" You make a show of pretending to be shy, twirling an imaginary phone cord around your finger.

Michael picks up right where you leave off, deepening her voice in an attempt to sound smooth. "Oh hey, how you doing?" she says, making Kirishima snicker beside her.

The boys, catching on, start to chime in with their own playful responses.

Izuku, always the gentleman, says with an amused smile, "Oh, hey! This is Michael. How can I help you today?" His tone is warm and friendly, making you laugh.

You continue, keeping up the playful act. "Uh, I feel kinda silly doing this, but, uh… This is the waitress from the coffee house on 39th and Lennox." You glance at the boys, enjoying their reactions. Izuku looks curious, his eyes sparkling with interest, while Shoto remains deadpan, a small smile tugging at the corner of his lips.

Kirishima, ever the jokester, throws in, "Wait, are you the one with the braids?!" His exaggerated surprise makes everyone in the car chuckle. Izuku jumps in next, trying to match the casual tone of a guy who might just be realizing he’s got an admirer. His sweetness adds a layer of charm to the moment, making you grin.

Michael takes over again, delivering the next line with an exaggerated seriousness. "You know, the one with the braids? Yeah, well, I see you on Wednesdays all the time."

Shoto, with his usual deadpan delivery, chimes in, "I don't even eat lunch on Wednesdays." His serious tone makes the comment even funnier, and you can’t help but grin at how effortlessly he adds to the humor.

You continue, trying to keep a straight face. "Yeah, I always notice your, uh, special order with the hot chocolate. My manager be tripping and stuff, talking 'bout we gotta use water, but—"

Bakugou, who’s been quiet so far, suddenly grumbles, "I told you I wanted coffee, not that sweet shit." But there’s a hint of a smile on his face, showing that he’s enjoying this just as much as the rest of you.

Shoto interrupts with a perfectly deadpan, "But I always use some milk and cream for you 'cause… I think you're kinda sweet." The way he delivers the line with no change in expression makes everyone in the car burst into laughter, including Michael, who barely manages to keep going.

Izuku cuts in, "No way! Real milk is the only way to go!" His earnest tone makes everyone laugh, and you can see him grinning from ear to ear.

“Anyway, you always got on some fly blue suit, and your cuff links are shining all bright,” Kirishima jumps in next, trying to match the casual tone of a guy who might just be realizing he’s got an admirer. His sweetness adds a layer of charm to the moment, making you grin. You try not to crack up as you glance at Katsuki. He’s been quiet, just observing the chaos, but you can see he’s enjoying this in his own way.

Michael continues, her voice still light and playful. "But I always use some milk and cream for you 'cause… I think you're kinda sweet."

Kirishima, ever the charmer, says, "Aw, that's nice of you! I like my drinks sweet—just like my personality!" He flexes his arm, making everyone in the car roll their eyes and chuckle.

The song continues, and as you and Michael trade verses, the boys keep throwing in their silly comments. Shoto’s deadpan responses, like, “I didn’t know I was that predictable,” mix with Izuku’s overly polite, “Thank you for the extra care!” while Kirishima just keeps trying to one-up everyone with his goofy charm.

Finally, you and Michael reach the last verse, your voices blending together. "So, what day did you say? Oh, yeah, Thursday's perfect, man."

Bakugou, who’s been grumbling through the whole thing, suddenly surprises you with his response. "Thursday, huh? Yeah, that works. But don't keep me waiting, got it?" His voice is still gruff, but there’s a softness to it that catches you off guard.

You glance at him, a smile tugging at your lips as you see the sincerity in his eyes. It’s a small moment, but it feels significant—like he’s letting you see a side of him he doesn’t show often.

Before the moment can get too serious, you quickly stick your head out of the window again, letting the cool night air rush over you. The boys shout in surprise, and you can hear the shocked reactions of people in the cars around you, but all you can do is laugh, feeling lighter than you have in a long time.

When you pull back inside, your hair a mess and your cheeks flushed, you find everyone looking at you, a mix of amusement and concern on their faces. But Katsuki’s gaze is different—there’s something warm, almost protective in the way he’s watching you, and it makes your heart flutter in a way you didn’t expect.

You share a quick, soft smile with him before turning back to the rest of the group, the playful energy in the car still buzzing as you replay to the middle ish of the song. 

“Come on, you guys you know it now!” 

The melody picks back up and Katsuki decides to go for it. He suddenly jumps in, his voice gruff as usual, but there's a slight smirk on his face. “So, what you do? Oh, word? Yeah, that’s interesting.”

You can’t help but laugh, especially when Michael nudges you to keep going. “Look, man, I mean, I don’t wanna waste your time, but… I know girls don’t usually do this.”

Katsuki, taking the cue, responds with a bit more sincerity this time, his voice lowering. “But I was wondering if maybe we could get together… outside the club one day?” His eyes meet yours for a brief moment, and you feel a sudden warmth in your chest. He’s playing along, but there’s something genuine in the way he says it, and it catches you off guard.

You recover quickly, sharing a quick look with Michael before you both continue, your voices overlapping as you both say, “You know, ‘cause I do look a lot different outside my work clothes and… I mean, we could just go across the street to the park right here.”

I mean you were pretty clothed considering the standards for a strip club. 

Izuku chimes in again, “Wait, hold up, my, my cell phone breaking up, hold up, can you hear me now? Yeah.” His innocent expression makes the line even funnier, and you can’t help but laugh along with Michael.

Finally, Katsuki finishes the line, his voice surprisingly soft as he says, “So, what day did you say? Oh, yeah, Thursday’s perfect.”

His tone is so sincere that it takes you by surprise. The laughter fades as you turn to look at him, your eyes meeting his. There’s something in the way he’s looking at you—something real, something that makes your heart skip a beat. You smile at him, the warmth in his eyes making you feel secure and understood in the way you had been avoiding.

But your own antisocial constipation hits, and you quickly turn back to the window, sticking your head out to feel the rush of the cool night air against your face. The sudden movement startles the couple in the minivan next to you, and you can hear their shocked exclamations as they spot you hanging out the window, your hair blowing wildly in the wind.

“Are you crazy?!” Kirishima shouts, half-laughing, half-horrified, as he reaches out to pull you back in.

“Don’t make me turn this car around.” Shoto gently scolds but he’s letting you go knowing you’re probably feeling the aftermath of your earlier fight. There’s a slightly playful tone to his voice while Michael waves at you from her window and Izuku panics about the probability of you falling out of the car. 

But you can’t help it—you feel free, alive, and all the complicated emotions from earlier seem to dissolve into the night. You pull back inside, breathless and laughing, feeling the energy of the moment vibrating through you, and when you glance at Katsuki again, you find him smiling too—a small, genuine smile that makes you feel like maybe, just maybe, everything is going to be okay.

The rest of the ride home is peaceful. The hum of the engine and the soothing darkness outside lull you into a gentle doze, your body sinking into the plush seat as you steal a quick power nap. The melody of Alicia Keys still lingers in your mind, blending with the warmth that spreads through your chest as you recall the playful banter that just passed. It's a fleeting moment of calm after the whirlwind of the day, and you find yourself drifting off, feeling safe and content.

When the car finally pulls up to Katsuki’s and Bakugou’s condo, Todoroki is the first to exit. He’s swift and efficient, moving around to your side of the car with a calm purpose. The sudden absence of the engine’s rumble wakes you, and you blink groggily as the door opens, revealing Shoto standing there with his usual serene expression.

“Need a hand?” he asks, his voice soft as he leans down to offer his arm.

You smile at him, still half-asleep, and nod. "Thanks, Shoto. I forgot my shoes."

Without hesitation, Todoroki bends slightly and offers you a piggyback. "Hop on. I’ve got you," he says simply.

Surprised but grateful, you wrap your arms around his shoulders and climb onto his back, your legs dangling as he stands up with ease. His steady hands under your thighs keep you securely in place as he starts walking toward the condo. Michael, who’s still inside the car, is helped out by Kirishima, who gives her one of his bright, reassuring grins.

Izuku, ever eager, clambers out of the back seat first, his eyes shining with curiosity as he walks alongside you and Todoroki. He immediately begins asking you questions about your powers, his excitement evident in the way he talks. “So, how exactly do you manipulate the water? Is it something you can control consciously, or does it fluctuate based on how you’re feeling?”

Kirishima, sensing Izuku’s enthusiasm might be overwhelming, chuckles and says, “Give her a break, Midoriya. She’s had a long day.”

But you shake your head, smiling as you adjust your arms on top of Shoto’s head, enjoying the way his hair feels under your fingers. “I don’t mind, Kiri. It’s kinda fun.” You respond to Izuku’s questions with a playful tone, enjoying the back-and-forth.

As you chat, Bakugou lingers behind, his eyes narrowing when he sees you perched on Todoroki’s back, your fingers lightly toying with his hair as you talk animatedly with Izuku. A flicker of something dark and dangerous flashes through his crimson eyes, and his jaw clenches. His hands curl into fists at his sides, every instinct screaming at him to do something—anything—to interrupt the scene playing out before him. 

It wasn’t like you and him were officially dating, and you were naturally sweet with everyone, but the sight of you so close to Shoto, who was being every bit the gentleman, made something primal and possessive flare up inside him.

Michael notices the tension in Bakugou’s posture and nudges him sharply with her elbow, shooting him a questioning look. The unspoken question hangs in the air between them: ‘ Why do you look like you’re about to murder someone?’

Bakugou just grunts in response, trying to shove down the surge of jealousy that threatens to boil over. He stalks over to where his car had been towed back to its spot, still dripping wet from earlier. The sight of it does little to cool his temper. Popping open the door, he spots your Converse discarded carelessly on the floorboard. He picks them up, his mind racing as Izuku’s persistent voice drones on in the background.

But you, ever patient, are still replying to the nerds' questions. Your voice carries over the sound of your fingers still absentmindedly playing with Shoto’s hair, your legs kicking a bit as Todoroki adjusts his hold on you.

Bakugou glances back at you, feeling a sharp pang in his chest as he watches you, so relaxed and comfortable with Shoto. The way you’re smiling, the gentle way Shoto is holding you, it all makes Bakugou’s heart thump harshly in his chest. He closes his eyes, trying to meditate for a moment to rein in the surge of emotions threatening to spill over. But it’s no use—no matter how much he tries to rationalize it, the jealousy gnaws at him, making it hard to think straight.

‘It’s not like she’s doing anything wrong,’ he tells himself. But knowing it and feeling it are two different things, and right now, all Bakugou can feel is the burning jealousy tightening his chest.

He takes a deep breath, trying to focus on anything else—on setting up your bed frame, getting some rest before he has to go back to work, anything to distract him. But as his eyes flicker back to you, smiling and lacing your fingers with Michael now, the jealousy flares up again, sharper this time.

Bakugou knows he’s being irrational, knows that this possessiveness is something he needs to keep in check. But seeing you so close to someone else, especially someone like Shoto, who’s calm, composed, and everything Bakugou struggles to be, it just makes him want to—

He clenches his fists tighter, pushing the thought away before it can fully form. He doesn’t want to feel this way. He just wants to be with you, to make sure you’re okay, to spend time with you before everything goes back to normal. But as much as he tries to tamp down the jealousy, it lingers, a bitter taste in the back of his throat as he watches you from the corner of his eye, struggling to keep his emotions in check.

Bakugou's intense gaze catches Kirishima’s garnet eyes, and for a moment, the unspoken understanding between them is palpable. Kirishima’s eyes soften, and Bakugou feels the weight of his own emotions pressing down on him. He looks away, his mind a tangled mess of frustration, jealousy, and something else he can’t quite put into words. Without a word, Bakugou walks over to where you’re still perched on Todoroki’s back, feeling the tension coil tighter in his chest.

As he reaches you, he holds onto your shoes, his expression carefully neutral. His sharp eyes catch the intricate patterns you’ve sewn into the canvas of your Converse—vivid butterflies and delicate flowers in a riot of bright colors. The stitching is precise, almost painstakingly detailed, and he realizes how much effort you’ve put into making these shoes uniquely yours. They’re a reflection of you, vibrant and full of life. He thinks back to earlier in the evening when he caught you gazing up at the stars, a soft, almost wistful expression on your face. You really did seem to love color and light, the outdoors, the endless expanse of the night sky.

The thought crosses his mind before he can stop it: Would you like stargazing? Maybe even hiking? He remembers the old telescope he keeps tucked away for nights when he’s out in the wilderness, searching for a moment of peace under the vast sky. The idea of sharing that with you, of seeing your face light up under the stars, sends a flicker of warmth through him, but he quickly shoves it aside. First, he just wants you away from Todoroki.

As you notice Bakugou approach, your eyes widen in surprise, and before you can say anything, you’re suddenly lifted into Kirishima’s strong arms, your body cradled effortlessly against his chest. “Gotcha!” Kirishima says with a grin, his playful energy infectious. You blink in surprise, but then you laugh, the sound light and easy as you adjust to your new position.

Izuku, still excitedly talking about quirks, watches with wide eyes as you settle next to him, now comfortably held by Kirishima. “Would you show me your fire powers?” Izuku asks, his voice full of eager curiosity, completely oblivious to the tension simmering between Bakugou and Todoroki.

With a small, confident smile, you extend your hand, palm up, and summon a flame. The fire flickers to life, its light illuminating your face in a warm, golden glow. Beside you, Todoroki creates a similar flame, but where his fire is controlled and uniform, yours is wilder, more unpredictable, dancing with a life of its own. It’s as if your fire reflects your spirit—fierce, untamed, and capable of both great warmth and unimaginable destruction.

Bakugou watches, captivated by the sight of you cradling the flame in your hands. The glow casts a soft light over your cheeks, accentuating the determined, yet gentle expression in your eyes. Your hands, cupped together like you’re offering something precious, make it look as if you’re holding out more than just fire—like you’re offering him a piece of yourself, something dangerous yet deeply alluring. He swallows hard, his throat dry, the intensity of his own thoughts catching him off guard. 

Jesus Christ, he needed to get some help.

You tilt your head up, meeting Bakugou’s gaze, your eyes full of warmth and trust as you watch him. For a moment, everything else fades away—the cars, the condo, even the lingering scent of rain in the air. It’s just you, holding that wild, untamable fire, looking at him like he’s the only one in the world you want to share it with.

Shoto, still holding his fire, notices the way Bakugou’s eyes are fixed on you and gives a small, knowing smile. “She’s pretty amazing, huh?” he murmurs, though it’s more a statement than a question.

Bakugou’s heart pounds in his chest, the conflicting emotions swirling inside him like a storm. He’s used to being in control, used to knowing exactly what to do, but right now, all he can do is nod, unable to tear his gaze away from you. “Yeah,” he finally mutters, his voice rough with suppressed emotion. “She really is.”

Izuku, oblivious to the tension, continues peppering you with questions about your quirk, but Bakugou isn’t listening. His focus is entirely on you—the way the firelight dances in your eyes, the way you laugh easily, even in weird situations, and the way you’re able to make him feel both completely out of control and more alive than he’s ever been.

Todoroki, still standing nearby, watches Bakugou with his usual calm demeanor, though there’s a hint of something in his eyes, a silent understanding of what’s going on. He doesn’t say anything, though, simply steps back slightly, giving Bakugou more space.

As you continue to chat with Izuku, your fingers absently playing with a fallen strand of Kirishima’s hair, Bakugou feels the jealousy slowly ebbing away, replaced by something softer, something he’s not quite familiar with yet. But as he watches you, bathed in the warm glow of your own fire, he knows one thing for certain—he’s willing to fight for that warmth, for the chance to be the one you share it with.

The tension in the air lingers for just a moment longer before Michael, ever the perceptive one, decides to break it with a sharp clap of her hands. “Alright, enough of this weird staring contest. Let’s get going!” She rolls her eyes, a playful smirk tugging at the corners of her lips. Her light-hearted tone cuts through the atmosphere, easing the tightness in Bakugou’s shoulders. With a quiet huff, Bakugou crouches down in front of you, holding your Converse. 

“Give me your foot,” he demands, though there’s a softness to his voice that wasn’t there before. You oblige, lifting your foot as he carefully slides the shoe on. His hands are rough yet gentle, the way they cup your heel to guide it into the shoe is oddly intimate, sending a small thrill up your spine. He doesn’t rush, despite the absurdity of tying your laces when you’ll be taking them off in a few minutes. He double-knots the laces with practiced ease, his fingers brushing your ankle lightly before he stands back up.

“Don’t go losin’ your shoes again,” he mutters, a faint blush dusting his cheeks as he looks anywhere but at you. His grip on the remaining shoe tightens slightly, and it’s clear that this small act of care is as much for him as it is for you.

Before you can thank him, Michael, ever the instigator, grins and shouts, “Last one up the stairs is buying dinner tomorrow!” With that, she bolts for the entrance, her voice echoing through the night air.

A spark of competition ignites in your chest, and before you know it, you’re sprinting after her, crashing through the doors and practically dragging Michael along as she latches onto your arm. “No quirks!” Izuku shouts from behind, his voice full of enthusiasm as he dashes to catch up. You three reach the stairs first, your smaller bodies swift and agile. 

Kirishima barrels up the stairs after you, his heavy footsteps echoing off the walls. “No way I’m losing this!” he yells, determination written all over his face. But in his eagerness, he almost plows straight into you, his broad frame coming dangerously close to knocking you off balance. 

Just as you stumble back, Shoto steps in with impeccable timing, gently guiding you out of Kirishima’s path with a polite, “Excuse me.” He moves with a quiet grace, effortlessly making his way to the top floor, but then pauses, brow furrowing as he realizes something’s amiss.

“They changed the floor numbers,” he mutters to himself, a rare flicker of confusion crossing his usually composed face. Izuku, realizing what’s happening, dashes forward, grabbing Shoto by the arm to steer him in the right direction. “Come on, Todoroki, this way!”

Meanwhile, Bakugou’s competitive streak flares to life as he sees you ahead, your laughter ringing in his ears. He picks up the pace, determined to pass you, but just as he’s about to overtake you, you “accidentally” slip backward, your body colliding with his. The sudden contact sends a jolt of surprise through him, and before he can react, you push Michael up the last few steps with a triumphant grin.

Michael, catching your playful spirit, throws open the door at the top of the stairs and dashes into the hallway with a victorious whoop. Behind you, Shoto and Izuku catch up, Izuku panting slightly as Shoto remains infuriatingly unbothered, his pace as steady as ever. Kirishima, still wobbling slightly from his near-collision with you, pulls himself together and pushes onward, determination etched on his face.

As you reach the top of the stairs, Bakugou’s arms shoot out, steadying you from behind as he catches his breath. He’s flustered, his face slightly pink from both the exertion and the lingering memory of you crashing into his chest. His grip on your shoulders is firm, grounding, and you can feel the heat radiating from him. “Watch where you’re going next time, Princess,” he grumbles, though the words lack their usual bite.

With a mischievous grin, you pull away from him and sprint toward the door, but as you do, you notice something odd—your left shoe is missing. A quick glance back reveals that Bakugou is holding it up, a smug look on his face as he dangles it in the air.

“Lookin’ for this?”

You groan but don’t slow down. “I’ll get it later!” you shout over your shoulder as you barrel through the door, launching yourself into the condo’s entryway. Behind you, Bakugou bursts through the door, his vermillion eyes sharp and focused on the race, while Shoto and Izuku trail behind, still neck-and-neck, with Izuku now crawling through the door (he hit his pinky toe on the stair railing) in a desperate attempt to catch up. Kirishima, ever the team player, swoops down and scoops Izuku up in one fluid motion, carrying him the rest of the way through. Shoto, barely breaking a sweat, keeps pace with Kirishima, his expression calm as ever.

You all meet Michael in the hallway, breathless and laughing, only to pause when you realize something’s not right. The door in front of you isn’t yours—it’s Bakugou and Kirishima’s. The familiar scent of cologne and the sight of Bakugou’s battered combat boots in the entryway confirm it.

There’s a moment of stunned silence as you all look around, taking in the realization that you’ve raced up the wrong stairs. Michael is the first to break the silence, smacking her forehead with the palm of her hand. “Seriously? How did we not notice?”

Izuku lets out a nervous laugh, scratching the back of his head. “I guess we got a little too caught up in the competition.”

Kirishima, still holding Izuku like a sack of potatoes, chuckles heartily. “Guess that means we’re all staying here tonight!”

Shoto merely blinks, a hint of amusement in his eyes as he takes in the situation. “I suppose it can’t be helped,” he says, a slight smile tugging at his lips.

Bakugou, still holding your shoe, shakes his head in disbelief. “You idiots,” he mutters, though there’s a soft fondness in his tone that wasn’t there before. He turns to you, holding out the shoe once more, this time with a smirk. “Guess you’re staying a bit longer after all.”

You take the shoe from him, quiet as you slip it back on.

As you stand there, a deathly silence falls over the group. Your expression is unreadable, eyes fixed on some distant point, and it sends a ripple of unease through everyone. Kirishima and Michael exchange concerned glances, their worry growing with each passing second. Kirishima steps closer, his voice gentle but laced with anxiety. “Hey, what’s wrong? You okay?”

Michael, who’s always in tune with your emotions, steps forward, her brow furrowing with concern. “Are you hurt? Did something happen?”

But Katsuki—Katsuki’s heart is hammering in his chest, his mind racing with a million worst-case scenarios. Is it something he did? Are you upset about earlier? His stomach twists with guilt and fear, and for a moment, he’s paralyzed, his eyes locked on you as he desperately tries to read your thoughts.

Kirishima, ever the protective one, kneels down to get a better look at your face, his large frame blocking out some of the light. “Hey, talk to us. What’s going on?”

In that split second, you see your opportunity. Before Kirishima can react, you place your hands on his shoulders and swiftly climb onto them, hoisting yourself up with a burst of energy that catches everyone off guard. Kirishima blinks in surprise, his mouth dropping open as he instinctively stands, hands reaching up to steady you as you balance precariously on his shoulders. “What the—?”

With a determined grin, you reach up and slide the ceiling tile aside, revealing the dark, dusty crawl space above. Without hesitation, you pull yourself up into the ceiling, disappearing from sight as Kirishima stands there, frozen in shock. The space is cramped and grimy, the air thick with the smell of insulation and dust, but it doesn’t matter—you’ve got both shoes on, and you’re on the move.

“PEACE WAS NEVER AN OPTION!” 

For a moment, there’s stunned silence as everyone processes what just happened. Katsuki is the first to snap out of it, his eyes wide with a mixture of disbelief and rising panic. Internally, he’s screaming, his mind a chaotic swirl of frustration and concern. “What the hell—?!” His voice falters, caught between anger and anxiety.

Izuku looks horrified, his mouth agape as he stares up at the ceiling where you vanished. “That’s dangerous! You could get hurt up there!” His hands are already moving, ready to spring into action, but he’s momentarily paralyzed by the sheer absurdity of the situation.

Michael is the first to recover, her instincts kicking in as she takes off down the hall, her laughter echoing back to the group. “I’m not letting you win this one!” she shouts, already plotting her next move.

Kirishima and Shoto share a look of disbelief, their hands on their hips as they gaze up at the ceiling where you disappeared. Kirishima rubs the back of his head, his expression one of baffled amusement. 

“Did that just happen?”

Shoto, ever the calm one, covers his mouth with one hand, deep in thought. “It seems... she’s determined,” he finally says, though his voice betrays a hint of amusement.

But before anyone else can react, Izuku is the first to sprint off, determination flashing in his eyes as he races to find you. “We have to catch up before something happens!”

Katsuki, still trying to wrap his mind around the situation, realizes with a jolt where you’re likely headed—your new apartment, just a floor above. Without wasting another second, he takes off after Izuku, his feet pounding against the floor as Shoto and Kirishima fall in behind him, hot on his trail. His heart is pounding, and he can feel the frustration and worry bubbling up inside him. He hears Michael’s laughter echoing from up ahead, out of breath but clearly enjoying the chase.

In the floor above, you drop down next to Michael with a soft thud, slightly disheveled from your journey through the ceiling. Your clothes are smudged with dust, and you feel a bit gross from the grime, but there’s a triumphant grin on your face. “Made it!” you declare, only to glance down at your knee and realize your bandaids are peeling, smudged with dirt. You sigh, already planning to change them as soon as you can.

But before you can relish in your victory, Katsuki bursts into the hallway, his breath coming in heavy pants as his sharp eyes zero in on you. His expression is a mixture of exasperation and something else—something deeper that he’s trying hard to mask. You quickly duck behind Michael, using her as a shield as Katsuki approaches, his gaze burning with intensity.

Michael, always quick to defend you, stands her ground with a playful smirk. “Easy there, Bakugou. No need to get all worked up.”

Katsuki glares at her, his patience worn thin, but there’s no real malice in his eyes. He reaches out, grabbing you by the sleeve, but his grip is more careful than you’d expect. “What the hell were you thinking?” he growls, though his voice is tinged with concern. “You could’ve gotten hurt!”

You peek out from behind Michael, giving him a sheepish smile. “I was just trying to get home, Katsuki.”

He huffs, clearly not satisfied with your answer, but before he can argue further, Izuku, Shoto, and Kirishima finally catch up, their expressions ranging from relief to mild exasperation.

Kirishima lets out a relieved laugh, clapping a hand on Katsuki’s shoulder. “Well, at least she’s safe, right?”

Shoto nods in agreement, his usual calm demeanor restored. “Though perhaps next time, a more conventional route would be safer.” Izuku, still catching his breath, looks at you with wide, concerned eyes. “Please don’t do that again,” he pleads, his voice earnest. “We were really worried.”

You nod, feeling a bit guilty now that the adrenaline is wearing off. “I promise, no more crawling through ceilings.”

Katsuki, still holding your arm, gives you a look that says he’s not entirely convinced, but for now, he lets it go. He glances at Michael, who’s still grinning, clearly proud of the chaos you two have caused. “Let’s just get inside,” he mutters, already thinking of how much more trouble you can get into in the time it takes to get to your new apartment.

Michael steps forward, her usual confidence radiating from her every move, as she throws an arm around your waist. Her grip is firm but reassuring, and she gives everyone a pointed look, daring them to say something. “Lay off,” she says, her tone light but with an edge of finality. “She’s a pro and can clearly take care of herself.” She punctuates her statement with a playful squeeze, pulling you closer as if to emphasize her point.

In response, you turn your head and press a quick kiss to her cheek, your lips brushing against her skin with a familiar ease. The gesture draws a collective sigh from the group, a mixture of exasperation and acceptance. They know better than to argue when the two of you are like this.

But the brief moment of calm is interrupted as everyone slowly realizes the situation at hand. Michael, with all her bravado, stands in front of the door but doesn’t have the keys. A beat of silence passes, and then Kirishima’s brow furrows in confusion. “Wait, who has the keys?” he asks, glancing around at everyone.

There’s a pause as the realization dawns on each of them. The last person to lock the door was Bakugou who gave the keys to Kirishima, who gave the keys back to Katsuki. But Katsuki, in the rush and chaos of the afternoon, left them in his car. Eyes turn to Katsuki, whose expression quickly morphs from confusion to irritation. “Shit,” he mutters under his breath, frustration bubbling up as he runs a hand through his hair.

‘Musta lost ‘em in the fight.’

Just as everyone is about to panic, you casually turn around, reaching into your borrowed t-shirt with a knowing smile. With a fluid motion, you fish the keys out from your bra strap, where you had cleverly looped them in earlier. The cool metal glints in the hallway light as you hold them up triumphantly. “My bad bro,” you tease, your grin widening as you toss them back to Katsuki.

Katsuki’s hand shoots out on reflex, catching the keys mid-air, but not before a flush of red creeps up his neck and into his cheeks. He’s flustered, though he tries to play it off, his grip tightening around the keys. “Could’ve told me sooner,” he grumbles, though there’s no real heat in his words. He’s more embarrassed than angry, especially under your amused gaze.

Kirishima gives you a playful nudge as you walk past him, his wide grin back in place. “Nice save, by the way,” he says, clearly impressed. You wink back at him, feeling a sense of satisfaction as the group settles into the cozy apartment. Michael is still laughing softly to herself, clearly enjoying the chaos she helped stir up.

As the door clicks shut behind you, the atmosphere shifts, the tension of the chase forgotten as everyone relaxes into the comfort of home.

The apartment isn’t much to look at yet—bare walls, sparse furniture, and the faint scent of fresh paint lingering in the air. The suitcases and boxes strewn across the floor add to the clutter, and the makeshift floor bed you and Katsuki shared the previous night still sits in the corner, sheets rumpled and pillows askew. It’s comforting in its own way, though—a blank canvas waiting to be filled with the chaos and warmth that always seems to follow you and Michael.

You grab your keys from the kitchen counter, a sense of determination bubbling up as you prepare to retrieve the rest of your belongings from “The Lemon,” your trusty but battered car. Michael chuckles from her spot by the window, already teasing you about the inevitable struggle ahead.

And struggle y’all do. The trips back and forth are exhausting, with you cursing under your breath as you juggle boxes, bags, and random items that threaten to slip from your grasp. On more than one occasion, you almost drop something precious, your heart leaping into your throat as you frantically catch it. Michael watches from the doorway, amusement clear in her eyes, though she does lend a hand now and then when you look like you’re about to collapse.

Finally, after what feels like an eternity, y’all manage to haul everything up from your car and Katsuki’s, plus whatever else he had stashed away for Michael in storage. You slump against the wall, breathing heavily but triumphant, as the last of the boxes is safely inside. Katsuki, who’s been watching you with a mix of concern and admiration, doesn’t waste a moment before getting to work on setting up your bed frame. His usual sharp demeanor softens slightly as he focuses on the task at hand, treating the project like it’s a life-or-death mission.

Izuku, ever helpful, joins him, offering suggestions and handing over tools as needed. It’s a bit of a tight squeeze with everything spread out the bedroom, but they work together seamlessly, each movement precise and purposeful. Kirishima steps in to help with Michael’s bed frame, his easygoing nature balancing out Katsuki’s intensity. But when it comes to your bed frame, Katsuki refuses to let anyone else take over, his hands gripping the wood with a possessiveness that doesn’t go unnoticed.

Shoto, always the picture of patience, offers to help you and Michael set up your decorations. You’re grateful for the extra hands, especially given how particular Michael can be about her decor. The majority of the items are hers—plants, shelves, and an assortment of quirky knick-knacks that somehow work together to create a cozy atmosphere. You and Michael almost dote on Shoto as he helps, his calm demeanor making the process feel more like a leisurely activity than a chore. He mentions in passing that he helps his sister and mother with decorating at home, and there’s a certain tenderness in his voice when he says it that makes you smile.

Your own decorations are few and far between, mostly personal mementos that have survived the years. Shoto’s gaze lingers on a few of them as you carefully place them on a shelf. There’s a picture of you graduating high school with your hero license in hand, the proud smile on your face as vivid in your memory as it is in the photograph. 

Next to it is a snapshot of you at your undergraduate graduation, holding your honors business and marketing degree. Another photo shows you with your teachers and some classmates, all grinning widely in front of a familiar school building. There’s a picture from your birthday dinner at a restaurant, you in a flower field during a school trip, you at your first job, and finally, a slightly faded photo of you with “the Lemon” when it was still in its prime—before the spray paint and wear took their toll.

Shoto asks a few questions about the items, his curiosity genuine but gentle. You explain the significance of each one, your voice softening with nostalgia as you recount the memories attached to them. He listens attentively, his eyes occasionally flickering with understanding, though he doesn’t press for details. The quiet conversation is a nice contrast to the bustle in the rest of the apartment.

As you finish up, Michael calls out to Shoto, asking him for dinner ideas. He suggests getting takeout, which prompts you to agree to go with him, eager for a break from unpacking and setting up. The two of you head out, chatting easily as you make your way to the nearest takeout place. It’s a nice reprieve, the cool evening air a welcome change from the stuffy apartment.

Meanwhile, back at the apartment, Katsuki mishears a comment from Michael and thinks she went with Shoto, not realizing it’s you who left with the dual-colored hero. The realization makes him grouchy, his already short temper wearing thinner. Kirishima notices and places a reassuring hand on his shoulder, telling him to chill. “It’s just takeout, bro,” he says with a grin, though there’s a teasing edge to his voice. Katsuki grumbles something unintelligible in response, his eyes narrowing as he tries to refocus on the task at hand.

Michael, noticing Katsuki’s mood, lights a few candles around the apartment. The soft glow and calming scents help to ease the tension in the air, though she doesn’t hesitate to tell Katsuki to get his act together if he’s serious about dating you. Her tone is playful but carries an undercurrent of seriousness that makes Katsuki pause. He returns to assembling your bed with renewed determination, though there’s a hint of frustration in his movements as he struggles with one particularly stubborn piece.

It’s only when Michael steps in, having been the one to help you set up your furniture previously, that things start to go more smoothly. She offers Katsuki a few tips, her hands deftly working the wood into place with a practiced ease. Katsuki watches her, a mix of respect and annoyance on his face as he grudgingly accepts her help.

The evening air is crisp as you and Shoto step out of the apartment and head to his car. The drive is short but peaceful, the hum of the engine and the city lights passing by creating a serene atmosphere. As you navigate through the streets, you glance over at Shoto, noticing how calm and focused he looks, his mismatched eyes reflecting the soft glow of the streetlights.

“I figured we’d get something quick,” Shoto says, breaking the comfortable silence. “There’s a place nearby that sells cold soba.”

You smile at that, nodding in agreement. “Cold soba sounds perfect.”

When you arrive at the small, unassuming restaurant, you both step out of the car, the cool breeze ruffling your hair as you make your way inside. The place is cozy, with wooden tables and paper lanterns hanging from the ceiling, casting a warm, inviting light over everything. The smell of fresh noodles and broth fills the air, making your stomach rumble in anticipation.

As you both sit down to wait for your orders, the conversation naturally shifts to your families. Shoto is the first to open up, mentioning his upbringing and the pressures of being born from a quirk marriage. There’s a quiet heaviness in his voice as he speaks, and you can tell these are thoughts he’s had plenty of time to dwell on.

“I know what you mean,” you say, taking a sip of your cold peach tea and savoring the refreshing taste. “I was also from a quirk marriage. The only kids I was allowed to play with when I was little were also from quirk marriages. Moving to Japan, I thought I’d never meet someone else like me.”

Shoto looks at you with a mix of understanding and curiosity. “It’s strange how similar and yet different our experiences are,” he remarks, his gaze thoughtful.

You nod, swirling the noodles in your bowl. “I’ve thought the same, even when I’d read about your family in the media. But don’t worry,” you add quickly, seeing the slight tension in his shoulders, “it was just for my job.”

Shoto raises an eyebrow. “What did you do for work?”

You hesitate for a moment, but the atmosphere feels right for honesty. “I basically helped build my ex’s career through the media. Once he didn’t need me anymore, he tossed me aside.”

Shoto’s expression darkens, and he apologizes immediately. “That’s awful. I’m sorry you went through that.”

You wave it off, giving him a small smile. “It’s fine, really. It’s not your fault.”

“It’s not fine,” Shoto insists, his tone firm. “You’re a person, and he did that to you. That’s not okay.”

His sincerity touches you, and for a moment, you’re at a loss for words. “I’ve mostly come to terms with it,” you finally say. “And I never really gave up on being a hero. So, maybe I’ll give that another shot.”

Shoto’s eyes light up with encouragement. “You should. If you’re interested, there’s always a seat for you at Midoriya’s and my agency.”

You blink in surprise at the offer, a genuine smile spreading across your face. “I’ll think about it. But in the meantime probably shouldn’t do any more vigilante work. I almost got arrested for that once.”

Shoto’s eyes widen, and he chuckles, a sound that’s rare but genuine. “I’m glad I met you,” he says, his gaze warm. “You’re a real character.”

You laugh, feeling a lightness you hadn’t expected. “Is that a good thing or a bad thing?”

“Definitely good,” he confirms, and you nod, feeling a sense of camaraderie growing between you two.

“I’m happy to have met you too,” you say sincerely.

The conversation drifts to your quirks, and you explain that you had a grandmother who lied about her powers. “So, if I’m super hydrated, I can make little bits of ice,” you tell him.

Shoto raises an eyebrow, intrigued. “But no glaciers?”

“Crazy family stuff,” you reply, shrugging with a laugh.

Shoto chuckles again, and for a moment, the two of you just sit there, laughing together. It’s a shared understanding, an acknowledgment of the complexities of your respective families, and it feels good to share it with someone who truly understands.

After finishing your meals, you both head back to the car, the drive back to the apartment filled with a comfortable silence. When you arrive and step into the hallway, you’re met with a bizarre scene.

Izuku is almost in tears, holding his face in his hands while Kirishima, red-faced and determined, is furiously whacking something with a broom. Michael stands nearby, her arms raised as she chants some sort of encouragement—something about “banishing the demon.” Meanwhile, Katsuki is in the middle of it all, looking absolutely feral, his eyes blazing as he snarls at whatever is in the middle of the chaos.

You and Shoto freeze in the doorway, taking in the scene with wide eyes. You exchange a glance, silently communicating the same thought: What the hell is going on?

Without a word, you both quietly close the door, retreating back into the hallway. You wait a few moments, listening to the chaos inside before you nod at Shoto.

With a loud, deliberate noise, you reopen the door, calling out as if nothing’s happened. “We’re back!”

The others instantly freeze, all of them trying to act like nothing's wrong. Izuku quickly wipes his eyes, Kirishima straightens up, casually leaning on the broom, and Michael lowers her arms, though a smirk plays on her lips. Katsuki, still bristling, straightens his back and turns to you, his expression a mixture of relief and irritation.

“Everything okay in here?” you ask, trying to keep a straight face as you and Shoto step inside.

“Yeah, everything’s fine,” Kirishima says, though the way he’s gripping the broom suggests otherwise.

“Yep, all good,” Michael adds, her tone a little too cheerful.

Katsuki grunts, clearly not in the mood to explain whatever just happened, and you can’t help but chuckle as you set the takeout on the counter.

“Well, glad to hear it,” you say, exchanging an amused glance with Shoto. The two of you share a quiet laugh, knowing full well that the story of whatever craziness just unfolded will eventually come out. But for now, you’re both content to let it slide. 

You and Shoto pass out the takeout, the aroma of warm, comforting food spreading through the room as everyone gathers around. The sight of the familiar dishes brings a sense of nostalgia, and you can see the curiosity in their eyes as they unwrap their meals. Once everyone has their food, you settle down to watch the movie, "The Legend of Johnny Lingo," a childhood favorite of yours. The room is cozy despite the chaos of moving in, and you all manage to find spots on the floor or propped up against furniture.

Katsuki, as usual, tries to play it cool, leaning back with his arms crossed, but you can tell he's listening. When Izuku starts speculating about how the movie will end, Katsuki's hand shoots out, pinching him sharply on the arm, hissing, "Shut it, nerd." Izuku winces but quiets down, clearly excited but respecting Katsuki’s warning.

Shoto sits calmly, his eyes focused on the screen, a small smile playing on his lips as he watches the antics unfold. He’s quietly absorbing the story, occasionally glancing at you to see your reactions. Kirishima, on the other hand, seems to be really getting into the spirit of the film. He leans over to you, whispering in awe about how "manly" the main characters are, clearly resonating with their sense of honor and bravery. His enthusiasm is infectious, and you find yourself grinning at his commentary.

You lay in Michael's lap, letting her run her fingers through the texture of your hair as you watch the movie together. It’s comforting, the gentle, repetitive motion lulling you into a relaxed state. During a quiet moment in the film, you notice Katsuki stealing glances at you. His usual tough demeanor cracks just a bit as you catch his gaze. His ears are tinged red, and when you reach over to place a hand on his shoulder, he stiffens for a moment, clearly caught off guard. But after a few seconds, he leans into your touch, subtly, almost as if he doesn’t want anyone to notice. The warmth of your hand seems to soothe him, and he relaxes a little more, the tension in his body easing.

As the movie reaches its conclusion, everyone cheers at the satisfying ending, the room filled with laughter and applause. You all start cleaning up the leftovers, moving around each other in a dance of familiarity that’s already starting to feel like home. There’s a sense of camaraderie in the air as you work together, chatting and teasing one another while putting the space back in order.

You and Michael head to the bathroom, the air already thick with the promise of a much-needed unwind. There’s a comfortable silence between you as you start to strip down, the familiarity of each other’s bodies nothing new after all the months working together. You’ve seen each other in all sorts of states—dressed to the nines, barely clothed, and everything in between—so there’s no awkwardness now. It’s just the two of you, reverting to a kind of sisterly intimacy that feels like home.

You step into the shower together, the warm water cascading over both of you, washing away the day’s sweat and stress. Michael’s hair, once blown out into a voluminous cloud, slowly starts to spring back to life, tight curls forming as the water soaks through. You help her comb out the remaining tangles, the strands slipping easily through your fingers as you work. Her products fill the bathroom with the sweet scent of confetti birthday cake, mingling with the aroma of your own glazed donut-scented shampoo. It’s like standing in the middle of a bakery, the air thick with sugar and comfort.

You take turns washing each other’s scalps, your fingers digging gently into her roots as she sighs in relief. The sensation of her nails against your scalp sends shivers down your spine, the tension melting away under her touch. The whole experience feels less like a chore and more like an act of care, a way to show love and appreciation for each other. By the time you’re both rinsed off, your hair and her curls have sprung back to their natural shapes, full and vibrant.

Stepping out of the shower, you wrap yourselves in towels, the steam still clinging to your skin. You find Katsuki's skull t-shirt among your things, and you make a mental note to return it later. For now, you slip into your cherry red robe, the silky fabric clinging to your damp skin, and throw on a pair of loose black sweats and a white tank top underneath. Michael, ever casual, pulls on a gray tank top and some navy blue lounge shorts, her afro now slightly damp but full and glorious.

As you help her hydrate her scalp, working the product through her curls, you can’t help but admire how beautiful she looks, her skin glowing in the soft light. She catches you staring and laughs, playfully booping a dollop of lotion on your nose. You rub it in, the scent lingering on your skin, sweet and comforting.

Just then, Kirishima walks in, announcing his arrival before stepping fully into the bathroom. He stops dead in his tracks, his jaw dropping as he takes in the sight of Michael with her natural hair. His eyes widen, and his hands fumble as he drops his hairbrush.

“Whoa… Michael, you look… amazing,” he stammers, his face flushing pink.

You can’t resist teasing him, your voice taking on a playful tone as you start narrating like a game show host. “Ladies and gentlemen, we have a winner! Look at how our contestant, Kirishima, is completely awestruck by the radiant beauty of our lovely Michael!”

Kirishima turns even redder, stumbling over his words as he tries to compliment her. “I—I mean, yeah, you really do look… manly… I mean, uh, beautiful… or both…?” He scratches the back of his head, clearly flustered.

Michael just grins, shaking her head in amusement. “It’s cool, Eijiro. You can sit and watch if you want. I’m just twisting it up for bed.”

‘FIRST NAMES?!’

Kirishima nods eagerly, pulling the toilet lid down and sitting on it, his eyes glued to Michael as she starts sectioning her hair. You hold the rubber bands for her, passing them along as she works, twisting each section into neat coils. The room fills with the quiet sounds of the twist process, the rhythmic movement of her hands almost meditative.

By the time Shoto and Izuku return, both dressed in borrowed clothes from Kirishima and Katsuki, the bathroom has become a full-on gathering spot. Shoto, ever calm and composed, takes a seat on the edge of the tub, watching with quiet interest as Michael continues her work. You hop up onto the counter, legs swinging as you chat with them about the movie, your voice mingling with the sound of the running water and the occasional laughter from Kirishima.

Izuku, always eager to help, takes your stool, positioning himself close to you as he offers to help dry your hair. He’s careful and gentle, his hands moving with a kind of reverence as he towel-dries your roots. When it comes time to style, he gives it his best shot, managing a few simple plaits with Shoto offering suggestions based on what he’s seen Momo do.

It’s a surprisingly sweet moment, the two of them working together, their concentration palpable as they try to replicate the style. But then Katsuki enters, leaning against the doorway with his arms crossed, a confused expression on his face as he takes in the scene.

“The hell is going on in here?” he grumbles, his usual spikes are mostly damp with a few springing back to life.

Izuku and Shoto glance up, both pausing in their efforts as they look over at Katsuki. You just smile at him, reaching out a hand in invitation. “We’re having a hair party. Wanna join?”

Katsuki huffs, but you can see the curiosity in his eyes as he steps further into the bathroom. He watches for a moment, taking in the way Izuku’s hands move through your hair, and something shifts in his expression. He steps forward, gently nudging Izuku aside. “Move over, nerd. Lemme show you how it’s done.”

Izuku doesn’t protest, sliding off the stool as Katsuki takes his place. His hands are surprisingly deft as he combs through your hair, his touch firm but careful. Michael gives him a few pointers on moisturizing, and he follows her instructions to the letter, working the product through your curls with a kind of determined focus. When he finishes, he opts for a simple style, pulling your hair back just enough to keep it neat before reaching for the bonnet.

After the hair care routine, everyone decides a cup of tea would be the perfect way to wind down the evening. You begin to get up, but Michael, ever the protective friend, gently pushes you back onto the sofa.

“Sit,” she orders, a playful smile on her lips. “You’ve done enough tonight.”

You huff in mock protest, crossing your arms as you pout like a child. “But I wanted to—”

“No buts,” she cuts you off, already turning to head toward the kitchen. “Relax for once. We’ve got this.”

You can’t help but smile at her insistence, though you do wish you could be helping. Sighing, you grab the remote and turn on the TV, flicking through channels absentmindedly. The screen flashes with various shows—nothing particularly interesting—until you land on the news channel. Instantly, snippets of footage from the earlier bridge battle fill the screen. The familiar sights of chaos and heroism bring the day's events rushing back, your muscles tensing slightly at the reminder.

In the kitchen, you can hear Izuku chatting with Michael as they prepare the tea, his voice animated as he discusses different tea blends. Bakugou, with a towel draped over his head, is sitting on the floor nearby, drying his hair with one hand while you help Kirishima comb through his longer locks. The redhead is relaxed, leaning into your gentle strokes as you carefully untangle his hair.

The news anchors move on from the battle footage to interviews, cutting to scenes of hospital staff refusing to leak information about the victims and heroes involved. You try to focus on the screen, but your attention is pulled in different directions—between the news, the quiet chatter from the kitchen, and the feeling of Kirishima’s soft hair in your hands. Your phone buzzes on the cushion beside you, but you ignore it at first, assuming it’s just another notification.

But then the incoming call screen lights up with Megumi’s name, followed by the others—Erza, Kimiko, Casey, Freddy—each joining the call. The urgency in their timing makes your stomach twist with unease. You pick up the phone, pressing it to speaker, and are immediately hit with a barrage of voices.

“Have you seen it yet?” Megumi’s voice is the first to cut through the noise, her tone tense and serious.

You frown, glancing back at the TV. “Seen what? What’s going on?”

They’re all talking at once, the phone suddenly feeling louder than the TV in your hand. There’s a cacophony of concerned voices overlapping, each trying to explain something but not quite making sense.

“Guys, calm down,” you say, trying to catch a coherent thread of information. “What’s happening?”

“Check channel 38,” Kimiko suggests, her voice tinged with worry.

“Or 74,” Casey adds quickly.

You flip through the channels as they direct, your heart pounding faster with each second. All you find are reruns of old sitcoms, the dissonant laughter from the shows only heightening your anxiety.

“Nothing,” you mutter, more to yourself than them, as you continue flicking through the channels.

“Try 700,” Freddy pipes up, though you can hear the sound of someone shuffling in the background—probably his brother Mike, grumbling about something unrelated. You try 700 but are met with static.

Finally, Hinata’s voice cuts through. “308. Try 308.”

You punch in the numbers and your breath catches in your throat as the screen shifts. There’s a reporter wrapping up a segment about a new hero making waves in the city—Tempest. Your alias. The camera cuts to the reporter in the studio, who’s seated across from a young man in a yellow cape, and a navy and white hero suit with a lightbulb emblem. His wavy black hair is freshly cut right to his jawline with a taper and his white smile feels like a toothpaste commercial. The camera pans in on his face, and your blood runs cold.

It’s Kyoya.

“No… no, no, no…” The words tumble from your lips in a panicked whisper. Your fingers tense involuntarily, accidentally tugging on Kirishima’s hair. He winces, but his concern for you overrides any pain. He leans back slightly, his eyes searching your face for an explanation.

The room falls silent as everyone’s attention shifts to the TV. The tea-making in the kitchen halts, and Michael and Izuku appear at the doorway, holding trays of steaming mugs, their expressions slowly morphing into ones of concern and confusion as they realize what’s on the screen.

The reporter, all smiles and polished charm, begins to gush over you, asking Kyoya about how “great” you are and how long he’s known you. Kyoya plays along, wearing a mask of friendly warmth that only you can see through. Beneath it lies a simmering hatred, a kind of resentment that’s as familiar to you as the back of your hand.

You barely register Kirishima’s voice beside you, his words muffled by the rush of blood in your ears as Kyoya and the reporter continue. The interviewer asks about the meeting at the diner earlier, and Kyoya, with a practiced smile, dismisses it as mere coincidence. He talks about how he’s always happy to give back to the community and spend time with the kids, though you can practically hear the venom under his voice.

Your mind races, trying to make sense of how things spiraled so quickly. You think back to the moment you spotted Kyoya at the diner, the unease that settled in your gut even then. You’d been so careful, or at least you thought you had.

On the screen, Kyoya is still talking, his voice dripping with faux sincerity. The reporter asks about your relationship with Ground Zero, and Kyoya hesitates, his expression faltering for a split second before he recovers. He speaks about how he “assumes” there might be something romantic going on but claims he doesn’t want to speculate out of respect for Ground Zero’s work.

You feel your heart drop into your stomach as the reporter presses Kyoya further, asking about his personal connection to you. The question hangs in the air like a knife, and Kyoya, ever the actor, looks down for a moment, as if gathering his thoughts.

“I used to be very close to Tempest,” he says, his voice soft and regretful. “We were… something more than friends, once.”

The room around you is deathly quiet, everyone frozen in place, waiting for the next bomb to drop. Michael’s hands clench around the tray she’s holding, her eyes fixed on the screen with a mixture of shock and anger. Katsuki has moved closer to the TV, his eyes narrowing dangerously as he watches Kyoya speak. Shoto, who’s seated close to the screen, is barely holding back his disdain, his energy pulsing with a cold fury that only you can feel.

Then Kyoya does it—the final twist of the knife. He pulls out something from his pocket and holds it up for the camera. It’s your old engagement ring. The light catches on the diamond, making it sparkle on the screen.

The room collectively inhales, the tension thick enough to cut with a knife. The reporter’s eyes widen, clearly not expecting this, and he asks Kyoya to clarify.

Kyoya’s smile is bittersweet, a performance so flawless it makes you want to scream. “Tempest and I were engaged once. We were going to get married… but she left me suddenly. Disappeared. No explanation.” He pauses for effect, the weight of his words sinking in. “It’s hard to move past someone you used to know and love so much.”

The reporter, ever eager for more drama, presses him again. “Do you think she used you to get into the hero world?”

Kyoya’s hesitation is all for show, his expression pained as he finally responds. “I don’t want to believe that… but it’s hard not to think about it, especially now, with everything going on.”

And then, the world seems to stop. The reporter, satisfied with the drama he’s created, leans back in his chair as the camera cuts to commercial. But the damage is done. The whole world knows about part of your past now, about the engagement, the breakup, the accusation that you might have used Kyoya as a stepping stone. The accusation that you and Katsuki were messing around behind his back ringing in your ears. 

'What about his career!?'

'What else was Kyoya going to say?!'

How long did you have before you finally threw up? 

Your phone, still in your hand, falls silent. The friends on the other end are just as stunned as you, their voices trailing off into a shocked silence. In the room, no one speaks, the weight of Kyoya’s 'betrayal' sinking in like a stone. Oh, but Kyoya wasn’t finished yet, no. Looking into the camera face on, his cold dark pupils almost narrowing like they’ve caught you again. His expression changes to one of pain and anguish, like his heart was being ripped from his chest. If he had a heart to rip out that lying, cheating, no good,-

“I loved her more than I could possibly say. I loved her with all my heart and soul. I still do.” 

“WHAT!”

Chapter Text

Chapter Text

Yup, you were gonna expose his ass. 

The morning sunlight streamed through the open apartment windows as Shoto quietly examined the panels on your suit. His fingers traced over the mesh covering your right arm thoughtfully, his expression focused as he admired the craftsmanship. Meanwhile, Izuku piped up, a hint of urgency in his voice, “We should get going soon, we have those meetings today.” You nodded in agreement, glancing over at Michael, who was helping Kirishima back to his feet, her hands glowing faintly as she worked to heal his bruised nose. The poor guy had taken quite the hit earlier, and you couldn’t help but wince at the sight.

Before anyone could say anything else, you fished a tampon from your pocket and walked over to Kirishima, stuffing it into his nose with casual efficiency. He blinked hard in confusion but then smiled at you like a confused big brother. “Thanks?” he chuckled, his voice muffled by the impromptu bandage.

You grinned, patting his shoulder. "Anytime, big guy."

Izuku joined you as the two of you moved toward the windows, your hands working in sync to close them and let the room finally breathe some fresh air. Katsuki and Shoto exchanged a glance. They both knew they’d be handling most of the press while Izuku would deal with the public relations side of things, and Kirishima, as usual, would smooth over the more personal aspects with his ever-reliable charm.

Michael had now finished helping Kirishima and had quickly changed into day clothes and was holding her pale blue sneakers. Her hair was styled with a pick, gold jewelry gleaming against her brown skin. She wore a plain white t-shirt tucked into her jeans, topped with a light yellow cardigan, the perfect balance of casual and chic. She looked effortlessly put together. You had kept your usual Converse sneakers on, a little more scuffed, but loyal. It was one of those days where even a quick outfit change made you feel invincible.

As you all headed downstairs, you chatted with Michael about your plans for the day. “I’ve got to unload the last of the boxes from my car, then I’m thinking of going furniture shopping for the new place.”

Katsuki and Kirishima were quick to protest, their concern evident. “We can help with that,” Kirishima offered, his eyes soft but determined.

You shook your head, flashing a reassuring smile. “It’s fine, really. I’ve already decided on it.”

There was something in your tone that made them gently back off. Kirishima let out a small sigh, and Katsuki folded his arms, mumbling something about being stubborn. And he would know being the King of Stubborn. Shoto, who had been quietly observing, suddenly spoke up, his voice smooth and thoughtful.

“It’s nice seeing you in uniform,” he said, the corners of his lips lifting slightly. “I didn’t know you preferred not to wear a mask.”

You shrugged, running a hand through your hair. “I don’t really like the feeling of something covering my face, you know? Feels too restrictive.”

Katsuki, leaning against the doorframe, was watching you more intently than you realized. The morning light caught the natural highlights in your hair, and he could feel his heart pick up speed. He watched as you headed to the parking lot, opening the trunk of “The Lemon,” your old but reliable car. Michael was already there to help you, passing you the remaining boxes.

“This is all hero stuff I wasn’t ready to look at again,” you explained, your voice quiet with an edge of nostalgia as you placed a box down. Then, in one smooth motion, you kicked the sneakers off and climbed onto your car. With a subtle motion, you ignited the fire in your feet, rising effortlessly off the ground in a graceful lift. Steam trailed behind you as you hovered, not needing stairs or an elevator to make your way back to the fire escape. The others watched, clearly impressed, having never seen you do that before. 

Izuku was the first to speak, with an excited ,” THAT’S , why you take your shoes off!” And you just giggle before nodding at him with shared enthusiasm. “Yeah, otherwise they’d melt right off!”

Kirishima elbowed Katsuki with a knowing look, raising his eyebrow as if to say, ‘ You really like her, huh?’ Katsuki shot him a sharp glare, his cheeks flushing slightly as he noticed Izuku staring too. Flustered, Katsuki grumbled under his breath, feeling embarrassed by the attention. He didn’t know what had gotten into you but seeing you smile and taking control of your life was all worth it so he was going to let you be for now. 

“Keep your damn shoes on, and call if anything happens,” he ordered, trying to hide his embarrassment by stomping off toward his car, his usual bravado shielding any vulnerability.

Kirishima chuckled as he turned to you and Michael. “You two have a great day!” He stepped toward Michael, his arms open, and she actually accepted the gesture, giving him a warm, enthusiastic hug that he returned with his typical excitement. His big bear hugs were legendary, after all.

You watched the interaction with a fond smile before turning to see Izuku talking quietly with Katsuki near the car. Shoto came up beside you, his expression thoughtful. “I’d like to arrange a lunch for everyone sometime soon,” he said, his voice calm but sincere.

You nodded, smiling. “That sounds great. Just let me know ahead of time.”

Shoto reached out his hand, and you held yours up for a fist bump. He hesitated for a second, but then a small smile tugged at his lips, and he returned the gesture. With that, he slipped into the backseat of Katsuki’s car, glancing back at you before Katsuki yelled from the driver’s seat, “Hurry up, you idiots!”

Kirishima laughed, giving you and Michael a cheerful wave before sliding into the passenger seat. Michael, who had been standing beside you, gave Katsuki a playful shove toward the car, causing him to grumble but drive off anyway. The sound of the engine roared as they pulled away.

As they disappeared down the street, Michael turned back to you with a mischievous glint in her eye. She smirked, knowing all too well what had just happened between you and Katsuki. You blushed under her gaze, a little flustered by how easily she saw through you.

“Shut up,” you muttered, sliding into the driver’s seat of The Lemon, trying to hide your embarrassment.

Michael just laughed, climbing into the passenger seat beside you. “Oh, I didn’t say anything yet, hero ,” she teased, flashing you a grin.

With one last roll of your eyes, you started the car, feeling a sense of contentment wash over you as you and Michael drove off to start your day.

As you adjusted your hero suit in the rearview mirror, you explained your plan to Michael. "I figured wearing the suit would draw attention away from Kyoya. Plus, it might make some people from the old agency think I've signed with someone new and send them on a goose chase."

Michael snickered, reaching into her purse for some lip gloss. She expertly applied it, then reached over to swipe a bit onto your lips with her finger. “I love it,” she said, smirking. “Now, let’s start by ordering some big furniture and grab a few smaller things. I’m thinking I need a plant or something for my room. Don’t make that face they don’t always die. Then we can go find you a cat stuck in a tree or whatever heroes do when they’re not saving the world.”

She hit the button for the radio, filling the car with upbeat music. Some artist named Roan you think and her vocals fill the buzz you’re on. You couldn’t help but smile, the melody bringing a lightness to the air.

“Hey,” Michael said suddenly, glancing at you with a more serious expression.

“Yeah?” you replied, looking over at her.

“It’s good to see you happy again. I mean, actually happy.”

Your smile softened, and a slight blush crept onto your cheeks as you met her gaze, her brown eyes flecked with gold reflecting the morning light. “It feels really good to be back,” you admitted, your voice sincere.

Michael smiled back at you, but then her expression shifted to that familiar mischievous look she got when she was about to stir the pot. “And, by the way, you look really hot in that hero costume.”

“Michael!” you exclaimed, your face heating up, torn between laughter and embarrassment.

“What? It’s true! I’d want you to come save me, no question about it,” she teased, dramatically fanning her face as if overcome by how stunning you looked.

Soon, the two of you were giggling, the conversation drifting into playful teasing about Katsuki and Kirishima. Michael, of course, couldn’t resist pointing out, “You might even have Shoto on the ropes too.”

You flushed, shaking your head. “No way. That’s too close to home, and besides, if we’re being honest—since it’s just us—I think I like Katsuki.”

Michael’s eyebrows shot up, but you kept going, needing to get it off your chest. “I mean, it’s a bit soon to even think about dating, and I know I’m not ready for that yet, but I’d like to get to know him more. He’s… sweet.”

“To you,” Michael interjected, a knowing grin playing on her lips.

“Well—"

“No ‘well,’” she cut you off, leaning in slightly. “He’s sweet to you because he likes you. And I think it’s one of those situations where he’s a bulldog with everyone else but really soft for you, not just because he likes you, but because you are you. He appreciates that more than you realize.”

You nodded, letting her words settle in, the thought swirling in your mind like a rich, savory Italian sauce simmering on the stove. ( Geez you really needed to eat something. ) Katsuki—rough around the edges, fierce to everyone else, yet soft for you. It was a lot to think about, but it made sense in a way that tugged at your heart.

You smiled to yourself, your thoughts lingering on the possibilities ahead.

“Okay, but first,” You declared, your tone a mix of determination and excitement, “we get you another plant. Then we grab some stuff for the shelves because I know we can’t stand them looking so bare.” Michael pulls out a small pocketbook from her purse, flipping to an open page and clicking a purple pen. “After that, we need to stock up on everyday items. We’re running out of conditioner and that good cocoa butter scrub you love.”

You hum, already imagining the cozy, welcoming feel of your space once it was decorated. Michael continues, “We also need groceries because of this morning’s little accident, so let’s save that for last. I hate for the food to spoil.” She scribbled diligently, her brow furrowing in concentration. “And I definitely want cucumbers if they’re on sale. I’ll teach you how to make a salad if you grab two chickens for dinner. Actually, make that four rotisserie chickens, and we’ll need some new pots and pans too. Oh, and a baking tray!”

“Got it!” you replied enthusiastically, your own excitement building.

Before long, you found yourselves in the vibrant heart of the city. The air was warm, a surprising twist on what was supposed to be a cooler day. As you paid for about eight hours of parking—more than you anticipated needing—you felt a wave of freedom wash over you. It was one of those perfect days when being outside felt invigorating.

Michael slipped her cardigan off, draping it over her purse as you both stepped out onto the bustling street. The sun bathed everything in a golden hue, and as you grasped her hand, you felt a rush of joy.

“Let’s go!” she exclaimed, her laughter bubbling over as you both began to skip down the sidewalk. You mirrored her carefree spirit, the two of you dancing in sync, drawing curious glances from passersby. Some people looked on in confusion, while others couldn’t help but smile at the sight of two young women embodying pure joy and just being young and crazy. 

The sounds of the city blended around you—the distant honking of cars, snippets of conversations, and the rhythmic tapping of shoes on pavement—as you both twirled and giggled. With every skip, you felt the warmth of the sun on your skin, a gentle reminder of the vitality surrounding you. 

Holy guacamole you loved the sun. 

“Look at us!” Michael said, her voice filled with delight as she twirled, her afro flaring out like a blooming flower. 

“Who says shopping has to be boring?”

You laughed, squeezing her hand tighter. “Definitely not us!” You both felt invincible, your spirits high, as you continued to bounce along the sidewalk, sharing jokes and dreams for the day ahead.

As you approached the first storefront, the vibrant colors and displays drew you in. You paused, taking in the sights, your heart full of gratitude for the moment—this spontaneity, this connection, and this unwavering friendship. It was exactly the kind of day you needed to reignite your spirit, and with Michael by your side, everything felt possible.

The mall stretched out before you, vast and bustling with life, its bright lights and endless shops creating a slight hum in your chest. It was a lot, but you had been getting better at handling these places since your breakup. The first time you’d ventured here, it had been with the girls, and you were still working as a stripper. After a long night of neon lights, loud music, and the overwhelming intensity of the club, you’d thought a morning shopping trip might be a relief. But the bright lights and endless options had you spiraling. You ended up in tears, hiding in the middle of a store, feeling utterly overwhelmed.

You smiled, remembering how Michael had tugged you into a dressing room, letting you cry in peace. She had noticed then that you were allowing everyone else to choose your clothes, leading to the pressure building inside. Afterward, she had redirected the girls away, gently nudging you toward racks where you could breathe, take your time, and pick your own style. That’s when you realized you liked a lot of different styles—vibrant colors, bold prints, and nostalgic nods to the past. The subtle hints of American 70s, mixed with 80s and 90s craziness, made your wardrobe unique. But lately, Y2K fashion had you hooked, and you had been dying to find something with butterfly patterns.

Priorities, though. Today wasn’t about clothes, not yet. You’d never shop for clothing while in your hero costume without thoroughly vetting the company's history. You didn’t give out free advertisements. But home décor? That you could manage. And Michael seemed just as excited as you were.

She led you into a popular furniture store, a grin spreading across her face as she hooked her arm through yours and pulled you toward the rows of dining room sets and décor. You started by picking out a few patterns for placemats, table runners, and some curtains. You liked earthy tones and landscape paintings—ones with trees and wide-open fields that made you think of freedom. Michael, on the other hand, leaned toward paintings of cozy cafes and beaches, with soft colors that made you feel warm and safe. You both agreed to have them shipped directly to the apartment.

Next, you moved on to a home goods store. Michael took charge, selecting comforters and blankets in rich, luxurious fabrics. You found yourself lost in the soft textures, running your fingers over the edges as she tossed them into the cart with practiced ease. The moment she saw some plush matching slippers, you were sold. Grinning like kids in a candy store, you linked arms, you pushing the cart, while Michael scouted ahead, her sharp eyes catching all the best deals. You couldn’t help but smile to yourself, thinking that this was probably what shopping with a sister would feel like if you’d had one.

‘Who knows?’  

Maybe your parents had started over after you went MIA. They were still young when you disappeared, after all.

Lost in thought, you nearly missed the small, glass bird that caught your eye on a nearby shelf. It was delicate, with rainbow-colored swirls trapped inside its crystal body. You froze in front of it, mesmerized by the soft gradient hues that danced across the light as you moved.

Michael noticed your pause and followed your gaze. “You like it?” she asked, already reaching for it since she was slightly taller. She handed it to you carefully.

You took the bird into your hands like it was the real thing, cradling it with a tender touch. The carved details on the wings and beak were subtle, yet they gave it a sense of life. Despite the intricate design, it maintained a simple, minimalist appearance that made you feel like it could belong anywhere in your home. The weight of it felt grounding in your hands, the cool glass a contrast to the warmth of your skin.

"Yes, I do," you said softly, finally meeting her eyes. There was something in the way the bird gleamed, something calming about its presence. Michael smiled, her expression full of warmth, and you shared a quiet moment, knowing this was more than just an impulse purchase. It was a little piece of something beautiful that you were bringing into your new life, a symbol of how far you had come.

“You’ll find a perfect spot for it,” Michael assured you, giving your arm a gentle squeeze as you placed the bird in the cart.

You nodded, feeling content as you both continued browsing the store, the weight of the past loosening its grip just a little more with every step you took into your new future.

As you and Michael made your way to the front of the store, your cart now filled with a mix of practical items and a few holiday-themed cups—because, let’s be honest, everyone who visited your home would get one—you noticed a commotion at the registers. You handed the cart off to Michael, who was flipping through some reading books she had been eyeing while holding a few candles that wouldn’t irritate your nose. Her eyes briefly flicked toward the noise, but you gave her a quick nod and moved closer to investigate.

There, at the counter, a younger man—masked, twitchy, and emanating nervous energy—was giving the cashier a hard time. His voice, low and edged with desperation, hissed threats that made the air feel colder. The pastel goth cashier, with streaks of pink in her black hair and a choker tight around her neck, struggled to maintain her composure. She looked around your age, maybe younger, but her wide, fearful eyes betrayed her calm facade as they darted anxiously for help. A bead of sweat trailed down her temple, catching the dim, flickering light overhead.

Without warning, the man pulled a gun, the metallic gleam stark and unforgiving in the soft store light.

“Oh, fuck.”

The curse slipped from your lips instinctively as adrenaline flooded your system. Before you could think twice, your hands lifted, fingers dancing in the charged air as you reached out with your quirk. The humidity in the room condensed, droplets coalescing like soldiers summoned to your will. With a sharp, fluid motion, you wrapped the gun in a tight, glistening bubble of water. A breath, quick and whispered, and the liquid froze solid, encasing the weapon in a jagged shell of ice.

A wave of dizziness washed over you, a reminder that you needed to eat and hydrate more consistently if this was going to become a daily habit. The energy drain was sharp, like a knife edge scraping bone.

The masked man’s eyes widened, a strangled noise—half-shock, half-panic—escaping his throat. He spun around, movements jerky and desperate, searching for the source of his trouble. His gaze locked onto you, your hero costume unmistakable in its bold colors, and a flicker of recognition crossed his face before raw fear took over. Without a word, he bolted, skidding on the polished mall tiles and crashing into a display of sunglasses, which shattered and clattered in a chaotic symphony.

‘This little shithead!’

“Really?” you muttered, casting a quick glance over your shoulder to the Cashier, Michael, and the store manager who was already on his radio calling for backup. You whipped forward and gave chase after the man, running through popup stores, over benches, dodging confused patrons, and making sure you didn't accidentally trample someone's kid.

“Everyone hug the walls!” Your voice, sharp and commanding, cut through the gasps and murmurs of the onlookers as they pressed themselves against storefronts or ducked behind benches, eyes wide and fearful.

Your gaze stayed fixed on the man’s erratic movements, your senses hyper-focused. Something was off about his running pattern, his steps more frantic than strategic. Your pulse thumped in your ears, and as you closed the gap, a glint of movement caught your attention to the left.

Another group of thieves. This time, they were further down the corridor, already shoving handfuls of glittering jewelry into black duffle bags. Glass cases lay shattered around their feet, diamonds and gold gleaming like trapped stars. They were oblivious to their accomplice's flight, too caught up in their own score to notice the approaching storm.

You groaned inwardly. ‘Great, they come in drones,’ you thought, rolling your eyes at the absurdity of the scene.

The masked man was heading straight for them, arms flailing. You couldn’t let him reach the group and warn them. Spotting a large, tiered fountain in the middle of the mall’s lower level, you flicked your wrist in a broad arc. Water surged upward in a shimmering, serpentine wave, droplets catching the neon glow of the food court signs as they coalesced into a dense, twisting torrent. It swept toward the gang like a net, wrapping around them with a force that pulled gasps from the bystanders now daring to peek closer.

The watery prison lifted them off their feet, their startled yells muffled by the roar of churning water. Jewelry scattered to the floor in glittering arcs as the thieves struggled, arms flailing uselessly. The water kept them suspended, just inches out of reach of their stolen goods, caught in a loop that prevented harm but left no room for escape.

You took a deep breath, feeling the drain on your strength like a vice squeezing your core. The mall fell silent, save for the occasional drip of water and the gasps of relief echoing from the hiding patrons. You glanced back at employees, who gave you a tight nod. They began to fumble for their silent buttons while you focused on making sure the thieves didn't drown, but something was gnawing at the back of your mind. 

'If there's one group, there might be more. And why send one random guy to rob a home goods store? Was that on purpose? Or a distraction? Shoto had mentioned this as being a problem in the past. What if this was all a cover for something else, something bigger? What if- '

"Need some help there?" 

The voice was both familiar and strange to you and you glanced over your shoulder to see Lemillion and Suneater running toward you, their bright hero costumes standing out amidst the crowd. You’d seen them both in the news since their UA days and of course, analyzed them for work. But they seemed to be like a version of Katsuki and Kirishima if one was happy all the time and the other almost depressed. But fuck it, they were here and you did NOT want to go to the police station right now. 

“Yeah! I left my cuffs at home, so that would be great!”

As Lemillion charged forward to detain the thieves, you focused on keeping the water steady, whispering more instructions to the currents. The torrent separated the stolen goods from the culprits, and as Lemillion swiftly booked them, Suneater calmly collected the jewelry, returning it to the store’s shaken but grateful owner. You gave the storekeeper a kind smile, offering comforting vibes as she thanked the three of you profusely.

But as you turned, you noticed the crowd that had formed around the spectacle. People were whispering, eyes wide as they took in the scene. Seeing Lemillion and Suneater in action was one thing, but now they were murmuring about you. Your hero name was floating through the crowd, and you could hear people comparing your calm, controlled demeanor to what they had seen in the media recently.