Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

BREAKING: Truth Exposer returns! Is Nakamura Yui done for?

In a shocking revelation, Truth Exposer shatters the carefully curated image of rising fashion designer Nakamura Yui. The vigilante accuses Nakamura of being behind the poor working conditions of her employees and using blackmail to silence them.

It doesn’t stop there. The designs Nakamura claims as her own appear to belong to her manager.

As always, the known vigilante backs the allegations with evidence, including a detailed report outlining Nakamura’s actions and possible motivations.

The scandal continues to shake the fashion industry. Stay tuned for further developments.

“Remember the guy I’ve been seeing?” the woman in front of you asked her friend, staring at her phone screen.

Her friend gave her a smug look and giggled. “Your police officer boyfriend? Oh, I remember him. Are you finally official?”

The woman’s cheeks flushed pink. “Sort of. But that’s not important. He told me something interesting the other day. A rumor.” She leaned in closer, lowering her voice to a whisper. “Apparently, Dynamight is on Truth Exposer’s case. For two years now. Isn’t that strange?”

“Dynamight?” Her friend’s reaction was loud enough to draw attention, prompting the woman to hush her with a finger firmly pressed to her pink-stained lips. “Sorry. That’s just shocking. No way it’s true.” She shook her head in disbelief. “He’d have caught that vigilante by now.”

The woman pursed her lips. “Don’t be so sure. My, uh, somewhat boyfriend said his superiors are growing restless because…” She looked around as if she was about to impart the secret of the universe. “There’s no evidence, it seems. Almost as if…”

“Truth Exposer doesn’t exist?” her friend offered.

“Yeah,” she agreed, her expression shifting to one of concern.

You stifled a yawn as your attention drifted from the chatty women to the rest of the ice cream parlor and rolled your shoulders. The ridiculously long queue was killing you with boredom. What were you thinking? Coming here on a Saturday evening in the middle of freaking July. Summer was in full swing, and the chase for its sweet treats manic. Unbelievable how you’d ignored that simple fact and acted on your cravings, gleefully skipping past every single convenience store and making a beeline through half the city to reach your current location.

Your clothes stuck to your sweaty skin, making your eye twitch in irritation and sheer disgust, but that was what you deserved when you stubbornly refused to satisfy the cravings with simple ice cream. Picky tongue demanded artisanal. Rich, intense, creamy flavors.

Among the locals, the location was popular, open during the summer months, and closed for the rest. Each year brought a new theme, and this time around revolved around tropical islands. The seashell pillars from last year were replaced with artificial palm trees, their long, wide green leaves holding the baby blue shaded ceiling with splotches of white cotton. The intention was for the fluff to resemble the peaceful clouds of a sunny sky, but to you, it looked like something met its tragic end.

And then there was the floor, beloved by many, hated by you—sand. Actual sand. Points for the clever idea of upping the authenticity, but that was where your generosity ended. Minuscule pebbles invaded your shoes the second you walked in, and the constant sensation of something poking into your feet every time you stepped drove you mad. The beach was where it belonged, next to the ocean, not in your ice cream parlor.

You shifted your weight from one leg to the other and carried your visual exploration to the ice cream display. Fruity aromas escaped into the cool air, scenting the atmosphere with their sweet perfume. Delightful. If only your sense of smell was as average as everyone else’s. Your nose suffered from the notes of sweat, cheap cologne, and heated synthetic materials.

“What are you getting?” the woman from before asked her friend.

“One Tsukuyomi cup and one Pinky,” her friend responded, pointing at the mentioned pro heroes who were part of the lineup of themed ice cream flavors.

The woman’s expression turned judgmental. “Blackberries and bubblegum?”

“What’s wrong with that?”

Your gaze landed on the two options when vibrant orange with black swirls tugged at your attention, and you could almost feel the arrogance of who was represented radiating off it. Your whole face scrunched up, because your silly stomach fluttered in anticipation of something you wouldn’t buy, even if the man himself paid you for it.

When it was finally your turn, the most pleasant smile slapped itself on your face as you pointed to the display, saying, “I’ll have everything you’ve got left of Dynamight’s ice cream.”

Everything stilled into awkward silence as the cashier blinked at you from behind the counter, his face flushing a faint shade of red. You blinked back, and smiled wider, confused about the reaction. What the hell was going on? Weren’t you clear in your wording? You said you wanted Dynamight’s ice cream.

Dynamight’s…ice…cream—

Shit.

“I mean, I’ll have everything you’ve got left of the Dynamight-themed ice cream,” you tried again, pretending your earlier request hadn’t sounded like you’d just asked for a different kind of ice cream. Although, if that was the color of his in-pants equipment, you'd probably book him an appointment with a doctor instead.

Defeated groans and whines saved you from the awkwardness, and you stole a glance at the group wanting a sweet piece of him as your fingers tapped to a random cheery rhythm on your thigh. Closing time was approaching fast, so restocking wouldn’t happen. You were terrible for robbing them of their dream, but pissing him off held much more appeal. So, so terrible.

“The ice cream comes with themed containers too?” you asked the cashier upon seeing your purchase stuffed into a container with the key pieces of his hero suit drawn on it.

“Yes,” the cashier responded, smiling back at you. “This year is special. The pro heroes themselves reviewed the products, and had the chance to participate in the process if they wanted.”

“Oh.”

Something told you Bakugou went all in. Put on the apron and the chef hat and the gloves, and dove hands first in the fresh ingredients. Checking the quality, tasting, and mixing, and probably swearing when things didn’t go his way. Images of him in a domestic role popped like inflated balloons in your head and sprinkled the authenticity of the situation over your synapses. Nothing about it was far-fetched, he was a married man and a father too.

Even though he kept his private life private, his wife had no problem sharing about it and praising him to the moon and stars for everything, including his incredible cooking abilities. Her husband this, her husband that. Your eyes rolled every single time you had the displeasure of hearing her. It was painfully obvious Bakugou didn’t appreciate her sentiment, but what was new?

So-called picture perfect couple, though not once did he publicly display a hint of affection. Not even one brief look full of love in her direction. You recognized fed up when you saw it, and he was already beyond that state.

Besides, he wouldn’t—

“Here you go, Miss.” The cashier interrupted the forbidden thought coming through. Forbidden for its smugness.

You paid for the ice cream and picked up the special bag it was packed in, designed to prevent the sweet treat from turning into melted mush. Then left the parlor, in denial about how satisfied you were with the purchase.

The street noise and its buzzing activity immediately assaulted your heightened senses, something you’d learned to appreciate in the past few years as it made the world much more interesting. Vivid colors, nuanced sounds, layered scents, pleasant textures, hidden tastes. Life was easier when you could sense the reminders of its worth in your experiences, just not in this moment. Your mind remained anchored to his existence and the dimming of the fire in his eyes with each passing month.

His last appearance, which wasn’t work-related but was clearly another PR move orchestrated by his wife, left you rather morbidly curious about the behind-the-scenes. It was a charity event, supposedly raising funds for research into the evolution of quirks, yet he looked like someone had blackmailed him into being there. You expected him to be interested, especially since his two-year-old daughter was slowly approaching the age where her quirk might manifest, but no—Bakugou’s expression remained frozen in a subtle scowl, his gaze vacant.

Trouble in paradise, maybe?

You scoffed. Who cared? Not you. It was none of your business.

The game was just that—a game. Disconnected from reality, impersonal.

Personal was finding a nice, quiet spot under the starry sky, preferably out of sight, where you could sit and satisfy your craving for something sweet and cold. That was what you needed, not putting Bakugou’s life under a microscope and critically examining it like a specimen.

He didn’t know you, and you didn’t know him. Not as two people living in the same world, under the same sky, breathing the same air, anyway.

Quickening your pace, you navigated the crowd, grimacing whenever some sweaty stranger brushed against you, and stopped at the crossroad, squeezing your way into the front row. As the green light ushering the cars by illuminated the moving traffic and the rancid smoke rising from the exhaust, you debated between going left or right once you crossed. The decision was quickly made upon spotting the small park tucked between the buildings lining the two side streets flanking it.

No bench was occupied, marking it the perfect spot for your little adventure.

Red turned to green for pedestrians, forcing the traffic to halt, and you followed the flow of the crowd when the back of your neck pricked with alert. Your fingers tightened around the bag handles, adrenaline kicking up a notch in your veins. The urge to swivel around and inspect burned at the edges of your instinct, but you resisted.

If you were indeed being watched, or worse, followed, the dumbest thing would be to let them know you knew.

You strode forward, pretending nothing was wrong. As if the inside of your skull wasn’t ringing like a cathedral from the brutal reverberations of alarm bells rising in volume, with the biggest Run. Run. Run! sign on its altar, bathed in divine light.

What more signs did you—

An arm seized your waist and yanked you into a hard body.

“Keep walkin’,” a deep voice spoke, and the blood drained from your head.

Impossible. This wasn’t happening.

Panic exploded in your chest, and your fight-or-flight instinct roared to life. Your unoccupied hand clenched into a fist and struck with every ounce of your strength into his gut. A low grunt followed your retaliation, drawing the attention of the crowd. You didn’t stick around for more.

You ripped yourself from his hold and burst into a sprint that would put him to shame, mentally cursing your luck. Or maybe it was fucking karma for buying that stupid ice cream. Speaking of, you hurled the bag in a random direction. Someone screamed as it flew through the air before hitting the pavement with a thud.

No indulging today—only running for your life to escape the hound currently hot on your heels.

Free of the dead weight, you skidded around the corner onto the side street, gritting your teeth as you sprinted faster. Your shoes pounded the ground, nearly drowning out the sound of his footsteps, which were closer than expected. You risked a glance over your shoulder and locked eyes in a brief, yet overbearingly intense connection with the red gaze fixated on you. Oh, joy. Your heart jumped into the first rocket and shot for the moon overhead.

Think. Think. Think.

“Screw this.”

In a moment of absolute recklessness, you bolted into the sparse traffic just as a car approached. Honks blared. Tires screeched. Death’s chilly claws scraped down your sweaty back. You hopped onto the hood of a car and slid over the heated metal to the other side, safely.

“Are you fuckin’ insane?!” His rage ripped through the humid air, bringing it to a paralyzing boil with a boom so loud you felt the shockwave shove you forward.

And then you were hauled off your feet and slammed face-first into the tall shrubbery fencing the park you’d wanted to enjoy that evil ice cream in. Heavy panting consumed your hearing as steely arms banded around your body, locking your arms in place, their muscles made of something that couldn’t be human. Rigid with power and strength.

“Goddamn it, woman. You’re a handful,” he panted in your ear, the rough rasp of his voice sending a very, very inappropriate shiver down the length of your body pressed against his front.

“Explains why your hands are so full,” you quipped, sarcasm the sin you shouldn’t have committed with the man who ate it for breakfast, lunch, and dinner. His coiled arms constricted around your ribs, expelling a gasp from your lungs amidst the heaving breaths. “I didn’t peg you for a ribs-breaker, Dynamight,” you spat his hero name.

“You’re a slippery one, so gotta hold on tight, Truth Exposer.” He spat yours in return.

Laughter wheezed out of your mouth. “Who? Sorry, but you’ve got the wrong person.”

“That the card you wanna play?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Sure you don’t. C’mon. We ain’t havin’ that talk here.”

“What? I’m not going anywhere with you.” You jerked in his harsh embrace, and squirmed like a worm on a hook, trying to escape the gaping maw of a hungry fish, growling, “Let me go. You can’t just randomly restrain someone. It’s power abuse, assho—hero!”

Despite your continuous protest he clearly didn’t give a fuck about, Bakugou dragged you away from the street, struggling and kicking, into the dead-end alleyway behind the park. He shoved you toward the wall, next to a dumpster buzzing with flies, and you managed to catch yourself in time before your face made contact with the filthy concrete.

Your hand flew to your mouth as you dry-heaved a few times from the rotting smell of garbage, having been under the scorching sun for more than a day. Whatever the hell was in there had been triple-cooked and extra ripened.

“Can punch, but can’t handle a little bit of stink?” he mocked, and you whirled on him, glaring fiercely.

“If I puke, I’m puking on you. How’s that for a little bit of stink?”

One side of his mouth quirked into a cocky grin that had your earlier panic morph into an irrational urge to wipe it off his face. Your hands clenched into trembling fists, nails biting into your palms.

“Don’t. You had your shot,” he said, his arms crossing over his chest, muscles flexing with the motion. “Be smart. Accept that you can’t win and let’s have a nice little chit-chat, yeah?”

Your brows lifted as you leveled him with a hard stare. Sweat slid down his temple, some dripped from that high bridge of his nose and onto his parted lips, and it was those beads you followed the descent of. They gathered on his chin and dripped on his veiny forearms before splattering on the ground at its feet.

Of course, the bastard was dressed to show off, even when he was out hunting... for you. Tank top and shorts so randoms could drool over his biceps and strong legs? Check. Custom-made cap to hide his identity? Check. Latest trendy sneakers? Check. You’d bet half your fortune his underwear was expensive too, probably tight over his ass and...

No.

No, no.

No, no, no.

Still, against better judgment, your eyes lingered on the cut of his body, taking note of everything that mattered. Bakugou could snap you like a twig if he wanted to. So could you—mentally, at least. One touch, poisoned with ill intent, and he’d drop like a felled tree. Brain stunned. Nerves fried. Unable to scream for help, or beg for death.

If only you could muster that intent toward him.

Gaze bouncing back up to his, you felt your composure stumble. His own roved over you, slow and deliberate, like a teasing touch. As if memorizing you was the sole reason he existed. Your heart skipped, tiny kicks against your ribs. Traitorous little bitch. Your senses too; they completely zeroed in on him.

Steps away, yet his cologne suddenly overpowered the putrid stench around you. Spiced heat, tangled in notes of something that was naturally him. He smelled…good. Good enough to cloud your judgment and weaken your knees.

Would he taste the same?

No. Stop. Your moral compass shuddered. He was your ticket to confinement. And a married man.

“Chit-chat about what?” You aimed for a steady voice; what came out was breathy.

He didn’t hesitate. “You’re Truth Exposer. The biggest pain in my ass for the last two years.”

Bakugou stalked forward. You stepped back. Forward. Back. Again and again, until the ridged concrete wall halted your retreat. Distance didn’t seem to exist in his mind where you were concerned.

Shouldn’t he be more cautious? He barely knew anything about you, let alone the extent of your quirk. Officially, it heightened your five senses to an overstimulating, terrifying degree—all of them, or whichever you chose. You never bothered to update the information at the Quirk Registry and had no intention of doing so.

“So you say. Proof?” You flicked your gaze to the alley opening, tracking the occasional passing car while listening for sirens. Nothing. A slow smile played on your lips. “No police?”

“Nah. Can drag your stupid ass to ‘em myself.”

“Then why aren’t you?” You snapped your fingers near his face, taunting. “Ah, right. Because there’s a difference between thinking someone did something bad and suspecting them based on proof. You, Dynamight, have a little problem with the second, don’t you?”

His palm slammed above your head as he leaned in, warm breath tickling your lips. “Backhanded admission?” He scoffed. “Cocky little shit. Think you’re gettin’ out of this?”

“Unless you can back up your assumptions, yeah.” You stepped closer, erasing the last bit of space between you, your voice fading to a whisper. "Breaking news: Pro Hero Dynamight detains a civilian on baseless suspicions. Has dropping four rankings finally pushed him to cross the line in hopes of climbing back up?”

Low, rumbly chuckles spilled from his lips and onto yours. You blinked, taken aback by the pleasant sound and his open amusement, barely registering his fingers grasping your jaw. “Like I give a shit about my ranking when I found you. Now all I gotta do is follow your scent and wait for you to slip. Once you do that, I’ll be right there punishin’ you for it. Wanna guess who’ll shoot up in the rankings after?”

You stared at him for another beat before you jerked your head away, grimacing. “Following my scent? What are you, a dog?”

“Worse.”

“A stalker, then?”

Bakugou never got the chance to respond. His phone rang, blasting the most obnoxious sound in existence. Clicking his tongue, he fished it out of his shorts, gaze locked on yours, daring you to move. He snapped at the caller.

“This better be important. I’m busy.”

Being this close made you into an involuntary participant in the conversation. Bless your hearing, or curse it.

“You need to come home. It’s about your wife. And Yua,” the woman on the other end urged. His mother?

He instantly straightened. “Is my kid okay?”

“She’s fine, but come home.” Her voice sounded exhausted.

“Can’t it wait?” he asked, and your expression shifted into surprise. Shouldn’t he be running already?

“I caught her with another guy. What do you think, Katsuki? Can it wait?” Her tone suddenly whipped at the air through the speaker.

Another guy? Your mouth dropped open. His wife cheated on him? That wasn’t something you ever expected to hear.

“On my way.” He ended the call, pocketing his phone, and the weirdest thing happened.

When someone learned of their partner’s betrayal, there’d be hurt, anger, disgust; neither was present anywhere on him. Bakugou was either an expert at hiding his emotions, or something else was going on.

“Have fun sleepin’ with one eye open.”

He flicked your forehead, then jogged out of the alley, leaving you gawking at his retreating form, hand smacked over the stinging spot.

What the hell? And was that excitement you noticed in his eyes for a second before they left yours?

Ridiculous. In what world would he be excited about—

Your breath hitched. Was Bakugou waiting for something like this? For a reason to…end his marriage? Why?

Curiosity wrapped dangerously around your racing heart, and you shook your head. “Not my business.” It wasn’t. What he did, with whom, where, how. His life, in general, was not your business. “Move on. Pretend none of this happened. You didn’t hear. You didn’t see. You didn’t feel.”

Silence descended over the dead-end alley like a heavy mantle, fabric made out of secrets and denied truths. Each gone moment was more oppressive than the last. Your defenses asphyxiated under the pressure. Cracked. Loosened your self-control.

Weakness clawed to the surface.

You slapped your cheeks lightly a few times. You needed to remember why you had to stay far, far away from him. Somehow, he found you, putting your freedom at risk.

Your options took priority, your life, not his. Never…his.

The reason you spaced out, staring at the alley’s entrance, at the spot you’d last seen him, wasn’t the foreboding feeling creeping inside you; it was the unknown of your next move.

Chapter Text

What was going on with Bakugou?

The question haunted you for weeks, day and night, gnawing at the rational side of your brain. Partially, it was Bakugou’s fault. A representative of his PR team came forward to announce a sudden, temporary break from hero work one day after you had the wonderful opportunity of meeting him. However, no date of return was provided.

Temporary? More like indefinite hiatus.

Ever since, he hadn’t been spotted once, which left you vibrating with stress. You waited for your front door to be blasted to smithereens, either by him or some other pro hero, and be arrested. Irrational, really. Thanks to your best friend and the obsessive attention you put into your disguises, your work left no traces.

Still, restlessness defined your default mood, and maybe there was a tiny part of you worrying that added to it. You hated admitting it, but your subconscious pinged your instinct with impulses of something being wrong.

That was why you were out and about at an ungodly hour; curiosity had a way of turning you stupid like that.

Sweat slid down your back under the fitted long-sleeved black top you wore as you shook the dead phone in your hand under the flickering streetlights of Bakugou’s neighborhood in the wee hours of the night. Your stupidity apparently extended to basic things like charging your phone, and now you stood, looking every bit suspicious, racking your brain for the directions the GPS displayed before the screen blinked out.

If his intention when he had bought a house in this labyrinth was to piss off the potential villains who might’ve a bone to pick with him and force them to give up out of sheer frustration, then mission successful. Why you were still trying was unexplainable. Stubbornness, perhaps. One hell of a driver.

Pocketing your deceased phone, you scanned the vicinity again for any sign of life other than yourself, the one cute cat dozing off on top of a stone fence two houses behind you, and the pesky mosquitoes buzzing annoyingly overhead.

Nothing. No one. Completely empty.

You tugged on your cap and strutted forward, sending thoughts, prayers, and hopes to the celestial objects illuminating the rooftops that you were on the right path.

Eternity passed before you finally, finally found his house. Luckily for you, his show-off tendencies bled into everything. The sophisticated metal plaque, engraved with his family name, caught the moonlight like polished obsidian, therefore, your attention.

To your surprise, his house looked…normal. A two-story, medium-sized modern property in shades of gray, with black accents that you assumed were also metal from the way light glinted off them. Surrounded by a tall concrete fence that looked like granite, and a solid gate as the entrance. Gate that was ajar.

As you inspected the rest of the exterior for the security system, your stomach sank deeper with the same dreadful feeling you couldn’t shake off. The camera above the intercom was off. You knew it the same way you knew air consisted of more than just oxygen. Bakugou wasn’t this careless, was he? He’d double—no, triple-check the security, even if his wife had probably already done it. Right?

Your instinct itched with the urge to say ‘fuck it’ and rush in, but you suppressed it. Maybe this was just a coincidence. A malfunction of sorts. Verify, then act.

Crouching with your head low, you peeked through the gap in the gate. His car was in the driveway, parked diagonally as if the space wasn’t meant for two vehicles; no sign of his wife’s. You made a face at it. His fans called it aesthetic, and you agreed about the black matte paint, but what the hell were those bright orange crisscrossed tire rims? Were they supposed to create some fiery trail effect he’d never get to flaunt because one, he couldn’t tear through the city streets like a maniac, and two, on the highway, people were too busy stepping on the gas to care about a sports car speeding past them?

You rolled your eyes. At least his car being here confirmed he was home.

You scanned the quietness one last time and sneaked in, working with the blind angle of the street camera. As you closed the gate carefully, you took in the trimmed shrubbery, the well-kept grass, and the dusty stone path leading to the front door. Only for your eyes to narrow on the digital lock.

“Unlocked?” you muttered under your breath. This was becoming stranger by the second.

A shiver skated down your spine, tensing your body. Your gaze snapped to the second floor, searching for any sign of another presence that didn’t belong here, pulse quickening and caution fading into an afterthought.

Oh, fuck it. If you got caught, you’d figure out some story. In you went.

And out you wished to go. Your hand flew to your nose and pinched your nostrils to stop your stomach from flipping sideways. The stench reminded you of the dumpster in that alleyway. Was this a home or a pigsty?

Pigsty. Definitely a pigsty.

Blurry moonlight poured into the messy living room, cluttered with toys, takeout containers, haphazardly tossed couch pillows, and spills from who knew what. You steeled yourself for what you were about to do. Nausea swirled in your stomach like clothes in a washing machine as you inhaled the foul air, focusing on each distinct aroma. The relieved breath you exhaled when you detected not even the faintest trace of iron relaxed your whole body.

You didn’t dare look at the kitchen opposite the living room and prowled further toward the staircase, careful to keep your steps light and quiet. Your impulse should’ve been to turn around and get as far away as possible from this place, not delve deeper into the home of a pro hero who was out for your head.

If Yu knew, he’d be having a meltdown, you told the void in your head, shuddering at the imagined sound of your best friend grilling you for being reckless and stupid. Yes, you were a grade one idiot tonight. But he’d be proud to know you left your belongings at home, and your pockets held your motorcycle key and your discharged phone.

No. He wouldn’t be. Ayumu would buy you a ticket for the next rocket and shoot you into space himself so he wouldn’t have to see your pathetic, down-by-your-own-hand end.

Gentle light greeted you at the top of the stairs, inviting you through the open door at the end of the narrow hallway, yet driving your heart into your throat. Faster and faster it thumped as you approached the room. You pressed your back against the cool wall and peeked inside, blinking in disbelief at the state of it. Like the living room, this space—clearly belonging to Bakugou’s daughter, with its peach-colored walls and scattered small dresses over the plush carpet—was a mess too.

What the hell happened?

You didn’t try to answer that. Instead, you craned your neck for a better look, spotting both who you were looking for and who you weren’t. Bakugou leaned against the white crib, his head drooped to the side, eyes closed. Light snores escaped his slightly parted lips. Meanwhile, his daughter, Yua, was very much awake, tugging at the minty hair of a doll, her face scrunched in concentration.

For whatever reason, a sense of relief, stronger than the earlier one, washed over you.

He was okay, so was she. They both were.

Now that you confirmed that, it was time to go, but you found yourself rooted to the spot. Your eyes wandered to her, absorbing how she was the spitting image of him. As if sensing your presence, Yua tilted her head toward you, her blonde wavy hair cascading over her tiny shoulders, ruby red eyes locking onto yours.

You gasped at being caught. She let out a curious sound, and before you knew it, Yua crawled out of her dad’s lap, away from the safety of his arms, and stumbled toward you. Your muscles went rigid as your lungs expelled the rest of your air, leaving you fixated on the small person determined to interact with you, the intruder.

“Pretty,” she babbled, a bright smile blooming on her face. Tiny fingers latched onto your pants and tugged weakly.

Time stopped. You had no idea why. Her twinkling gaze seemed to trap you in the moment, mesmerize you.

Something in her innocent curiosity awakened something new within you. This feeling wasn’t one you’d experienced before, but felt oddly natural. Following that instinct, you knelt and offered her one of your rare, sincere smiles, hoping your intrusive presence didn’t register as danger to her. You didn’t want to scare her, or worse, traumatize her in any way.

In response, hers widened into a toothy grin, despite a few of her teeth weren’t fully grown yet.

She made an eager grab at you, losing her balance, and you instantly reached out, catching her in your arms. Before you could admonish yourself, a sleepy groan drew your attention.

Bakugou’s eyes slowly opened. “Huh? Yu…a?” They grew wide at the sight of you.

It all happened so fast.

He sprang from the floor at the same moment you tried to, slowed down by your prudence to not hurt Yua. Two steps out of the room were all you managed before he tackled you to the floor. Your shoulder took the brunt of the impact, forcing a pained groan from your mouth, which quickly turned into a choking sound as his hand wrapped around your throat in a vicious grip, while the other ripped your cap away.

“You? What the fuck are you doin’ in my house?” His tone dripped with pure acid.

“Ba—” Panic clawed up your throat. His strong thighs pinned your arms against your body, and you squirmed, gasping for air. “C-can’t…brea…the.”

His fingers squeezed your airway harder. Tears pricked your eyes, and for the first time in ages, you tasted the metallic flavor of fear. The violent storm in that fascinating gaze swallowed every flicker of clarity. This wasn’t Bakugou Katsuki—layered, human. This was something else. Primal. Feral. Rabid.

The ferocity choking you stirred your own.

“You want to kill me?” you rasped, voice barely recognizable. “G-go on, hero. Try.” A snarl tore from your throat as you bucked hard, hips straining to throw him off.

His fingers twitched. Yours too, but you dug your nails into the carpet, fighting to hold back your quirk. You didn’t trust your brain not to retaliate in a desperate bid to survive. But you trusted his would snap the fuck out.

“If you’re going t-to—” You wheezed, struggling under his steely strength. Fucking mountain didn’t budge an inch. “Do...it. Do it, you unhinged bastard!”

Between your fight for breath and the defiant taunt you threw him, something seemed to fracture his wild state. Bakugou gasped out a ‘fuck’ and ripped his hand from your throat, slamming it beside your head as his body hunched over yours, heaving.

You broke into a violent coughing fit, clutching your throat, pain pulsing like a thousand stabbing needles. That’d leave a bruise. Great. Fucking perfect. Bakugou’s handprint for a necklace, like a twisted wish coming true. Just your luck.

“Oi. You go—”

“Pa…pa?”

Yua’s confused voice froze you both. He paled, and you saw the exact moment it hit him what he’d be staring at if he hadn’t stopped—a corpse. Your corpse. Soul gone. Forever. And his daughter would’ve been the witness.

“I—Shit. Stay right there, Yua,” he snapped, his tone whipping at the lethal tension. His eyes were bloodshot from lack of sleep, you noticed, as they frantically searched your own. What now? they seemed to silently ask.

Did he seriously expect a kid that full of curiosity to actually listen?

Lucky him, you were the one he nearly ended with his bare hands. He’d have a fun time if it were someone else.

Biting back a wince, you croaked. “Nothing h-happened here. Absolutely…nothing. Understood?” You shot him a glare, pretending you weren’t one breath away from another coughing fit. “Now, get—get off.”

Your words moved him like a puppeteer’s string. Bakugou wobbled to his feet, but not before grabbing your waist and hauling you up with him. Body to body, you felt him tremble from the shock, his heart doing worrisome things in his chest. It raced too fast, agitating your own.

“You good? Let me—”

You slapped his hand away and grimaced. “When was the last time you showered? I might’ve survived that, but I’m not surviving this. You stink.”

If your nose hairs didn’t shrivel and fall off by the end of this, it’d be a miracle.

*

After nearly getting killed, anyone else’s brain would’ve reset to a smarter mode—look for a way out, not a reason to stay. But you had questions, and Bakugou had the answers. Which he vehemently refused to give…until you flashed a sweet smile and suggested he give you the deepest bow and apologize for choking the soul out of you.

One thing led to another, and next thing you knew, you were handing him your bike key and dead phone as leverage that you meant no harm. You learned fast that his version of trust your enemy involved handcuffing said enemy and keeping them as close as possible.

Enemies might not have been the only ones he’d cuffed before, though, judging by the red, feathery lining on the leather binding your wrists to the metal bar above the blurry shower glass wall.

No surprise, the bastard was into infernal showers, but he could’ve dialed it down a bit. The air boiled, making you sweat through every fiber of your clothes, while your lungs burned through your energy resources to keep you breathing. You were positively trapped and suffocating, but at least his shampoo smelled good. Something citric.

Your forehead fell against the shower glass, eyes squeezing shut, as you desperately tried to erase the outline of his naked body from your brain. He was driving you places he shouldn’t, and as much as you liked your denial, your body didn’t care for it.

“Can you hurry up?” you shouted over the loud water stream. “If your wife shows up and finds us like this, we’re both screwed.”

“Huh?!” he yelled back. "The hell you tryin' to talk to me for? Told you to zip it!"

“If you think I want to talk with a butt naked guy with obvious anger issues, you’re delusional. But I have no choice. My face plastered next to yours is a big no-no in my book.”

The shower door was yanked open, almost flying off its hinges. Bakugou’s head peeked out, and you shot him an unimpressed look, even as your mind took notes on his hair—matted on top, dripping with the fattest globs of water. It must have been thick. 

You wanted to smack yourself when an image of something else that could fit that description surfaced in your mind.

“Oxygen reachin’ your brain? Got proof you broke in.”

You didn’t think his wife would care about that when her husband was naked, showering like it was no one’s business, with the intruder handcuffed, getting a splendid view of things meant for her eyes only.

“Not sorry to ruin it for you, but your security system is off.”

“You turned the security off?! Got a death wish or something?”

“No to the first, maybe to the second. Are you going to grant it, naked genie?”

His snarl filled the steamy air, and you couldn’t tell if you were still in a bathroom or a cave inhabited by a feral animal. He slammed the glass door shut, growled some more, and then cursed when the bottle he picked up fell from his hand.

You laughed. That bottle might as well have been his brain packing up and leaving his skull.

“Shut it, pain in my ass!” he barked, and a foamy loofah sailed over your head, splatting somewhere behind you.

“What are you, five?” Your face twisted into disgust as dying bubbles slid down your temple. Of course, in its flight, it dripped on you. Why would you be spared?

“That’s still older than you.”

“No wonder you’re dropping in the rankings regularly,” you muttered, rolling your eyes. “Petty brat.”

His reaction was as explosive as his general attitude. He turned off the water and swung open the door, stepping out. “Wanna say that to my damn face?”

Water dripped everywhere, and your eyes widened comically at his naked form. Your eyes screwed shut. For someone strict with his private life, he sure was shameless with a stranger.

“Hah, goin’ shy on me?” he mocked.

“Put some clothes on! This is inappropriate!”

“Yeah?” You felt him move closer, forcing you back up as much as the handcuffs allowed. “You were eyein’ my ass earlier. How’s that appropriate?”

“I wasn’t—” Your eyes snapped open, instantly regretting it. “Eyeing your…ass.”

One arm braced against the shower wall, Bakugou stared at you, something hotter than the current room temperature burning in his glare. He was too close. So close, your instinct was to step back, yet you couldn’t focus on anything other than the glistening water drops trailing down his neck, over his pulse, lower to his chest. They dissolved against the scar.

The scar…

Bakugou Katsuki is dead? That can’t be. It’s not true, right?

The voice of a younger you echoed in your head before a fragment of the memory rolled through. You, latched onto the pro hero’s arm, stopping him from doing his job. At the time, it was to guide everyone further into the safety of U.A. Surprise and suspicion created deep lines on his expression as his hand slowly dropped from his earpiece.

“What are you doin’?” Bakugou asked as you moved closer, head tilted, listening. Thump, thump, thump. Faint to your sensitive ears, but unmistakably there.

His heartbeat.

He was alive.

“Oi!”

You jerked back. “What?”

“I asked you what the hell you doin’.”

One shoulder raised, you replied. “Debating if I should headbutt you or not. Maybe it’ll knock some sense into you. Who stands naked before a stranger?”

“Stranger, she says,” he scoffed, brushing past you. “That what you tell yourself to sleep at night?”

Your lips pressed together, a wisp of guilt taunting your heart. He had been the last thing you thought of. Or, at least, that had been the case before meeting him in flesh and bone. One time was enough to unintentionally make space for him in your everyday thoughts.

You glanced at him over your shoulder, feeling less brave, less bold, less everything.

“Checkin’ my ass again, pervert?”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” you groaned, though there wasn’t much bite to it. “What’s there to check?” Still, your eyes betrayed you, gliding over the expanse of his muscled back and down to his clothed ass. “I’ve seen better.”

“Hah?!” Bakugou whipped around, clearly offended. His protests were mostly lost on you; the generous view of his V-line was far more captivating. He didn’t bother to pull his sweat shorts higher on his hips.

No, damn it.

Your moral compass had its faults, but lusting, even a little bit, over a married guy, especially this married guy, couldn’t be one of them. Appreciating his physique, strictly from an aesthetic perspective, was fine, but not the sinful ideas percolating your system.

“You listenin’ to me? Hey!” His fingers snapped in front of your face. “Pay attention before I leave you in here.”

“No, you won’t. How are you going to explain to your wife—”

“That bitch ain’t gonna show up,” he snapped. Your brows furrowed in confusion at the name-calling. His tongue clicked in irritation. “Don’t play dumb. You heard my phone conversation.”

“Oh. Yeah.” You paused, unsure of what to say.  “Uh…sorry to hear? Are you okay?”

His silence unnerved you as much as his intense attention on you. Reaching behind him for a tank top, the shameless bastard took his sweet time lowering the material over his ripped abs. By the time he was done, your heart pounded to a dizzying rhythm. You hated him for it, and the effect he had on your body.

“I’m keepin’ your shit,” he suddenly stated and moved to stand before you. His arm raised, so did your head to watch his fingers slip under the chain of the handcuffs. Smoke curled around them, then a sudden pop rang in the misty air. “Tomorrow. Nine p.m. Your ass better be at my front door.”

“No. Why would—What are you doing?!”

He hoisted you over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes and strode out of the bathroom. You were about to smack his back when he forced you into silent submission with only a few words.

“About earlier. There ain’t an excuse for what I’ve done,” he said. “Don’t forgive me.”

His remorse, a blade stabbing your heart, sharp tip lodged in a spot long buried beneath a pile of impossibilities and secrets. It cracked. Spilling pieces of what you had buried into the present, feeding the cruelty of reality.

“I broke in. You reacted. That makes us even,” you said, propping yourself up on one elbow to glare at the top of his head. “I don’t want to see you again. So give me back my stuff.”

Silence.

Bakugou swung the front door open and dropped you to your feet, shoving you outside. The door slammed shut in your face.

“You’re kidding. Bakugou!” Your fist slammed the metal surface. Once. Twice. Anger surged through your veins, a scream clawing its way up your throat, but the risk of waking the neighborhood forced it back down. “Open the damn door and give me back my stuff!” You jiggled the doorknob. “I know you’re there. I can sense you.”

Something slammed against the other side, hard enough to rattle the door frame.

“No. Piss off.”

“I’m not going anywhere until you give it back.”

“Couldn’t care less. Stay and see what happens. Cameras are back on. Know what that means?” A pause. “I’ve got proof of your pestering.”

“God, you’re such an annoying, stubborn fucking jerk,” you whined, frustrated beyond belief with his attitude. “What are you going to do? Call the police?”

“Wanna try me? Huh?!”

Growling, you struck the door again. “Go ahead! I’ll spin one hell of a story. Like how I’m your mistress. I’ve got proof, too—these stupid handcuffs your goofy brain forgot to take off. Bet they’ll have a field day spreading gossip about our scandalous, kinky affair.”

“Like I give a fuck.” His voice grew more distant. “Tell ‘em the reason you’re now hysterical at my door while you’re at it. Dick’s so good you can’t take rejection.”

You choked on your spit and sputtered. The audacity. “D-dick? What dick? Yours? Where?” When no retort came, you pressed your ear to the door and listened, hearing nothing. “Did he seriously leave me here?”

Several minutes later, you realized that yes, he absolutely did. Bakugou dumped and ditched you in front of his house, leaving you with nothing but the option to walk away and the cursed knowledge that you’d have to come back tomorrow.

Was this the price for your stupidity? Forced to see his smug face and breathe the same air again?

What was it they said? Third time was the charm?

You buried your head in your hands and let out a muffled, pitiful scream.

Screw your luck.

Chapter Text

“What happened to you?” Your best friend’s concern carried through the quiet hallway of his apartment building. “I called you the entire evening. Your phone’s off. And what happened to your wrists? Why are they so bulky? Did you break them? And what’s that on your neck?”

Could the ground open up and swallow you up already? So many questions.

Your eyes lifted to Ayumu’s brown ones as you stumbled inside, gesturing to him to give you a moment; your lungs weren’t done wheezing for air.

It was well past two in the morning, or so the convenience store’s digital clock you’d passed displayed. The city was very much alive, though with the kind of activity that’d make someone walk a little bit faster—jog, in your case. To cut the trip short from Bakugou’s house to your best friend’s, your brilliant idea had been to venture through obscure side streets and alleyways, heart brave, mind prepared for a fight. Until you came across a group of shady-looking people and were hit with a wave of fatigue.

The lack of sleep from the last couple of weeks was finally doing a number on you. You had ended up sprinting past them like your worst nightmare chased you, despite your shaky legs, and didn’t stop until you reached Ayumu’s place.

“Bakugou happened,” you replied, massaging your numb thighs to life, trying to catch your breath.

“Who?” He sounded confused, as if he knew ten Bakugous, not one. “Bakugou as in…that Bakugou?”

“Yeah. Bakugou as in Bakugou Katsuki. As in Dynamight. As in whatever you want to call him.” You removed your shoes and dragged your feet to the living room, where you plopped down on your back on the couch, exhaling a sigh. Safety felt nice, like a warm blanket, and your body welcomed it, relaxing.

Ayumu sat on the floor by your head, brows furrowed, and gently pressed his fingertips on your neck. “No, seriously, what happened? Did he do this? Are you okay?”

A smile wobbled on your lips. “I’m okay.” You reached for his head, patting the mess of copper hair on his head. “It was my fault.”

“Explain?”

“I might’ve screwed up?”

“What did you do?”

Clearing your throat, you jutted your chin like your stupid actions were something to be proud of. “Curiosity got the best of me, so I broke into his house.”

Ayumu’s heart jerked back, eyes nearly bulging out of his skull. “Y-you did what?!” He slapped a hand over his cheek. “Are you serious? Oh, God. You’re aware you basically confirmed to him who you are, right? Right?”

“Listen to the whole story before you freak out. It’s not that bad. But before that,” you clumsily tugged on your sleeves, revealing the red feathery cuffs, “help me take these off? I was too busy running to bother.”

Awkward silence passed between you as Ayumu squinted his eyes at the handcuffs, then at your neck. A few more quiet beats, and your best friend broke into a round of cackles. He poked at the soft feathers.

“I get it now. Your break-in had a happy ending. Who initiated—”

“It’s not like that! I know how it looks, but it’s really not like that.” Your cheeks grew hot. “Please, just get them off.”

Fiddling with the metal buckle, Ayumu sent you a smug look. “You know, even if you did get it on with him, as your best friend, I won’t judge, but—” He smacked your leg with the removed cuff. “I’d prefer you don’t go around sleeping with the man hunting you down. There are other options out there.”

Other options you had probably exhausted over the years. Not many tall, hot, muscular blonds out there fit the mold well enough to trick your brain into seeing what wasn’t. And finding one with red eyes, too, was like diving straight into a haystack to search for a needle.

But Ayumu didn’t need to know about your escapades. About the moments your heart bled green and made you do dumb things.

“For the last time, I didn’t and I won’t. He’s married.”

“Ah, so if he weren’t married…”

You threw your head back on a groan, irritation nagging your nerves. “Remind me again why we’re friends?”

“Because I’m the best partner in crime you can have, why else?” he replied with one boastful grin before his face turned serious. “Need some ice for that?”

He was. He really was the best partner you could ask for. Without him, you wouldn’t have been able to trudge forward on this path you’d been forced on. Ayumu shared the burden of gathering information, covered your tracks, and took care of everything technical.

Putting the pieces together, finding the patterns, and scheming were your expertise.

“Later. Sit.” You sat up and patted the spot beside you. “Don’t say a word until I’m done, okay?”

You told him everything, in great detail — the altercation with Bakugou, the moment with his daughter. As word after word left your mouth, the color drained from his cheeks, leaving him ghost-pale by the time you finished. His warm brown eyes, wide with horror, dulled too.

He slapped his cheeks with both hands and puffed out a breath. “Sweetheart…it is that bad. Where do I start? Gloves, maybe. Did you wear some?”

“I didn’t touch anything with my fingertips, except his carpet, but I doubt he noticed that.” Your fingers curled over your knees at the memory. You’d been so close to hurting Bakugou and traumatizing Yua with the sight of her father stiff on the ground. “Thing is, he can’t prove anything. You heard me when I said his security system was off, right?”

“It’s indirect confirmation, everything he needed to hunt you down to the end of the world. Your carelessness handed him a golden opportunity,” he said, and your lips pressed together, understanding his point, but still not regretting a thing. “Should I tell you what he’ll do now? Find ways to stay close to you and wait for your slip-up. Why? Because he knows exactly who you are, meanwhile, we have no clue how he managed that.”

Sighing, you slumped against the couch and crossed your arms. “After tomorrow, I’ll have to be careful I never cross paths with him again.”

Now would be a good time for the ground to crack open and for you to fall through. Guilt vibrated your heartstrings with the reminder of the cat-and-mouse you’d been playing with Bakugou, for longer than necessary, behind Ayumu’s back.

You couldn’t tell him because he would’ve never agreed to the reason, and maybe, because something in you liked the idea of keeping this dangerous secret a secret. Strangely, it thrilled you.

“That’s now how it’s gonna go, and you know it.” Ayumu pushed to his feet and motioned for you to follow him to the kitchen. “He’s not the guy you call to sweet-talk a villain, or a vigilante, but the guy you send to trap, catch, collect. His reputation isn’t the way it is for no reason.”

He wasn’t wrong. Over the years, Bakugou gradually shifted from a general spectrum of commissions to a more specialized one—rescues. Not the disaster kind, but the ‘save people from the depths of hell’ one. During one of his rare interviews, he said it let him kick ass while saving, and that suited him and his quirk much better. The interviewer followed up with a stupid statement about how that sounded like he enjoyed violence.

Bakugou’s response was a cocked brow and a loud scoff.

You remembered scoffing alongside him at your TV screen. Damn vultures always, always brought up, directly or more subtly, his brash attitude, repeatedly glossing over that Dynamight got things done. As far as you were aware, he had never failed a commission. Yet.

In a way, your line of work and his weren’t all that different. Unlike him, you didn’t follow the law, revealing your discoveries as they were. Raw. Ugly. Gruesome. The tragedies of your past had taught you one valuable lesson: closure could come from the crude truth. And the public seemed starved for it, whether for morbid reasons or otherwise. The authorities, not so much.

Power existed in words, terrifyingly so when every claim proved true. Without exception.

If Truth Exposer said it, then it must be true.

You hopped on the kitchen counter and leaned back on your hands, nails drumming against the dark marble. “Knowing doesn’t equal proof,” you told Ayumu. “If anyone needs to be careful, it’s him.”

“You’d never hurt him,” Ayumu was quick to remind you as he opened the cabinet overhead. “He’s lucky your heart is in the right place. Even luckier, it’s got a soft spot for him. Can’t say the same for whoever is trying to mess with him.” He cast you a knowing look. “You think someone messed with his security system for some reason, and that can’t be good.”

It couldn’t be good, especially when Bakugou himself didn’t remember ever turning it off, even though the logs contradicted him. The shutdown happened one hour before your arrival. Your insistence on why it was off brought that to light.

“I’m not sure what I think, but something isn’t right.”

Ayumu took out two mugs and placed them on the counter, then braced his weight against the surface, attention locked on you. “What did it feel like?”

A good question. You took a moment to reflect on the experience.

Everything seemed so convenient—the security being down, the gate being ajar, the front door being unlocked—inviting you in like you were a guest, not an intruder. Almost as if an external force eliminated the obstacles prior to your arrival, cleared the path for you.

You dug deeper into your memories and found the one thing you overlooked in your haste to cross out the presence of blood.

Tobacco.

The air held a faint hint of tobacco.

A chilling shiver spiraled down your spine as you anchored your gaze to Ayumu’s, swallowing against the realization clogging your throat. “Unless Bakugou smokes, someone else was in the house before me.”

Ayumu narrowed his eyes. “What makes you sure they weren’t still there?”

“It has yet to fail me, but my instinct. I sensed no danger, only a weird vibe.”

His response was what you expected. “We really shouldn’t be considering it,” he said, emphasizing his reluctance with your name. “It’s dangerous…for you.”

Without a doubt, it was. Bakugou crashing into your life was bad enough. You returning the favor by breaking into his was even worse. The two of them tangling spelled disaster. Ruin. Catastrophe of the highest level. Your hands gripped the counter’s edge as you tried convincing yourself to step back.

None of your business. None of your business. None of your—

The hell? I ain’t rememberin’ shit about turnin’ this off.

Your eyes screwed shut as you willed away the echo of his stupefied tone, but his dumbfounded expression replaced it. The treacherous heart in your chest sprang to life, unfurling to make you feel exactly why you couldn’t regret your actions, why you didn’t fear the danger, why you had already decided.

“I want to know, Yu.” You opened your eyes, dragging them over your strained knuckles. “I want to find out why he doesn’t remember. Stress, or what?”

“Say we do, and it’s a person. Will you go after their why?”

“Yeah.”

“So, we’re doing this.”

You heard the resignation in the cadence of his words. Ayumu wasn’t happy with it, but he knew that once your heart set itself on something, backing out was no longer an option. Full speed ahead. Straight into the arms of the unknown. Strung up by risk and threat.

“I’m sorry, but I have to do this.” You met his eyes. “I can’t stay away.”

“You mean, you don’t wanna stay away.”

Ayumu turned away and busied himself with making tea, marking the beginning of his silence as he slipped into his thoughts, leaving you to watch his back with the slightest tint of remorse.

Had it been five years already since you bumped into him, quite literally, on a December morning?

The snow had been thick, a blanket over the whole city, the wind arctic and biting at your cheeks, making your eyes water as it had permeated the many layers you wore.

You knew you should’ve slowed down, instead of racing down the slippery street, but you couldn’t afford to be late for your job interview. One of the renowned TV stations wanted you—a chance like that was once in a lifetime for someone fresh out of college and starting. Stressing over the internships and putting your best into them paid off.

No matter what, you had to seize this chance, even if it meant breaking a leg.

Your dreams and hopes took a nose dive when you skidded around the corner and collided with someone, their paper cup flying out of their hand and splashing hot liquid all over you. Curses sharpened your tongue, and you bit down on it to refrain from loosening one with the pained hiss slipping from your lips. It hurt like a bitch. One inhale told you the culprit preferred vanilla cappuccino.

“Crap! I’m so sorry. Are you alright?” a masculine voice asked, tinged with a charming smoothness despite the pitch of panic. “I wasn’t prepared for a sprinting bear.”

“Excuse me? What did you just call me?” you snapped, wiping foam off your chin, as you cut the man before you a glare that could easily melt the snow.

However, some of your indignation melted instead as you took his appearance in. Against the white backdrop, his styled coppery hair stood out, accentuating the mellow brown of his eyes. He was handsome, the kind that was pleasant to look at in real life, and on screen, too. But it was in his smile that allure resided.

“Oh, now that I look at you…” He trailed off, inspecting you from head to toe. “I thought you had a mutant-type quirk, but no. It’s just about three too many layers of clothes.”

“You could use an extra one yourself,” you retorted without hesitating, mentally apologizing to your mother. She told you to be on your best behavior today. You pointed to his bare neck, thin trench coat, dress shoes dusted with snow. How this man wasn’t frozen solid was a mystery.

Misty puffs of air escaped his mouth as he laughed. “I take freezing over smelling like cappuccino any day.”

“Hey! Whose fault is that?”

His hands rose in surrender, and you noticed the crumpled paper he held in one of them. The logo at the top made your breath hitch. It was the same TV station you were heading to. Beneath the logo, though, I beg you, let me pass the interview! was written, bolded, and circled over and over in red ink.

Amusement played on your lips.

“You’re going the wrong way.” When he blinked owlishly, you added, “I have an interview with them too.”

“Really? But the GPS shows—” He twisted his wrist, squinting at the smartwatch. “Huh? Why is this pointing in this direction? Am I reading it wrong?”

You moved closer, deciding right then and there that he wasn’t just strange, but also a bit of a moron. “Follow me, if you want. But keep up. You already wasted my precious minutes.”

“I’m so sorry!” He repeated, bowing repeatedly as his steps fell in sync with your own. “Thank you. You just might’ve saved my life, Miss…”

Without looking at him, you had thrust your hand forward and uttered your name. He had taken it, shaking it with such enthusiasm that it nearly toppled you in the snow, introducing himself as Sakai Ayumu.

Sometimes, you wondered if he knew what awaited him in the future, whether he would’ve still accepted it.

“Ayumu?” you called out softly to him. When he looked over his shoulder, you asked. “Did you ever regret becoming friends with me?”

He didn’t hesitate. “Never. Why are you asking me that?”

You shrugged. “Curious.”

“Sweetheart,” he sighed, stepping in front of you, eyes soft with affection. He took your hand and pulled you off the counter into his arms. “You’re the best thing that’s happened to me. That’s why I worry. I’m sorry if I sounded harsh, but this situation doesn’t sit right with me.”

Leaning into him, you returned the hug. “I know. It doesn’t sit right with me, either. But I landed in that situation, and if something or someone threatens his safety, I… I can’t turn a blind eye to it.”

“Baku—No. Dynamight won’t hesitate to take your freedom away if given the chance. He’s a good hero, but he won’t be one for you. He can only be your downfall.”

Downfall. That sounded about right.

Dynamight versus Truth Exposer. One winner. One loser.

“I’ll just have to escape him.” You shuffled back a step, staring at your best friend with the determination you didn’t feel much of. “After tomorrow, I’ll make sure to disappear off his radar. We don’t need his involvement to find out anything.”

“And how do you plan on doing that?”

By sacrificing yet another piece of your real identity. “Yu, I don’t keep a collection of wigs, makeup, and clothes for nothing.”

Chapter Text

Three rings in quick succession on Bakugou’s doorbell, and you went stiff like a statue, hands smoothing over your pants to wipe away the nervous energy. Your heart doubled in speed as you waited, then tripled when you heard his stomping footsteps growing louder and louder.

The door swung open, and you swallowed the anxious knot stuck in your throat, lifting your eyes to meet his. They were anything but welcoming. Typical.

“You’re one minute late,” was the first thing out of his mouth, spoken in a scolding tone that made your irrational agitation cascade off you. Only for a twinge of irritation to shoot through your nerves.

“Technically, it’s you who’s late. I was at your door on time,” you replied, pushing past him. “You opened it a minute later.”

“Should’ve been here a minute earlier. Then my damn door would've opened on time.”

“You said, ‘Nine p.m. Your ass better be at my front door.’” You attempted to imitate him, lowering your voice to match his, and failed. “You didn’t say nine p.m. in front of your open door. Get your facts straight before you spit orders like you’re royalty. Now give me my stuff.”

He closed the door with more force than necessary and narrowed his eyes at you. “You into talkin’ back, or some shit?”

“Do you get off on having the last word, or some shit?” You thrust a hand forward, the other tapping a finger against your palm. “My stuff. Don’t make me ask again.”

One minute of absolute silence followed your demand. Ten seconds for the air to charge up with everything unspoken between you. Fifty more for Bakugou to do nothing but trap you in his unimpressed stare, though the invasive glint behind it caused his pupils to contract and dilate. A pulse of scrutinizing curiosity.

It was impossible to ignore how it seemed to bypass physical barriers and dive straight for the unseen, right into your soul.

You crossed your arms and tipped your chin up, masking the truth rattling your bones. His transfixed stripped you layer by layer until you were left as a naked form, cowering in the darkest corner to protect your many secrets. And you wanted, more than anything, to hate it.

His focus dropped to your neck, and the intensity dimmed. The spell broke.

He marched past you with a sharp tsk, bare arm brushing your own.

Warm.

Shaking the thought off, you turned on your heel, expecting him to be holding your bike key and phone. Instead, a pair of rubber gloves came flying at you, your hands catching them on instinct before they could smack you in the face. Bakugou jerked his chin toward something on the floor.

The intention became clear as day when your eyes landed on the vacuum cleaner, leaning against the couch like some smug character in a detective movie. You squinted at it until your vision blurred, praying this was some kind of prank.

You sent him an incredulous look. “Are you, by any chance, trying to blackmail me into being your cleaning maid?”

One side of his mouth twitched. “Punishment. For breakin’ into my house.” A matter-of-fact statement, delivered before he strode to the kitchen and put on his own pair of gloves.

Anger bit into your skin. “What about your punishment for almost choking me to death, huh?”

“Livin’ it. Gotta deal with you.”

“How’s that fair?” you muttered, but somehow, he still heard it.

“Then up it, Truthie. Get creative. Ain’t that what you’ve been doin’ with me for a year and four months?”

Your mouth sealed shut like a tomb, trapping the retort ready to whip through the air, and leaving you to deal with your heart toppling over at the nickname. Truthie? You were sure it was meant as an insult, a mockery of sorts. So why did it sound…cute?

With an irritated exhale, you put the gloves on and picked up the vacuum, glancing at the staircase. No noise, no presence—his daughter wasn’t here, which made sense. He wouldn’t risk her safety, but had no problem risking your sanity. That little fact made you all the more aware of everything, stomach flipping at the realization that it was just you and him.

Alone.

Engaged in domestic activities.

Some innate impulse had you seeking him out with your eyes. Bakugou’s back was to you, the plane of muscle shifting under the sleeveless T-shirt as he sorted through the overhead cupboards. His hands moved fast and precise, taking things out and putting them back where they belonged.

Your gaze zeroed in on his ring finger; the proof of his marriage was absent. As usual, that part of you that made him matter more than he should’ve lit up like a signal flare.

And it stayed that way for the next hour, leaving you spaced out while your body went through the motions with the vacuum. Back and forth. Back and forth. Into the corners. Around and under the furniture.

On one hand, it felt like a sick joke. On the other hand, like a setup. Maybe it was both. Who could tell when the situation was this level of ridiculous? Helping the enemy of your freedom clean his house? This might as well be the plot of a comedy. Or at the very least, a circus play.

“Come on, you stupid bear,” you snapped, arm stretched to its limit as you tried to fish the small teddy out from under the couch. Its beady eyes seemed to plead for help, when it was really you who needed it.

Not that you’d ever ask. The sky would’ve had to split open and crumble before you pleaded for help from the man of the hour, currently lounging on the other couch, chugging water like a camel. You bet he was devouring the sight of you flopped on your belly and struggling, eating it up with sadistic triumph.

“Say the word, Truthie.”

Of all things, hearing Bakugou Katsuki sing-song a taunt wasn’t on your bingo card. And sounding infuriatingly good too. You flipped him off, and as a reward, your ears had to endure the deep, smug notes of his snickering.

“Aw, too prideful to ask?”

“Look who’s talking.” You aborted your mission to face him. “Aren’t you in this mess because of pride?”

He crushed the empty water bottle in his fist and rose to full height, looming over you like saturated storm clouds about to go off in a fury of thunder and lightning. Lips parting, he licked over his canine again and again as he glared something fierce at you.

“That fuckin’ mouth of yours,” he sneered, shoving his hands in his pockets.

The action inadvertently drew your attention to the tight fabric of his shorts, stretched thin over his crotch. The threads holding it together begged for mercy. Was he—

“Eyes up,” he commanded low, lethal. You wanted to disobey just to see what happened. “Now. Or you want me thinkin’ you wanna clean up more than my living room?”

Don’t go there. Don’t go there. Don’t go there. You chanted in your head, forcing your throat to swallow the saliva pooling on your tongue like you’d been promised the coolest, freshest water. You would…most definitely clean him, your brain decided, before you peered up at him innocently, pretending the faint outline of his dick didn’t exist.

Only to be confronted with another reality—his pupils consumed the red. What was it about him for you? And what was it about you for him? Absurd. Inappropriate. Forbidden.

Criminal desire trickled down your spine, corrupting your thoughts for a fleeting moment with the idea of a world where you both were like the majority of people, not pitted against each other. But the truth was too wicked in its ways to let you feel the illusion, and too cruel to spare you from recognizing what warred in the depths of his eyes.

“How about you put your arms to good use?” You patted the couch. “Lift it. There’s a toy stuck underneath.”

Screw acknowledging his interest. It was probably a natural consequence of the mutual game, though irrelevant. You’d disappear after today, never to see him up close and personal, never to interact with him in any way, shape, or form. Freedom kept you alive, which was more than you could say about being locked up. Confined to four walls might just kill you this time around.

“Anything else, princess?” he bit out, slipping a hand under the couch and inclining it like it was nothing. The couch groaned under its own weight; he didn’t. Only the swelling of his biceps signaled effort. Damn him, and his unfair strength. It was making you feel a tad jealous.

“Don’t drop it on my head, still got things to do in this life.” You reached for the helpless teddy bear, rolling your eyes when he quipped.

“Like what? Breakin’ the law?” He nudged your foot with his. “Got your next target yet?”

And because the lucky stars avoided you like the plague, your knuckles grazed something at the bottom of the couch.

Clink.

You went over the spot again.

Clink.

Glass against glass.

“Lift it higher,” you said, and rolled on your back, tracing your gloved fingers over the spot.

“The hell you doin’?”

“There’s something in here.”

“Hah?” The couch inclined more as he readjusted, dropping to one knee. “Where?”

Your free hand reached for his to guide it when a delicate herbal scent wafted into your nose. Faint, imperceptible to the average person, but not to you. You pushed his hand away with a quick “Wait,” inhaling deeply. Sweet herbs and blooming flowers, laced with a distinct medicinal bite your brain recognized instantly.

No. Why the hell was this hidden in Bakugou’s couch?

You needed to get it out without his interference, without raising suspicion.

"Can you tilt the couch more?" you asked, keeping your voice neutral, even as betrayal took root in your chest.

Tension seized your body as he planted his other hand and pushed the couch higher. The tear in the fabric gaped open, and you slipped your fingers through, grasping something smooth, crinkly. A plastic bag.

Time crawled as you pulled out two small glass bottles, filled with clear, colorless liquid. One was already half-empty. The scent hit stronger now, leaking through the zip lock, and dread set off in your veins. You rolled out from under the couch and shot to your feet, bolting for the stairs. Away from him.

“Huh?” His indignation chased you, followed by the heavy thud of the couch striking the floor. Then came the sharp smack of his hand against your arm, fingers clamping down hard.

You didn’t pause to think. Didn’t reconsider. Didn’t hesitate.  

Your palm connected harshly with his face, the slap ripping through the air. Bakugou’s grip faltered, and you yanked your arm free, stumbling backward up the stairs.

“Stay the fuck away,” you gritted out. “If these are your methods, that’s really messed up, Dynamight.”

His thumb swiped over the bottom corner of his mouth, red staining it, more beading on the split surface.

“Is this why you kept my stuff? Leverage to get your hands on me in a different way?”

You stood at the top of the stairs, bracing against the wall, him near the bottom, frozen, staring at you like he couldn’t believe what he was hearing.

“What was your plan? Lock me away and torture your precious proof out of me? Is this what you’ve been doing to every person you tracked, caught, and turned in?” Your breaths came out faster, chest cracked open from betrayal. You couldn’t hold one rational thought. “Say something!”

Again, he wiped at his mouth. “The hell you accusin’ me of?”

A dry laugh tore out of you. “Really?” You yanked down your scarf, and he winced at the bruise glaring back at him. “Is it mere accusation when I got this—” You lifted the plastic bag. “—and this?”

“What even is in that damn bag?”

You scoffed bitterly. “You don’t know?”

“For fuck’s sake, woman. If you’re gonna accuse me, say it straight. Quit yappin’ in circles.”

“It’s chloroform, you supposedly clueless bastard!” Your shout, strangulated by distress, echoed throughout the house like the alarm bells in your head. “Why do you have it hidden in your fucking couch if it’s not for illicit activities?”

Perhaps you were jumping to conclusions, or maybe not. But the apparent deceit shredded your heart and scrambled your thoughts. The pieces fell into place, forming a sinister puzzle: Bakugou as its master, and you, his naive victim. Was all of it staged?

Somehow, he knew your real identity. Somehow, he knew you'd be at that ice cream parlor — otherwise, why else would he be there? He chased you, cornered you, maybe even planned that phone call. Played on your curiosity, betting you'd come running if he gave you the right reason. Obviously, he wanted to catch you. Fulfill his commission. Collect the price pinned on you.

And you took the bait. Like a fucking idiot, you fell right into his trap.

Trap and catch—his specialty.

Who was he? Who was this man turning you dumb against your will? Was there malice under the facade? Were his methods…this?

You raised a trembling hand to your mouth and bit down on the bitter rubber, slipping the glove off, quirk humming in your fingertips. Maybe this was a long time coming, but you wouldn’t make it easy for him.

“That ain’t mine,” he snapped, eyes tracking your every move like a predator. “You’re jumpin’ to conclusions.”

“Then whose?” Your voice shook. “Your daughter? Wife? Friend? Parent? Who?”

His jaw clenched. “I ain’t—fuck—I ain’t sure, alright? I mean it.”

Despite this nightmare coming true, despite the agony corroding your heart, that soft spot you had for him still glowed, bright as the day he saved you. Buried deep as it was, its warmth seeped out, only fueling your anger. It had no right attempting to dissolve your resolve.

He raked a hand through his hair, gripping the roots. “What’s it gonna take for you to believe me?”

“Why does it matter what I believe—”

Sudden ringing shut you up. Whoever it was began to pound insistently on the front door.

“Katsuki, I know you’re home. Open the door. We need to talk!”

In the split second your attention jumped to the voice, Bakugou lunged up the stairs, covering your mouth with his palm and slamming you into the wall. You gasped against his hand, pain shooting up your spine. You swung at him, but he caught your wrist, pinning it above your head. Words spilled from him in a frantic blur, so fast you could barely keep up.

“The bottles...they might belong to that bitch. Shit’s been off since her cheatin’. Too much’s on the line, so I kept my mouth shut until I figured it out.” His eyes darted over your face. “I told no one. You’re the first to know.”

You narrowed your eyes.

“You know why I’m tellin’ you this.” His hands dropped to his sides, one slipping into his pocket to pull out the stuff you came for. The chaos at the front door intensified, his wife’s voice borderline hysterical. “Stay and listen in, or don’t. I don’t care. It’s your call. Just don’t let her see you.”

“Bringing her into your ploy?” you hissed, snatching the two items from him. “Two versus one. How nice. The power couple teaming up.”

The weariest sigh dragged from his lungs. “You know what? Stay. Listen to the damn truth.”

“And risk my safety?”

Bakugou shrugged, stepping backwards toward the stairs. “Ain’t that what you’ve been doin’ this whole time?”

“Idiot,” you murmured, shoulders sagging as you watched him square his on the way to deal with his wife.

You moved out of sight, pressing your back to the wall as your heart thumped anxiously.

“What took you so long?” his wife snapped the moment she got in, her shrill tone scraping at your eardrums. Her name…what was it? Miyako? Mayuki? “Were you cleaning? At this hour? Alone?”

The barrage of grating questions brought her name to the surface.

Miyuki. Fukuda Miyuki, before she married Bakugou and took his family name she was oh, so proud of.

“Didn’t I say piss off ‘til I feel like dealin’ with you?”

“Is that any way to speak to—Your lip.” She gasped loudly, and you rolled your eyes. More than ten seconds for her to notice. “Why is it like that? What happened? Who did this to you? Looks fresh.” Something told you she was reaching for his face.

“Don’t fuckin’ touch me.” Bakugou’s snarled response had the hair on the back of your neck bristle. There was threat, and there was hate. An abundance of unrestrained hate.

“I’m your wife,” she replied, as if that legal status gave her the right to put her hands on him.

“You ain’t my wife, and soon you ain’t gonna be on paper either.”

She laughed, a wicked kind of sound that made your teeth clench. “Please, we both know you won’t divorce me,” she said. “You can’t win, Katsuki. The court won’t rule in your favor. Yua would be mine.”

“You—”  He stopped, and you could sense his whole body locking up in anger. Hearing her say that was pissing you off, but him. “Despicable bitch. Over my dead body you get your hands on my kid.”

You jolted when the sound of a slap sliced through the charged air, eyes widening. Disbelief twisted your insides as you crouched and peeked around the corner. Bakugou’s head was turned to the side, blood trickling from his already busted lip, gathering in a drop on his chin. It dripped onto his T-shirt. Seeped into it.

In your mind, the red expanded. And expanded. And expanded, like your dislike for her, morphing into something much darker. Your nails bit into your palm, the pain the anchor keeping you rational. You were so close to revealing yourself, so close to showing her how it feels to be unable to fight back.

Clearly, words were his only weapon.

“I understand your pride is hurt, and I’m sorry that happened. It was a mistake, but that doesn’t mean I’ll let you disrespect me,” she continued with a hint of a smile. “Guess you need more space to work through it. I love you, so I’ll give you that. I can wait. After all, it’s us. It’ll always be us.”

Ayumu was right. Bakugou Katsuki was your downfall, the thief of your freedom, the end of your story. He was. And yet, you couldn’t bring yourself to put that fact above what you were witnessing. 

His truth. Yours. Both ugly. Messy. Complicated.

“Get out.” Bakugou’s voice came out flat, empty, dead, as if she snuffed out every ember of fire he had in him.

Her manipulative smile sweetened as she laid her clawed hand on his neck, and he didn’t react. “Sort yourself out faster. People are starting to talk.” Her thumb dragged tenderly along his jaw. Her eyes, the color of a clear sky, gazed at him with reverent adoration. “We can’t have that. So, take me out on a date one of these days, dear husband.”

She patted his cheek and turned, flipping her mint-hued hair, the wavy strands smacking him in the face. Her triumphant strides carried her out, leaving him looking like he'd already lost before he even tried, and you realizing how lonely, how trapped he seemed to be.

You sat on the last step of the stairs and waited in silence. Appearances were deceiving, but not even in your worst nightmares did you imagine it could be this horrible. The image his wife showed the world was the complete opposite of what you’d just seen, heard, felt. You had to wonder: when had her mask slipped? Because it was hard to believe Bakugou would willingly tie himself to someone like that.

Unless it was for Yua.

Several minutes drifted by before he swore and turned, stumbling back a step when he saw you still there. The surprise faded fast, replaced by the sour twist of his mouth.

"Got a good laugh outta that?" he asked.

“Sure,” you answered flatly, spotting the pale red splotch on his cheek. Your hands clasped your knees. Hard. “Did she hit you before?”

“Does it matter?”

"Yeah. I didn't laugh hard enough the first time. Go on. Entertain me more."

The tension around his mouth smoothed out. “Once. When I kicked her out.” His tongue peeked out to lick over the cut. “No blood. That bitch’s too weak, unlike someone else I know.”

Something was wrong with him as much as it was with you. Strange admiration shimmered in his eyes, making pleasant warmth spread outward from your chest to your limbs and face. You sighed, and to him, it was probably just exhaustion from the whole ordeal. Perhaps, a sign of you being fed up with him, or indifference to his situation. 

But in reality, it was the moment you resigned to your fate. The time to start digging your own grave arrived at your doorstep. The shovel was in your hand.

“You do know this is messed up, right?”

He shrugged. “I got a kid. Simple as that.”

Like you thought. He'd choose his daughter over everything and anything, no matter the cost to him. But maybe, if he had the option—if there were a way to keep Yua without the risk of losing her—maybe he'd consider himself, too.

You pushed to your feet, brushing off invisible dust from your pants, and skipped down the stairs. “Clean that up and put some ice on it,” you tossed over your shoulder as you headed for the door.

Bakugou blocked your path with his body. “What you doin’?”

“Going home for much-needed beauty sleep. Why?”

“You forgot somethin’.” He motioned to the plastic bag clutched in your fingers. “That’s mine.”

Two pulsating vibrations went off in the back of your sports bra. You reached under your shirt, unzipping the bottom of your bra, and retrieved your burner phone. The wonders of custom-made clothes.

A: Street cams miss footage. Time frame: 3h before your arrival and after you left.

You deleted the message and put the phone away, meeting the scarlet watching you with interest. “No, it’s not. Finders keepers.”

The last thing you gave him was a smile promising havoc before dashing out the door.

Chapter Text

The door to your car’s passenger side opened. Ayumu set his laptop on the dashboard and slid into the seat, dragging the door after him.

With a tired sigh, you turned your head to him, cheek resting on the steering wheel. “Tell me you got something.”

“Are you sure you’re not madly in love with him? Or maybe he’s into you? I mean, he had your phone and did nothing with it.”

“For the last time, I am not, and I doubt that. He probably just didn’t have the time.” You shot him a glare, hands fumbling to readjust your scarf. The bruise on your throat was healing nicely, yellow now with a sprinkle of muddy green, like a hard-boiled egg yolk left too long in the fridge, even though a week had already passed. “I’m in withdrawal from that fashion designer ordeal. I need some action in my life, and this just might be it.”

He gave you a sidelong glance as he settled the laptop on his knees and flipped it open. “I still can’t believe I let you talk me into this,” Ayumu grumbled and typed away. “Speaking of Nakamura Yui. The victims are doubling down. Should we do something about it?”

No surprise there. Sometimes people fought fear, sometimes fear won—the latter more common in your experience.

“Case closed, Yu. I provide the means, not the execution, too. The choice was theirs.”

“Fair. You can’t fight everyone’s battles,” he agreed. “So, about what I found. Bakugou’s wife is the café’s PR manager, which explains her frequent visits. But what you’ll find interesting is that before being a café, the place was a nightclub.”

Your attention shifted from him to the apartment building ahead, locking on the woman seated near the window on the second floor of Lakki Café, which occupied the ground level. She looked almost ethereal as she sipped oh, so delicately from a tall glass. Despite your rising disdain, you weren’t blind to why Bakugou chose her; if not for her personality, then for her looks.

Missus Charade’s trademark long, minty hair cascaded down her back in flawless waves, absorbing the moonlight streaming through the wide, clear windows. It was that very hair people talked about a lot for whatever reason, aside from how well-mannered and charming she was. Superficial topics were easier to discuss than questioning why her arctic eyes held no light, why her smiles reeked of falsity, or why she clung to her husband like an obsessed fangirl.

“How is that interesting?” you asked.

“Well, for one, it closed almost three years ago after a public execution. And two, she was the club’s PR agent, too.”

That gave you a rough case of whiplash. “What? When you say public execution, you mean someone killed someone in front of everyone?”

He nodded. “Gets weirder. The killer couldn’t remember doing it. Neither could the rest of the people there. They all woke up to a dead body on the dance floor and the killer having a complete meltdown.”

“When exactly was this?”

“Uh,” he scrolled through the document on his screen, “two years and three months ago.”

Around the time Bakugou married her. What a suspicious coincidence.

“These people…you mean mass amnesia or what?”

“Yeah. Deemed permanent.” A grim look shadowed his face. “The killer was never punished. Offed himself before anyone else could, or so the reports say. And the victim? No records. It’s like they never existed.”

“How? Was it a Quirk?”

“You tell me, sweetheart.” Ayumu reclined in his seat, arms crossed. “Police thought so. But no one registered fit the bill. Case went cold, shocker.”

You rested both hands on the steering wheel, then your chin, watching Missus Charade angle her phone for a selfie as your mind quietly tagged her a suspect. “Smells a bit like cover-up.”

“It does, but here’s the other thing. Rumors say the club still exists below the café. People have been spotted slipping in and out through the side door at night.”

“Huh.”

The gears in your head began to turn. Confirming the rumors took priority, you decided, glancing up the rows of apartments stacked above the café. The thick strip of concrete separating the business from the worn-out living spaces was tall enough to be a floor of its own, but the lack of windows checked off the possibility. Regardless, you filed away that piece of information.

Thin cracks ran along the faded paint marking each floor, and your mind involuntarily jumped to the question: When was the last time anyone checked its structural integrity?

“What else?” you asked Ayumu.

“See the second floor? That’s exclusive to members. What makes this place such a hot spot is that anyone can become a member, as long as luck is on their side.”

“Luck?”

“Yeah. All you have to do is go in, write down your name, and drop it in the box at the entrance.” Ayumu poked your thigh and turned the laptop toward you when you glanced down.

The screen displayed the café’s website in all its colorful splendor, showcasing the membership benefits, which included lower prices, two hours of access before and after closing time, and early access to their seasonal menus.

Laughter cracked your composure. “No kitchen tour? No sneak peek into the chef’s recipe book?” You gestured at the screen. “Who’s the owner of this place?”

“No clue. Their identity is kept under really tight wraps.”

Now that sounded like something up your alley. “Yu,” your hand landed on his shoulder, “Any chance you could get the real blueprints of the building?”

“Ma’am, I’m an info broker, part-time hacker, former journalist, not an architect.” His smart ass reply had your eyes narrow. His hands raised in surrender. “Joking, joking. Give me, hmm, two days? Tops.”

“Perfect. In the meantime, I’ll go in there and get myself…” You trailed off as your finger glided over the touchpad and tapped on the online menu, scrolling through the options. “Their summer special. Yeah, that sounds nice. Open the glove compartment and pass me the wig.”

“Wait, you’re going now? Like now, now?”

“Now, now,” you said, reaching under your chair for your burner phone. “If there’s fuckery afoot in their basement, I’ll find out. Besides, Missus Charade could be linked to all this. In thirty minutes, she’ll leave that table and vanish. Last I checked, her quirk isn’t disappearing.”

“You’d make for a scary stalker,” Ayumu said, chuckling nervously as he fixed the wig on your head. “How was sleeping in the car?”

“Fun. My bones pop and creak. I think I can get a job at a spooky house this Halloween.”

He broke into a short laugh. “Please don’t. Our lives are spooky enough.” He patted your fake hair. “All done.”

“Thanks. Ah, right. Did you get the results on the chloroform?”

“Not yet. Soon. The preliminary finding is that you were right. It’s not typical chloroform, but an alternative made from plants. The guy is trying to figure out which ones.”

You nodded, already reaching for the car door. “There’s a parking lot at the end of the street. Wait for me there.”

“Isn’t it better if I wait here? You’re going to use your quirk, right?”

Your hand brushed against the door’s handle as you hesitated for a brief moment. “Go. I’ll be fine.”

Out of the car, you made your way to the café. Vehicles rushed past, the air heavy with the smell of petrol and fumes. Thinning smoke clouds rose high, reminding you of a certain someone. You hadn’t seen a trace of him all week, but that might have something to do with your extreme caution. You suspected even your apartment complex’s guard of being Bakugou in disguise. The bastard wasn’t just relentless, he was smart too. Figured out your identity and found you.

What would stop him from doing it again?

You pushed the café door open, the bell above it ringing far too loudly for your taste. Heads turned, curiosity a temptation hard to resist, and you schooled your poker face into something pleasant, as your stiff legs carried you to the counter.

A friendly-looking cashier greeted you, her voice grating like fingernails on a chalkboard. Your false joy nearly dissolved.

“I’ll have your summer special, please,” you said. “For here.”

“Yes, of course!” she chirped.

While she prepared your order, you let your eyes roam, mapping out the space. The floor plan was split into two: the side where you stood housed the kitchen and the ordering counter, while the other side was claimed by ivory tables, each one adorned with a cloth and topped with a simple floral arrangement. The tables were arranged in a hexagonal pattern, giving the space an almost sterile symmetry. The staircase leading up to the exclusive members' area was wrapped in fairy lights and artificial flowers.

The cashier returned, sliding a serving tray toward you. “Here’s your order.”

“Thank you. Any table is fine?” you asked as you paid, tropical scent filling your nostrils. Warm butter blended seamlessly with coconut, pineapple, and mango as if they were made for each other.

“Only here,” she said, gesturing to the tables a few steps away. “Upstairs is for our members.”

“Oh?” You infused surprise in your tone. “Mind telling me more about that?”

Clasping her hands, she launched into her speech, repeating what you already knew. She pointed past you at a pastel box perched on a thick metal stand, one you didn’t spare a look at when you walked in. “Once your full name’s in there, it’s up to Madam—L-luck. Up to luck,” she corrected quickly, but too late. You caught the slip.

“So, it’s a lottery?”

She nodded, her expression relaxed, but the perspiration forming on her brow contradicted it.

“Tempting, but today I’m not feeling lucky. Maybe next time. Thank you.”

Your mask didn’t slip as you took the tray and strutted to the table nearest the entrance, positioned just right to give you a view of everything. You settled into the seat, amusement playing on your lips as you watched the woman fidget, tugging at her collar, dabbing at the sweat on her brow. Her eyes darted everywhere.

What was she looking for? Or maybe she wasn’t looking at all, but was anxious from being watched. There was a camera angled at the counter, after all.

You took out your burner phone and discreetly snapped a picture of the light blue-colored drink, then another of the dessert—cake or pastry, you weren’t sure. Both went to Ayumu.

You: Caught a slip. Madam. Might be a nickname.

A: Really? Is this gonna be our next case? Also, buy me one. Looks yum.

You: Depends. And no.

You took a sip of the drink. Smoothie texture, but the clash of flavors made your tongue shudder.

A: Okay...and please?

Your eyes rolled as you pocketed the phone without replying. This wasn’t leisure. It was a mission.

As you tried a bite of the juicy dessert, the scrape of a chair from the floor above caught your attention; Missus Charade was on the move.

She descended the stairs, orange stilettos clacking against the white steps, and stopped at the counter to hand over her credit card. Mundane chatter followed. The cashier gushed about the upcoming autumn menu, while Missus Charade giggled about pumpkin drinks, casually adding that “her husband adores spicy flavors.”

The sip of smoothie you’d swallowed rushed back up your throat.

But just as you fought it down, something else caught your eye. Alongside Missus’s card, the cashier slipped her another, thin and crimson red. Thanking the cashier with a polished smile, Missus turned back toward the stairs. You listened to the click-clack of her heels as she climbed, this time heading in the opposite direction from where she’d first come.

That was your cue.

Noise exploded in your eardrums as you activated your quirk. Incoherent chatter flooded in. Whirring machines. Sharp car honks from outside. Fingers, sweaty and frantic, tapping on screens. Pain flared from your vibrating eardrums, stabbing at your temples and jaw. Your stomach soured, and you clenched your throat tight, battling the nausea crawling up.

Your quirk. Such a pleasant experience. You wanted to keel over and stop functioning altogether. But who were you, if not the ultimate pretender?

Sorting through the noise for Missus’s footsteps, you disposed of the tray and headed for the restroom, choosing the furthest stall. Only after you leaned against the door and focused for a minute did your ears finally single out her confident strides. Your brain latched onto the sound like a lifeline.

She stopped. A short beep followed, then a metallic clang, and a jumble of mechanical sounds. Gears turning. Something scraping soft and slow. The noise sank lower.

Missus was in an elevator.

You guessed she’d gone two floors down before her heels clicked again, softer this time. You listened harder, catching the subtle cues—an echo only a hallway could make. Where did it lead? The rumored nightclub?

"Well, well, if it ain’t Miss Fukuda," a raspy male voice said, the hoarseness specific to a smoker.

“Don’t call me that,” Missus bit out. “It’s Mrs. Bakugou. Ba. Ku. Gou. Got it?”

“Right,” the man drawled, dragging the word long enough that you could practically hear the eye-roll. “Still Dynamight’s woman, eh? How’s that goin’ for ya?” Fingers snapped. “It ain’t!” He barked a cruel laugh, followed by snorts. “Heard he’s dumpin’ your ass.”

It was her turn to laugh, just as heinous as the man’s. Your fists clenched, nails biting into your palms.

“Dumping me? Oh, please. If our daughter didn’t exist, maybe. But she does, and there’s nothing he wouldn’t do for her.”

The man whistled. “I ain’t seein’ him around here.”

“Eventually.”

“Shit. Ma’am’s boy ain’t cooperatin’? Ah, ah, don’t deny it. I’ve seen ya two all lovey-dovey.”

You blinked at the floor, confusion warping your thoughts. Ma’am’s boy? Lovey-dovey? Bakugou was supposed to be where? And what about Yua? Questions collided inside your skull, each one more nauseating than the last.

“You’ve seen nothing.” Her voice turned lethal, sending a slithering shiver down your spine. “Keep your nose out of places it doesn’t belong.”

“Ya threatenin’ me?”

“Just a friendly piece of advice. There’s a reason people like us never mix. We order, you execute.” She moved a couple of steps forward, you assumed. Closer to the man? “You should’ve figured that out after working under Madam for so long.”

“Ya workin’ under her too.” The man snickered. “I’m a lowlife, but so are ya. Think Dynamight would give ya the time of day if he knew?”

“Am I supposed to care when he has no way of finding out?”  

“Ya never know. Don’t forget, sugar. One whiff and there ain’t gonna be a trace of him left.”

Your heart stopped. The threat gutted you so ferociously your whole body numbed. Bakugou Katsuki…gone? You breathed in stuttering puffs, eyes squeezing shut as your head thumped back against the door. Her hysterical laughter ripped through your skull, feeding the hate you barely kept in check.

You knew—you simply knew what her answer would be, but it still cut like a blade.

“Can’t kill him if he doesn’t remember anything.”

Cold sweat rolled over your skin. Acid rose, burning your throat. Tremors rattled your joints as your heart pounded faster, harder. Higher and out of control. A second later, you dropped to your knees, slammed the toilet seat up, and emptied your stomach.

Time slipped away, fine sand through fingers.

Sheer will power stitched you together, maneuvering your hand to wipe your mouth and flush. Then your shaky legs, forcing your body upright, staggering it out of the stall to the closest sink. Your reflection stared back. You looked wrecked. Like someone who’d crawled out of hell after being torn apart for a thousand years.

When was the last time terror had lurked in your eyes?

Long ago. So long ago you forgot you were capable of experiencing it.

Mortifying silence wormed into the empty restroom, broken only by your ragged breathing. You stared and stared and stared, nails digging into the cold porcelain, until your reflection distorted.

She was small. Fearful. Shaking her head at you. Don’t do it. Please don’t do it. I’m scared.

You tore your gaze away and turned the faucet on, splashing icy water on your face, breathing in and out.

Deep inhale. Long exhale. Deep inhale. Long exhale.

The water droplets scattered on the shiny, white surface flashed red for a brief moment, the haunting reminder you needed to let your rage free.

Everyone met their maker, whether by death’s hand or by people’s. Sooner or later. And between the two, people were far more terrifying. Far more barbaric.  

You were people, too—flawed, biased, reckless, ruthless.

Miyuki.

She was in for one hell of a reckoning once you confirmed her involvement in the sinister.

Chapter Text

It was close to midnight when you gave up on sleep, fed up with twisting and turning and staring at the ceiling in frustration.

“Stay safe, Miss!” the security guard from your apartment complex called out.

You twisted at the waist, offered him a polite bow, and made yourself scarce. Most of your interactions were one-sided. Occasionally, you entertained his concern, sitting through a fatherly lecture on safety despite assuring him, more than once, that you could handle yourself.

But he had two daughters of his own. His worry made sense.

Still, you appreciated it. It gave you the smallest glimpse of how your father might’ve been.

Humid air clung to your skin as you wandered the empty streets. Past shadowed alleyways, past closed stores, past neon lights that spasmed like they were on their last leg. Your lips held an unhappy twist as you squinted at the flickering tubes. If they were out of money to replace them, you’d gladly pay just to spare your eyes the assault.

One moment of peace, that was all you wanted.

The day had been rough, on both your mind and heart. That was the reason you were out here to begin with: to find some quiet and settle your thoughts, not feel even more frayed.

Soon, the salt in the air caught at the back of your throat, sketching a relaxed smile across your face. You missed this place, where the ocean’s lazy sway carried away the good, the bad, the ugly. Hopefully, it would carry yours too. Strip the voracious fury from your nerves before your next decision reflected it.

As you reached the stone staircase leading down to the beach, a small, adorable creature greeted you, fur black as the void. Perched on the low stone slab carved with the name Takoba Municipal Beach Park, she meowed curiously, tail swishing back and forth. You melted at the sight, offering your hand carefully as you cooed, “Aw, you’re a cute one.”

The cat’s ears perked and twitched, button nose sniffing at your fingers. One approving cheek rub against your hand, and you were scratching between her ears. A low purr thrummed through your fingertips as she rubbed her whole body against your leg. Then came the paws, claws anchoring harmlessly on your thigh, green slitted eyes fixed on you.

You scooped her up without a second thought, cradling the soft fur ball in your arms.

“Looks like you’re my companion for the night,” you said, gently rubbing your knuckles under her chin. “After that, we’ll figure out what to do with you.”

You didn’t expect an answer, but the cat’s sudden reaction stunned you. She shot up to your shoulder, claws nearly piercing your skin, and hissed at something behind you. The hair on the back of your neck prickled.

You spun, eyes scanning the street. Every nook and cranny. Not a single soul in sight. Nothing moved. Nothing made a sound.

Yet your instincts, like hers, alerted you to something.

“It’s okay. You’re safe,” you whispered to the tense animal in your arms, stroking her shiny black fur slowly. The cat’s heartbeat matched the tempo of your own, an anxious ba-dump, ba-dump, ba-dump. If anything—anyone—with bad intentions lurked in the darkness, they’d come out and follow.

You descended the stairs and trudged through the lukewarm sand toward the gazebo. The cat relaxed in your arms, instinctively reckoning the distance between the wooden bench where you sat and the stairs to be safe. Meanwhile, your body remained stiff, only slackening once the first waves crashed against the supporting pillars. Cold droplets splashed onto the back of your top, seeping in.

Slumping back, you rested your head against the bench and closed your eyes, hoping to command some order in the chaos of your mind. Ever since your eavesdropping stunt, your inner peace had been compromised.

You could barely remember how you’d made it back to your car. Rage had blurred reality, stained it pitch black, and sent the blood in your veins boiling so hot your body temperature cranked up. When you’d ripped open the door and dropped into the seat, the look on your face must’ve promised a massacre because Ayumu flinched.

And your best friend never flinched around you. You were his safe space as much as he was yours.

“How bad is it?” he asked cautiously.

“Bad. Like, really bad.” You turned in your seat to face him. “The rumored club? It seems to exist, but that’s not the part that matters.”

Ayumu’s brows pinched tight. “Then what is?”

“Bakugou is in danger. Real danger. The deadly kind.” You hesitated. “I think his wife is a villain. And I think she’s planning something against him.”

“Oh…shit.” Ayumu’s eyes widened as he dragged a hand down his face. “That complicates things. Maybe you should—”

“If you’re about to say I should tip him off and let him handle it, don’t.”

“It’s his wife, therefore his problem. Stay away, sweetheart. It’s too dangerous.”

You countered with a bitter laugh. “What we do is already dangerous.”

“I know, but this is different. It involves a pro hero.” His hand landed on your knee, squeezing gently. “Walk away. His wife, his life, his mess.”

“What if he’s involved in it too?”

Ayumu clamped his mouth shut and looked away.

You wanted to believe Bakugou wasn’t caught up in something foul, as you couldn’t fathom him tied to something villainous. But until you had undeniable proof of his innocence, or otherwise, the possibility loomed.

“Get the blueprints, Ayumu. We’re getting to the bottom of this, one way or another,” you said, feeling your quirk fade.

Then came the aftermath.

Your hearing shut off, plunging you into a vacuum of silence. The conversation had ended there.

He nearly killed you, the small voice at the back of your mind returned to remind you. You found chloroform.

Opening your eyes to the gazebo’s ceiling, you followed the stone beams from one end to the other. Yes, all of that was true, but it wasn’t enough. Which meant you could still wish he didn’t turn out to be a villain. You weren’t ready to face what exposing him would do to—

Gloved fingers entered your line of sight, cutting your mind’s rampage. You gasped as instinct kicked in, adrenaline bursting through your veins. The weight in your lap was gone—the cat.

You shot up, catching a flash of green eyes before latching onto the stranger’s arm, ducking under it, and twisting it behind his broad back. The man grunted, saying something that flew past your ears. His voice was familiar, but the rush drowned it out.

He jerked forward, dragging you with him. Your balance faltered. Your grip slipped. He seized your forearm. In a split-second reaction, you swung.

Pain rippled through your fist as it slammed into his cheek. You barely managed to draw a breath in before he lunged instead of staggering. His arms banded around your shoulders, dropping like iron to forcefully pin your arms against your sides.

You squirmed, staggering back, and he followed, crashing with you into one of the gazebo’s stone pillars.

“Get off me!” You thrashed in his bruising hold, glaring daggers at him. Where the hell had you seen him before? The shadows weren’t helping with identifying him.

“I mean no harm!” His heaving chest pressed into yours, knocking the air from your lungs in rapid bursts. “Please,” he added, tone nearly pleading. “I’m not trying to hurt you.”

A guttural sound tore from your dry throat. “Get. Off.”

“Not until you calm down.”

“Who the hell are you anyway? And where did you even come from?”

“I’m…uh, Deku, Miss. Pro hero,” he panted.

“Well, Deku,” you spat, adrenaline hot in your veins. “Did no one teach you sneaking up on people is a bad idea?”

As if you hadn’t been the one spacing out like you were at home, not outside at night.

“I was just trying to check on you, Miss.” He leaned back a fraction, swallowing hard, green eyes ping ponging between yours. “I asked if you were alright, but you didn’t answer. I thought maybe you passed out and wanted to check. Make sure you were okay.”

You blinked, finally taking a proper look at him. Vibrant green eyes. Freckles. Windblown hair. A scar on his face. “You’re…D-Deku? As in that Deku?”

“Yes,” he said, a little breathless, a little awkward. “That’s me.”

Blood drained from your head. You blinked again, dizzy. A bruise was blooming on his cheek like a spring flower—bright, bold, impossible to ignore.

Oh.

Oh, fuck.

You punched a pro hero.

“I’m so sorry!” you squeaked, panic racing up your spine. “I was out of my mind. I had to be. Crap. Does it hurt? Are you okay? Am I in trouble?”

He shifted his jaw left and right. “I’m alright. Doesn’t even hurt. I mean, I felt it. Of course I did. You know how to pack a punch—” His sudden, nervous laugh cracked the tension, but it only made you feel worse. “I’ll shut up now. And, uh…I’ll let go too.”

His arms dropped to his sides, but he didn’t move. Still in your space.

Awkward silence descended as you found yourself under a lens of scrutiny. His eyes traced yours, then dropped—nose, mouth, neck. And stopped.

Great. Wonderful. Amazing. Exactly what you needed. That was what you got for counting on the late hour to not meet a single soul.

“It’s nothing,” you blurted, slapping a hand over your throat to hide the bruise. As if that wouldn’t raise even more questions, especially with his mind likely jumping to the worst possible conclusion.

Deku hesitated. “I’m sorry. I know you probably think it’s none of my business, but I can help.”

“Whatever you’re imagining, it’s not happening. I promise.”

“You, um…you’ve got a bruise on your neck. Looks like a handprint.”

Sharp eyes. Brilliant observation. Congratulations, detective.

“Yeah, well, you can choke someone for purposes other than violence,” you said, pairing it with the sweetest smile you could fake. Hopefully, the casual hint at your bedroom activities was enough to stop him from prying further.

He jumped back, hands flailing, face flushed. “I s-see! I was really worried there for a second.”

You coughed in your fist, smothering the bubbling amusement as you pushed off the pillar. “Glad we sorted that out.”

Your hand moved to rub the ache in your other arm. Damn. This guy, who was seconds from passing out from a stranger’s implied sex adventures, had restrained you harder than Bakugou.

Realization struck your skull like a hammer.

Deku. Midoriya Izuku.

Bakugou’s friend.

The amusement drained out of you. Completely.

To add to the absurdity of the moment, the cat from earlier reappeared, meowing from the entrance of the gazebo.

“A cat?” Deku turned to the small animal. “Is it yours?”

“No,” you said dryly. “Found her meowing at the beach sign.”

She trotted over and wound herself around your legs, the sensation ticklish. Unable to resist, you crouched down to scratch behind her ears, melting at her loud purring.

“Do you, by chance, know if there’s a shelter nearby?” you asked, peering up. “I’d check, but I forgot my phone.”

“Just a moment.”

As he busied himself, you scooped up the purring feline and cradled her to your chest. Regret pinched at your heart as your fingers glided over her soft fur. You had the time, the space, the money, even the willingness to learn how to care for her properly, but no certainty about tomorrow.

Tomorrow could be your last day of freedom, or worse. And leaving that kind of responsibility to Ayumu wouldn’t be fair.

You weren’t meant to be her home, but you’d find one.

“There's one about fifteen minutes from here,” Deku said, rubbing the back of his neck.

“Can you show me where exactly?”

He shook his head. “I’ll take you. It’s really late, and I’d feel a lot better if you didn’t go alone.”

“I’m fi—” You caught the stern shift in his expression and bit back your protest. “Fine. Whatever. Lead the way.”

*

The mission was straightforward: drop the cat off at the shelter, promise to cover every expense until they found her a home, then go on your merry way back home. The first half was successful. The second? An utter failure.

As an apology for punching him, Deku insisted on walking you home, cue the need to question his logic. Bonus points, he threw in the mix that kind smile of his, forcing you to relent. You wanted nothing more than to wipe it off his face, especially since it was still there, brightening up his whole face and guilt-tripping your rather justified reaction to being snuck up on.

Somewhere along the way, you also discovered you couldn’t get enough of drilling holes into the side of his head with your constant glaring.

“Forgive me for asking, but what were you doing out so late?” he asked, that stupid smile having the audacity to widen when your eyes rolled.

“Couldn’t sleep. Walking around usually helps.”

He hummed, as if he were close to solving a mystery. “You’ve walked quite the distance.”

Was that suspicion in his voice, or just a neutral observation?

“What about you?” A dumb question, in hindsight. He was in full hero gear, which meant he was either starting his shift, in the middle of it, or just wrapping up. Either way, he was out doing hero things.

“Me? Uh…” He scratched at his unscarred cheek. “Night patrol. Pretty uneventful until I spotted you.”

You snorted a laugh. “What an honor. Becoming your nightly, free entertainment.”

“I had to make sure you were alright,” he defended, the rosiness of his cheeks illuminated by the fluorescent lights of the closed bank you strolled past. “It’s not every day I find someone alone, relaxing in a beach gazebo in the middle of the night.”

“Someone?” You gave him a look. “You mean a woman.”

He cleared his throat. “Guilty. It was…unexpected.”

“Which part? Finding me, or me fighting you?”

“Both, but mostly the second. Where did you—”

“Self-defense classes. You can never be too safe.”

One harmless facet of the truth. Your quirk kept you safe, as long as you created the opportunity. And opportunity only came with knowledge.

“Are you not feeling safe?” His eyes locked on yours, emphasizing how serious he was about the question.

“I am, but there’s no such thing as absolute safety. I could trip right now and—”

“I’d catch you.”

If he knew who you were, he sure would. With restraints on your wrists, and dragging you into the nearest police station, crying out Truth Exposer for all to hear.

“Maybe today, but not tomorrow. Not the day after,” you replied, watching the realism of it kill his smile.

One person couldn’t save everyone, no matter how driven they were. Someone like him had to know that.

He opened his mouth, then closed it, remaining sealed shut for the rest of the way.

*

“It’s here. Thanks for bringing me, and again, sorry for punching you.” You gave him a curt bow. “Hope the rest of your shift goes well.”

Deku’s observant eyes drifted past you, taking in the apartment building that looked more abandoned than lived in. Maybe because it was too perfect. Every surface gleamed, untouched. Every crevice, every coat of paint, still owned by novelty. It wasn’t even two years old, and yet barely any lights were on.

When his gaze returned to yours, you spotted the doubt in it.

“Can I—” he started, but you raised a hand to stop him.

“No. It’d make me feel bad,” you said, lying through your teeth. “Don’t let the looks fool you. Most people here are old. They’re not exactly night owls.”

“But—”

“Good night, Deku.”

You left his side, catching the sound of a single step before he stopped, likely realizing any further insistence would cross a line. Good night echoed into the eerie atmosphere, fading behind your calm strides as you slipped into the building and made for the elevator.

You jabbed the button for the sixth floor, chewing your lip, silently urging the elevator to move faster. When the doors slid open, you stepped out and gasped at the darkness swallowing you whole.

“You’ve got to be kidding me.”

The hallway sensors were broken again. Moonlight slipped through narrow windows, casting silvery beams that couldn’t cut through the thick black. You stared too long; a mistake, for something in the dark stared right back.

Ghosts of the past swayed out of the abyss, grazing their chilly fingers over your sweaty skin. Whispering of lives unfairly taken too soon, of longing and regret. Four years had passed since that avoidable tragedy struck, claiming every single resident, claiming them. Four years since this very building crumbled like a house of cards. Four years since—

Your hand slapped the light switch. The harsh, temporary brightness chased the phantasms away, allowing you to breathe. Your heart hammered against your ribs, fractured by grief and the helplessness of your former self.

No one saved her, and she couldn’t save anyone. Useful quirk, useless owner.

As you didn’t move, darkness returned, and this time, it found you.

You squared your shoulders and walked through it like you owned it. Fear? There was nothing to be afraid of. Nothing here could hurt you. These walls had once been home, back when the old building still stood before it crumbled and took your memories with it. And the two people who were an important part of your life.

Knowing the place like the back of your hand, you headed to the staircase and dashed up. On the seventh floor, you pressed your back to the wall and crept toward the window. Relief settled in your bones as you caught sight of Deku disappearing into the shadows down the street.

On the ninth floor, you skidded to a halt in front of the last door at the end of the hallway, breath ragged, and stepped into the moonlit apartment.

You almost said, I’m home, but what was the point? No one would answer.

Empty. Lonely. Dead.

Aside from a tall portrait hanging in the living room and the withered flowers beneath it, there wasn’t a single piece of furniture. This imitation of your childhood home felt tragically cold. Only the floor retained a trace of warmth from the day’s sunlight under your bare feet.

“It’s been a while, Mom. Dad,” you said, breathless. “I didn’t bring anything this time, sorry. I wasn’t planning to stop by, but… I didn’t really have a choice. Next time, I promise.”

Your gaze shifted from the dried-up flowers to your mother’s frozen one.

“I’ve been busy with things you probably wouldn’t be proud of. But because of them, I met him. He’s something else. Stubborn. A real pain in the ass.” You scoffed, an unwanted smile forming on your face. “His tongue is as sharp as mine. Fouler, even. But is that really a surprise?”

No, she would’ve said and scolded you for the times your manners evaporated. Maybe even reminded you how close you had come to getting the three of you in trouble back at U.A.

The fight had raged on outside the safety bubble, and they’d had to spare staff to question how you knew about Bakugou’s fall on the battlefield.

“Honey, you need to tell him,” your mother insisted, her panic rising as she shook you by the shoulders. Your glare turned vicious, making her gasp.

“She’s right, kiddo. He just wants to—”

“We all want to know things,” you snapped, fixing that glare on the man across from you. “Bakugou Katsuki. Is he dead? Yes or no, and I’ll give you an answer.”

The man sighed, rubbing a hand over his buzzed hair. “The heroes on-site are doing everything they can to save him.”

Your fists clenched in your lap as pressure built behind your eyes. You gave a slight nod. “My quirk…enhances my five senses. All of them, or the ones I choose,” you explained, noting the glint of interest in his eyes. “Sounds great, right? Useful. But I can’t control it well.”

Part truth. Part lie. And a secret.

Your control improved, but the fear was still wedged deep in your core, making it unreliable. No one could know. Not even your parents, especially not them. Your methods…the way you reached this insignificant milestone would break them. Again.

“I got overwhelmed by all the noise,” you muttered, cheeks burning with shame. “My quirk went off by itself. That’s when I heard it—someone reporting in over a pro’s earpiece that Bakugou…”

You couldn’t say it. Saying it would make it more real than it already was, and your heart was protesting against the cruelty, the unfairness. He was a stranger, but something in you was breaking at the thought of him gone. Life, snuffed out like it was never there.

The only reason you knew of his existence was because of your mother. Every year, she watched the U.A. Sports festival religiously, never missing a broadcast.

That year, Bakugou had been on the screen. Arrogant, wild, confident. One hell of a force in human form, showing off strength, power, and control you could only dream of.

His arrogance had stayed with you.

His wildness had spoken to the survivor in you.

His confidence had saved you.

Even now, years and years later, you could recall the feeling of change in your heart. The quiet, irreversible shift. Without it, maybe you wouldn’t be here at all.

“I’m about to do something stupid,” you admitted to the portrait, arms wrapping tightly around your own body. “My gut says this is big. Bigger than anything I’ve faced before. And bad. Bad enough that I—”

You sucked in a shaky breath, nails digging into your skin.

“I won’t come out of this unharmed. I’ll get hurt. Maybe worse. But I can’t walk away. If I do…I’ll never forgive myself.”

Chapter Text

“Laughable how the cameras are just for show,” Ayumu said in your earpiece as you stole a glance around the corner at Lakki Café’s side door.

“It’s strategic,” you replied quietly. “If shit goes down, they’ve got a built-in excuse. The dead angle cameras.”

“Good point, but,” his voice piped up, “doesn’t matter anyway. Your disguise is flawless.”

“Yeah? Tell that to my hairline. It’s dying.”

“Use weaker glue?”

“Oh sure, so my wig can take flight?”

Ayumu barked a laugh, and you winced as the sound hit your eardrum dead-on. You were this close to snapping about how he got to sit safe at home while you lurked like some mythical creature under a full moon, blending into the stinking shadows of the café’s side alley.

But you didn’t.

Because he wouldn’t hesitate to change that, and his safety mattered more than yours. Always.  

And because your nerves were buzzing, drunk on the thrill of danger.

“Going in.”

You made yourself small and prowled toward the door, pulling your mask higher as you sneaked past the dumpsters. The putrid stench of sun-rotted waste perfumed the air so delightfully that even your trained stomach shriveled and wished to abandon its post. As ridiculous as it was, the idea of plugged nostrils sounded like heaven. Maybe it was time to consider that for future endeavors.

Curling your fingers around the doorknob, you twisted and slowly pushed the door open.

According to the blueprints and Ayumu’s deep-dive investigation, the café had two elevators: one on the second floor, the other in the kitchen. After a long debate over the best approach, you both agreed the latter was the safer bet. Knocking out a staff member was less risky than a member of whatever was going on below the café.

You crept down the short hallway, skin clammy and bristling with goosebumps beneath your fitted clothes as a rush of cool air swept over the stretchy material. Praise the timing for this marvelous opportunity to play ninja thief in the night and sweat your ass off. Couldn’t Bakugou have waited until autumn to stomp into your life?

With the fashion designer had been easy. You frequented one of her many stores and bought several pieces from her most expensive collections, eventually scoring that VIP customer status. Which earned you an exclusive invitation to her latest fashion runway. All you had to do was dress up, disguise yourself, and attend. From there, it was a walk in the park except for the impulsive move at the end—snatching Bakugou’s drink right out of his hand and having to disappear fast after.

Worth it. His confused puppy expression kept you amused for days.

Clinking and bumping suddenly rocked the quiet behind the closed staff door, forcing you to stop. Your heart rate climbed as you listened. Heavy panting? Moaning?

“Couldn’t you wait until we got home?” a woman’s voice whined, one you recognized as the cashier’s.

“Not when you tease me like that.” Slap. “Shit. Feels even better when we risk getting caught.”

Your jaw dropped to the floor. The café was supposed to be empty. You’d lurked long enough before starting your mission to confirm that these two morons had left. So when the hell did they get back inside?  

Taking out your burner phone, you texted Ayumu.

You: Got me two fuckers fucking in the kitchen. The cashier and the chef.

Ayumu’s surprised voice came through the earpiece. “What? No way. Are you at the door right now? Listening?”

You: How else would I know? Door faces the elevator, right?

“Yeah, but shouldn’t you wait? You can’t sneak in with them there.”

Wait? You couldn’t wait. There was an invisible timer counting down to the end of this once-a-month chance.

Countless hours spent staring at a pinboard displaying every piece of information Ayumu had gathered confirmed the rumors: people were entering and leaving the café late at night. There was a pattern that initially raised your brows in skepticism—one of its elements being dynamic—but upon closer inspection, you saw how it fit. Which left you with an even worse feeling than before.

On the first night of a full moon, from midnight to twilight hours, whatever was below the café was active.

You: Fuck that. I’m ruining their session.

“Dare I ask?” Ayumu sounded intrigued.

You: Fear. Boner killer and pussy drier.

“Hate to break it to you, but they might be into that.”

You rolled your eyes.

You: Plan B then. KO both.

Phone pocketed and one deep breath later, still crouching, you quietly opened the door, making a repulsed face at the sight of a very naked, very straining ass diagonally from you. Good for them for fucking, but damn them for doing it here and getting in your way.

Luckily, the chef was into pounding it from behind, his hand pinning the cashier’s head to the metal counter. She couldn’t see a thing. As for him, the visual of his dick thrusting in and out spell bound him.

Perhaps knocking the fuck birds out wasn’t such a terrible idea. You’d be done with them and their risqué adventure, but you had no idea how long you’d be underground. Definitely longer than it’d take them to come to their senses.

No. You needed them gone. Out of here.

“Wish you’d waited it out. Now I’m an involuntary voyeur,” Ayumu complained in your ear as you crept behind the two, swiping a pot from the counter opposite them. One side of your mouth quirked up.

If you had to suffer through this, so did he. You were in this mess together. Ride-or-die.

Adrenaline pumped through your veins with every step toward the café’s customer area. You refused to look back, no interest in pairing the rising moans and guttural groans with more visuals. Watching strangers fuck wasn’t on your to-do list.

Ayumu’s voice crackled in your ear as you ducked around the corner. “Hear that? That’s the sound of a man not lasting much longer.” He snickered. “You’re about to deny him his nut.”

You bit your tongue, dangerously close to cracking a laugh. A little edging never killed anyone, and maybe the chef was into it. If not, your spontaneous generosity might just unlock a new kink. All in good faith for his risqué sex life.

Gripping the pot tightly, you aimed for the stack of bowls on the upper shelf, held your breath, and hurled it. The sharp, echoing crash made you wince, and the two fuck birds screamed like intruders in a haunted house at the first light flicker. They froze as the bowls rolled to a stop.

Then the chef groaned and resumed thrusting. “It’s nothing. Ignore it.”

Motherfu—

It’s nothing? Nothing?!

You spun around, searching for the next thing to throw. Tables, chairs, vases, candles, the lottery stand—but they were all too far. You needed something closer. Like the cash register, winking at you, begging to be part of your petty scheme. Perfect. Heavy enough to make a ruckus anyone would want to run from.

You hurried to it as the sex sounds ramped up, putting every ounce of strength into the shove. Down it tumbled, sounding like a train wrecking through the café. Its cables snagged on the counter’s decorations, dragging them down too in a crash of shattering glass as your legs bolted, instinct carrying you to the first hiding spot—under the staircase.

“Stop, stop, stop!” the cashier squeaked, panicking. “One time is a coincidence, but twice? Something’s wrong. Do you think someone is in here?”

“Impossible,” the chef huffed. “Place is locked down, you know that.”

Not the side door.

“Can you check?”

“In a minute. I’m not done with you.”

“Well, I am.” The way she said it, you could picture her crossing her arms and glaring at him.

Their back-and-forth lasted less than three minutes before the chef stomped into the customer area, sneering, “Leaving me with blue balls.”

Laughter threatened to break free, forcing you to press a clenched fist to your mask-covered mouth. From the shadows, you watched him assess the damage—hands on his head, face twisted in absolute bafflement. And maybe a little fear.

“We should go,” he directed to the cashier, his steps picking up pace as he returned to the kitchen.

Ayumu asked whether the mission was successful, but you held off answering until the staff door banged open and shut, the two fuck birds scrambling out.

“Good riddance.”

“If I didn’t know you, I’d say you’re jealous,” Ayumu teased.

“Jealous of what? It’s not like I can’t get laid if I want to,” you grumbled, striding toward the kitchen elevator.

“Last I checked—”

“Oh, shit. Losing signal. Beep beep. Talk after.”

You weren’t jealous. Not even a little. The only reason you couldn’t remember your last “sex date,” as Ayumu liked to call it, was because you’d been busy exposing Nakamura Yui, and orchestrating your next move in pissing off Bakugou.

Last time, back in April for his birthday, you sent a truckload of protein bars to his agency from the same brand he’d been spotted snacking on. Made sure the order was non-refundable, too. Ridiculously expensive, but the satisfaction you got watching him argue with the poor delivery guy—through binoculars, rooftops away—buttered your soul.

The cherry on top? You made it clear that if the recipient threw a fit, the driver could ditch the truck and walk away. Let Bakugou deal with it. The fallout was paid for.

That alone gave you a hit of endorphins, but maybe it wasn’t enough. Maybe your body acted so stupid around Bakugou because it craved an overdose.

Wrinkling your nose, you jabbed the only button in the elevator and tucked your earpiece into the inner pocket of your sports bra. Instead of focusing on the unknown below, your mind wandered to the man who, somehow, occupied way too much space between your mental walls.

When the elevator stopped two floors down, its lights went dark. Then the doors slid open to reveal a narrow, red-lit hallway. The floor gleamed black, matching the empty, dark-hued walls. At the far end, a pair of double doors waited, making every muscle in your body tighten.

Cautiously, you crossed the distance. Leaned in. Listened.

Faint, jazzy music caressed your ears like an obscure invitation, guiding your gloved hand to the knob to crack the door open. The sensual notes swelled to full volume as the air drifting through the sliver between the curtains that obscured your view stole your breath. It reeked of something sweet, slipping into your lungs before you knew what hit you.

Pleasant warmth bloomed under your sweaty skin, goosebumps rising in its wake.

Your fingers found your throat as your breath quickened, folding over the healing bruise. You were suddenly feeling feverish, thoughts stumbling into dangerous territory. His hand on your neck hurt then, but if he were to pin you down now, to whatever surface he wanted, you’d beg him—

You gasped and jerked back, blinking perplexed at where your mind had gone. Another inhale brought a clearer hit of the sweetness and the floral note underlying it. You swallowed hard, aware now of the wetness between your thighs.

An aphrodisiac, huh. Subtle, but so potent.

Why?

For what?

Curiosity pushed you through the curtains into the unexpected—a medium-sized balcony. By the railing, a round table flanked by two armchairs overlooked the floor below. A few steps away, a closed door. You kept an eye on it as you moved to the edge.

“What the fuck?” you breathed, eyes widening as you crouched down, sticking to the shadow.

Long couches arranged in two rows faced a rectangular stage, currently empty. Some guests lounged on the cushioned seats, chatting, while others mingled at the bar, trading clinks of glass and intimate touches. The red light washed everything out, making it impossible even for you to pick out faces. Just silhouettes. Dark shapes slithering through the shadows. But you recognized the body language oozing arrogance.

These were people with money. Maybe influence, too.

You propped an elbow on your knee and rested your cheek against your fist, watching whatever the hell this was with genuine interest.

Your gaze shifted to the stage. The same heavy curtains you passed through cloaked the back wall, but your gut said no actors were waiting behind them to deliver a dazzling performance.

The jazzy notes climbed into a keening crescendo, chasing the saxophone into madness. Harsh light burst from above, crashing onto the empty stage in a single, blinding spotlight. The curtains flapped apart, and through them strode a woman.

Average height. Wrinkled. Dressed in a cherry red gown with a plunging neckline that flaunted her sagging breasts and a high slit that teased a slim, veined leg. Her graying brown hair was piled into a sophisticated updo atop her head.

What were the chances this was the Madam you’d heard of?

The music cut out as she reached the edge of the podium, replaced a beat later by a round of deafening applause.

“Greetings, everyone,” she said, her voice commanding yet melodious, quickening your pulse. “Have you enjoyed today’s party?”

A wave of enthusiastic yes echoed from the crowd.

She placed a hand over her heart. “My pleasure. As always.” A slight pause. “Before we move on to the main course, and the reason we’re here, I’d like to personally greet our new members.” Her gaze shifted to the three figures huddled together in the front row. “Welcome. And congratulations on being selected. I’m Madam Luck, your host.”

You squinted at the potential enemy. Now that you had a name and a face to pair, all you felt was... disappointment. But villainy wasn’t age-exclusive, you supposed. If that were the case here.

“Tonight is special. My boy decided to join us.” She gestured toward the side of the stage.

A tall man hopped onto the platform, dragging a wooden chair behind him. The screech of its legs scraped at your brain, more irritating than the persistent ache between your thighs. His strides were lazy, self-assured, steeped in the kind of arrogance you’d seen in Bakugou.

But where Bakugou charged the air with presence, this man stirred something darker. The atmosphere condensed, like he was sucking the life out of it, putting you on edge, one foot angled toward the way you came.

Weird.

Flight hadn’t been your first instinct in a long time.

“Takumi, would you be a dear and entertain our guests for a moment?” Madam asked.

The man—Takumi—dropped into the chair, forearms resting on his spread knees, hands dangling. His violet eyes swept the crowd with a bored gaze before he smirked, like he already knew their every dirty little secret. Light seemed to steer clear of his eyes, escaping into the glossy strands of his messy black hair.

Your gaze trailed over his fit body, and you hated the forbidden shiver skating down your spine, blaming the aphrodisiac.

He had tattoos, too, on his left arm. Crimson red threads started at the wrist and wound around words? Numbers? You couldn’t tell, only that they were spaced evenly along the exposed skin. The ink vanished beneath his rolled sleeve, reappearing between the undone buttons of his dress shirt, ending in a knotted infinity symbol over his heart.

The longer you stared, the harder it became to silence the intrusive thoughts.

He was painfully handsome. A devil’s kind of beauty—luring, mesmerizing, ensnaring. Flawless for trickery. An ace up the sleeve.

“You’re lucky I promised to behave,” Takumi responded, the timbre of his voice like mist descending in late autumn.

Violet gaze glided upward to the balcony, connected with yours for a beat, then dropped to the crowd. Your body went rigid, heart punching hard against your ribs as if it wanted to break free. Much like your instinct. But you needed answers, so even if this was hell itself, you’d just burrow your roots deeper into the boiling soil and stay.

Never run. Always fight.

“You don’t mind if I present it, Madam?” he asked, rising to his full height, hands in his pockets.

“Of course not.” She offered him a strained smile. “All of it, Takumi?”

“No. I wouldn’t dare steal Miyuki’s job.” His mouth curved up in a heart-stopping smile. “Let’s begin the auction.”

*

You could barely breathe when the air forcing its way into your lungs felt like toxic fumes. You hadn’t looked back once since you left that cursed place, sprinting away as if that would erase what you’d witnessed. You ran until you were sure Lakki Café disappeared from view. Only then did you stop, hunched over and hands on your shaky knees, heaving and wheezing.

Sweat dripped from your chin onto the pavement, expanding into random shapes within your shadow. Bile scorched your throat as your stomach revolted against the abhorrence pooling within its walls. You might throw up, but maybe that wouldn’t be too bad. The pesky aphrodisiac was still in your system.

Blood roared in your ears, making everything feel ten times hotter, suffocating, filthy.

Filth…it clung to your sticky skin like a disappointment. It was making you itch, making you crave to scrub yourself raw. But that wouldn’t help the frustrating anger sapping your hope in the good, in the fair. It was already too late. Your senses had recorded. Your brain had processed.

You blew out a curse and yanked off your tight top, letting it dangle from trembling fingers as you trudged forward on jittery legs.

Let’s begin the auction.

You sped up when the night’s draft sighed those four words in your ear. Words that breathed life into nightmares. Nightmares that weren’t even yours, but you were forced to participate in. Forced to play the bystander. Forced to watch the depravity unfold into a macabre show, powerless to stop it right then and there. To impulsively act was to condemn.

People could be unfathomably terrible, but these were worse. A different breed of perversion you hadn’t believed possible. Their lack of remorse as they gleefully bid exorbitant amounts on the auctioned left you stunned to your core. Paralyzed.

“Home, then think,” you told yourself, shaking your head to will the thoughts away when the low rumble of an engine broke the eerie silence.

A black car whizzed past. In that split second, the driver’s mint-green hair registered, stopping you mid-step.

You tracked the vehicle as it screeched to a halt at the end of the street, tires wailing as loud as the anger-turned-hate tearing through your insides.

The door flew open. Miyuki climbed out, tugging at the hem of her strapless black dress as a tall figure appeared from around the corner.

You staggered back.

Bakugou, fully geared in his hero suit, stood there nonchalantly as Miyuki sauntered up to him. Her hands pressed to his chest, gliding upward to interlock behind his neck, while his gloved fingers clasped over her wrists. He said something you couldn’t hear or read on his lips, before his expression unmistakably softened.

Denial rampaged inside you as your feet shuffled backward. He looked at her like she’d done no wrong.

No.

She rose onto the soles of her shoes and pulled him close.

No.

The shirt you’d been clutching slipped from your fingers to the ground.

No.

Then she kissed him, and your hand flew to your chest, hitting against it because when he kissed her back, your heart ruptured in pain when it shouldn’t have. You’d seen this scene play out before, but every time, he ended it quickly, with a scowl.

What changed?

Why was it lasting?

And why the fuck were you getting twisted over it?

Seeing him up close, absorbing the details that made him him like plants starved for sunlight, hearing the textured nuances of his voice, feeling the warmth—the life—coursing hot through his veins in his rough touch…it must’ve gotten to your head. Your soft spot for him must’ve gotten drunk on his presence, must’ve become delirious with a secret wish, hidden even from yourself, for a reality that didn’t and wouldn’t exist.

Poetic irony for that clarity to slap you across the face as you watched them, while the healing handprint on your throat scorched a mark into your soul. His mark.

You wanted to tear it off. Pierce your flesh with your nails and rip that fucking bruise off like a band-aid.

She was his wife, not the cheating bitch who repulsed him. Not the one who hit him. Not the woman he seemed hellbent on finding a way to divorce without losing his daughter.

He loved her, didn’t he?

He’d stand by her, through thick and thin, sickness and health—whatever the hell their vows were—right? He’d protect her against everything? Against everyone? Against…you?

Because you were coming for her, and you weren’t out for truth and justice, but for a little bit of blood, too.

Your next exhale was long, controlled, but the rest of your body betrayed you. Tears welled up, vision blurred, as fury and heartache strained every inch of you.

Detached, you watched Miyuki molding her curves to her husband’s with the same shameless ease she’d displayed onstage before the covered glass tanks.

One by one, she’d removed the draped cloth, revealing—

…

—people.

People in ragged clothes, with bruises in varying stages of healing, and glazed eyes that told a story where death would be a mercy, not a sentence.

Her face had been void of remorse as her voice carried the clinical details of each person’s Quirk. Only the Quirk. No names. No identities. They didn’t exist beyond that.

The auction was all about Quirks and the guests debating which ones were worth bidding on.

Useful? Fought over.

Useless? Swallowed by the curtains.

You wiped the wetness off your flushed cheeks as their kiss ended.

Bakugou straightened, something strange flickering across his face before he shoved back from Miyuki, shaking his head like he couldn’t believe what just happened, as if he was caught in something, now snapping out of it. It didn’t last long. Maybe your wrath was potent enough to rattle his senses, or maybe something entirely different, because those confused eyes of his snapped up and locked on yours.

Recognizing.

You tilted your head, sending him a smile that promised ruin, which he received loud and clear. Clumsily, he tried to sidestep his one-of-a-kind precious wife, seemingly attempting to come to you, only for her to stop him.

That was the last thing you saw before you turned your back and walked away, leaving behind your shirt and one contradictory thought.

For both our sakes, don’t be guilty.

Chapter Text

The midday sun kissed your skin as you slouched into the balcony couch, scrolling through social media, the sour twist of your mouth deepening.

“You’re gonna get wrinkles if you keep making that face.” 

Ayumu placed a steaming cup of cappuccino on the small table and dropped onto the couch beside you, cradling his own.

You scrolled faster. Picture after picture. Article after article. Video after video. Everyone and their mothers had been gushing for the last two weeks about the power couple of the moment—Bakugou Katsuki and his villain of a wife. 

The whole circus started when she posted a picture of her new gold ring, flaunting a ruby the size of your anger. The caption blabbered about her profound gratitude for her husband and their never-ending, burning love.

After that, if she wasn’t spotted skipping into his agency with a flawless smile and a cute lunch bag, she was photographed blushing like a schoolgirl on a date that looked about as exciting as listening to someone talk when you already knew exactly what they were going to say. She actively redefined boredom.

And because no kitsch couple show was complete without equal effort, the starving paparazzi made sure to stalk Bakugou too and snap a couple of shots of him shopping in high-end stores, swiping his card with the blankest face in existence. Which worsened your confusion.

You rolled your eyes and tossed your phone to the side. “Pisses me off.”

“Aren’t you gonna tell him?” Ayumu asked as you reached for the cup and brought it to your lips.

“No. I can’t. Guilty or not, it’s too risky, and I don’t even have a proper plan yet.” You blew on the cappuccino to slightly cool it, then took a cautious sip. Vanilla—still Ayumu’s favorite after all these years—sweetened your tongue on its way down. “Did you find out what I asked you to?”

Ayumu nodded and drank from his cup, unbothered by the temperature, a foamy mustache forming on his upper lip, one you immediately pointed at, laughing at how goofy he looked.

He delivered a light kick to your leg as he wiped his mouth. “Bakugou’s chances of getting full custody of Yua are close to zero. Joint custody is possible, but even that could be denied if his wife is really out to ruin him.”

“Because of his job?”

“Partly.” Another sip. “She could argue Yua’s not safe with him. What if duty calls in the middle of the night? What about the villains he’s put away? Some of them might want revenge. Plus, his occasional angry public outbursts aren’t helping. She could even claim her life was at risk just by being with him. I mean, a relationship with a pro hero isn’t exactly safe.” He paused, staring into his cup like it showed him the future. “His situation is…seriously messed up.”

“So if he wants out, he has to choose between his job and his daughter?”

“Something like that.” His eyes met yours. “If the rules are followed. If they’re not, well…all that can change. In his favor.”

You considered him for a few beats of knowing silence before you focused on the fizzing foam of your cappuccino. Ayumu alluded to the only viable solution as of now, but as much as you wanted to lean that way, you couldn’t allow yourself to. 

Bakugou was a suspect. Until you proved otherwise, even if it broke something in your heart, you had no other choice but to perceive him like that. This wasn’t just about him, but about the people you’d seen, too.

“He’d win. It wouldn’t be clean, but he’d win,” you concluded with a weary sigh, head falling against the backrest, eyes closing to savor the gentle nip of fading summer.

“If Truth Exposer said it, then it must be true.”

A faint smile touched your vanilla-tinted lips. That phrase irritated and filled you with a strange sense of pride at the same time.

“He wouldn’t be able to submit whatever evidence you give him, but he wouldn’t need to if everyone knew what his wife is involved in. Public outcry would make the authorities think twice.” His empty laugh rang through the air. “Justice is blind, they say. What a fucking joke.”

“It is blind, Ayumu. When the cash is stacked high, the influence runs deep like roots, and,” you drank the rest of your cappuccino in one gulp, “the lie is sold as truth.”

His hand found your knee and squeezed it, his touch comforting as your mind inevitably leaped into the past. Bad habits were hard to shake off when the reasons to wage war against them were minimal. Quick to get in the way of moving forward, but quicker to wrench you backward in the throes of haunting grief and thorny suffering.

The future stayed blurred, distant, out of reach compared to the clear, loud past, whose jagged teeth gnawed at your jugular.

Years since your parents had died, and the moments of injustice continued to reign in the dark corners of your mind. You could vividly relive it still, like it was yesterday, the stale office air, the frustrating anger making your hands shake, your nostrils flaring as you resisted the deep-seated urge to strangle the licensed building inspector.

He had reeked of indifference as he had reclined in his leather seat, elbow propped on the armrest, thick fingers tapping on his temple. You had been his biggest headache of the day, but had you cared? Absolutely not. Your compassion hit rock bottom when he kept selling you the same bullshit narrative you knew to be false.

“Miss, please. The reports clearly state, in black and white, that during each verification everything was in order.”

“I’m aware, but do tell me, Inspector, how did you write those reports if you never—”

“By law, we’re obligated to verify structural integrity annually. Are you implying I fabricated the documents?”

“No. I’m simply addressing you a common sense que—”

“These are the official records of every inspection since the building was constructed. Signed. Stamped. Filed,” he interrupted you for the second time, slapping a hand over the stack of thick files piled up on his imposing desk. “I’ve got less than an hour left on the clock, but you’re welcome to flip through them, Miss. See the facts with your own eyes. They’re alright, I hope. They seem a bit red.”

Your hands clenched into tight fists before they slammed down on his desk. You didn’t need to check a damn thing. The records were pristine, which was why they could afford to lie that it was a tragic accident, that the building’s structural integrity had deteriorated faster due to external circumstances like combat and quirks being used nearby.

If someone had reported there being problems with the building, it would’ve been fixed immediately, but since no one did, it led to this terrible, terrible accident.

“The building gave way from the inside,” you gritted through your teeth. “The people living there had reported the deep cracks on numerous occasions, but—”

“Are you an architect, Miss?”

“I don’t need to be one. I saw the aftermath, and I have enough common sense to understand that the planning was poorly done from the start. How else do you explain the layers of rust on the skeleton?”

He shot to his feet, going red in the face as he planted his hands flat on the desk and leaned in, trying to intimidate you. “It was the rainy season when this accident happened.”

“Do you know what can rust in a matter of hours and fit your claim?” you asked, lowering your voice to a near whisper. “Iron, Inspector. Plain iron. So if you say the steel frame was perfect before the collapse but rusted from the rain afterward, that wasn’t a steel frame, was it?”

His jaw ticked. “I’m going to have to ask you to leave. I understand you’re a victim too, grieving your loss, but I’m not obligated to listen to your unfounded accusations, especially when it seems you’re,” his dark eyes flickered to your journalist badge hanging from your neck, “just looking for a story.”

The urge to grab this condescending prick by the collar surged hotly through your veins. 

“Before I’m a journalist,” you snapped, “I’m the daughter of two people crushed beneath the building you deemed perfectly safe. The only story I want is the truth, but I’m starting to doubt I’ll get it. You people are a tight-knit group, aren’t you?”

A dark glint flashed in his annoyed gaze as if to confirm your underhanded accusation. 

“Sleep well while you still can, Inspector. Even if I have to dig out the truth with my bare hands, I will. This won’t slide.” You pushed away from the desk. “I’m looking forward to your rundown of the remote inspection process you seem to favor. Quite innovative, really. Who knows, you might even help ease the workload for your peers.”

You reached the door when he asked, “Is that a threat I hear, Miss?” Something in his voice plunged a blade of dread into your back, forcing your spine to go rigid.

“The definition of a threat, Inspector, is the possibility of something bad happening, not a certainty. Have a wonderful evening.”

You had left that man’s office burning with rotten fury, but also with one crystal-clear truth: no price would be too high to get them justice. Not even your own life.

Maybe it was that point in time when the seeds of your vigilantism had first taken root.

“My word,” you said, turning to face Ayumu fully. “Do you think it’ll hold against what and who we’re up against?”

His fingers curled gently over yours. “I’m more worried about this spiraling,” he admitted. “About you losing control over it and me not being able to protect you.” His sincerity gripped your heart. “We’re talking about a well-organized trafficking ring, sweetheart. Something like this doesn’t fly under the radar without smart, powerful people backing it.”

“We have no proof, Ayumu. None,” you reminded him of your failure to gather evidence. Something in there had shut down your burner and kept it that way, likely an EMP. “Tipping anyone off would do more harm than good. The police have procedures to follow, especially if heroes are involved.”

“And there’s always a risk of a leak. Whoever’s running this won’t wait around,” he said, sucking in a breath through his teeth as he massaged the tension between his brows. “They’ll pack up, vanish. Change locations, change methods. And all those people…they’d be lost. We’d be back at square one.”

“We have one shot at this.”

“I think so too, but are you gonna be okay?”

“Sakai Ayumu.” You smacked your hands over his cheeks, and he straightened instantly at the full-name treatment. “What’s my secret philosophy?”

“Never gamble to lose. Only to win.”

You grinned proudly and pinched his skin affectionately, then jumped up, lifting your arms to stretch. “We can always bring in the police or the heroes if we have to.” Each pop of your joints and the burn in your muscles melted some of the tension. “For now, we keep it hush-hush and do what we always do.”

“Break the law,” he said with a carefree laugh, following you to the railing. A breeze caught in his copper strands. “What about Bakugou, though?”

“What about him?”

“Are you gonna expose him if he’s guilty?”

Your eyes drifted to the watery horizon in the far distance. “Yeah. No exceptions.”

“And if he’s not?”

The clear sky blurred with the glittering ocean, two shades of blue blending into one, yet their nuances remained distinct, unique. Like you and him. Similar, but different in ways that felt more like completion than opposition.

“His truth won’t be buried,” you said from the mind, not the heart. Your heart was too much of a masochist, hurting unnecessarily, caring too much. “No matter what.”

Ayumu’s arm went around your shoulders and pulled you into his side. You leaned into him, returning the embrace with a sincere smile, melting into his warmth. Who said a friend’s love couldn’t run just as deep, just as meaningful as any other? Life without him…was inconceivable.

“Wanna travel the world once we solve this?” he asked out of nowhere. “Truth Exposer deserves holidays too. Real holidays.”

Holidays?

You’d never really had any. Never gone somewhere just to relax and enjoy. Wherever you went, you went with a purpose.

“Hmm, sure?” You gazed at his profile, snorting at his sneaky side-eye. “Yeah. Let’s do that. Who knows, maybe we end up breaking laws in some other countries too.”

“Sweetheart, no!” He whined, and you threw your head back, letting out a hearty laugh.

Your joy was cut short when your phone rang, replaced by wariness as you picked up from between the cushions and saw the unfamiliar number.

“Hello?”

The caller’s voice had your jaw drop. “Hi. Um, it’s Deku. The guy you punched at the beach a few weeks ago? Sorry for calling out of the blue, but the animal shelter gave me your number to talk about the cat we brought in. Is this a good time?”

Ayumu shuffled closer, pressing his ear to the phone. You elbowed him in the ribs and shot him a warning glare. He backed off, out of your personal space, returning to lean against the railing. Watching you.

“Yeah. Sure. Are you adopting her?”

Deku’s easy laugh tickled your ears. “Not me. My life is too hectic, but not my mom’s. She wants to take care of her.” 

“How come?”

“Let’s just say telling her the story ended with me showing her the picture I took. She melted instantly,” he said, then muttered so quickly it almost sounded like a glitch in the speaker. “Something about it being a lucky sign because I met you, too.”

Your breath hitched loudly. “Sorry. Hiccup,” you lied. “That’s…I’m happy to hear, but I’m not sure what I’m supposed to do.”

He cleared his throat. “This call was supposed to come from one of the staff, but I insisted on doing it since we’re kind of acquainted. Hope I didn’t cross any boundaries. If I did, I apologize, and I’ll just—”

“It’s alright,” you gently interrupted. He sounded so flustered you wouldn’t be surprised if his face were beet red. “They would’ve put me in contact with you anyway, per my request. This way, we skipped a step.”

“Yes. That we did.” He let out a relieved sigh, and your teeth tugged at your lip. There was something oddly endearing about how nervous he was. “Are you free this week? Preferably in the evening.”

“Hmm…” You needed some air, to see something other than your apartment. Spending time with Deku didn’t sound too bad. “I’d be free tonight.”

On the other end of the line, his breath paused for a second before it flowed into the speaker. “Would seven work for you?”

*

The bench outside the animal shelter was surprisingly comfortable, though it did little to ease your growing restlessness. Elbows digging into your thighs, you rested your chin on your interlaced fingers and pursed your lips. With the meeting hour approaching, your stomach stewed in anxiety.

“Damn you, Ayumu,” you grumbled. Your best friend couldn’t have been more of a hypocrite in the span of a few minutes.

After the call with Deku, he had paled and delivered a speech on the dangers of becoming friendly with a pro hero, yet in the same breath, he squeaked like a rat seeing cheese, jittery with enthusiasm, exclaiming, “You’re about to meet up with a hot guy!”

Somehow, Deku being Bakugou’s friend or that he was a pro hero too didn’t matter anymore, but as Ayumu so nicely put it, you needed yum in your life, and Deku was undeniably yum. 

He was, in his own way, but—

“I’m sorry for running late. Traffic was awful.”

Your gaze lifted to see the man of the hour stopping in front of you, panting lightly, car keys dangling from his scarred fingers. Not a sports car, but something common. Safe.

“Did you wait long?” he asked, as you continued piecing together the last hour of his life.

The sleeves of his white dress shirt were messily rolled, the rest buttoned to his throat and stuffed into the waistband of his black formal pants. His leather belt was twisted once in the loops, making your eye twitch. Deku had hurried.

“No, not at all,” you replied, noticing the post-workout swell of his muscles and the sweat glinting at his temples and hairline. Deku had hurried…from the gym. “Let’s go?”

You stood, legs weakening a fraction as the mix of cologne and his natural scent drifted into your nose. For a moment, you too forgot who he really was.

“Actually, mind if we stay here five more minutes?” Deku asked, sitting down. His voice was like fine sand all of a sudden. “I want to try convincing you to let me pay instead.”

“What? For real?”

He nodded, the quick, determined movement drawing your attention to his hair. Under the guise of twilight, the green looked muted, dark, but the viridian of his eyes kept the real color alive, highlighted.

“No. I said I’ll pay, so I’m paying. I have no intention of changing my mind.”

“Let me at least try?” Those same eyes pleaded with you as his fingers tapped twice on the bench.

“Why?”

“I’m not comfortable with it,” he said as you returned to your seat on the bench. “There’s one more thing. The lady who gave me your number mentioned your name, and I realized I never introduced myself properly. Not that night. Not on the phone. His hand left his knee to give itself to you. “Midoriya Izuku.”

You couldn’t resist a small smile as you slipped your hand into his, calloused fingers closing over it and shaking. The gesture was careful, gentle, as if you were the definition of fragile, and your body tensed, unaccustomed to the feeling. Not even you were this kind to yourself, and De—Midoriya was making you feel guilty for it.

As you held his hand a little bit tighter and a little bit longer, you entrusted him with your name.

Red dusted his freckled cheeks, but the smile he offered reached his eyes and snuck into your heart like light within forgotten, worn-down walls. This was normalcy. This was what your life would’ve probably looked like if it were different. Meeting new people, telling them your name without risking, connecting and sharing experiences.

“Is there really no way you’d let me? I mean, it’s my mom adopting her, so it’s only fair I cover everything,” he said, letting go of your hand, and you wished he hadn’t.

“No. You’ll have to deal with me paying.” Was your voice always this soft? This small?

“Then, can I make it up to you in some other way?”

“You don’t have to. It’s alright. I’m glad I can help.”

His blush deepened. “How about d-dinner? As a thank you.”

He’d taken you “home” as an apology for you punching him, when he really should’ve just gotten away from you, and now he wanted to take you to dinner as thanks for sticking to your word? What even was this logic?

He was giving you a headache.

You were about to respond when his eyes suddenly opened comically wide. Midoriya sprang up, waving his hands as he stepped back politely.

“Maybe not? Would that be appropriate?”

“Why wouldn’t it be?”

“I don’t want to cause you trouble with…with your partner.”

“Partner?” You ended up trailing off as his eyes stole a glance at your neck, the bruise long gone. “I’m single. Uncommitted.”

A smack to your head would be divine right now. What were you doing telling him that?

“Would you like to have dinner with me then?” Midoriya reiterated his invitation, each syllable clear, confident, composed. Even the rosiness in his cheeks lost saturation.

You’d be the worst liar, an amateur pretender, if you tried to ignore the loud way your heart thumped in your ears. Never in your life had you been this thrown off by someone switching gears this fast.

“You’re choosing the place.” You rose from the bench and prowled the short distance to him. A spark of intrigue curled your lips. “Surprise me, Midoriya.”

Chapter Text

“That woman hates my guts. She’s not even bothering to hide it anymore,” the wife-on-paper snapped, yanking at the seatbelt like the spoiled brat she was. “When are you going to stand up for me, Katsuki?”

Katsuki rested his wrist on the steering wheel, sliding her a sidelong glance.

“I bet she’d throw a party if we divorced.”

“If my old hag goes for it, I’m all in.”

“What did you say?”

“You heard me.” He slammed the gas, the engine mirroring his inner state as the car ripped away from his parents’ driveway. Loud. Snarling. “Hate champagne, but fuck if I wouldn’t pop a bottle with her. What? Thought a few weeks of play actin’ was gonna make this real?”

“Please tell me you’re joking.”

"Can't. Livin' in one. Starrin' your crazy ass and my stupid one."

Her head snapped toward him, her icy stare trying to drill holes in the side of his skull. The truth was like acid, for him and her too. One drop and the agony started.

She reached across the console, claws trailing over his thigh.

Katsuki’s grip on the steering wheel turned crushing. “Get your damn hand off me.”

She didn’t. His jaw locked, molars grinding. Angry heat rolled over his skin, sweat bleeding from his pores. Katsuki forced himself to breathe deep, but she was everywhere, and his car suddenly felt like a cage from hell. Smoke started escaping from his palms.

“Don’t make me say it twice,” he growled.

“Be nice,” she purred, fingers creeping higher. “You promised we’d try for Yua, remember?”

Promised? He didn’t have a fucking choice. More so when his lawyers told him to play along while they searched for a solution. If it weren’t for Yua, he would’ve pulled the trigger, gone through with it. Everything he worked for could go straight to hell if it meant being free. He’d take the win disguised as a loss and rebuild it all from scratch.

But he had a kid. Yua needed him. And damn it, he needed her too. He couldn’t lose her. Couldn’t fail at being her dad. That was unacceptable.

She’d be three soon. Which meant fifteen more years of this hell if his lawyers didn’t come up with something.

Fifteen years, huh?

Grabbing wife-on-paper’s wrist, he threw her hand off his leg, disgusted by her touch. She started whining, bitching, but he tuned her out, mentally withdrawing. Disappearing into that secret place where his fire burned, roared, fed.

Where you also existed. Proof of his sins.

The last time he’d seen you was the night he’d fucked up, looking like a stranger, but something in him still recognized you. And broke the second he realized you’d seen him kissing the last person he should’ve. 

Katsuki didn’t know what the hell possessed him. Public or not, he hadn’t touched wife-on-paper in over a year. She called, asked to meet, and he agreed, deviating from his patrol route, hoping to catch her with something shady. Why else would she be out so late?

What he got instead was a sweet, invasive scent that fogged his brain. It clung to her skin, her hair, her tight black dress. Got him hot. By the time it clicked that something was off, she was kissing him, and his body betrayed him.

Craving the way he did made him stupid. Fooled him that those alcohol-tinted lips were yours. Those cold fingers in his hair were yours. The soft, breathy sounds were yours. 

Until the illusion broke. 

His hands found curves that didn’t match the ones his eyes memorized.

Line by line.

Obsessively.

It was why he jerked back. Why his stomach balled up with nausea. Why his blood froze when he saw you standing there, not far off, lit up by the full moon like divine punishment, tears on your face and dripping to the ground. Resentment blazed bright in your eyes.

What the fuck were you doing there? How? Why?

Just…why?

He wanted answers so badly he nearly forgot wife-on-paper was there and tried to reach you, but she reminded him of her presence, questioning his weird reaction.

“What’s going on? Why are you suddenly acting like this?”

“Nothing.” Katsuki stepped between her and your retreating form. She couldn’t see you. She wasn’t stupid and would link his reaction to you and figure it out. “Go home. Got a patrol to finish.”

She didn’t look convinced, but headed for her car. Katsuki kept pace beside her, body angled like a shield, and only bolted once she vanished around the corner, straight toward where you stood.

He crouched, his gloved fingers brushing over the wet spots dotting the asphalt before snatching the crumpled shirt. The air thickened with that same sweet, invasive scent. Again, Katsuki didn’t resist the pull and inhaled it deep into his lungs. Your scent mingled with it. Intoxicating. Addictive.

Fuck, did it smell good. So good he buried his nose in the fabric, breathing it in like it was the only oxygen left in the world. No thoughts about what it could be or if it was safe. What he was getting high on might as well have been poison.

Each inhale stabbed his pounding heart, but the ache concentrated in his dick. Damn pervert. Damn anomaly. He got hard from smelling your shirt alone, but barely managed a semi from kissing his so-called wife.

Pathetic.

Though, better horny and fooled than confronting reality.

Or so he had thought. His brain couldn’t care less about his feelings and had gone ahead, dissecting every bit of that night, answering some of the questions. 

Wherever wife-on-paper had gone, you were there too. Your fitted, black clothes made it seem like you were out for some late-night walk or jogging, but black and fitted were his go-to for infiltrating places. Adding the disguise on top of it, and boom, he had the overview.

Truth Exposer was on the move.

“Park over there,” wife-on-paper said, pointing ahead as if he were blind. As if his awareness was zero when deep in thought. As if he wasn’t the fucking driver.

Katsuki pulled into the free spot opposite and was out of the car before she was done unbuckling the seat belt, huffing some of the irritation. Shoving both hands into his cargo pants pockets, he clenched the one holding the car key as he glared up at the rooftop restaurant.

Fuck his life.

Then fuck it again because she linked her arm with his, her hand possessively on his bicep.

She forced his steps into a stroll toward the entrance, and he scoffed at her pitiful PR move. People sure had no other hobby than to pull out their phones and snap pictures of them, slapping Dynamight and his wife spotted on a date on it.

Acrid bile coated the back of his throat.

When the hell did it all go so wrong?

The door to his many secrets creaked open. He slammed it shut in an instant, before anything could escape and mock him. He should put one, two, or five locks on it so it stayed shut. Off limits. Otherwise, how was he supposed to fight the noise screaming about who he was, what he’d done, and continued to do?

Katsuki was never a saint, rather someone who fucked up left and right, lately as much as his so-called wife. Maybe worse. He had married her because of Yua, despite checking out of the relationship. The goal was to somehow rekindle the spark, but you entered his life, poured gasoline, and ignited an inferno. Made him a traitor with no remorse.

“Don’t forget our no drinking rule,” wife-on-paper whispered to him as they entered the building. “I can’t drive.”

“You can, but ain’t gonna. Gotta show off to everyone how your husband takes care of you like you’re some fuckin’ queen.”

Her claws pinched into his skin through the sweater. “It benefits you too. God knows you need it.”

The way up to the restaurant was as irksome as he expected. Wife-on-paper gave him yet another pointless lecture about how he had to behave, toss a smile here and there, maybe even show her some affection to make them believable. 

Katsuki rolled his eyes and dragged her after him so he could give his name and head for their reserved table.

The place was mostly open air, covered by a straight wooden roof. Copper lights hung from the beams, casting a warm glow over the whiskey-colored furniture. It was packed, as always, but for damn good reason. Summer was almost over, and this was one of the best places to catch the last moments, where the sky felt close, and it felt like being on top of the world.

Too bad his company was shitty.

He kept his strides long, indulging in the uneven sound of her steps with near sadistic pleasure. Leaning down, he spoke close to her ear. “What’s wrong? Can’t keep up?” 

Bitter bile coated his tongue when she gasped, gazing at him from under her mascara-coated lashes. Pale cheeks reddening. Anyone else would’ve been over the moon to have this effect on their partner after years, but he was sickened by it.

“Want me to slow down for you?”

“You wouldn’t.” Her red lips pursed into a pout. “You’re too much of a jerk.”

“Damn right. I’m fuckin’ excellent at it.”

“If only you’d be that excellent as a husband,” she sighed.

Katsuki snorted and halted mid-step, shaking her hand off as he worked a lopsided, empty grin to his face, crowding her space. She served him that blushing face again, licking her lips. One cruel, hostile feeling flared up deep inside him. What the hell? She wasn’t seriously thinking he’d challenge that statement, drag her out of sight, and prove it, was she?

“Ever crossed your mind I never wanted you as my wife?” he asked, voice low and poisoned. “I married you ‘cause I proved Yua was mine. We broke up, remember?”

Her mask crumbled like this fucking caricature of a marriage would one day. Her clawed hand ripped through the air but stopped an inch from his face. Her chin trembled. Rage deepened and glossed her light blue eyes. 

“Smile, wifey.” He leaned into her palm like her touch kept him alive. Two could play the same fucked-up game. “Before they snap a pic and call it trouble in paradise.”

“How fucking dare—”

“Huh? Kacchan?” 

Katsuki’s head snapped to the voice. 

Izuku stood a few steps away, looking between him and wife-on-paper. Next to him–

Shock tore through Katsuki like a raging vortex, ravaging his mask. By his best friend’s side was you, all pretty, soft, and relaxed. Your eyes locked with his, widening slightly as your lips parted. Your lips that wore a subtle shade he wouldn’t have noticed on anyone else, inhaling a quiet, shaky breath he wouldn’t have heard if it were someone else.

His secrets mauled at the locked door.

“Who else?” Katsuki replied, standing up straight, and forced himself to stop staring at you. “Got yourself a date?”

“No. Nothing like that.” Izuku sneaked a timid glance at you. “We’re having dinner as, uh, friends.”

“What a coincidence. We’re here for dinner too. Would you two like to join?” wife-on-paper asked, snatching Katsuki’s attention.

He almost opened his mouth to fuck no the idea, but your voice lulled him into silence.

“I don’t mind. What about you, Midoriya?”

“I’m okay with it, if you are.”

“Well, how can I not be…” You trailed off, roping his focus right back to you. Your lips were temptingly curled into a poised smile. “Sorry, I’m a bit nervous.” You gestured to both him and wife-on-paper. “Being in the presence of such a power couple does that, I guess. You’re even more stunning in real life, Mrs. Bakugou.”

Fuck. His. Life.

Mrs. Bakugou? He wanted to throw up the protein bar he shoved in for lunch. One of the many—tons—you had gifted him to piss him off. The stash he had left should last until the end of the year, and he hated you for it. Forcing him to rent a place just to store the damn things, and sell the stupid truck because the company refused to take it back.

“Thank you,” wife-on-paper responded, hand to her chest, the other slithering over his forearm. “You look lovely yourself, Miss…”

Extending your hand toward her, you spoke your name in such a smooth, confident tone that it made his spine tingle. But when you shook hands with his so-called wife, the sight went straight to his dick. 

Not his the way he’d want, but the one he risked for. Unreal how easily you eclipsed her. Insane how pride blazed through his veins.

Maybe the night wouldn’t be hell, after all.

*

“How did you two meet?”

Katsuki resisted scoffing at the wife-on-paper’s question. As if she gave a damn, and he, personally, didn’t want to know, didn’t want to listen to the story. 

“Coincidence,” you said, gazing at Izuku, whose face flushed a shade deeper. “We bumped into each other during my night walk.”

On second thought, he wanted to know. 

Wife-on-paper mulled over your answer as she sipped her cocktail. “Isn’t that dangerous? I know I wouldn’t dare go for one. And, well,” her fingers glided over his thigh, “Katsuki wouldn’t allow it. He’s a bit overprotective.”

“Got no problem with that.” He clasped her hand and squeezed it in warning. “But you should probably learn how to kick ass. Want me to sign you up?”

You coughed in your fist and squirmed in your seat, your eyes crinkling a little at the corners. To the other two at the table, it could pass for whatever emotion, but not as what it truly was: provocation. 

Katsuki had claimed the chair opposite yours the second you moved toward one, becoming the sight you couldn’t escape. Something must’ve been on his side today; the draped tablecloth was long, covering everyone’s legs. Hiding the truth beneath it.

His leg willingly trapped itself between yours, tensing when your knee knocked against it, or your shoe nudged at his calf. The sensation fed his delusional hope.

“Why, when I have Dynamight himself at my side?” wife-on-paper scooted closer to him, moving her hand to his shoulder, squeezing it in sick affection.

Your delicate laugh filled the air, and it might just be his favorite sound after your voice. “You two are so cute. But to answer your question, Mrs. Bakugou,” you dragged your ankle up his calf. “It’s dangerous, but what do I have to fear? If something were to happen, it will. Plus, I’m confident in my ability to defend myself.”

Katsuki froze like a statue in his seat, his whole body stiffening as he fought the pinpricks of desire. He only had himself to blame. He got himself in this position. He should’ve known better, considering the shared history. From that first post-it you had sent him, it was obvious one part of you lived to piss him off.

But pissing him off wasn’t what you were doing right now.

Teasing.

You were teasing the crazy out of him, and it was working. He wanted to play this game with you so bad, he wished Izuku and wife-on-paper disappeared. He wanted to reach under the table, clasp your ankle—

Shit.

“She can pack quite the punch,” Izuku joined in with praise. “My jaw ached for a few days.”

Katsuki’s brows raised. “You punched this dumbass?” he asked, addressing you directly for the first time since this dinner had started.

“It was my fault,” Izuku responded instead, making his eye twitch. “I should’ve verbally insisted more.”

“Impressive. You must be quite special to catch Midoriya by surprise,” wife-on-paper gave her irrelevant opinion. “Is it your quirk or skill?”

Since when did she care about quirks?

Curiosity spun in his gut like a pinwheel, fanning both his want and the brutal conflict warring within him. You’d lie about it, Katsuki bet. Accessing quirk information about someone was a pain in the ass for a pro hero, let alone a civilian. He waited weeks after submitting his request.

“They called it hyper intuition. Pretty self-explanatory, I guess.”

Izuku’s eyes sparkled with excitement as he grasped your elbow. “That sounds cool. Is it always active?”

The war inside took a turn…for the worse. Something despicable plucked at his nerves, making his anger bubble up like lava. Katsuki snatched the soda glass off the table and gulped it down.

“Sort of. It’s hard to explain.” Your voice sounded somehow different as you explained to his best friend about your fake quirk. Warmer. Sweeter. “Imagine that feeling in your gut, but way more intense. The first time it happened, I felt sick.”

Izuku nodded, moving closer to you. “The intensity. Is it something you can adju—”

“Oi, Izuku,” Katsuki intruded, his tone opposite yours. “Quit nerdin’ out before you scare her away.”

He knew how much of an asshole he was right now, potentially sabotaging Izuku’s confidence to pursue something with you. But that was the problem—you. If it were anyone else, he wouldn’t give a damn. He’d go as far as playing Cupid for his best friend without batting an eye.

Helping Izuku get with you? Not a chance in heaven or hell.

He wasn’t blind to the existing interest, at least from his best friend’s side. Hard to tell if you were on that same page when you’d been exchanging body heat with him under the table.

He tracked Izuku’s withdrawing hand, glaring at it like it was responsible for his shitty situation, his impossible desires, his troublesome feelings. That hand had done nothing wrong or out of the ordinary, its gesture harmless, friendly, but in his plagued mind, it was on you. 

Touching. 

Grabbing. 

Learning.

His fingers clutched the empty glass to the point of shattering as his leg pushed against yours, forcing it to open wider. 

“I should.” Izuku let out a short, awkward laugh. He gave you an apologetic bow. “I’m sorry if that made you uncomfortable.”

The stern glare you shot Katsuki plunged deep into the ugliness he felt before you poured acid on it by offering Izuku a smile that was too honest. Something you had never shown him, and probably never would.

“You haven’t. It’s natural to be curious, and if you ask me, I think it’s healthy to be,” you said. “When curiosity is gone, what’s left?”

Katsuki tore his attention away from you, focusing on the city sprawling far and wide. The lights were dimmer, the sounds muter, the night air colder, the reality crappier. 

It…fucking hurt.

He wasn’t supposed to fight, to throw internal tantrums that bled outside, but accept it for what it was—impossible. You were the impossibility he gravitated toward. His fever dream meant to end. The one person who could make the cat-and-mouse interesting. You hunted him even when he chased you, but slipped off the radar like prey whenever he closed in, restarting the game to repeat it.

And repeat.

And repeat.

And fucking repeat. Over and over. Again and again. 

Saw you on TV. You look like crap. Need a distraction, or maybe, a way out? I can make it happen. 

He dug his fingers into the edge of the table until his knuckles strained. Why the hell was he remembering that? That stupid message you had sent him weeks ago from an untraceable number while he was stuck at some charity party, courtesy of wife-on-paper. Message he had deleted from existence before he was tempted to answer, a mistake he’d made and never learned from.

Moments of weakness were the norm with you. Moments he let himself believe you risked for something other than provoking him. Like…the man behind the hero.

“Your order is here,” the waiter announced, pushing a metal cart toward the table.

Exactly what Katsuki needed to distract himself—forcing food down his throat. Not a night from hell? The joke was on him. This was ripped out of his own personal hell. The kind that dragged painfully slow to torture him, to let him stew in an agony of his making.

Katsuki dismissed any attempts at conversation from wife-on-paper and Izuku with a grunt or an unimpressed stare, his mood at rock bottom, rotting. Not even the perfectly cooked medium rare steak he usually enjoyed could erase the bitter taste on his tongue. Eventually, he withdrew his leg, leaving you alone. Your indifference strangled his heart.

You were too busy giving Izuku the time of day. Maybe the time of night afterward? With that attitude of yours, you’d have no problem convincing a guy to take you to his place. Strip you naked and—

Katsuki shoved away from the table and stood up, the chair scraping the stone floor. “We’re takin’ a cab,” he snapped at wife-on-paper. “Need a damn drink.”

“Wha—Katsuki?”

Two steps. Two goddamn steps was all he managed before you stopped him, the sound of your voice making his hands fist inside his pockets.

“Mind if I come with you?”

“I can get you one, if you’d like,” Izuku, ever the gentleman, intervened.

“I appreciate it, Midoriya, but I got it.” You rose from the chair. “Should I get you something?”

“No. I’m alright. Th—”

“Hurry up,” Katsuki bit out, his patience gone.

“Patience isn't your strong suit?” you muttered as you brushed past him, head held high.

His jaw clenched, and the urge to yank you back and tell you all about his damn patience had his legs filling with lead. How were you doing this? How were you able to pretend you didn’t know him? How could you be so calm around him when he wanted to slam his fists on the table and compromise both of you?

Pausing, you locked eyes with him over your shoulder. “Did you change your mind?”

“No.”

“Hurry up then.”

You were the reason he, one day, would go batshit crazy.

Deserved.

Chapter Text

Chapter Text

The irritating ringing of your phone yanked you from dreamland and threw you straight into the ring of reality. You groaned, slapping around the nightstand, searching for the stupid device you’d meant to silence, but didn’t.

Midoriya’s fault.

His voice had lulled you to sleep last night, rambling through some story from his early teaching years. You couldn’t remember any of it; your focus had been forcefully anchored to the way he pronounced the words, to the inflections in his voice.

Anything to not think.

Without checking the screen, you thumbed it on and croaked, “Good reason, or I’ll end you.”

“Did I call the wrong number?” came Midoriya’s confused voice. “Hmm. Definitely not Kacchan.”

At the mention of Bakugou’s name, your heart jolted. Fluttery sensations spread through your limbs, making your empty stomach sick. A few days locked away in your apartment, avoiding everything that could remind you of him, hadn’t erased a thing. He was still there. Like a ghost that refused to move on. And your only solution so far had been pretending he wasn’t.

You rubbed your eyes. “Mido—huh?”

Words were too much. He’d have to decipher your hums, grunts, and whatever other suspicious noises you’d make.

“There you are! Sorry, but you have to see this—eh? Time? Almost seven in the morning.”

You rolled onto your back with a yawn, cracking one eye open. Gloomy light tainted your bedroom walls. Great. One of those days.

“What should I—” You coughed, your throat drier than a desert. “—see?”

“First, you have to accept…” He dragged the word out until a notification pinged in your ear. A video call request. “It’ll be worth it. I promise.”

“If it’s another waffle show-off, I’m blocking you,” you warned, but accepted.

His hair was still messy from sleep, expression easy, mouth curved in a lazy half-smile. Nothing inside you stirred when it would’ve if things were different, if the timeline—lifetime—was another.

“I offered to bring you one, and you refused.”

“I asked for the name so I could get my own. I’ve got legs.” Because if nothing had made him suspicious yet, your parents’ empty apartment, posing as your own, definitely would’ve. “You refused.”

His cheeks puffed like a hamster’s before he let out a long sigh and slumped further into the couch. Midoriya had learned quickly about your stubbornness and honed tongue, though it wasn’t surprising that he seemed used to it. He had existed in his life for years.

“Let’s meet up for waffles next week, then?” he asked, finding the middle ground.

In the aftermath of kissing him, you’d doubted whether friendship was even possible. The first text exchange that followed had been awkward until he sent a picture of the cat his mother had adopted. The tension, permeated by insecurity, shattered into a thousand pieces.

One text led to more. Then came the phone calls, timed to your mutual free time. Something casual, and much more convenient.

Brick by brick, the platonic connection was slowly built, but you never let yourself forget who you were, and who he was. Your guilt became the mortar between the building blocks. The price you paid for a sliver of normalcy, and, more importantly, to secure Bakugou’s safety, or his future punishment.

“If it’s the place you keep telling me about, I’m in,” you said. “So, what is it you want to show me?”

“The reason I’ll be late for work today,” he replied, chest puffed out.

The camera angled downward, and your cloudy brain scrambled to process what you were seeing.

A crisply ironed shirt tucked into black dress pants. The creased front of said pants. His hand moving between his spread legs.

“Midoriya, what are you do—”

“She jumped onto my lap while I was having my morning coffee,” he clarified, affection sparkling in his eyes, while panic exploded in yours. “And fell asleep.” He scratched behind the cat’s ears gently. “I couldn’t bring myself to move, so here I am, stuck on my mom’s couch, doing something I usually wouldn’t dare—being late for work.”

“Teaching shift?” you asked, relaxing and melting inside at the sight of the cat, her chin and paw resting on one thigh, her tail draped over the other. Adorable little thing. She had a home now. She was safe.

“Hero,” he said. “Even though I should probably be grading papers. I’ve got a mountain waiting.”

You rolled onto your side, yawning away the last of your sleep. “Aren’t you exhausted? Do you even sleep?”

“Five hours, maybe?”

“Five?” You gave him a pointed look. “You know that’s not sustainable, right?”

His relaxed expression wobbled. “I know. But I’m alright. I catch up here and there.”

“You better.” A pause. “Has your mother picked a name for her yet?”

“Kind of. She’s thinking of Yoru.”

“Yo…ru?” you echoed, testing the syllables. “I like it.”

“And it fits, right? We found her at night. Her fur is…” He trailed off, glancing behind him as the faint sound of a door closing reached your ears.

Then came a woman’s drowsy voice, asking why he was still there.

“Got myself in a bit of a situation,” he told her with a short laugh.

You caught a glimpse of her behind him and did the one thing any normal person would do—duck below your phone’s camera. Breaking into places? Easy. Using your quirk for intel? Sure. Getting into fights? Child’s play. This?

This was hard.

Your stomach somersaulted like it was prepping for a trapeze act. Oh, you were about to be physically ill.

“Are you still there?”

No. You didn’t think you were. “Yeah. Still here.” A wave at the camera.

Could someone end you? Rescue you? Preferably a blond with thick biceps, an unimpressed look, and enough sarcasm and cockiness to last for years.

…Maybe not.

“So, um, my mom would like to personally thank you. Is that okay? I mean, you can refuse, of course. Please don’t feel pressured.”

Crap. This guy had a talent for landing you in situations.

“Give me a minute, please.”

You dropped your phone face down, threw the blanket off, and scrambled to your feet. Dashed behind the opaque glass partition that separated your bed from the vanity and walk-in closet. Snatched a crumpled hoodie off the floor and put it on. Tamed your hair into something presentable.

Two smacks to your cheeks, and you skipped back to your phone.

You could do this.

You were walking into this unplanned, undiscussed meeting with the mother of the man you’d kissed, and emotionally fallen apart on mid-kiss, all because of another man she definitely knew. Just your luck her son was childhood friends with your harbinger of ruin.

“Sorry about that.” Your voice became an oasis of polite pleasantry as you angled the phone, careful not to show anything that could betray your location.

Midoriya’s focus shifted from his mother back to you. “Uh, I guess I’ll let her do the talking.” Then his eyes flicked below your chin. He blinked. Slowly.

Mortification seized your nerves. Was there something on the hoodie?

You were about to check when his mother appeared beside him, and her eyes lit up upon finding you, brighter as she caught what her son was staring at, you knew where he got that kind look.

“Izuku didn’t mention you’re a fan of Katsuki.” She sounded delighted, as if meeting one of his fans were some kind of historic occasion.

“F-fan?” Your eye spasmed. You dipped your chin…

…and were greeted by the gravest of all mistakes: bold, black text outlined in orange, sliced through by a crisscross, winked up at you from across your chest.

“That’s Katsuki’s merch,” she continued, and you wished to disappear as your face grew hot. “Hmm, I think it’s the—”

“Autumn collection from two years ago,” you said in unison.

Silence descended, but it was too loud in your head, too hungry for your mask slipping, so you broke it before the clown got clowned, letting out a choked laugh and waving your hand. Dismissing.

“I’m not. It’s my friend who is. Completely smitten with the ass—Dynamight. So obsessed she’s handing out merch just to, in her words, ‘support his handsome face and awesome body.’” You bowed before the camera. “A pleasure to meet you, Mrs. Midoriya.”

You thought the silence a moment ago was bad. This was apocalyptic. Both son and mother stared at the camera like confused owls.

Handsome face? Awesome body?

What was next?

Accurately listing the size of his dick, length and girth, because the bastard had been glued to your ass so hard you could’ve even counted the pulsing veins with your Quirk.

Mrs. Midoriya cleared her throat a few times, her easy smile struggling to stay in place. Her cheeks turned rosy as she pressed a hand to the side of her face. Your defenses trembled to their foundation.

For a moment, you saw her, your mother. Laughing or crying. Confident or anxious. Doing the mundane, or something just a little grander.

Frost crept into your heart, freezing over the chaos and pulling you back into its lonely depths, where it gorged on your warmth. Because you were present, constantly moving forward. And she was past, forever stilted.

She had once sat beside you in the same way Mrs. Midoriya did with her son. Shoulder to shoulder. Her hands clasped tight in her lap. One hopeful question trembling on her lips: ”Are you sure you don’t want to be a hero?”

“No. Telling people’s stories is heroic too.” Your answer. Your conviction. Even if you’d wanted what she wished for, it wouldn’t have been possible.

It broke her heart. And yours.

But when she held you afterward, what she never said was what you always felt: Who will tell yours?

“Um,” Mrs. Midoriya began, “t-thank you for helping with Yoru. Izuku told me you took care of everything.”

“Happy to help,” you replied. “Thank you for giving her a home. I’m sure she’ll be fine under your care.”

She glanced at her son and visibly relaxed when he offered her a small, encouraging smile, one she borrowed and passed on to you. “Izuku’s already spoiling her and me. His visits are more frequent now.”

“Mom!”

“He’s busy making the world better,” you said, noting the ruddiness in his cheeks as he looked away.

“He is,” she agreed, patting his shoulder. “If he could, he’d be out there every moment of the day and night, making sure no one gets hurt again.”

You nodded. Stayed quiet.

Someone would always get hurt.

Always.

“I’ll let you two talk,” she continued. “It was wonderful meeting you.”

“Likewise, Mrs. Midoriya.”

Once she was out of frame and Midoriya was alone again, you exhaled loudly and fell back against the pillows.

“Too much?” he asked.

“Maybe? I mean, it’s not every day I meet a guy’s mom before I even know his hobbies.” You teased, but the usual bite wasn’t there.

His head tipped back against the couch. “You kind of know one.”

“I do?”

“Yeah. Back at the restaurant, I asked you about your Quirk because I was genuinely interested.” He shrugged. “That’s a hobby.”

Leave it to curiosity to lighten up your mood. You sat up, bringing the phone closer to your face. “Interested how? Do you, like, analyze Quirks in your free time or something?”

Midoriya’s eyes widened a fraction, like you’d stumbled onto one of his secrets. He tried to play it cool, fingers creeping up to adjust his collar. “Something like that. Any plans for today?”

The fast topic change extinguished the spark. Maybe he was uncomfortable talking about it, or maybe it was your interest that unsettled him. Either way, you let it go.

You glanced out the window, mulling over his question. Droplets dotted the glass, the cityscape muted by the curtain of somber clouds rolling in.

“I’ll probably head out. Rainy days call for visits.” A teasing grin tugged at your mouth. “Just have to be careful since Deku is late for duty.”

Midoriya let out a quiet chuckle. “You know I’m only a call away.”

*

You killed the engine and slumped forward, forehead resting against the steering wheel, breathing shallow and uneven. Rain battered the car’s roof, cascading down the windows like a waterfall, the world outside obscured by the wet curtain. The noisy pitter-patter denied you the silence to sit with your thoughts.

The columbarium building where your parents’ ashes were stored loomed not far ahead. Its presence meant nothing to some, everything to others, and something in between to you. Your mood shifted the moment you entered the area and recognized the streets you once wandered, questioning life’s fragility and death’s often cruel unfairness.

You didn’t understand the why then, and still didn’t. Nothing in this world justified why they had died so suddenly, so gruesomely, when it didn’t have to end that way. Your only consolation came from risking everything to tell their story as it was: human greed trying to sell itself as a tragic accident.

Your fingers clutched harder at the leather.

Loneliness drove you here after the call with Midoriya. Leaving your bedroom ended with your spacious apartment feeling like a tomb, its walls closing in on you. The atmosphere was no longer hospitable, chipping at your shaky defenses until dark thoughts crept through the cracks.

They were still creeping and crawling under your skin. Sinister whispers in your ear that you existed for no one but Ayumu. That if you disappeared, even the insignificant traces of you would vanish too.

No one knew whether you cried yourself to sleep. Skipped through your living room, humming some cheery tune, sunshine warm on your face. Whether you were sick or in desperate need of a long embrace that made you feel like you mattered more than anything.

Whether you fought the end for just one more moment, clinging to fraying hope that someone—anyone—would at least try to save you.

No comfort. No celebration. No watching over. No validation. And certainly, no salvation.

No one knew, and no one would know.

You reached for the flowers on the passenger seat and left the car. Outside, you shuddered in the nipping cold and braced yourself to be soaked to the bone. Umbrellas were a thing, sure, but inconvenient for the couple of steps you had to walk.

Copper leaves, the only splash of color on the otherwise dull pavement, drowned in the rain, their fragile veins unable to bear the weight. Your hurried steps spared them the agony. You crushed them to death on your way to confront one of the many things that killed something in you.

Entering the building, you acknowledged the receptionist with a curt nod and walked the familiar path to the room where your parents’ niche waited. A hollow ache spread through your chest as you held the access card to the digital panel. The double doors slid open, revealing the wooden-paneled room beyond.

The room was bare, save for a wooden bench off to the side and a few flower vases lining the walls, but rich with the cloying scent of incense. It made your nose scrunch up, trying not to think about what you were really breathing in.

Death’s fumes.

You waited for their niche to appear, listening to the faint mechanical whirring of the gears, your heart restless.

Loss and grief weren’t strangers; they were old friends made bearable by the passing of time. You were four when you met them for the first time, thanks to the Quirk you anticipated with childish excitement. It betrayed you.

“Curiosity killed the cat” stopped being a phrase and took physical form—you. One question. A single, uncontrollable surge of your Quirk. And your senses exploded all at once, giving the performance of your lifetime.

Innocence soaked in blood, screeching apologies to the endless hell of consuming sensations for being curious. Begging it to stop. To forgive. To protect you from the cold embrace trying to eradicate your warmth.

Succeeding.

You hadn’t meant to do anything wrong. But the girls in your kindergarten group were whispering and glancing your way.

You just wanted to know.

A soft sound announced the arrival of the niche, and you squared your shoulders, resisting the urge to crush the delicate stems in your grip. One day…one day you’d stop doing this to yourself.

Shakily, you placed the bouquet in the designated spot and opened the glass door to the small compartment, where the two urns stood beside framed photos of your parents on their wedding day and a miniature of the portrait hanging in their abandoned apartment. All that was left of their existence and the insufficient time you’d spent together.

You reached behind them. For the photo hidden from the world, and from yourself. For your worst reminder that prided itself on killing you every time you visited.

You let it. So you’d never forget why Truth Exposer existed.

The photo’s edges were frayed, dirty, and stained with blood—your mother’s. Beneath the grime, a younger, brighter you grinned like you’d won the jackpot, clinging to both of your parents. It had been taken the day you landed the interview at that damn TV station. A year later, it was handed to you by a police officer, her eyes full of tears.

“I’m not sorry. I don’t regret dragging down bastards to give others their chance at justice.” Your fingers hovered over the photo. “You weren’t there to see the aftermath. The resignation. The bitter truth that justice wouldn’t be served the way it should. That no one cared how hard they fought. I’ve never seen people beg for the ugly truth like they did.”

Your gaze wandered to the urns. “You two…weren’t really blessed, huh? Ended up with me. Were you ever disappointed? Did you regret me?” Pressure pulled at your throat, distorting your voice. “It’s okay if you did.”

Because you did too.

“I’m trying. Really trying to live a life that doesn’t feel wasted.” Your vision blurred, and you quickly wiped at your eyes. “Whatever you wanted for me, it’s not going to happen. I’m no hero, and I sure as hell won’t marry one. Or anyone. I can’t.”

Your thumb brushed over the dried, flaky blood.

“At least, I’m filthy rich.” Hollow laughter escaped your tight chest. “And making it sound worse than it is. I’m fine. Sometimes I get lonely, even though I have Yu, but I’m fine. I’m okay.”

You returned the photo to its place and closed the niche, its quiet click a harrowing twinge in your heart.

“It is what it is. A sacrifice has to be made somewhere.”

“Self-sacrifice,” a foreign voice corrected you from behind, and you swiveled, back bumping into the niche. The man leaning against the closed double doors reached for his oversized sunglasses. “A sacrifice involves someone else.”

Every single cell in your body seized with dread as his violet eyes pinned you.

How? When?

Focus.

“Who—”

“Let’s not do that.” He dismissed your unfinished question with a lazy wave. “You know who I am. We had eye contact. For two seconds, but we did.”

You sucked in a breath through your teeth. “I really don’t know. As far as I’m concerned, you’re an intruder. Please leave.”

Takumi pushed off the door and stalked toward you, each step jolting your racing heart. Up close, you could smell and taste the danger radiating off him, as if it were woven into the very fabric of his existence, sweet and alluring.

The man himself was a vision. Open trench coat. Two-piece suit. Gleaming shoes. Confidence carved into his face. A body ripped from some glossy magazine. He probably turned heads wherever he went, bewitching everyone in his path, yet he drank you in like you were the witch, casting seduction on him.

You stepped back when his hand rose to touch your face, making his violet eyes narrow. “Leave.”

He snickered, and the sound chilled you to the core. “Looks like you need a reason to play nice. How about Dynamight loses his memories tonight?”

Claws of fear hooked into your insides at the threat, their sharp tips dipped in shocking clarity. This man…he was the reason. The mass amnesia. Bakugou’s forgetfulness.

He was. He had to be.

And he had laid hands on Bakugou.

You crossed your arms, digging your thumbs into your biceps to rein in your instinct. He’d look like a dream with a broken nose and paralyzed by your Quirk. Not a sadist by any means, but you’d devour the sight like one.

“Dynamight? The pro hero?” you asked flatly. “I have no business with him.”

“He’s your weakness.” Takumi’s predatory gaze coasted over your body like the slow drag of a knife. “And you’re one of his. It’s easy to see if you know when to look.”

Sweat gathered at the back of your neck as adrenaline spiked, drying your mouth. Unease slithered through your nerves. When meant presence.

You had to force your tongue from the roof of your mouth just to speak. “You’re mistaken. I think you’ve confused me with someone else. I don’t know Dynamight personally.”

“So you don’t mind if I wipe his brain clean?”

The metallic flavor of fear flooded your tongue, horripilation erupting over your arms and legs. His Quirk could be anywhere. You focused your gaze on the space between his brows as your mind accelerated toward a plan. Takumi was dressed from head to toe, only his hands, face, and a bit of his neck were bare.

Eyes? How would that work?

“Like I said, I don’t know Dynamight. Please leave.”

You ran the tip of your tongue over the roof of your mouth. His bare hands, maybe? You wanted to laugh. Was this creep stupid? His fingerprints would be—No. They wouldn’t be.

Gulping the lump in your throat, you rolled your shoulders, spine popping, and clasped your hands behind your back. Your thumb slipped under your sleeve. Nail dug hard into flesh. One small, deep scratch.

Maybe you’d remember.

“Planning how to deal with me, darling? You have this look in your eye.”

He had one too. An intelligent glint, twinkling with the anticipation of you slipping.

“It was the sports car, wasn’t it?” You took a bold step forward. “Butt-hurt villain stumbles upon a rich person and cooks up a plan.” Scoffed. “I know my tires have a crisscross on them, but that doesn’t make me Dynamight’s fan.”

Takumi chuckled and mirrored your earlier movement, gait confident. “You can never be his fan because you’re more. So much more. Here’s a little spoiler for you,” he said. “Blondie wants you. With his dick or heart, who knows? But he wants you.” His tone dipped to mock-sympathy. “Tragic, really. Pro hero falling for a vigilante? Fucked from the start. Though, I guess that’s still better than hero and villain.”

Even if you wanted to, you couldn’t calm your heart. Each harsh beat felt like a mini explosion going off in your sternum, the shockwave imbued with disbelief that adhered to that soft spot for him, making it an affliction without escape.

And you hated the candid joy blooming deep inside, spreading its hopeful roots far and wide.

This wasn’t right. This was yet another tragedy waiting to happen. You wouldn’t be a willing participant.

“You sound jealous. Been rejected recently? Or is it Dynamight?” Your hands gave up their mission, moving stiffly to cover your mouth as you faked a gasp. “Are you crushing on him?”

Takumi keeled over, laughing to his wicked heart’s content, the sound echoing with enough madness to make you question if he was sane.

Probably not.

There was something deranged in that laughter. Something unraveling at the edges.

When he lunged, slamming you into the wall beside your parents’ niche, hand clamped around your throat, you didn’t flinch. Zero surprise. Zero panic. Nothing for him to read and use against you to further whatever interest he had in you.

Click went off in your head like the safety of a gun. Dread crawled over your perspired flesh, leaving a trail of nightmares in which this unhinged creep was the main character. His business was with you, but he knew too much for it to be a coincidence.

A stalker?

He could be, and damn flawless at it. Easy for him to get away with the crime. Who would accuse him if no one remembered?

“Just so you know, I have insurance on my body. Leave a mark, and you won’t be just butt-hurt. You’ll be butt-whipped and broke.” You kept your tone dry, cemented in the unimpressed role you were playing. “No more two-piece suits for you. You’ll be lucky to afford a shirt and pants.”

Your memory, up until now, was reliable, right? Complete?

His hand closed around your windpipe until your lips parted for a mouthful of air, then eased up. “Crushing on Blondie? Please. There’s no lifetime where I’d personally care about him. Fortunate for him that you do.”

“For the last time—”

“Hurry up and find your way in, Truth Exposer.” His thumb bore down on your pulse. “I want us to meet. I want to watch you play. I want to see the chaos you’ll bring.”

Violet irises glowed with an eerie light.

No was expelled from your mouth as you tried to kick him off, but he read it, anticipated it. Takumi flipped you around and slammed you face-first into the wall, clamping down hard on your wrists.

“It’d be too boring if you remember our little chat. We can’t have that,” he whispered against your ear, inhaling you. “You’re smart. You’ll figure it out, Truthie.”

“Fuck you,” you snarled, thrashing in his hold, and felt him smile.

“Trust your instinct. Who knows? It might be your soul remembering this.”

“No—”

Chapter Text

“How in the world am I supposed to find this guy?” You stopped in the middle of the shady red-light district, hands on your hips. “He could be anywhere.”

“He likes alcohol and women, so…” Ayumu’s voice crackled through your earpiece. You could almost see him scratching his scalp like that might shake out an idea. “Maybe start with the back alleys? Ask around? Eavesdrop?”

Your gaze slid to the side, landing on a narrow alley near a hostess bar, lit by spasming pink neon lights. Flies buzzed in the glow above heaps of trash and dubious puddles. Your insides shriveled at the faint odor wafting from the alley into the cool evening air, but you dragged your feet toward it, pulling your mask higher over your nose. Pointless. The stench of rot, alcohol, sweat, and other things you refused to name assaulted your nostrils through the fabric.

“Can’t we just hire someone to find the guy while I go home?” you whined.

“Is it that bad?”

“Why don’t you come here and find out?”

Ayumu made a gagging noise. “No thanks. You’ve got this!”

Grimacing, you sidestepped a murky puddle and sneaked behind the building. “Can’t believe I’m doing this.”

“I hope you got enough cash on you.”

“I do, but maybe I’ll try charm first—” You ate up your own words as the hairs on the back of your neck stood on end.

“What’s—”

“Shh.”

You slowly turned to confront whatever was putting your instincts through the wringer. Nothing, just your shadow and the many insects dancing over garbage. You glanced up discreetly, eyes tracing the moonlit edges of the rooftops. No movement.

Odd.

The air seemed to hold its own breath, fearful of an invisible presence.

“It’s nothing,” you muttered, unconsciously clasping your forearm, pressing hard on the healing scratch you couldn’t remember getting. “I’m being paranoid, or something. Moving on.”

You were. Ever since visiting your parents, you’d felt off. It wasn’t unusual, as grief had a way of messing with your mind, but the scratch on your forearm was. That was new. Probably happened when you fainted, bumping your arm against the edge of the niche.

Because you had blacked out. Most likely from a mix of heavy incense, the suffocating mood in the room, and the terrible sleep you’d been getting. When you came back to yourself, you were sprawled on the floor, and your head felt like it was being split open.

Lingering for a moment longer, you turned your attention to the long strip of pavement between the towering buildings and the few people ahead, mingling under the crepuscular glow of the alleyway. Shaking off the feeling of being hunted, you reached into your jacket pocket for the printed photo of your target and took cautious strides forward.

Your target was none other than Lakki Café’s former chef. He’d worked there from the early days until this spring, when he quit without explanation. Since then, his life had gone into a steep downward spiral, the descent so fast that you and Ayumu both agreed it was too sudden to be a case of ridiculous bad luck.

Especially after a supposed accident left him with permanent amnesia.

You schooled your expression into something stoic and began asking the magic question: “Have you seen this man?” You observed each face, ears tuned to any hesitation or shift in breath.

Almost two hours later, and nothing. No one had seen him, and you hadn’t spotted anyone even remotely resembling him. Back alleys, bar entrances, side streets—you scoured them all.

Irritation simmered deep in your gut as you glared at the photo. His appearance might’ve changed, but not that much. Unless he got plastic surgery.

“So it’s come to that,” Ayumu said, his discontent not helping yours.

“Mhm.” You leaned against the back of the bench, knee bouncing as you rescanned the area. “Make sure it’s the shadiest, most notorious club, bar—whatever fits the bill.”

“I’m gonna hate sending you in there,” he muttered. “On it.”

The clicking of Ayumu’s keyboard was the only sound easing your tension, cutting through the bass-boosted club beats blaring from nearby bars, drunken shouts, and crass laughter. If you focused on it long enough, it might even drown out the fool puking somewhere behind you, and the not-so-subtle moans of the couple going at it behind the dumpster across from you. They thought they were sneaky. They weren’t.

Laughter bubbled up from your belly at the sheer ridiculousness of it all. Some balloons here, a few more there, a couple extra splashes of color, maybe a confetti cannon or two, and voilà—this could be your dream gig: ringmaster of your very own circus.

Truth Exposer? They should call you Clown Puppeteer instead.

You removed your mask and stuffed it in your pocket, instantly regretting it. The delightfully perfumed air had your nose crying for mercy. And you nearly sobbed in relief when Ayumu finally gave you names, along with a suggestion on where to start.

“Yeah, okay. That nightclub definitely fits,” you deadpanned, surveying the building like it offended your sense of taste. Its entrance, decked out with a colorful banner promising free booze from 10 p.m. to midnight, blazed with the street’s most obnoxious LED logo. Outside, a long line of people inched forward at a snail’s pace.

Waiting to get in? That couldn’t be you.

“Apparently, it’s run by a gangster. For the love of, please stay out of trouble.”

“No promises. Later.”

With your earpiece joining your mask in your pocket and your phone switched off, you sashayed toward the nightclub, determined to bribe your way in. Time was of the essence; screw the queue.

The bouncer’s thick neck craned in your direction, his dark, beady eyes sharpening as he noticed you walking straight toward him instead of joining the line like everyone else.

“Queue starts there,” he said, motioning mechanically to the end of the line. Then he widened his stance and crossed his arms, which you eyed with interest.

You’d bet one of your secrets that this gym-rat-looking man didn’t just lift heavy to get those pumped-up muscles. One smack from him, and K.O. would be your fate. Still, he probably wouldn’t mind bending the rules for someone who preened his ego.

You forced a flirty expression to take over your face—sultry smile, foxy eyes. “Can’t you make an exception?”

“No exceptions. Get in line.”

“Are you sure?” You pinched your jacket’s zipper and dragged it down, subtly teasing him, revealing the top beneath. From between your breasts, you drew out a tight roll of bills, holding it between two fingers. “I’m happy to sweeten the deal. If it gets me in right away, of course.”

He ogled the money, then your chest, as the people in the line started to complain, a few even bitching at you directly. Your smile stretched wider. If he asked you to flash him, his balls would have a date with your knee before you made a run for it.

He cocked his head, a sleazy grin curling at his lips. “A pic of those tits, and we got a deal. Squeeze them together.” He extended his phone toward you.

“One titty pic coming right up,” you chirped, trading the cash for his phone, your fingers intentionally grazing his thick ones. Clown Puppeteer clowning her puppets. An acting award would be in order; your expression stayed flirty, suggestive, even as your stomach turned.

“Running low on good material?” you teased as you opened the front camera and angled the phone.

“Willing to provide more?”

“Depends on what I get in return.” You pulled your top lower, pressed an arm beneath your breasts, and posed. The flash went off. A spectacular shot of the overflowing trash can behind you was now saved in his phone’s memory. “There we go. Let me through first, and you’ll get your phone back. Maybe with a little extra, like my number?”

He licked his lips before stepping aside, openly raking his heated gaze over your body. Maybe his gray matter was what went into those muscles because it sure wasn’t in his head.

You brushed past him with a wink, tossed him the phone, and bolted for the club’s heart.

The interior was smaller than you anticipated, but it made up for it with three floors, the highest of which housed the VIP area. In the center, the dance floor pulsed with sweaty bodies, swaying and grinding under laser-like lights to the sensual beat. To one side, tables were packed with groups of people, their surfaces cluttered with alcohol bottles and half-empty glasses. The other side belonged to the busy bar.

Now this was the kind of environment you died to be in. Was the way you came from the only exit? You pressed the heel of your palm to your temple. Barely a minute in, and your head was already pounding with the bass.

You weaved through the strangers, pushing through the sensory torture. Outside was bad, but in here was worse. The air was thick with alcohol vapors, sweat, cheap perfume, and people’s natural odor, and it was hot too. Like summer never left, trapped between these dark walls.

By the time you reached the bar, sweat had already slicked your back in a sticky sheen.

Claiming one of the bar stools, you rested your elbow on the counter and rubbed your fingers together, waiting for the bartender to finish dealing with the drunk guy beside you.

“More!” the man barked, slamming his fist on the bar. “I got money. Lots of money,” he slurred, obviously a guy who lacked the notion of limit. He was so wasted, you could almost name the alcohol on his breath.

“I apologize, sir, but that’s not possible. You’ve reached your quota for the day,” the bartender shouted politely over the music.

Hard to argue with the denial. The guy was swaying on his feet, his upper body slumped over the bar like a sandbag. He flailed, trying to grab the bartender, who stepped just out of reach, his brows pulling into a frown.

“Can’t you get someone to deal with him?” you asked, gesturing toward the drunk.

The bartender’s gaze slid to you, his frown deepening as he stepped in front of you. “What can I get you?”

“An answer, hopefully.” His brow twitched up. You took out the former chef’s photo and set it on the counter. “Have you seen him around?”

“What’s your business with him?” he asked, caution glinting in his eyes.

Bingo.

“He’s my father.” You pressed a hand to your chest like the weight of the words physically hurt. “I lost contact with him a few months ago. I’ve been looking everywhere ever since.” Your voice softened as you leaned in slightly. “Please…if you know anything that can help me, I’d really appreciate it. The price doesn’t matter.”

Seconds danced away to the rhythmic beats of the music. Your heart eventually joined in, pounding harder and harder as the bartender scrutinized you like you were here to blow the place up. He squinted at every visible pore, line, and angle of your face, searching for the resemblance between father and daughter.

Your features didn’t exactly scream “related”—you’d planned to chalk it up to taking after your “mother.” But the wig’s color and your contact lenses were a perfect match to the former chef’s.

It wasn’t long before his critical examination started to irritate you. You played your next card.

Your mind hurtled itself into the past, sifting through the mountain of misery to pull a few moments cutting enough to slice your composure.

You remembered waking up after your Quirk first manifested in a hospital bed, hooked to machines. Your mother was wrecked by sobs, your father holding her from crumbling to the floor as the doctor explained they had to keep you longer, worried you might slip into another shock. Another temporary death. And you did exactly that. Panicked so hard you couldn’t breathe, terrified your Quirk might trigger again.

You remembered the day you clawed through rubble, desperate to find them. You’d used your Quirk again and again until noise felt like knives stabbing into your skull, forcing your body to pass out just to protect itself.

Ever so slowly, your eyes began to well. Your throat tightened. Your nose grew stuffy. You sniffed, pressing a hand to your mouth as a whimper pushed past your lips.

The first tear fell. Then the second.

Memories morphed into a lie. The lie dressed in truth.

“P-please. I need to see him. I need to know he’s okay.” A sob tore from your chest. “I can’t keep living like this. Please…just tell me.”

The bartender’s expression softened, but that wasn’t enough. You wanted him melted into a puddle of pity, so he wouldn’t second-guess his own words.

You placed your hand over his gloved one, letting a subtle tremor run through your fingers, and perfected your expression into the saddest, most grief-stricken look you could muster. Eyes wet, lashes heavy, you peered up at him like someone on the verge of falling apart. He’d do well to give you information, not a hug.

The bartender exhaled slowly, and you saw it—the exact moment he gave in. Not even the drunk on the next stool seemed to matter anymore.

“He’s working for my boss. But you’ll have to ask him for more details.” He offered you a weak smile and gave your hand a brief, comforting squeeze before turning to grab a bottle from the shelf behind him. “Get him a glass of this. He’ll know you’re here to discuss business.”

You flicked your eyes to the bottle. The boss liked expensive liquor. Really expensive liquor. “I’ll b-buy the whole bottle.”

“You will?” The bartender’s eyes grew wide in surprise. “It’s pricey.”

“The whole bottle, please,” you insisted, putting force behind your voice.

Before you were tempted to flip the script, you got what you wanted and climbed the stairs to the third floor to meet the boss—probably the gangster Ayumu mentioned—choking the bottle’s neck.

The good news? Your target was alive and kicking.

The bad news? Whatever waited in the room with the boss. You could only hope he kept minimal company. Things were bound to go sideways with people like him.

Your free hand drifted to your inner pocket, checking for the custom EpiPen. Still there. Just in case.

Two security guards blocked your path as you reached the top of the stairs.

“Area’s off-limits,” one of them said. “Leave.”

You raised the expensive liquor bottle. “I’m here to talk business with your boss.”

They both burst out laughing, mouths twisting with mockery. As much as you wanted to play nice, their vibe practically begged for a label. Dumb and Dumber, it was.

“What kind of business would that be, cutie?” the other—whom you’d tagged as Dumber—asked, swaggering into your space.

“Are you the boss?”

“If I say I am, are you gonna give me your,” he gave you a lecherous once-over, “time?”

A solid kick to the balls, a rearranged nose, or a firsthand experience with your Quirk were the only things on the menu. For him, or his buddy, or both. They seemed to be friends; it was only fair that they went down together.

“I’d be too busy questioning why you’re out here guarding the door like a good dog, instead of inside partying like the boss you claim to be. So, no.”

Dumb whistled, smacking his hands together like an excited seal. “Shit, man. She’s got a mouth on her.” His grin twisted into something uglier. “Boss likes them like that. Let her through.”

You pushed open the double doors and felt your blood pressure drop. Two shady-looking men lounged with scantily clad women in their laps, cigars burning and shots disappearing down their thick throats. Your stomach curdled at the sight, but it was the smell, laced with sex and musk, that made your skin crawl. Oh, the joy of the city’s darker corners and the dubious businesses thriving in its underbelly.

“Hah?! Who the fuck? Our new bitch?” The fucker who noticed you first had a buzz cut and barely fit in his seat. His lustful stare locked on your face as he crooked a finger. “C’mere. I got something nice for ya.”

Disgust exploded in every cell. Through sheer will, you managed to suppress a shudder and make a face at this pig. If the boss had the same attitude, there wasn’t a chance in hell you’d leave this place without getting into trouble first.

“You’re not the boss.”

He glanced at his companion, then squinted at you. “What makes ya think that?”

“Someone’s expensive tastes tend to show in the way they talk and behave.”

He shoved himself out of his seat, the woman in his lap squeaking like a rat cornered in a cage. She stumbled on her peep-toe heels and fell hard to the shiny floor. The thud of her bony knees made you wince.

Buzz Cut’s nostrils flared, his round face turning a worrisome shade of red. He opened his mouth, but when the words failed him, he stomped toward you. Four steps in, and a hoarse voice cut in from across the room.

“Sit down before you make a bigger fool of yourself.”

You’d bet this was the boss.

Casual-formal outfit. Hair gelled stiff. Confident strides that screamed ownership, and a calculated glint in his gray eyes. Oh, and the faint outline of a four-leaf clover tattoo on his neck. White ink, maybe?

Behind him, two women staggered out, mascara running, lipstick smeared across their mouths. They looked… happy. Satisfied. A dazed kind of bliss that had you glancing at the table again, scanning for the source of their joy. Not alcohol, you’d guess. Something different. More illegal, but suited for the context.

“Apologies, missy, for my guys’ lack of manners,” he said, adjusting his leather belt. “To what do I owe this pleasure?”

“I’m looking for my father.” You stepped forward, set both the photo and the expensive liquor on the cluttered table. “I was told you know where he is.”

A wild grin broke across his face at the sight of the bottle. You couldn’t help the slight jaw-drop as he bowed, multiple times, quick and eager, then skipped like a child on Christmas morning to snatch the bottle and plant a kiss on its thin, glassy neck.

Your job had its absurd moments, but today was taking the whole damn cake. First the bouncer, then Dumb and Dumber, and now this wannabe boss with what appeared to be an alcohol kink.

You rubbed the back of your neck, working out some of the tension, and sighed. What a fucking circus.

“Ah, my favorite baby! And a whole bottle too.” The wannabe boss beamed, hugging the liquor to his chest. “Tell me, gorgeous missy, how can I be of assistance? Think of me as your humble servant.”

He could start by helping himself to a doctor.

“Can you tell me where my father is?” you asked the magic question, curious how fast he’d backpedal on that whole humble servant act. Seconds? Minutes?

“Running an errand for me at the Lovers Den,” he said, stroking the bottle like a cherished lover.

“What?”

“Hmm?” His gray eyes lifted to yours, and alarm bells clanged in your skull. Something slithered beneath his lax attitude, something that smiled with too many teeth. He snapped his fingers. “I see! You thought I was gonna drag this out like a cliché villain, huh?”

You stared at that wickedness for a second too long before easing toward the exit, forcing a laugh. “No. Just surprised by your honesty. I appreciate it,” you said as he picked up one of the thick cigars from the table. “Thank you—”

A sudden pinch in your thigh cut the words short.

“Your father has only two sons. No daughter. Not even from some mistress.” He tossed the fake cigar over his shoulder and perched on the edge of the table, legs spread. “I know everything about my men. And my men don’t lie. They understand the value of life.”

You gulped and reached for the object in your thigh, fingers closing around it with a restrained tremble. When you pulled it free, your breath escaped in a huff.

A small needle attached to an elongated, now-empty vial.

Bits of your mask crumbled. Your heart galloped, as if trying to outrun the strange dullness encroaching on your senses. You’d accounted for your story falling apart, but not this.

“Don’t worry, missy. Just a little something to even the playing field,” he said smoothly. “No offense, but my men’s lives are in my hands. It’s my job to protect them from threats.”

“I’m a threat?” you scoffed as panic surged like a furious wave. “If I were, wouldn’t I have stormed this place instead? Made a ruckus?”

“You’re targeting someone who’s keeping a very low profile, and I’ve got a few ideas why.” He pointed at you, lazily circling his finger in the air. “You’re a threat. So here’s how this goes.” His grin didn’t reach his steely eyes. “You can be well-mannered, like me, and tell the truth. Or you can deal with the consequences. Either way, I’ll get it out of you.”

“Hmm. And what kind of consequences would that be?”

“Look at them.” He gestured to the dazed women. “You’ll be joining their little club. Unless…your Quirk’s interesting. You do have one, don’t you?”

The pause that followed was loud with implication. You let it bang against the walls of your mind, using those precious seconds to brace yourself for a failed escape. Luck seriously had a twisted sense of humor. Today, it cackled like a witch unleashing her most powerful, most destructive curse.

You dropped the dart on the glossy floor and crushed it under your heel. “I don’t know. Isn’t that your job too? To figure it out.” Your hand eased into your jacket’s inner pocket. “I’m sure you could use the mental exercise to stay sharp while quality-checking the goods before delivery. Is she paying well?”

His gray eyes flared with excitement. Suddenly, you were just as interesting as his beloved liquor bottle. “Who are you?”

A dry chuckle spilled from your mouth. “Damn it, Boss. I thought you said you weren’t like a cliché villain, but then you go and ask me that question?” You shook your head, jabbing the EpiPen into your thigh. “Disappointing.”

Adrenaline tore through your veins, banishing panic and setting your nerves ablaze with wild euphoria. Your senses snapped back into razor focus. Your instinct turned feral, famished for a fight.

His ugly, arrogant laugh grated in your ears. “I’m starting to like you,” he said, then dropped his gaze to your thigh. “What’s that you just injected?”

“A little something to even the playing field.”

The little something your escape hinged on.

Your Quirk…

You couldn’t feel it.

It wasn’t there.

Chapter Text

“Impressive,” the wannabe boss sneered, leaning over you, his filthy blood dripping on your cheek from his brow. Tobacco smoke curled from his mouth. “But I’ll break you, missy.” His thumb dragged agonizingly slow over your busted lip, sending a sharp sting through every raw nerve. “Tell me. How close are you to giving up?”

You flailed like a helpless fish on an abandoned beach, surrounded by glass shards, spilled alcohol, and crushed cigars. You jerked your arms and legs against the leather belts, each held tight in the fists of this weirdo’s lackeys. Pinning you down to the table and restraining you were the first things they’d done after subduing you like an animal.

Smart.

Because the broken bottle you’d shattered on their boss’s head would've pierced someone’s flesh.

The woman straddling your thighs yelped at your thrashing fury and slammed a hand down on your chest to steady herself, knocking the breath from your lungs.

Snickering filled the room in a chorus of mockery and taunts. The damn pig enjoyed your struggle the most. Probably getting off on it too.

“You could skin me alive, and I wouldn’t even flinch,” you snarled through the blood pooling on your tongue, then spat it in his face. “You’re pathetic. Is this all you’ve got?”

“Hold her head,” the boss ordered one of the women seated on the couch, watching. Then he took the hand of the one straddling you and twisted the ring on her finger, so the chunky stone faced down. “Slap her. Don’t stop until I say so.”

Hands gripped your skull. The silver ring glinted ominously before she raised her hand and struck, putting her pitiful strength into it. No remorse. No fear. Just glassy eyes and obedience.

She whimpered as pain cramped her palm. Honestly, the sound hurt more than the slap.

You focused on the tragic emptiness of her gaze, timing your inhales to the impact, exhales to the brief pause between them. Your facial muscles quivered. Your cheek felt wet. The ring’s gem must’ve split the skin. Damn blood, it was trickling into your ear.

Again. Again. Again.

“Stop.” The wannabe boss caught the woman’s arm and shoved the other woman away. “One last one,” he said softly. “Put your everything in it.”

You served her a bloody smile. “You heard him. Do your best.”

She did. So hard your head snapped to the side, one quiet gasp hightailing it from your throat. Static crept into your vision, and for a moment, you saw triple. You spat the blood once more, starting to hate the coppery sting on your tongue.

“Feeling like being a good girl now?” The wannabe boss bent to catch your eyes. “Ready to tell me everything?”

You licked the sanguine drops from your lips and swallowed loudly. “No, but here’s a tip.” You raised your head, inching closer to his face. “Kill me, and your boss will find out you robbed her of a jackpot. My Quirk is perfect for her business, you see.”

He snorted. “We move on to bluffing now?”

“I walked in here all by myself. Would I do that without a worthy bargaining chip?”

“Negotiation?” he muttered, straightening as he began to pace, humming to himself.

You blinked the blurriness away and tunneled your mind into the facts, into the cold-blooded logic of your situation, into the silent confirmation this idiot had just handed you on a silver platter.

Your Quirk wasn’t gone, but temporarily suppressed by whatever was in that dart. It had been thirty minutes since then.

“I’m not a fan,” the wannabe boss said, then slammed his hands down beside your head, rattling the glass shards scattered on the table. “But I’ll do it, if you entertain us for the rest of the night. Break, missy, and I’ll change my mind.”

Your Quirk should return soon. So by the time it did, these losers would be fully convinced you weren’t a threat anymore. You needed that. You needed them to let their guard down—unbuckle a belt, loosen their grip, make one mistake.

You inhaled deeply, then ever so slowly exhaled through your mouth.

Fake it…until you make it.

“Alright. Deal,” you replied dryly. The first flicker of surprise cracked across his face. “Go on. Continue.”

While they got off on your torture, you’d bide your time. You could do it. You could endure it. That young girl still holding fort inside you survived six years of torture; you’d never dare undermine that by fracturing at the hands of rotten scum.

Besides, Ayumu would worry if you vanished like this. And you had a Quirk trafficking ring to dismantle.

In all honesty, you should’ve already considered what would happen if you were taken out of the picture before you ventured down this path. Ayumu wouldn’t be able to handle the situation alone, and the authorities would fumble through their protocols.

You needed something, or someone.

“I want her arms bare.”

Bakugou. 

He could be that someone. This situation was deeply personal for him, so he’d pick it up right where you left off.

Unless he was involved.

Ignoring the cold pressure of a blade sliding under your sleeve, you closed your eyes with a sigh and let go, fully embracing the quiet of the world. This might be your only chance to experience life through a dimmer lens, like everyone else.

How weird. Abnormal. The nuances were missing.

You decided you didn’t like it.

Incomplete, like a roughly outlined sketch, like a story told halfway.

You peeked through your heavy lashes as your head lolled to the side. Red pooled lazily under your cheek, trickling off the table’s edge. Unhurried.

The smell and taste of iron spiced the air. Faint. So delicate, your drained heart startled at the anomaly.

The spotlights overhead reflected off the crimson surface, tiny, luminous dots. 

More glitter than stars. 

Beautiful, but somehow wrong.

Something twinkled, and it took your brain a moment to register what it was. The wannabe boss waved a pocket knife in your face, then licked its pristine tip as if a bead of your essence was right there. His mouth moved, spewing a string of words you refused to hear, your insides revolving that his vile saliva would soon invade your bloodstream.

On and on, his blabbering continued on mute.

Your lack of reaction seemed to piss him off, but didn’t he realize the game was one-sided from the start? You agreed to be the board, not the player, too. Would’ve been if the level weren’t mediocre to the marrow. 

Damn his face. Could it disappear? Too close, and reeking of alcohol and ash.

A smoking hand appeared out of nowhere, clamped around the loser’s throat, and yanked his stupid face away. You couldn’t help the burst of stunned laughter that escaped you. Incredible. Were you just granted a wish?

The table vibrated, and your body shook with it, but the intensity left much to be desired. Your brows furrowed when it didn’t happen again. Anticlimactic.

Shadows flashed on the wall in front of you, their silhouettes caught in the red, sparkly splash beneath your cheek. They moved fast. In a blur.

Fell.  

One was left standing.

More red entered your vision. A different kind. Different shade.

Pleasant warmth pressed against the sides of your face, gently lifting your head, the touch humid. Summer kissing your skin.

The red moved with urgency, hypnotizing you with its perfect hue and the rosy flecks surfacing from its depths whenever light dared to venture in.

And it had a voice.

It said your name, the one your parents gave you.

How?

You looked nothing like yourself right now. Your disguise was flawless. But the voice, rough and strained, carried anguish. Haunted notes that trembled in your ear, stirring something in your voluntary dormancy. Something that felt just like the thing that always messed with your heartstrings when he was involved.

That thing lived because he did. That thing loved his existence more than it did your own. That thing inscribed his name onto itself and chanted it like sacred gospel, worshiping despite the war you brought to its border.

Bakugou Katsuki.

Bakugou fucking Katsuki.

Katsuki. 

Katsuki. 

Katsuki.

Maker. Ruler. Ender. 

The force behind your void. The reason wishes were obsolete. The denied truth you breathed in and out every day like a drug, getting high on doomed vapors.

“Fuck, just…leave me alone,” you murmured, getting fed up with him popping up uninvited in your head. You had to play your cards right, trick these losers and escape, not hallucinate Katsuki.

“Never.” The red kindled with relief, and you felt the light taps on your uninjured cheek. “Come back to me. C’mon.”

As you slowly blinked, a resigned smile crested on your face. The illusion spoke. It must’ve been pretty what the losers were doing.

“Oi.” Another round of gentle smacks. Your nose wrinkled at the insistence. Something wet pressed against your already sweaty forehead. Something hot brushed your lips. “For their sake, snap outta it, Truthie. Need you to stop me.”

A plea and a threat wrapped into a murmur that drifted into your ear, but it was his nickname for you that fractured the fantasy. And somehow, as part of the cosmos's joke and its love for timing, the curse lifted off your senses too.

Everything exploded at once. Your body, your mind, your heart seized in tandem, and you sucked in a breath like it was the very first one. Torrid pain devastated your nerves as your senses reconnected to maximum capacity to the world, but it barely registered.

Katsuki was here, in the flesh. Hunched over your body, nose to nose with you, staring from under his black cap with the kind of look you’d only ever seen in movies when people found each other again. When time suspended, and space surrendered, so the moment belonged to them and them alone.

You’re here, you wanted to say, but your throat remained tight as air wheezed in and out of your lungs.

You were still disoriented, struggling to catch your breath, when instinct fired before thought. Adrenaline pounced on your nerves, a rabid beast that knocked Katsuki aside, pulled you off the table, and hurled you at the loser who aimed his knife at the one man you’d probably tear the world apart for.

Sweat and blood drizzled from your face onto the wannabe boss’s frozen as you straddled him, breath ragged, fingers digging into his wobbling jaw—Katsuki’s work, you assumed. Your heart pounded, each beat like a punch into your ribs, and you swallowed hard, twice in quick succession. A pained hiss slipped out with the second.

Angered voices, like a riot, sounded in the hostile air. Boots stormed into the room. There were shouts and accusations and threats, one more frenetic than the other. Rapid stomping as a large shadow fell over you, followed by a series of grunts and thumps that sent a violent shiver down your spine.

Your fingers unfurled from the wannabe boss’s throat as the double doors slammed shut and locked with a click, and you stood, swaying on your feet. An arm came around your waist, pulling you flush into another body, taut with tension, primed for fight, and radiating heat like a furnace.

Katsuki.

Katsuki? When did he stop being Bakugou in your head?

You twisted to look at him, and your knees gave in as reality burrowed deeper. “You’re h-here. And…and you—you saved me. Actually saved me.” 

Hiding that disbelief wasn’t possible when it changed things. He knew who you were, so…if he were a villain, working with Miyuki under Madam, wouldn’t he have joined that loser to break you? Wouldn’t he have made sure you could never escape?

“‘Course I did. How’s that a surprise?” His chest rose as he inhaled. Caved in on the long sigh he let out. “We ain’t got time. You trust me?”

Your eyes fell to his hands, to his bloodied knuckles and the faint smoke curling over them as beads of sweat dripped to the shiny floor from his fingertips. It wasn’t just you he could snap in two, bare hands or Quirk, but whatever he wanted. Destruction lived under his skin, chained by the mass of muscles and mental fortitude, redefined to serve the good, the right, the just.

“Can I?”

Katsuki was undoubtedly flawed, but the roots of his heart had to be sublime. You wanted to believe that.

“Yeah. Yeah, you can.” The back of his hand tipped your chin up, so you had no choice but to meet the promise packed in his stare, resolute against the backdrop of muffled screams and thudding fists. “Not a single one of those bastards gets a breath in your direction anymore. Mark my word, Truthie.”

The double doors burst open, and the boss’s minions rolled in.

How wonderful reassurance was when it came from him, but it bore down on your chest, and you couldn’t breathe under that weight. Shame overruled the frail desire to accept his protection. You failed by not being quicker on your feet, by not fighting smarter, by not reading body language better, by not expecting their women to join the fray.

By not being stronger.

You smiled, though it didn’t strain your cheeks, didn’t crinkle your eyes, and stepped around him, squeezing his forearm in passing. You wouldn’t be a liability, let alone his.

“What are you—”

But you were already on the move, snatching a metal rod out of a minion’s hand and slapping another into rigor mortis.

“Trusting you to have my back.” Your voice rang clear, steady, even as pain swarmed your insides like a hive of furious wasps. It doesn’t hurt. It really doesn’t. “This is my mess. I’m not letting you fight it alone.” 

“What the hell? You outta your mind?” Katsuki’s indignation followed you out of the VIP room. He was at your side, blasting a point-blank, controlled explosion in a minion’s face. “You ain’t in any state to fight. The only reason you’re even movin’ is adrenaline.”

Your Quirk found its next target, paralyzing his nervous system. “I don’t care.” You whacked the guy closing in from the side with the metal rod, then glided past him, hand brushing his stubbled face. “I’m no damsel.”

“Who said that? Goddamn it, woman!” Katsuki’s elbow crashed into a temple, fast and ruthless, as if to emphasize his rising rage. “Can’t you let me deal with it? I got you, for fuck’s sake. You know I do.”

“And I got you! What of it?” A trickle of blood snaked into your mouth from your nose. You wiped it away. “It’s either together, or you stand the fuck down and watch.”

The snarl that tore free from his chest couldn’t be described as human, stunning both you and the wannabe boss’s lackeys. 

“Then I gotta finish ‘em off before you can get close.”

You gasped when he roughly grabbed your upper arm and shoved you behind him, making your legs trip over each other. Your back hit the door frame of the VIP room with a sickening thud, and you groaned at the lightning pain zapping your spine.

“Over my dead fuckin’ body you fight in here.”

You had no time to react. Light exploded from between his hands, blinding everyone within a radius. A beat later, a high-pitched roar tore through the club, like a jet engine taking off. Your ears rang. Disorientation rammed into your skull. And so, you were benched.

Forced on the sideline because he couldn’t handle fighting beside you, apparently. Damn bull-headed bastard said fuck no and chose to kick you out of the mess you willingly walked into.

Did he think you were weak? Or maybe he just didn’t trust you to watch his back. Or was it something else entirely?

When clarity returned, you heard the panicked screams, the pained shouts, the pleading groans. Thick clouds of smoke rose to the ceiling, carrying his scent. You shoved off the door frame, pulse thundering, and staggered to the railing, wincing as your body reminded you of its state.

Below, people ran for the exit.

Then there was him.

On the first floor, Katsuki drove his boot straight into someone’s gut, knocking the guy into another. They tumbled down the stairs, their grunts drifting upward like the heat wave left by his Quirk.

He jumped down, landing clean on his feet, and prowled five steps forward before stopping. Looked around. Scrutinized the men left standing.

Unimpressed.

His expression was the epitome of a wasteland.

“Who’s next?” He didn’t need to yell. 

The music had stopped. The lights no longer danced. The nightclub was buried in lethal silence. A graveyard created out of your shameful failure and his raging stubbornness.

Your fingers clung to the railing, stiff with everything you shouldn’t be feeling. 

Fascination with the way he carved a path all by himself, conquering both through action and presence. Those who weren’t unconscious, or close to it, gave him a wide berth. Maybe they knew who he was, maybe they didn’t. But instinct understood: the smart move was to distance.

An insistent flutter that started in your stomach and moved. Lower, between your unsteady legs. Higher, in the center of your heart. Around you, riding the violent atmosphere where you were untouchable because he wouldn’t allow it.

The taboo of your connection when his gaze dragged up to nonchalantly meet yours.

You weren’t aware of your knees giving out, crumpling to the floor in a heap of ragged breaths and full body shivers. Only of your mind trying to make sense of the last few minutes.

This was the inevitable consequence of meeting face to face, and to you, it was clear as day that Katsuki had no intention of returning to the time before. If you tried, he would search relentlessly until he found you. Chase until he caught you.

Which was exactly what you’d wanted—Dynamight’s sole target to be you—but under different circumstances. These weren’t it.

It no longer mattered what fueled him. It no longer mattered that he’d drifted from the imposed rules. Katsuki being here meant one thing.

“You little bitch.” A harsh voice slurred behind you, from the VIP room. “Got in here and ruined the business. Did this to me!”

He’d poked the vipers’ nest, putting himself in danger that demanded you dive in headfirst, and let them inject the lethal poison into your veins instead. You were the one who stirred them in the first place, anyway.

That same voice bellowed again, swinging between threats to make you regret everything and promises to kill you because even your dead body, apparently, still had its uses. All while its owner remained oblivious to the vicious menace below. 

Locked. Loaded. And with liquid nitrogen for blood.

Boom.

The wannabe boss sounded like he was wheezing and choking at the same time. You dared a look over your shoulder. His body was splayed on the floor, with Katsuki’s boot planted firmly on his sternum.

“It’s not worth it,” you intervened before Katsuki got any ideas. “Let’s go.”

You grabbed the railing and tried to stand. He clicked his tongue and marched toward you, steps heavy, angry. Then he scooped you into his arms.

“Don’t argue. Not a good idea to push me right now.”

“I won’t.”

“Good.” He turned for the stairs as you looped your arms around his neck, forehead resting against his jaw. “Just so we’re clear, you’re in deep shit. I don’t care about your excuses or lies. You’re gonna give me the truth, even if I gotta force it outta you.”

Your hand fisted into his sweaty, heat-soaked hoodie, and you hated how the damp sensation was perceived as comfort, safety, and something else you wouldn’t dare name. How your body relaxed at feeling his powerful heartbeats. How the urge to touch him in ways that would feed your very soul surged as adrenaline ebbed.

Hands in his hair. Fingertips on his scars. Nose along his jaw. Mouth at his pulse.

Tremors rocked your body—equal parts the forbidden thought and the aftermath of what had just transpired—and you bit your tongue to hold back the pathetic whimper clawing its way up your throat.

It doesn’t hurt.

But it did.

Your face throbbed, the wound on your cheek pulsing white-hot. Your muscles ached from overuse and forced restraint. Your head felt trapped between two steel plates, the pressure steadily building.

And your heart. Your bruised, stupid heart lamented under the weight of denial.

“What the fuck are you doing, you imbeciles?! Stop them if you value your life!” the wannabe boss screamed.

“This piece of shit,” Katsuki growled, rounding on the loser still barking orders from the third floor. 

Next thing you knew, you were slung over his shoulder, his arm banded across your thighs, blinking dumbfounded at the suddenly tilted world.

At his…ass.

“W–what are you doing?”

“Makin’ up for not rearrangin’ his bones.”

Heat blazed past your legs, followed by the sharp crack of exploding glass. Your eyes widened as you reached back for his bicep and used it as leverage, together with the last of your strength, to raise your upper body enough to see what in the world he’d done.

“Oh, no. No, no, no,” you whispered like a broken mantra. The bar was on fire, devoured by the flaming beast spilled alcohol birthed. “What have you done?”

This was ten levels of bad. The authorities would be alerted and storm in. An investigation would follow—and they might find something that led too close to Madam…and to Katsuki, once witness statements started piling up.

How many people had a Quirk that could blow things up the way his did?

His name would be one of the first to come up. Of that you were sure, and anger burned too hot, too fast inside your gut.

Your hands clutched his shoulders, fingers digging through the fabric of his hoodie the moment he righted your body.

“Do you have any idea what you’ve done?” you seethed.

“The cops ain’t gonna find a trace of you,” he replied, sparing you a look down his nose that set your teeth on edge. “While you were busy goin’ feral on that scumbag’s ass, I took care of it.”

Cold air rushed over your sticky skin as he marched out of the club and into the night, but your fury wasn’t cooling. A crowd had gathered around, murmurs and whispers passing between them like Breaking News. Distant sirens blared, ratcheting your nerves tighter with every wail.

“You’re such an impulsive, reckless hazard,” you hissed, one hand on his cap as you tugged it lower over his eyes.

He scoffed. “You’re welcome.”

Your palm pressed to his scarred cheek, covering yet another clue that would give his identity away. And Katsuki had the audacity to lean into your touch, glaring like you had blackmailed him into nearly blowing up an entire club to settle the score with your torturers.

People rushed past, ignoring you both. Gratitude pinched at your heartstrings, and you tore your gaze from him with a quiet huff, letting it drift across the agitated red-light district that, not too long ago, buzzed with the energy of partygoers. Your personal circus had collapsed; you’d failed as its puppeteer.

All because one wild card had stepped onto the board of his own volition.

The next step hit you like a sledgehammer, changing the course of your thoughts. Old layers peeled away like a snake shedding its skin.

Your thumb stroked over his scar gently—back and forth, back and forth—and you felt his torso expand as his breaths deepened. His muscles bunched, arms locking tighter around you. 

He was a force, in and out of battle. But that didn’t mean he was uncontainable.

You brought your eyes to his, shadowed by the cap, and stared. He stared right back, carrying you effortlessly through the alleyway leading to the main street. Nothing around you registered anymore. Time dilated as resolve made its lair where denial fought to live.

Katsuki had stripped you of the chance to fight for yourself, at his side. So, you would return the favor by chaining him to inaction, at yours.

Chapter Text

The hairs on your arms and the nape of your neck bristled. You knew fear. You knew the sneaky ways it slithered into the darkest recesses of your mind, paralyzing reason and stripping away intelligence, leaving only pure instinct and the certainty of mistakes.

But whatever had sub-zeroed the air around Katsuki was far worse. Fear still allowed movement; this forbade it.

You saw it, the true nature of his anger, when you had fought him tooth and nail to fuck off with his hospital ideas and come with you instead to Lovers Den. You felt how deep it ran when he had carried you into the park across from the love hotel and set you down on the first bench he found, finally seeing the extent of the damage done to your battered face under the bright light post.

His anger was the archetype of a primordial fury rivaling death itself in its unforgiving cold and solemn quiet.

Death had long since ceased to faze you. But this thing…this thing had sweat beading on your spine and your heart warring for every drop of courage.

You couldn’t get a read on it—on him—but could feel the existential bloodlust. Could almost see an imaginary maw inching closer to the seams of reality, salivating at the chance to sink teeth, sharp as obsidian blades, into the world and tear out a chunk.

Your offering at his altar of wrath had better be worthy.

You weren’t even sure you were breathing as he rummaged through the plastic bag, preparing to tend your wounds. At least not in any way that felt alive.

“You’re angry,” you softly stated the obvious, drawing his gaze to you. Your heart tripped over itself at the intensity of the connection. Frosted scarlet blazed hot. “It’s not with me, I think.”

"Don't. We ain't havin' that conversation." He gently dabbed your cheek to clean it, forcing your breath into a timeout to endure the burning sensation. "You and I can't be honest without admittin' shit we don't wanna. We're knee-deep in this. Guilty as hell."

The game. Your contact with him for more than a year. His inertia when it came to your case and the authorities. Your involvement in his life. Him losing his composure over yours. The banter, the lingering looks, the boundaries that kept shrinking.

Truth Exposer versus Dynamight. Yet somehow, on the same side, gravitating closer, despite knowing what would come when either of you finally slipped.

The beginning pitted you on opposite sides. The ending would see it through. The middle never mattered on judgment scales. Consequences would roll in, indiscriminately. So what if you were the one who initiated contact, when it was Katsuki who responded, knowing exactly who you were behind the anonymity? So what if he lacked solid proof of your vigilantism, when everything you sent dripped with implication? Enough for him to point a finger and send the authorities knocking on that accusation alone.

Winner? There wasn’t one. Not in any real sense.  

It was only a matter of claiming a fake victory or going down, hand in hand.

“Answer me this one thing.” Your hand curled around his forearm, halting him mid-motion. “And look at me when you do. Right into my eyes.”

Suspicion creased his brow. He opened his mouth to speak, but you grabbed his nape and pulled him close, nose to nose. The question that had haunted you since learning about Miyuki finally slipped out.

“Are you secretly a villain?”

“No.” He didn’t miss a beat. Didn’t blink. Didn’t even breathe. That no came right from instinct, and his whole face scrunched up, visibly offended. “Where the hell did you get that idea from?”

Your shoulders almost sagged with sweet relief. Not yet. One more question.

“For your daughter, would you go that far?”

Katsuki jerked his head away and looked like he was one beat from going nuclear for daring to question his integrity. But his jaw locked up. Teeth ground. Eyes focused elsewhere.

You nodded, your hands falling from him to your lap. “You would, if you had no other choice.” 

Which was why that door needed to stay closed at all costs. Because if he ever stepped through it, you didn’t think he’d come back.

“What do you—” He hesitated. The ice in his eyes melted, dread rippling over their surface. “What do you know to even ask me that?”

Biting wind swept over the tree canopies, ruffling the dying leaves. Some, too fragile to hold on any longer, snapped free and were violently whisked away. You wished it would steal the truth from your tongue and take it somewhere far, far away, where no one could ever reach it.

Telling him his wife was a villain—that the mother of his child took part in Quirk auctions, and by extension, human trafficking—was the dagger you’d plunge into his chest and twist, and twist, and twist. 

And make his heart bleed. 

And infect it with the knowledge.  

And kill it.  

You’d kill it and listen to it agonize over what it meant for him, for Yua, for the future.

“You’re right. We can’t be entirely honest,” you began. “That’s why I asked you to come with me so you can see for yourself and put the pieces together. If honesty is a luxury, then…validity is all we’ve got left.”

Besides, you were the only one he could bet on and win.

“It’s her, huh. Miyuki?” He rubbed a hand over his face, pushing his hair back with a weary sigh. “She’s involved in some shit.”

“You investigated her,” you muttered. 

He inclined his head in acknowledgment as he reached into the back pocket of his pants. The former chef’s picture was shoved under your nose—charred at one corner, crinkled, and splattered with blood and alcohol.

“So did you. The chloroform bottles and my suspicion got you started.” His finger tapped the photo. “The former chef of Lakki Café. You made him your target ‘cause he knows somethin’ about whatever you found.”

Laughter tumbled out of your chest, shaking your shoulders. Unprompted, but genuine. The speed at which he adapted to the new rule was breathtaking; something in you hummed with pride.

“What makes you so sure?”

He tapped his temple. “I know how you think. Two more people left that café, but their lives didn’t go to shit like this guy’s.” A tired smirk sealed the confidence in his voice. “Wild guess, Truthie. He stumbled on somethin’ he shouldn’t have, and you’re bankin’ on him to tell you about it.”

“He has amnesia.”

“And? You don’t need him to remember everythin’ to connect the dots. That brain of yours fills in the blanks just fine.”

“You’re insufferable, Bakugou Katsuki. Annoying to the bone.” You pursed your lips, slightly annoyed by how accurate that was, though it made sense after he’d spent so much time investigating you. Damn him, either way. He was already in your head, hijacking your inner voice at the most inopportune times.

“As if you’re any better, pain in the ass.” Mouth twisting in reluctant annoyance, he resumed tending to your cheek and grumbled, “Reckless little shit. What were you thinkin’, walkin’ in there like that?”

“What do you mean? I went clubbing to have some fun. You should try it sometime.” Wrong answer, even as a sarcastic remark, the glare he shot you said so. “Uh, that happened because I…miscalculated.”

“Go on.”

Your hands balled into fists as shame warmed your face. “I temporarily lost my Quirk.” You hated how much it sounded like an excuse. “That wannabe boss hit me with a dart. Whatever was in it suppressed my Quirk. I…didn’t expect their women to join the fight.”

“Back up.” Katsuki’s brows climbed to his hairline. “You lost your Quirk?”

“Yeah. I stopped feeling it for forty-four minutes.”

His brows climbed higher. “How the hell did you keep track? You were outta it.”

You shrugged. “I chose to be out of it. But that topic isn’t up for discussion.”

He sucked on his teeth, clearly not thrilled with your firm boundary. “Your Quirk goes both ways.”

“Also not something I’m willing to talk about.”

“Fuck’s sake.” Katsuki’s hand withdrew from your face, the blood-stained pad pinched between two fingers curling inward toward his palm. An orange glow simmered under his skin, steadily growing brighter. Pop. He shook his hand. Ash flakes rained down as smoke swayed upward, thinning into the night. “Fine. Back to those bastards. Know any of their names?”

“No. Even if I did, I wouldn’t give them to you.” You shot him a pointed look. “I know exactly why you’re asking.”

“Oh, yeah? Enlighten me, smartass.”

“You want to go after them.”

He took out a fresh bandage and stuck it to your cheek, fingers lingering a little too long. He stared, so did you. The air charged up for the umpteenth time with sizzling tension that would never go anywhere. Hot and heavy and hungry.

Starving.

“Any of ‘em touched you?” he asked, the restrained, deep cadence of his voice straightening your spine.

“No. But I can’t attest to them not getting off on the so-called ‘torture.’”

His eyes narrowed.

“Not physically,” you clarified. “Far as I know, no dicks were out. Did I miss something?”

“Nah. Just makin’ sure. If there was even a hint, they’d be the first in line for dick and balls implants.”

You blinked as a knot formed in your stomach, twisting into a vulnerability you shouldn’t feel, but maybe had longed for once. There was an ease in talking with him, and you wondered if it was the implicit history at play, or if sometimes people simply clicked with one another.

Clearing your throat, you snatched his hand and placed it on your knee before reaching into the plastic bag for a gauze pad. “How come you didn’t intervene earlier?” you asked. “That weird, stalkerish presence I felt was you, right?”

“Who else? That damn muscle-for-brains got in my way.”

“Aw, couldn’t bribe him?”

“Ain’t got the tits, princess.” Katsuki paused, and you peered up at him from under your lashes. The trajectory of his attention was a straight line to your chest hiding in his hoodie; you were wearing it, his hoodie. That tidbit seemed to have registered with him, too, because his throat worked hard on a swallow. “Did you seriously bribe your way in with a titty pic and a roll of cash?”

Heat bloomed from where he stared, spreading outward, making everything tingle. Your brain malfunctioned. Your tongue loosened. 

“Envious?” you blurted. “Want one too?”

He choked on his spit and whipped his head the other way, fist over his mouth. His ears turned red—impossibly red—sending your heart down the wrong road. Full speed ahead, gas pedal to the floor. Brakes broken. Each beat fluttered between your ribs, radiating a happiness that felt almost innocent.

And it scared you. While talking with him was easy, softening his fury was easier. You only needed your usual voice and the words unfurling from your tongue to break through the tempest like sunshine.

“I doubt you’re into overflowing trash cans for tits, though,” you chirped, light and teasing, but deep down, sadness curled in that soft place. More miserable than ever.

You indulged and pretended the tags slapped on the two of you didn’t read: heartbreak, tragedy, criminal. One more thing to add to the growing pile of things you shouldn’t do.

“Damn menace,” Katsuki muttered, side-eyeing you as the corner of his mouth subtly curved up.

You did it anyway.

Just once. Just this one moment wouldn’t kill anyone.

Right?

*

Lovers Den. 

The love hotel looked unexpectedly high-end and exclusive. Five stories tall and bathed in hot pink light from strategically placed spots below, giving the illusion that its pristine white facade had been painted over. You supposed it was for flexibility, and honestly, you found it rather clever from a business standpoint. Today, hot pink. Tomorrow, sunny yellow. All it took was adjusting a few RGB values. Profit.

Heart-shaped decorations and a flowery arch framed the entrance, with fairy lights dangling from it like a constellation dedicated to love.

You lunged for Katsuki’s hand, stopping him short of the revolving doors. “Is this really a good idea? I look suspicious as hell, and you look like…well, you.”

He rolled his eyes. “You were gonna walk in here anyway. Hell’s the problem?”

“Yeah, I was going to. Alone,” you hissed. “The problem is you. Married, well-known pro hero sneaking into a love hotel with a suspicious woman.”

“Forgot to add Breaking fuckin’ News, Miss Journalist-Gone-Rogue. If you’re gonna say it like a report, do it properly.” His nose wrinkled. Unfortunately, kind of cutely. “Just shut up and follow. I’ve already got an excuse in case we get outed.”

You pretended not to hear that nickname. “What excuse?”

He shook your hand off and faced forward. “Sidekick on trial.” Then he strode into the building, leaving you gawking, your jaw practically hitting the floor.

Sidekick on trial? Terrible excuse. You refused to think about how badly it could complicate things.

Groaning, already exasperated with how this was going, you scanned the area for anyone suspicious, namely someone holding a camera and grinning, or drooling. One well-timed photo, and they’d be richer. Much richer. Given Katsuki’s reputation, one scandalous shot could rake in millions of yen.

You pictured the headlines. Ran through a few escape plans, like booking a one-way flight to some remote corner of the world.

Gone. Disappeared. Vanished.

Screw the label of homewrecker when the only thing you’d ever wrecked was his lip that one time you slapped him.

Your stress spiked.

“I hope you stub your toe,” you muttered, stomping after him. Your heart punched against your ribs, its way of reminding you he had saved your sorry ass. From those disgusting losers. And from yourself. Maybe wishing he stubbed his toe wasn’t the nicest way to show gratitude.

Lovers Den’s reception area matched its exterior—clean, modern, and deceptive. White furniture trimmed in silver, lit from below by hot pink LED strips. Light-toned walls carried abstract art and romantic quotes. Overhead, crystal chandeliers dangled, scattering fractured, dazzling light over pale marble floors.

You eyed them as you passed beneath.

Love reduced to scribbles and bright lights. Such irony. It was obscurity as much as it was luminous. Quiet as much as it was loud. It hurt. It bled. It killed. People went mad in its name, did stupid, irreversible things.

Love was—

“I apologize, but I’ve never seen this man.”

“Sure? Look again.”

You stopped beside Katsuki, fingers accidentally brushing his, and regarded the concierge, who was still staring at the former chef’s photo. “Excuse me.” Her eyes shifted to you. “By any chance, do you know a man who treats expensive liquor like it’s his one and only? He runs a nightclub twenty minutes from here, in the red-light district.”

“W-what?” she stammered, shifting under the weight of your stare like ants had crawled into her shoes. Her fingers fumbled over the keyboard as words spilled out in a panicked rush. “I just r-remembered! I’m so sorry, it’s been a long day. Yes, I’ve seen this man. He checked in about two hours ago.”

“He’s still here?”

She nodded quickly. “But I can’t—”

“The consequences won’t be nice for you.” You leaned forward on the counter and pointed lazily toward the camera behind her, subtly angled away to miss the reception desk. “Dead angle. Hmm, I wonder why that is.”

She glanced at Katsuki, silently pleading for help, but he simply rested one forearm on your shoulder and adjusted the brim of his cap. If she hadn’t already figured out who she was dealing with, she sure did now.

“You’ll be taken in for questionin’ once this gets reported,” he said, his deep voice ominous, as though he was about to impart a deadly secret. Your ears instinctively perked at the richness of that pitch change, feeling it akin to fingers dipped in thick, melted chocolate. “Criminal by association. You heard of it?”

A few minutes later, you stood in the elevator, facing the mirror and poking at the bandages on your face—one above your brow, another on your cheek, and a small plaster on your lip. You pressed lightly against the bruise on your cheek and winced at how tender it felt.

Katsuki, arms crossed, watched your inspection in silence before clicking his tongue and swatting your hand away.

“What gave her away?” he asked. To distract you, probably.

“She stared too long.” You stretched, muscles aching, and yawned. A warm meal, your own bed, and the city view from your bedroom sounded perfect right now. “The brain, uh, recognizes a face in less than a second. Add the time for a yes or no, and you’ve got an answer in approximately ten.”

“That what they taught you in journalism?”

“Self-taught. Are you fishing for—” You jabbed a finger into his tricep and twisted it. “—information, or something?” Katsuki flexed and knocked it off course, making you blink twice before you poked the rock-solid muscle curiously. “What in the world are you eating?”

“Protein bars. Breakfast, lunch, dinner, snack. Wanna guess which?” 

Your face was the picture of serenity as you rattled off the brand, flavor, and nutritional stats like a certified nutritionist specializing in pro hero diets. He looked more fed up with you by the second. You lightly kicked his boot and shuffled closer, snickering at the silly fact that the contents of his birthday truck still lived on.

“I was thinking—”

He scoffed.

“—you’d be great as their poster boy. Should I put in a word for you?”

“No. Zip it, and focus on the mission.”

Before you could throw him a mock salute and bark, “Yes, Dynamight, sir,” the elevator dinged open and he marched out like the man he was—on a mission to get shit done. You followed, hurrying down the long corridor, grateful for the thick carpet muting the drum of your footsteps.

“I got this,” you whispered, knocking twice. “Sorry to disturb you. I’m here to deliver a package.”

You pressed your ear to the door, listening to the hushed, frantic sounds, the rustle of fabric, the clink of metal. Heavy footsteps approached, closer and closer.

“Must be a mistake. We ordered nothing,” said a male voice. Strained, like he had a knot in his throat he couldn’t swallow.

“But I have here a bottle of liquor with your name on it, from someone called Boss. The brand name is…” You gave him the brand that wannabe boss was obsessed with. “It even has a red ribbon tied to it.”

The door creaked open, the former chef’s face peeking through the crack, more rugged than in your picture. His gaze dropped to your empty hands, and as you mouthed “Hi,” Katsuki barreled through and seized the guy before he could squeak a sound.

You stepped inside, kicked the door shut and locked it. The wall sconces, shaped like clusters of coral reefs, bathed the ocean-themed room in eerie blue light, casting undulating shadows over the grim tableau you uncovered. Tied to the seashell-shaped bed, a woman squirmed against her restraints, muffled screams escaping from the cloth gag tied around her mouth. At the foot of the bed, in front of a camera, sat a man, frozen stiff and looking like he’d seen a ghost.

And of course, your target—the former chef, likely the one who’d been behind the lens—now ruthlessly restrained by Katsuki. On his knees. Boot in the center of his spine. Arms twisted behind his back at an angle that told a painful story. 

“Where you want him?” Katsuki asked.

Your brows inched higher in surprise. You pointed to the shower cabin. He nodded once, then hauled the thrashing chef across the room and shoved him inside. The man swung his fist, but it bounced off the thick glass of the shower door, and Katsuki snorted like he wasn’t the very reason that happened.

“Get the memory card from that camera first.” Your hand replaced his on the handle. “Then find out why those two are here.” 

You slipped into the cabin with the hostile man and landed a hard kick to his shin when he tried to punch you. He howled, cursed your existence, and lost his balance. The thud of his fall made you grimace.

“You never quit Lakki Café,” you said. “Changed careers to what, serial kidnapper? Crime-scene cameraman? Professional blackmailer? You were recording that man, so there’s blackmail material, right?”

He bared his teeth. “Who the hell are you?”

“Not bad,” you nodded in mock approval. “Keep the client too terrified to talk. Classic.”

“Who—”

“Stop asking that,” you groaned, dropping into a crouch. “I won’t answer. No one in their right mind would. You, on the other hand, will tell me what I want to know.”

He lunged like the cornered animal he was, and you didn’t stop him. The shower door slid open as you fell against it. You hit the cold hardwood floor, with his knees on either side of your waist. He drew his arm back; you raised yours to gesture for Katsuki to stay put.

You smiled, lazy and unbothered. “Your two sons don’t know, only your wife. Sorry, ex-wife. But we can change that.”

A tiny muscle in his jaw pulsed as his fist began to tremble.

“When they find out their father—”

His knuckles smashed into the wooden plank beside your head. “What do you want from me?” he rasped, breath ragged and fast.

“Answers. Get back in there and let’s talk.”

“Do you even know what you’re messing with? You’ve stuck your nose in the wrong business, girl.”

“Oh, I know. That’s exactly why I’m here.”

He shook his head, something grim consuming his expression. “You’re too young to be involved in this. Him too.” He craned his neck toward Katsuki, but you grabbed his jaw and turned it back to you.

“Your business is with me, not him. Do not look at him. Do not talk to him.” You propped yourself up on one elbow and brought his face closer. “Think your life is bad now? Try living with your spirit broken.”

The bravado he had in him disappeared like water down the drain upon seeing the wicked thing you knew lurked in the depths of your eyes. Katsuki had exposed himself far too much—storming the club, using his Quirk, coming here with you—and if you could erase some of the traces, you would.

He scrambled off you and stumbled back into the shower, while you got to your feet and dusted yourself off with a sigh.

“You good?”

Your gaze found Katsuki’s. “Yeah. What did they say?”

“The woman’s sayin’ that piece of shit,” he pointed to the man now cowering in one corner of the room, “sold her to pay off his debt.” Then, to the former chef. “To this other piece of shit.”

You glanced at her, still restrained, still gagged. Her Quirk must have had the potential to be auctioned.

You pulled Katsuki to the side, your voice a whisper as you said, “Don’t untie her. Even if she begs you to, don’t.”

“What the hell’s goin’ on?”

“A lot. I know it goes against…you know, but do as I say. This one time. As a favor, or whatever.”

The former chef was surprisingly cooperative. He told you he’d worked at Lakki Café since it opened, up until a few months ago when he was abruptly kicked out. He couldn’t remember why or what happened in the time leading up to it. However, a specialist, recommended by the café’s manager—whom he described as short, chubby, sporting sparkly clothes, chain smoking, and talking like a delinquent—confirmed his permanent amnesia, attributing it to a traumatic head injury.

An accident.

But there was no bruise. Though the medical records said otherwise.

After that, bad things started happening. One after another. He refused to elaborate, saying his personal life wasn’t any of your business. You agreed. It likely held no useful clues.

“The fortune box in the café was there from the start?” you asked.

He nodded. “It’s the café’s whole gimmick to make it stand out. Try your luck. Write your name on a slip of paper and drop it in.”

“Must it be your real name?”

“Yes. If you win, you’ll have to provide your address to receive either goods or…” He trailed off, frowning as deep lines etched into his forehead. “I’m not sure.”

An invitation to the party.

Names were important in any world, but in the underworld, they were part of the currency. Dirt couldn’t be dug up without the real name, and Madam knew that. Smart woman. People gave up their identities for the thrill of feeling lucky, while she secured a steady supply of Quirks to auction, or leverage to blackmail the well-off into sponsorship.

Your hands balled into fists, skin stretching tight over your knuckles.

“Age limit?”

“No. Everyone’s free to participate.”

Not the answer you wanted. Anger lashed at your composure, each strike hotter than the last. You lost the fight. Your fist slammed into the shower wall behind you. The glass trembled. So did you.

“That boss of yours, what exactly is he having you do?”

“C-collect debt,” he stammered, fear flashing across his face as he flattened himself against the wall. “From, uh…people.”

“The woman outside said that man sold her to you to pay off his debt.”

“My job isn’t to r-regulate what people give up.”

On stiff legs, you pivoted and slid the shower door open, finding Katsuki already behind it, hands stuffed in his pockets. He glared at you first, then at the chef, then back at you, but your attention switched to the pathetic man wishing for the wall to swallow him.

“Thank fuck mine isn’t to care about the perpetrators. Piece of advice? Keep your mouth shut.” 

Slamming the door shut, you leaned against it and closed your eyes to swallow the disgust souring your mouth and recenter yourself. Fingers grasped your wrist, and you anchored to that gentle pressure, too close to floating away like a balloon lost to the wind, unaware of the cruel fate awaiting it: burst, crumble to earth, small rubber pieces scattered.

I’m sorry sat on your tongue, honest and heavy, but you couldn’t say it.

You peered at Katsuki, asking quietly, “Can you have that woman at the front desk call it in, then wait at the bike? I’ll keep an eye on these people until the police arrive.”

“Nah. You go.” He pulled you away from the shower cabin and toward the room’s door. You caught sight of the woman, still struggling, and the man, tied up and gagged but silent. “I’ll be gone by the time they show. One more thing.”

“You’re breaking the law.”

“Ain’t up for debate.” He reached into his front pocket and took out what looked like your burner phone, putting it in your palm. “Found it under the table, and figured it was yours. I kept it ‘cause—”

“Doesn’t matter. Thanks.”

“Yeah. Now get outta here. Go.”

As the elevator began its descent, you hoped his understanding of your mind was far from the core, and that he wouldn't search into the subtext of your actions to find and read your intention.

And you wished...

You wished upon that tiny drop of luck you might have that he’d never see the despicable side of you signing sentences in blood to open doors.

Chapter Text

Katsuki’s knee bounced as he stirred the cup of instant noodles. After everything that happened in the last few hours, his nerves were shot; he couldn’t remember the last time it had been this bad. Even when Yua was born, he was calmer, but the air hadn’t been thick with dread back then.

And your restless ass definitely wasn’t helping his mood.

You paced the length of the city lookout, shifting between soaking in the sight of the city below and the night sky above. Still in his hoodie. Still distracting him with that silly fact. 

He’d never take it back. Once his, now yours, and in his selfishness, he hoped you’d keep it.

“Isn’t this special, in a funny sort of way?” You faced him, leaning into the cold metal, tucked into the hoodie’s pockets. “I’m sure you’ve never had instant noodles under the stars with—what even are we?” A soft hum escaped you, thoughtful, uncertain.

His stirring stopped. “Liars,” he said dryly.

“Not wrong. We’d make for pretty good con artists, huh?”

He grunted, set the steaming cup down, and picked up the second. Stirred it like the noodles were the knotted mess inside his head, all while his eyes stayed locked on yours. He wanted to forget. Or at least for the memory to glitch out.

At the club, after knocking out the two guarding the VIP room, he expected to find you fighting—words, fists—not sprawled across a table, about to be carved into. The knife was too close, the hard alcohol closer. He knew why and saw ugly red. Barely held back.

That piece of shit would’ve cut deep and poured fire straight into your open wound.

“Hey.” Your voice sounded distant.

Katsuki blinked. You were right in front of him, worry creasing your face, fingers folded over his.

“I’ll take these,” you said, nodding toward the cup he’d stirred to hell. “You take the others.”

Shit. He’d totally zoned out. 

“Huh?”

You sat on the bench and raised the chopsticks he held a second ago, laughing softly at the dangling half. Light as a wind chime in a breeze. Annoyingly gentle. “Whatever you were thinking about snapped them. But it’s fine. Here.”

His chest tightened as he looked down at your offering. “Nah. I’m go—”

“Take them.” You grabbed his hand, pried his fingers open, and smacked the chopstick onto his palm. “It’s just chopsticks, Bakugou.”

It’s just chopsticks.

Was it?

Wasn’t it about your lips lying and withholding, but your actions giving, and making him feel like us existed, somewhere buried, slowly crawling out? 

You hadn’t hurt him. All this time, you jabbed at his ego, his pride, his insecurities, but never hurt him when you could’ve. When you should’ve. Your Quirk was capable of it.

“Your Quirk…why didn’t you—” He couldn’t finish. Didn’t even know why he was asking.

“Why haven’t I used it on you?”

He nodded.

Moments passed in silence. You stared down at your food, poking at it, emotions dominoing across your face—things he couldn’t read, not fully. The answer hit him like a gut punch. A quiet “I can’t.”

You should. You should hurt him. Make it even.

Because he had. His hands had been on you, around your throat. Katsuki still remembered how warm and soft your skin was. How your muscles and tendons strained against the pressure. How your lungs fought for every tiny breath. How your pulse pounded wildly to survive.

His hands…were still scrubbed raw.

But what fucked with him more than his sickening actions was the strange indifference he’d seen in your eyes—then, and again at the club. Like what happened to you was nothing, and something inside him snapped violently in response. Except for Yua, he’d never felt his need to protect this visceral. Uncontrollable.

“Stop thinking and eat,” you scolded, bumping your shoulder into his. “You need the energy.”

He scoffed. “For what?”

“Arguing with me.” You gave him a small, crooked smile. “We need to talk, and that will make us fight. So for a little while, let’s pretend we’re just two people having, uh, dinner.” Your eyes drifted to the view. “The city is pretty from up here, isn’t it?”

Hard to care about anything when you were here, but he muttered, “Yeah, okay. Whatever.” Whatever you wanted. He stared at the goddamn city, pretending the sight he’d seen a hundred times was more interesting than the someone at his side. Then he shoved the noodles in his mouth like he hadn’t eaten in weeks.

“Holy fuck, how spicy is that?!” You coughed, scooting away from him, the back of your hand pressed to your mouth and nose. “How can you even keep a straight face? That has to burn like a bitch.”

“Don’t feel a thing,” he deadpanned, side-eyeing you. Your sensitivity without your Quirk active was higher than he’d thought. He’d eaten the same crap around others, and no one complained, except for a few dramatic coughs and smartass comments. The world must’ve felt like a constant bombardment to you.

“Is it because you’re used to it? Or some kind of resistance from your Quirk? Or did you just eat so much you killed your tongue’s receptors?”

Katsuki paused, a few noodles dangling from his mouth, seconds from pulling into a grin, and turned to you. You curled up on the far side of the bench, cradling the noodle cup to your chest as you slowly stirred it and regarded him warily. Like he might pounce and devour you whole.

Fuck him. He would.

Suddenly, the faint tingling on his tongue gave way to a craving for something much, much sweeter, and a little salty.

He slurped up the noodles and gulped. Stupid thoughts. The day had been a fucking terrible mess, he didn’t need one in his pants too.

Limp dick, clear mind. 

Limp dick, clear—

“My tongue’s in top shape.” Not his brain, apparently.

You squinted. “I find that hard to believe.”

“Wanna test it out?”

Your chopsticks slipped from your fingers into the cup as your mouth fell open. You stared like he’d just pulled his pants down and flashed his dick, and you couldn’t decide whether to take him up on the offer or grab the nearest sharp thing and cut it off.

He’d hoped for the first option until you licked the corner of your mouth. Grave mistake.

“No. Sounds boring.” 

Goddamn contradiction. Goddamn you, for becoming the gravity that made his blood rush south. That wanted to knock him down a peg or two? Joke was on you. It missed the mark.

He’d like to see you say that again if he had his mouth on you. Dare you to repeat those same three words when you couldn’t even breathe because your fucking legs wouldn’t stop shaking. And if you caught him in a mood, he’d make you beg for just one more flick of his tongue.

“Your thoughts are showing. Wildly inappropriate, Bakugou.” You tried to sound nonchalant, but the syrupy tone gave you away.

His brow arched. “Don’t care. Next time, think twice before playing with fire.”

“More like dynamite. If there’s fire, it’s already been played with.” You winked. “Get your facts straight.”

Little shit. “Nitroglycerin’s so stupidly unstable, you’d only see a bright flash, smartass.” His turn now to look smug. He grinned the way he suspected it’d piss you off and turn you on. “Technically, there ain’t any fire. High explosives detonate, not deflagrate.” He tsked. “Shit. Do I gotta explain the difference between detonation and deflagration?”

You pinched a bunch of noodles with your chopsticks and lifted them to your mouth. “In simplest terms, one ignites through shock, the other through heat transfer.” Quick slurp. Fast chew. Hard swallow. “But under the right conditions, a deflagration becomes a detonation. DDT—deflagration-to-detonation transition.”

He could safely be labeled stunned and horny—hornier. Leave it to him to be on the edge of a solid boner over a blatant display of intelligence that hit close to home. Katsuki resumed eating, if only to calm the annoying flip in his stomach and to keep himself from saying something completely idiotic.

“Damn it.” You smacked your chopsticks against the edge of the plastic cup. “Now I’m curious about your Quirk.”

“Off the table unless we’re talkin’ yours too.”

You shifted an inch closer. “You’d really tell me? What if I sell that info to the bad guys?”

“And what are they gonna do? Dump water on me?” Katsuki let out a short, mocking laugh and shoveled in the rest of his food.  “Bad news, Truthie. Even soaked to the bone, I can kick ass.”

“Hmm, they could try setting you on fire.”

How about you set me on fire yourself and see what happens?

Instead, he said, “If my Quirk were that unstable, I’d be wearin’ gloves all day, every day. Or somethin’.”

“Right,” you snapped your fingers. “You’re your family’s chef. Or so your wife claimed. You can’t be in the kitchen if you’re one spark away from exploding. Gloves or not.”

You had to go there and remind him, but maybe it was for the best. He wasn’t here with you, where he often came to clear his head, because you were something other than—

What the hell was lower than acquaintance but somehow higher than a stranger? What the hell could he call someone he knew and who knew him, but at the same time didn’t?

Who was he to you, and who were you to him?

“You said we gotta talk.” He bent at the waist, setting the empty cup by his foot. “So, let’s talk. What’d you find? How many levels of fucked up is it?”

Slowly, you lowered your cup to the bench and took a deep breath. Your expression went blank. “Maximum. But I think I’ve barely scratched the surface.” You hid your hands inside your sleeves, and Katsuki felt denial chill his blood. “The bottles we found don’t contain chloroform like I first thought, but a highly concentrated blend of tropane alkaloids, mainly scopolamine. It doesn’t knock you out, but it puts you in a state where you might as well be.”

“Explain.”

“All you need to know is that a high injected dose triggers delirium, and in that state, your brain’s ability to form new memories is impaired.” You chewed your lip for a moment. “It’s strange, and I hate assuming, but I think this is a second option, a backup plan.”

You weren’t making much sense, so he opened his mouth to ask—but it went dry as the pieces began falling into place, and denial spiraled faster inside him. The ordeal at that love hotel. The former chef. A woman sold by her man to repay a debt. Miyuki.

That night you and she smelled the same. Her frequent visits to that cafe. The bottles hidden in his living room couch. The stupid, unnecessary events she dragged him to, so she could flaunt his name and herself as his wife before rich bastards.

She called it networking. But what the fuck did she need extensive networking for—

Is it your Quirk or skill?

Are you secretly a villain?

A shiver locked his spine in place.

“You’re figuring it out,” you said, but he immediately shook his head.

“Ain’t true.” His voice didn’t sound like this. Quiet. Flat. Off. “There’s somethin’ else at play. It can’t be true.”

“Bakugou—”

“Ain’t fuckin’ true!” He shot to his feet and whirled on you like a cyclone. “You’re lyin’. Right now, you’re lookin’ me in the eye and lyin’.”

Say you are. 

He needed you to.

He needed you to laugh in his face and say it was a shitty joke because your sense of humor was messed up.

He needed you to be his anchor a little longer, to let him hold on, because the world was splitting open beneath his feet and failure was about to drag him to rock bottom.

“I wish I was.” Your arms wrapped around yourself, as if the cold seeping into his bones gripped you too. “I’m sorry.”

Katsuki knew anger. For as long as he could remember, it had lingered, ignited, pushing against his self-imposed restraints. He knew it inside and out. Loud, harsh, but safe. His anger hurt others, but it had rules. Flaring and fading. Making him feel less like a horrible asshole and more like a flawed one.

Not always.

Sometimes, it went quiet, whispering in his ear its cravings. Blood and violence. Violence and blood. An insatiable, untamed beast he’d tried to put down, and failed. So he chained it.

Leashed it.

He was the only one who could until you saw it, felt it, and still treated him as himself despite it. Fuck, you patched up his busted knuckles while inside he vibrated like a tuning fork, the memory of them smashing into bone ringing loud. For a moment, he might’ve hated your easy acceptance, but his anger liked it. You.

It fucking liked you.

Now its teeth were bared and snarling.

“You’re sorry?” he asked, monotone. “Sorry for accusin’ my wife of bein’ a villain, or for keepin’ it from me?”

You said nothing. The air thickened, charged, like the calm before a violent storm. His fury trembled with anticipation, lusting for your worst. He wanted your fight. Your bites. Your scratches.

Violent. Cruel. Unforgiving.

One mark for every ignorant mistake. Repeat for every abominable failure.

You had it in you, but weren’t giving it.

At your inaction, he moved. Two long strides, and Katsuki slowly lowered into a crouch at your feet, forearms resting on his thighs. Provoke her. His gaze dragged from your shoes up to the last strands of your hair, then crawled back down to burrow into your unimpressed eyes.

“Cat got your tongue?” He knocked the side of your calf with his knuckles. “Huh?”

You inhaled for three seconds, exhaled for four, then slumped forward, hooking a finger in his collar. “I won’t play your game.” Your nail traced his collarbone, making his skin tingle. His palms began to sweat. “I know what you’re trying. I see it. And I won’t do it. Stop.”

“No.”

“Bakugou.”

“Leave.” He jerked his head toward your bike. “Go. Why are you even here? We ain’t anythin’. You said it yourself—we’re nothin’. Fuckin’ noth—”

You fisted his collar and yanked him forward, forcing him onto one knee. “I can’t go, you jerk. That wife of yours is part of a Quirk trafficking ring as their bid caller. People are being auctioned off like luxury goods, for fuck’s sake. And I need you involved because your persistent ass now knows about it.”

Blood drained from his head, and the beast inside inched back. Its mouth, and his, dried.

“I suspected you too, so I shut up about it,” you continued, the words rapid fire. Bullets aimed at his chest. “The night I found out, she met up with you, and I watched you kiss her. It didn’t make sense because of what happened at your house, but then I remembered she’s your wife. Of course you might know and possibly be on it. You lov—”

He barely heard your sharp gasp as he ripped your hand from his shirt and pulled you forward. He barely felt his body move to pin you to the cold pavement beneath him. Your wrists trapped beneath his palm. His forearm beside your head, keeping him looming. Your legs caught between his. His face closer than it should be.

Rapid, ragged, rasping breaths had his chest rise and yours fall, locked in a twisted, complete rhythm.

“So, you let me live with her and put my kid in danger?” He couldn’t recognize his own voice. Too calm, but with something lethal that kicked his heart into double speed. “How are you any different than her?”

You flinched. It cut him. Hurt replaced the stoic mask you tried to maintain. The sting of betrayal dragged him further down.

“To hell with me, Truthie. Who gives a shit?”

“I d—”

“But Yua? You compromised her safety.”

“No!” You shook your head. “No. She has you. She has you, Ka—Bakugou. You’re trapped, but you’re not helpless. I’m sure you’ve already taken measures on suspicion alone. Am I wrong?”

You were right.

Miyuki’s indifference toward Yua became something he took advantage of. She didn’t seem to care in the slightest that their daughter spent more time with his parents than with either of them lately. But Katsuki couldn’t live like this.

He’d started his own investigation.

To think it would lead to this.

“It ain’t changin’ a damn thing. You kept this from me. What was your grand scheme, huh?”

You bit your lip and tilted your head away. A quiet sniffle. Your eyes shimmered in his shadow, blinking too much, as if something bothered them. Tears?

“I k-know, but I’m your best shot.” Your head lulled back into place. “I’ll get you your freedom in exchange for your word. If something happens to me, finish what I started. Get the real truth out there.” A short pause. “This isn’t just about you. It’s about the victims, too.”

He scoffed with every bit of bitterness in him. “A deal? You think I’m that fuckin’ stupid?”

“You weren’t supposed to catch a whiff of this. They’ll try to kill you, or…mess with your head. Your memories. Might’ve already happened. Your home’s security, remember?”

Katsuki barely inhaled before his lungs expelled the word, “What?”

“Pro heroes are bad for the business.”

“Truthie—”

“Bet on me to get you out of this mess.” One of your hands found his wrist, and his throat tightened. Your touch burned. Fed his fire. “If it helps, consider it my apology for keeping it from you.”

He searched your face for fear, hesitation, any sign you didn’t want this, but found none. Your mind was made up, and that terrified him more than an attempt on his life. You should’ve been the first to stay away. Your Quirk alone put a target on your back.

Freeing your wrists, he dropped his head into the crook of your neck and screwed his eyes shut. Maybe the world disappeared, or maybe he’d wake up and realize it was all a damn nightmare.

Foolish thinking.

It was as real as his scent on your skin, as your pulse thumping against his forehead, as the hesitant touch to his limp hand next to your shoulder.

He felt cold, the night air freezing, as his fingers closed over yours, finding warmth. If only it could stop the spiraling negativity and the nausea flooding his gut.

He was disgusted with himself for ever having feelings for her, for sharing more than his time, his bed. Goals, fears, secrets—he’d laid them bare during late nights and early mornings, in silent apologies after duty called.  She accepted them with open arms, shy smiles, and I’m here to stay. I’m yours.

Was she? 

The glint in her eye said otherwise.

Was it love?

Probably not. But he thought he could choose her despite that, for Yua. His parents chose each other every single day, clashing personalities and all. Both had been there. And while his relationship with them wasn’t perfect by any means, seeing them together, and dealing with him, mattered.

He wanted that stability for Yua too.

But that kind of choosing never came from rationality; it came from the heart. And his had begun slipping away from her long before their daughter was conceived.

The daughter of a villain, huh?

Katsuki made her that. And for what? So he could end up here, watching the one person he needed like air throw herself into the crossfire? Right in front of him, no less? There wasn’t a doubt in his mind that you wouldn’t.

Truth Exposer hunted, sometimes more viciously than him. You wouldn’t stop until the truth saw the light. With or without him.

“You’re askin’ me to risk my license,” he muttered into your skin, feeling you tense, shiver. “Why not tip off the pros? Let them deal with it.”

“It’d be back to square one. Right now, we know where it’s happening. Once word gets out, do you think they’ll just sit around? We both know how organized crime works.” You sighed, sounding as exhausted and drained as he felt. “And unlike the others, this one is the worst kind. Something like this doesn’t fly under the radar without connections, money, and someone smart at the helm. To win, you have to control their narrative, and steer them to doom.”

“And you can?” Stupid question.

“I never gamble if I can’t win.”

Chuckles burst out of nowhere. “Shit. And they call me cocky.” He squeezed your hand harder as he raised his head, taking you in. Pretty. Bold. Reckless thing. His fucking worst weakness—worse than his kid. Yua, he could protect. Plant himself as her shield, and she’d let him. But not you.

With you, it was side-by-side, back-to-back. You drove him mad.

Didn’t mean he was out of options.

“I ain’t agreein’ to shit, Truthie, unless I get my own terms. A two-way deal.”

You tilted your head, curious and annoyingly cute. “I’m listening.”

“You make this your last case.” He didn’t say it, he commanded it.  “When it’s done, you quit. Game over. Checkmate. The end.”

“What?” you gasped, eyes widening. “You can’t—”

“I can,” he growled. “And I will.” He shoved himself upright, arms crossing tight. His fingers dug into his biceps. Fuckin’ hell. What a goddamn vision you were, sprawled like that. Eyes wide, breath short, pulse hammering in your neck. He’d be lying if he said he wasn’t a little drunk on it. “You want me all in? Then pay up. If I’m riskin’ my license, my reputation, my life, your vigilante shit ends. Take it, or this conversation never happened and I’ll handle things my way.”

Anger flashed across your face, and his mouth pulled into a half-grin. He bet frustration was burning you alive, but the sooner you accepted that winning was in his vocabulary too, the better.

Your lips pursed into a pout before you jerked your head away. “Fine. I’ll quit.”

“Look at me when you say it.”

You shot him a dirty side-eye glare instead.

“Damn brat,” he muttered, bending forward, weight braced on one arm. The other found your jaw, fingers firm as he turned your head to face him. “Say it.”

Your teeth ground. “I said fine, I’ll fucking quit. But—”

“What happens if we backstab each other? Yeah, I know. Easy.” He paused, tasting the words he was about to say. They were right but tinged with sourness. “We tear each other apart. Backstab me, and you’ll never see sunlight again.”

A hum of approval. “Guess I’ll drive your whole existence into the ground if you do.”

“Sounds good. You got a deal.” His fingers left your face to flick a pebble off your hoodie. “Heh, you aware you just admitted to it, yeah?”

You rolled your eyes so hard they disappeared inside your skull. “I did not.”

“Uh-huh. And I ain’t responsible for almost blowin’ up a nightclub ‘cause of you.” He huffed a laugh. “Nice try, Truthie.”

He’d do it all over again.

For and with you.

Chapter Text

You stared at the black, glossy envelope hidden inside your purse while Midoriya droned about next week’s conference, oblivious to the truth sitting right in front of him. Guilt sank deeper into your gut. A good friend would listen, engage, and show support. Mirror his easy smile.

A good friend wouldn’t pretend normalcy while their life revolved around deviating from it.

Maybe you should’ve skipped lunch altogether, instead of hoping his sunshine and his favorite waffles would cast some magic spell to soothe the chaos in your heart and mind.

Several days had passed since that impulsive deal with Katsuki, opening the doors to your life wide. He marched right through them, as if he had a place all along, and made himself a constant. Chaining him had been the goal; surrendering a piece of yourself not so much, yet you agreed anyway. A tiny—well, colossal—detail you’d kept from Ayumu.

If he knew, his sporadic daily scolding sessions would turn into fixed lectures lasting hours upon hours.

What were you supposed to say?

That keeping Katsuki safe and clinging to the crumbs of his good graces mattered more than protecting yourself? That the anguish radiating from him fractured your heart enough to let cruelty spread out of it like parasitical mold?

You wanted her to pay for his pain tenfold, simply because you hated how much he hated himself.

Your burner phone dinged again, the very reason you’d reached into your purse. You sent Midoriya another apologetic smile and checked the newly arrived message.

A: Gonna tell him?

Were you?

Were you going to tell Katsuki you’d won the sinister lottery and had received an invitation to an even more sinister party tonight?

Probably. It’d be wiser to keep him informed, although it didn’t directly affect him. Your deal wasn’t a collaboration; it was an exchange. Even so, you doubted he cared about that distinction. In his mind, he was already all in.

Which posed a problem.

You swallowed around the knot in your throat, almost hearing how he'd flip if you kept quiet about tonight.

You: Guess I will.

A: You should. Wanna meet up?

“Is everything okay?” Midoriya’s voice poked at the bubble, bursting it. 

You lifted your gaze to his, putting on a polite smile. “Yeah. Just my friend having an existential crisis. One moment, sorry.”

You: No. It’ll be fine.

You never met up with him before a risky mission, disliking the sense of finality it created. A goodbye you didn’t need. You’d make it out, you always did. Unless the enemy’s goal was your death, you’d survive against all odds. Loose ends kept your optimism resilient.

And yet, there was a part of you that wanted to meet, just not your best friend. It was probably that part nudging you into telling Katsuki. He’d insist on seeing the invitation with his own eyes, not through pixels on screen, and hearing your plan, which didn’t exist beyond the oblivious role you intended to play. Whatever awaited you tonight required your adaptability. Things could go wrong, and fast; tonight would be no exception.

Silly. Hypocritical.

But Katsuki, unlike Ayumu, was temporary, tragically fleeting in your life. He wasn’t here to wait around for your magical return; that wasn’t the deal. And honestly, you wouldn’t want him to. It was too easy for schemers to become pawns themselves, trapped on someone else’s board.

“Sorry about that. She messed up something with market stocks and was panicking.” You slipped your phone back into your purse and set it aside, forcing the polite smile to grow brighter, more sincere. Such a liar. “So, how come you finally gave in and showed me this place?”

Your insides soured at the half-truth. You did trade sometimes, but not stocks. It was information, and Ayumu handled the exchanges for safety reasons. The only stocks you owned were in the one and only TV station you’d ever worked at, bought out of pure spite. The station still existed, but ever since you’d snuffed out its glory, it had never recovered. The ones who stuck around now struggled to make ends meet. Loyalty or blackmail: who could tell why they were still there?

“I teased you long enough about it.” Midoriya laughed, the sound light and a little nervous. “What do you think?”

“Do they have a loyal customer program I can sign up for?” you replied, trying to keep a straight face. But your expression cracked when his lips pressed together, barely containing his smile.

“It’s the honey, isn’t it?”

Bumble Waffle, the place where black and yellow blended seamlessly with splashes of white, bee accents, and wildflower decorations. Here you learned that honey in waffle batter was a thing, and that caramel flavor depended on cooking time. When you placed your order, the clerk pointed to a small chart showing the different levels. Feelings brave, you chose the darkest one.

Terrible mistake. The taste of burned sugar coated the back of your throat—sweet, but tinged with bitterness.

Almost like a certain someone.

Though in his case, it would probably be the other way around: bitter, tinged with sweetness.

“Yeah,” you said, cutting another piece of waffle and bringing it to your mouth. “It’s really addicting.” Truth. It was. Beyond the honey, other flavors appealed to your palate. 

“Tell me about it. I’ve probably been here more times than I should admit.” Midoriya leaned back in his seat, his plate wiped clean, and tilted his head, green eyes thoughtful as they studied you. Your brows raised in question, but his lowered, deep lines appearing on his forehead. “There’s another reason I wanted to see you today.”

You stilled your fork halfway to your mouth. “What’s the reason?”

“Are you still going out at night?”

Something in his tone had you bristle. “Uh, yeah? Why?”

He nodded, then cleared his throat and leaned forward. His hand came to rest gently over yours. “If I ask, as your friend, to stop that for a while…would you listen?”

“Depends on the reason.”

“I had a feeling you’d say that.” He sighed. “I can’t tell you. But can you trust me this one time? Please.”

Injecting curiosity into your veins wasn’t the way to get you to listen, and you thought he’d figured that out by now. Apparently not. You finished the piece of waffle on your fork and set the utensil down. His name oozed from your tongue as if it were the burned sugar in the waffles he ate.

Midoriya blinked once. Your hand was atop his, pinning it to the table, finger like a metronome, tap tap tap on his scarred skin.

“You can’t ask me to blindly trust you without giving me one tiny reason,” you said. “I’ll die of curiosity.”

His gaze flicked to the steady tapping, then back to your face. It cooled with deadly seriousness. “I don’t want anything happening to you.”

Noble. But too late. You’d already placed your chips on the enemy’s table. “What is this ‘anything’?”

“Um, I can’t say.” His throat bobbed with a tight swallow. “It’s hero business.”

Hero business? If that were the case, you could ask—

No. No, you couldn’t. The odds of getting anything from Katsuki were closer to zero than coaxing it out of Midoriya. He had no reason to tell you anything unrelated to the deal. You shouldn’t fool yourself into thinking otherwise.

Eyes on the truth. Only on the truth.

“Should I make an educated guess, then?” Your soundless tune resumed on Midoriya’s skin as you took a moment to sort through the options.

“I’d much rather not have you—”

“Dangerous villain running wild? Increased chances for robbery? Or…hmm, kidnappings?” He tensed at the last guess, and your lips twitched into a victory smile. “I assume it’s not bad enough yet for a public warning.”

Midoriya made a defeated face and quietly admitted that kidnapping rates were rising across the country, especially in the city, causing anger to ball up in your gut. It was a miracle you kept your poker face and didn’t squeeze the hell out of his hand. Sinking your teeth into your inner cheek certainly helped.

This was important information. It could be linked to Madam, and Katsuki…he’d shut up about it. There was no way he didn’t know. Quite the contrary. Considering his specialty, he’d be one of the first to know.

“Is this, uh, a recent thing?” you asked, fishing for a little more.

“Sort of.” It sounded like an ongoing problem. “How about this?” His hand turned palm up, fingers closing over your wrist. “Call me when you can’t sleep, and I’ll come with you for a walk.”

“Midoriya, that’s ridiculous.”

“I mean it.”

His stare was heavy, trying to pressure you into giving in.

“Are you seriously that worried I might get ki—”

He gave your hand a gentle tug. “I’m worried you might get hurt.”

Was it a hero thing to have such a protective streak? Or were you exuding some form of fragility to trigger it?

Either way, something told you it was best to play along.

He wasn’t Katsuki. He didn’t know. And the last thing you needed was to give him a reason to suspect anything.

“Alright,” you said, pretending to give in. “But the next lunch or dinner is on me. Michelin-starred place, full course, that sort of thing.”

“No.”

“Yes.” Your smile was sweet, infused with mischief. “Excellent food will be your punishment for sneakily trying to repay me for Yoru, Midoriya.”

“I wasn’t—”

You smiled wider, showing teeth. The tip of your tongue traced an incisor, daring him to lie.

“It was the gentleman thing to do,” he mumbled.

*

You sat on the marbled edge of the large fountain outside the mall, your eyes transfixed on the sky bleeding orange, red, and deep pink. Foreboding hues that saturated the few white clouds gracing the sky, stagnant and heavy. The sun’s daily parting gift to the translucent moon: its own fading light.

The phone vibrated again in your hand, the person insistent on reaching you. You ignored it for the fourth time and suffered the consequences. Thorns of hope forced themselves into your meekly beating heart, making impossibility bleed. That selfish part in you rejoiced.

“Stop calling,” you murmured. 

A wish unheard. A wish with no weight. A wish drowned beneath the fountain’s steady stream.

It stopped for three seconds, then vibrated again. Fifth time now. You dropped the phone in your purse and focused on the water whooshing in your ears. You wanted to move, walk into the mall, and hunt for a dress, but your legs refused to move.

Air flowed into your lungs, tinged with rotting autumn. Breathing felt like a chore. 

If you knew sending one message would have you spiraling, you wouldn’t have sent it. Tonight was suddenly too close, too real, and his loud reaction made it harder to pretend this might not be the end.

Sixteen minutes ago, you had sent Katsuki a picture of the black envelope with the message, Won the lottery. Going to party tonight. There wasn’t any need to mention which lottery and what kind of party. Your conversation with the former chef hadn’t been that private, and Katsuki overheard most of it.

He didn’t admit to it, nor did he try to extract your intentions regarding Lakki Café’s fortune box.

Katsuki knew.

It had been in the somber look he gave you during the nightly video call after you told him you’d dropped your vigilante name in that cursed box. He didn’t say anything for several minutes. He simply reclined in his office chair, rested his cheek against his fist, and stared.

You couldn’t get a read on his thoughts, but felt the weight of his gaze nipping at your nerves as if he were right there, in your bed, setting you ablaze with his presence alone. The discomfort brought up the same question that appeared during these calls.

Are you sure it’s safe to talk openly?

A question asked despite the many reasons and confirmations why it was. The time always read past midnight. He only called when his agency building was deserted and locked up, making him the only soul alive within its walls, and from his soundproof office, thoroughly inspected for anything suspicious, with you on camera.

Every single time.

It was safe. But paranoia stayed with you.

Obviously it is. I ain’t stupid. I know what’s at stake.

An answer given with a loud sigh as his hand combed exasperatedly through his hair, messing it up.

And one deprecating smile that seemed to wind up on your face more often than not, lately. He wasn’t reckless when it mattered, but sharing time and stealing moments didn’t feel any less like biting into a forbidden fruit. Blissfully sweet, but its core oozed a lifetime of regrets. Each bite caught in your throat and eroded the shackles keeping the secrets buried.

With him, your heart skipped, but it wept as denial slipped away, like a star-crossed lover vanishing into fate. Once gone, never to return.

Reasons lived behind actions, and you were starting to find the familiar within him. He made you curious, foolishly giddy for more, but curiosity had killed you once.

It might do it again. This time, it could be final.

Your heart skipped, and wept, but also shattered at the thought of becoming a fading stain on a time-frozen fragment of his vast, ever-moving life. Sometimes remembered, only for the memory to haunt him, to disrupt his flow. 

The paths should’ve never merged. Everything pointed to that.

But whatever aligned had fought against reason, and demanded that you join it, if only temporarily, as the guide leading him out of this cruel hell.

A distant, splintering boom snapped you back to reality. Your head whipped toward the sound, stomach plummeting as dense, angry smoke unfurled into the sanguine sky. So thick that if you told someone it came from a rocket launch, they might believe you.

Disbelief threaded through your nerves as you slowly rose, then staggered back against the marble edge of the fountain as a chain of explosions rolled closer.

“He wouldn’t,” you breathed out, hands fisting your coat.

You caught movement in your periphery. A figure hopped the fence separating the mall’s plaza from the parking lot, scanning frantically as he shoved the sweatband covering his forehead high into his hair. Your head spun at how violently your heart began to hammer against your ribs, forcing you to sit.

Gripping the cold edge, your fingers curled inward, nails scraping marble. They tingled, as if they held memories of the man ahead. Of his skin and scars. Of his warmth and strength. Of his body chasing and stilling.

Your fingertips validated in fantasy what your heart already knew, and what your brain still struggled to believe—he would.

The selfishness in you rooted your feet to the concrete, stronger than every other part of you that wanted to bolt for the mall. When wild, scarlet eyes snared yours, it was already too late; escaping was futile. They narrowed to slits, pulsing with murder, before he charged into motion, stomping the ground straight to you. Dust and pebbles were swallowed by the smoke of the small explosions erupting around him.

Katsuki planted himself in front of you, silhouetted against the bleeding sunset, its colors catching on him like flames. His breaths came in sharp huffs, but it was his smoking fingers pressed to his sternum that made worry jab at your chest. His cheeks were flushed deep, sweat beading and splitting from his skin. Sparking. Blowing up a second later.

It wasn’t the first time you’d seen this.

“Are you okay?” you asked, gaze wandering lower. Stars—his Quirk was laying stars at your feet. He was. You probably should’ve asked him to stop because the curious stares of strangers were raising your alarms, but the spectacle fascinated you. Beautiful.

“Are you?” he bit out, voice tumultuous. “Up here.” His hand left his chest to point at his temple. “You drop that message, then ignore my calls. What the hell?”

“Is that why you’re here?” You stood. “You do know live updates are pure courtesy from my side, right? Our deal—”

“I agreed to bet on you, not sit on my ass doin’ nothin’.” He reached back and yanked up the hood of his thin jacket when you gestured to it. The fabric rustled. “Ain’t that guy, Truthie.”

“Do? Do what, exactly?”

“Makin’ sure they ain’t gettin’ their hands on you.” He wiped his palms on his pants, then clicked his tongue and grimaced like you’d pried his mouth open and dumped the sourest lemon juice down his throat. “Fuckin’ hell. I told you the other night to tell me when. You even mhm’d me. So why did you make me ditch my workout to stand here, lookin’ like I crawled outta hell instead of meetin’ up like two normal idiots?”

You gave him an owlish look. “Can you be more specific?”

That question seemed to awaken something. He put both hands on his hips, tilted his head back, and inhaled so deeply his entire upper body looked twice its size.

“Two nights ago,” he clipped. “When your dumbass clowned me for makin’ it rain feathers. Like it was my fault those shitty villains decided to hide in a damn pillow shop.”

Two nights ago…

Oh.

You remembered now, and how distracted you’d ended up. Warmth bloomed in your cheeks as you shifted your weight from one foot onto the other.

He had ranted about his patrol route and the villains who dared wreak havoc, but somewhere in the middle of it, your ears caught the tired lilt in his voice and latched onto it. His tone was mellower, the syllables rolling off his tongue lazily, slightly drawled. 

You’d been entranced. Bewitched. Couldn’t care what he was saying, only that he was talking. Which became the reason behind teasing and poking fun at him, anything to keep those vocal cords working.

To your embarrassment, he could’ve cursed you and you would’ve said thank you. 

“I don’t think I was wrong. Out of all things you could’ve used to lure them out, you chose exploding pillows.” His mouth opened, but you shut it quickly with, “How’d you find me?”

“Talent and skills.”

“Why?”

“Told you already. Gonna make sure—”

“I’m not your responsibility,” you stated. A tidal wave of heaviness crashed between you, splashing the stingy truth across both of your faces. It didn’t matter what you had agreed to while distracted. Facts were facts. “You’re not my protector, or my partner in this. At most, a collaborator. Our deal isn’t a team-up. It’s a trade.”

“Hah. Wanna do this the hard way?” Katsuki erased the distance with one long stride, a muscle twitching in his jaw. “What’s your plan, princess? March in there and pray you come out?”

You huffed a laugh, shaking your head. “Don’t waste your energy. It’s not worth it. You’re not included in my plan.” Taking a step back, you waved him off. “I’ll tell you all about it tomorrow.” Unless you didn’t make it out. In which case, Ayumu would clue him in.

Silence suffocated each passing second. You nearly regretted your honesty when the light in his eyes dimmed a fraction, his Quirk disappearing with it. But then, scarlet pools of fervor and pride and stubbornness darkened. His hand shot out and seized yours.

Katsuki pulled you flush to his chest and dropped his mouth to your ear, sending a hot rush of goosebumps over your skin. “I decide what’s worth it,” he said calmly. “And what ain’t. No one else.”

“Right. The same way you decided not to tell me about the kidnapping rate rising?”

He jerked back. “How do you know about that?”

“Irrelevant. Why didn’t you tell me?”

“’Cause I wanted to find the connection—if there’s one—before dumpin’ it on your plate,” he said like it was the most obvious thing in the world. “Who told you?”

You didn’t even get the chance to respond. Realization flashed across his face.

“Izuku?”

“No.”

“You gotta be kiddin’ me. You’re still in contact with him?”

“My personal life isn’t your business.”

“You and him—” He snapped his mouth shut, turned halfway, and squinted into the sunset. “Forget it. Point is, Truthie, you ain’t goin’ in there tonight without a sure way out.”

His expression cracked under the fiery sky, the light softening the sharp edges of his handsome features. The mask melted into something raw enough to steal your breath and tighten your throat.

“You’re an idiot,” he continued, and you became acutely aware of your hand still in his, damp palm hot against your own. “Not a chance in hell I ain’t gonna do everythin’ to keep you in the game. It ain’t me, standin’ by and watchin’.” He faced you. “Ain’t me.”

The sun’s offering looked less like finality now and more like continuity. Its fading light wasn’t a gift, but a vow, steeped in the eternal devotion of honoring the cycle. Death and rebirth.

“You just want to be the one to pull the final curtain on me.”

One side of his mouth tipped up. “Damn right.” He held your hand tighter as if that was where it belonged, even though he should’ve let go. “I want that as a nice little bonus for riskin’ it all.” His thumb traced your knuckles absently, stopping just shy of your ring finger. “Me, as your ending.”

Chapter Text

Katsuki didn’t waste time on wishes. They were mere possibilities at best, selling daydreams built on things no one could control. Goals were different. Simple. A clear set-and-go until achieved, driven by effort and execution.

For twenty-eight years, he’d lived that way and had no intention of changing.

But as he stole a glance at you, he wished he didn’t understand why his heart felt so full and empty at the same time. Wished he still struggled to figure out what his feelings meant, or what to do about them. The uncertainty made it easier to pretend something wasn’t what it was.

Knowing and trying to accept that this might be all he’d ever have with you felt like torture. Despite everything, you kept him at arm’s length when it was clear he didn’t want you to. He was all in. His mess wasn’t just yours, and those bastards auctioning people weren’t yours alone to deal with. You needed to let him be there.

He could cross the line, burn every boundary to ash to change your mind because he knew. He knew that a part of you, at the very least, would give in.

But he wouldn’t.

You deserved better.

“Oi. Got any idea where you’re goin’?” he asked, shrugging off the throbbing ache in his body. Everything kind of fucking hurt. Worth it, he told himself as his fingers felt for the thin box in his pocket.

“Will you stop following me if I say no?” you asked, your nose scrunching up in that annoyingly cute way that got to him.

“No.”

“Go figure.” You rolled your eyes. “What next, picking out my dress too?”

“Think you can handle my tastes?” he challenged.

Wear red. 

The creepy invitation came with that one instruction. You’d already pointed out how weird it was. Last time, everyone except Madam had worn black, so why the hell were you supposed to match the evil hag?

Everything about it screamed fuckery. One more reason for his gut to roil in dread.

You paused mid-stride and sized him up. “Inappropriate.” But you were considering it, lips pursed, brows low. 

His brain was already imagining the kind of dress he’d want you to wear. Fitted to your curves, absolutely. He was too insatiable not to want to feel everything, and to let you feel it, too. He’d give you that power. Let you hold it over him. Shame would be denying you the chance to know how fast you could take him from zero to a hundred without even trying.

“Fine. Choose it for me,” you declared. “What better way to look at my absolute worst?”

His eye twitched. “Your worst?” he bit out. “My tastes are impecca—”

You sped away from him.

“Hey! You little shit, hold up!”

You tossed him a sugary smile over your shoulder, like he was some mutt eager for a bone to chase, and dashed for the escalator. 

He tsked. Blew out a sigh as you beelined upward on the empty side, not giving a single fuck about the weird looks landing on your back. He pulled a disgruntled face when you waved at him from the top, then took off after you.

The place was packed. Thanks to his job, crowds grated on his nerves. Most people were in the way, oblivious, spaced out, or glued to their phones. Tempting to bulldoze through them, but he was supposed to stay low-profile. No attention. None. He was lucky the jacket he’d snatched off the gym floor had a hood because otherwise, he would’ve blindfolded himself with his sweatband and nagged you into dragging him to the first store that sold caps, claiming eye sensitivity or some shit.

Still, people looked. Who wouldn’t stare at someone storming up the escalator three steps at a time and sprinting through the mall like a lunatic?

Katsuki allowed himself a half-grin as a wild thrill skated down his spine. Risky. But it didn’t matter, not unless someone got a clear look at his face. And with you so obsessed with keeping his identity secret, he was more than fine.

Even the stunt he’d pulled with his Quirk earlier, he’d made sure to cover his tracks. Dropped into the parking lot, slipped through the rows of cars, hopped over the fence, escaping the scene.

Maybe someone had seen Dynamight. But who could say for sure? He’d zoomed in so fast, it was mostly smoke.

Explosions? Could’ve just been a fire quirk.

You shot another look over your shoulder, coat flapping around you, and caught his eyes. The exhilaration lighting up yours hit him like a sucker punch.

You were into this.

Anticipation coiled tight in his gut. His heart thudded harder in response. 

Fuck.

He was into it too. Mental cat-and-mouse was good, but this—this was next level. The physicality of it, the undeniable fact he’d touch you, struck a rawer part of him. 

Katsuki caught you right before you could veer around the corner, toward the food court. He grabbed at your coat and drew you back into his arms that locked tight and pressed you against his body. And you let out this ridiculous noise as you squirmed, something between a squeak and a groan. Your lame attempt only made him tighten his grip and mock you.

“That all you got? Was kinda easy.”

“Tell that to the time you spent searching for me and failing,” you retorted, glaring at him over your shoulder.

His ribs expanded, but with more than the quickened breaths—amusement. You loved biting at his ego by bringing up his failed commission, but seemed to forget he knew your real identity before your first face-to-face meeting. If you ever asked ‘why’, he hoped it’d be once he was a free man; Katsuki didn’t think he could lie.

He huffed a short laugh. “Got you in the end.”

“Lucky,” you muttered, and it was like stupid Cupid’s arrow plunged into his heart, once again.

Pretty. Breath stealer. Unfair little thing.

What were you doing to him?

Did he ever look at someone else the way he looked at you? Because it could be ten times, a hundred, or a million, and he was enthralled. You had him every damn time, messing with his head. Sometimes enough to make him forget he was a man trapped. Would you even stick around once he wasn’t anymore?

Would you give him a chance? Let him try to be your ending?

His heart kicked weakly against his ribs. It wanted badly, and wondered what went through yours when you were this close. He could feel it—thump-thump—through the layers of clothes.

How many of its beats were for him, and how many were from running?

Katsuki’s gaze dropped to your lips because clearly, he hadn’t tortured himself enough.

Idiot.

Just because he wanted it didn’t mean he’d get it. Maybe that was for the best. His idea of freedom wasn’t the same as yours. His came with strings. Responsibilities.

He was a dad. Soon, a single one too.

“Can you let go?” you asked, but the softness in your voice seemed to ask the opposite.

No. But his arms dropped to his sides, and he shuffled back a step. “Since I’m pickin’ your dress, how about you follow me?”

“Shouldn’t you ask about my budget?”

His brow arched. Time to slip back into his default setting, where he was less of a fool and more of a bastard. “Shouldn’t you consider I’ll swipe my card just to piss you off?”

“Ha ha, very smart. So it can show up in your account records.” Your hand landed on his shoulder. You patted it twice. “Why don’t you pull your hood down too? Let everyone know who you are. And who you’re with.”

Rolling his eyes, Katsuki snatched your forearm and dragged you after him, ignoring your muttered protests. He was well off, that wasn’t a secret, but no one knew how well off he really was. Or had access to see. Better that way. It was no one’s business. And big money attracted the wrong kind of attention. He had enough headaches as it was.

Brand store after brand store, and he was sure he looked like he was two seconds away from throwing up. Disdain crawled across his face as the familiarity of names and logos left a bad taste in his mouth. At least once, Katsuki had walked into one of them and swiped his credit card for wife-on-paper. Her icy eyes sparkling with delight used to be a reason for pride. He’d liked spoiling her.

Now, only the urge to eat glass rose whenever she forced him to pay. The only thing he’d buy her all by himself was a one-way ticket to a high-security prison on the other side of the planet.

“Do us a favor and hush,” you told him minutes later, spine straightening as you strode into the luxurious store like you owned it.

Katsuki frowned when the security guards gave you a once-over. Then him.

He shot them a glare and followed after you.

The store wasn’t big, but it made up for its size by being polished to perfection. Clusterfucks of lightbulbs dangled from the ceiling, casting glossy light over the minimal furniture, sleek black metal racks, and mannequins dressed in formal wear—dresses, suits, and all that rich-people nonsense he also indulged in. Worse than some. Katsuki had caught the taste for custom shit.

“Are you looking for any specific style, Miss?”

He glanced away from the floor-length, sparkly purple dress on the mannequin and toward the staff member. Props to her. Compared to the two at the entrance, she was doing a better job keeping the mask on.

You and him looked out of place as hell in your casual clothes, especially him, dressed like a walking gym ad.

You smiled delicately at the woman. “Not a specific style, but a specific material. Something flowy, like silk.”

Silk?

Fuck you. And fuck him too.

As if it wasn’t bad enough that your good girl act was already toying with his head. Knowing the truth behind it made it feel like a goddamn power trip, dangerously addictive. And now you had to go and feed his selfish thoughts revolving around red on you with that sinful, sexy visual.

Not that it mattered. You could seduce him in neon yellow, and he’d still give in to you.

Through the lusty haze creeping into his brain, he heard you say, “Thank you. I’ll let you know if I need any more help.” The sound of your poised tone kissed, feathery light, on his skin, heating the veins underneath. Then you turned, eyes finding him, and his hands flew into his pockets to pinch at his thigh.

Hell yes to pain. Hell no to springing a boner like some hormonal teenager because his hopeless crush granted him attention.

He was a grown-ass man, damn it. With far too many unresolved needs and urges.

“Is that your taste? Sparkly, tight, high slit on both sides?” you asked, stopping beside him with a critical glint in your eye, studying the purple dress.

Katsuki swallowed down the honesty rising in his throat and brushed past you. “Move it, princess. Time’s tickin’.”

He headed for the metal rack lined with red dresses, hearing your shoes squeak as you hurried to match his pace. Your fingers grazed his.

“Pick something short,” you whispered. “I need room to move. In case of…you know.”

You were killing him.

While he sifted through the options, you stood too close. Every so often, your hand would brush the fabric of what he picked, feeling it between your fingers. It distracted him. Filthy thoughts ran rampant in his head. The stolen glances at you, snippets he filed away in his secret mental collection.

Your hands on his skin. Your fingers wrapped around him. Your nails leaving crescent moons and dragging scratches down his muscles.

“Are you coming with me to the changing rooms?” you asked as he draped one last dress over his arm. Stupid brain processed it like an invitation. 

“Someone’s gotta play butler for your princess ass.”

You jumped in front of him, blocking his path, and thrust your arms forward. “Give them to me.”

Katsuki snorted in your face, then sidestepped. “Nah.” As if he’d let you carry them—carry anything. What the hell was his strength for?

He headed straight to the last changing stall, dropped the pile inside, and flopped down on the small couch in front of it. You spared him no glance, but pouted and rolled your eyes as you stormed in, kicking the door shut. His knee started to bounce.

That damn attitude of yours was making animal. If he ever got the chance, he’d so fuck it right out of you.

Resting his forearms on his spread legs, Katsuki fixated on the bottom of the door. Your faint shadow moved, and the rhythm of his heartbeat ticked up. You were about to parade red dress after red dress until he chose one, deeming it worthy. His self-restraint, his patience, his nerves—all of it would do well to behave through this self-made hell.

The circumstances kept whatever was between you and him simmering low, but damn if it didn’t feel agonizing at times, having it slowly boil instead of exploding into a blaze.

What would even happen when it finally did?

Would both of you survive the shockwave, or completely disintegrate?

His attention was drawn to his ring finger, the faded imprint of the wedding band still there. A stain that refused to disappear, no matter how many times he washed and scrubbed. He avoided wearing that worthless piece of metal unless wife-on-paper or the public was involved. The sight of it alone twisted his stomach.

But her attempts to get with him, more frequent now, were the reason he went out of his way to minimize breathing the same air as her. He’d rather lock his dick away than touch her again. Nothing in this could make him want her beyond the empty gestures they put on for show. 

The things that once stirred his interest left him indifferent now.

She would snap at some point, when the mountain of rejection reached its peak, and as much as he told himself he was ready, he wasn’t. 

The door to the changing stall creaked open.

His head snapped up.

You leaned against the doorframe, nose and mouth twisted in disappointment, and gestured vaguely toward the oddly shaped dress. “No, right?”

“Nah. Next.” Your body sagged with relief. “Or maybe…” he trailed off, a slow grin appearing on his face. You were too much fun to tease. To play with.

“You can do worse than this. Next!”

The door slammed shut.

Time passed. None of the options were cutting it, and your frustration with his pickiness finally boiled over. He found flaws in every single one. The red wasn’t the right shade, the shapes and cutouts were weird, and the light hit the silk all wrong.

“I should’ve never let you pick. We’re down to the last one, so it better be the one,” you hissed, fumbling with the slit of the dress. “Are you actually this picky, or doing it on purpose?”

“What’s your bet?”

“Picky. Your patience is too short-fused to bother when there are other ways to piss me off.”

“Smart girl.” The rasped praise flowed off his tongue with ease, and he savored the flicker of surprise flashing across your face.

“Inappropriate.”

It was. It fucking was.

But this time, the fault wasn’t his. You’d stopped and stood between his spread legs, hands on your hips, daring him with a murderous glare to say it wasn’t the perfect one. 

Staring up at you, Katsuki breathed in your subtle scent teasing his nose, and a downpour of desire flooded his veins. Hot. Carnal. A sin begging to be committed. His fingers flexed against the velvet couch as he drank you in like the thirsty bastard he was.

Off the shoulders, the dress wrapped itself around your curves, flared slightly at the waist, and ended mid-thigh. Flawless red, complementing your skin and driving him insane. He hadn’t even seen the back yet.

“Turn around,” he said.

You regarded him for a tense beat, brows lifting in challenge. Then, slowly, you did a half pirouette. “Again, inappropriate, by the way. But fair. I did stare at your ass back then.”

“Heh. Did you stare at my dick…too?” Katsuki’s lungs seized as his eyes fell on your back. The view was nice. Crisscrossed thick ribbons formed a bow at your lower waist, but—

“No. Your ass had me drop-dead before I could.”

Unease speared him. He couldn’t even register your response, let alone come back with something cocky. He stood, hands finding your sides. Gentle. Careful. It wasn’t like him. He didn’t touch like this. Didn’t handle things like they might break into a thousand pieces.

Under his fingertips, you went rigid.

Small, scattered scars marked the skin of your back.

Questions crushed his mind like an avalanche slamming into mountain rocks—hard, fast, suffocating.

What the hell happened? Did someone hurt you? Who? Was it an accident? What kind? How?

“Truthie,” he muttered.

You twisted at the waist, almost mechanically. Swallowed hard. Squinted over your shoulder at what he was looking at. “Ah. That.” A shaky laugh escaped lips that were about to lie; he knew that. “Don’t mind them. Just an accident. Many, many years ago.”

He wanted to believe you, to take your words at face value, but the surrounding air thickened with your discomfort, cloying his chest. There was so much more to the story. An accident, or not, it hurt you badly enough to scar.

Something violent twisted in his gut.

“Caused by someone?”

“Me.” The urgency in your voice contradicted. “Caused by me,” you repeated. “I was pretty clumsy as a kid. I stumbled and fell into this glass cabinet we had in the living room.”

You caused nothing, but were involved. You fell into something made of glass, but probably not at home. And you weren’t clumsy as a kid, his investigation proved it.

He grunted out a quiet “Mhm,” and let his eyes linger. The scars took shape; fallen stars carved into your skin. They didn’t make you any less stunning. Quite the opposite. His own body bore scars as a testament to battles fought and survived.

One day, maybe you’d tell him of your battles too.

“How were you as a kid?” you suddenly asked, luring his attention back to you.

It threw him off for a second, but the answer came easily. “A damn brat. Always gettin’ into trouble when no one watched.”

Your face scrunched up cutely. “How is that any different from now?”

He pinched your sides, causing you to squeak and try escaping him. But the secrets stirring deep within refused to let you go just yet. He pulled you back, where it felt right—close to his body, caught in his hold.

Silence pressed from all sides, save for the wild rhythm of your heart vibrating through it. Katsuki felt it beat through your back and into his chest, calling his own to match it. And in a way he couldn’t explain, they synchronized. One unit. Beating in surreal tandem.

You peered at him, mouth—which he had a mad urge to claim as his—falling open as if to speak. No sound came.

“How pissed you gonna get if I rip the tag off and pay?” he asked.

“You can forget about being my ticket out, whatever that means. You still haven’t told me.”  

Your head dipped slightly. “Too busy getting hard?”

“Hard—huh?” 

His dick twitched, thrilled to be acknowledged. Seriously? He’d been so far up in his own head, he forgot he’d been horny less than thirty minutes ago.

“Sue me,” he grumbled with a shrug, no longer caring he was caught red-handed. “You look hot in that damn dress.”

You whacked at his hand, cutting him a pointed look. “Thanks, but no thanks. You’re married, and I—”

“On paper only,” he snapped, “in case that ain’t obvious yet.”

You shoved away and spun to face him, probably about to launch into some speech about how that didn’t excuse him from ogling or getting hard. He couldn’t take it. His patience was shot, frustration already scorching a path through him.

He spoke first. “Don’t start with that shit. I know what you’re gonna say. Inappropriate. Risky. Immoral. Whatever the hell. I’ll be at the entrance.”

His exit was swift, necessarily fast. He was too damn close to saying or doing something stupid. The only promise he ever made to wife-on-paper was to stay and play house for Yua’s sake. Nothing else. When she took his name, she knew his heart was stone-cold where she was concerned.

Was what he was doing with you cheating? By the world’s rules, definitely.

He didn’t care. What mattered was his line, and he wasn’t crossing it. Ever. You had nothing to worry about.

No touching you the way he burned to. Not even if you begged him, down on your knees, tears in your eyes.

You deserved more. Deserved better than being some dirty little secret he fucked behind closed doors because in front of the world he was bound to someone else.

All of him, or nothing at all.

Chapter Text

The full moon bathed you in an ominous glow as you climbed out of the cab one street away from Lakki Café. You thanked the driver, smiled politely, and pretended to search for something in your somewhat empty purse until he drove away. Once he was out of sight, you hurried down the nearly deserted street, heels clacking against the pavement like a metronome. The sound steadied you, recalibrating each wave of anxiety as it crashed against your stubbornly built walls.

One or two heads turned as you passed. Nothing strange about that. If the roles were reversed, you’d raise a brow too at seeing someone dressed to kill at midnight, with only a convenience store and its flickering neon lights to suggest a party nearby.

In passing, you glanced inside. Empty. Not a single soul in sight. Still, the sign on the door read Open. 

Your kind of store—a self-checkout convenience store. There was one near your apartment building that you frequented. Its walls had seen you far too many times, and its shelves had tolerated your mumbles and indecision at the worst hours of the night, when nightmares chased you away from home. Sometimes, there was no winning against them.

At least they weren’t real. What you were forced to live through tonight was.

Your fingers reached for the front of your coat, slipping through the space between the buttons to find the cool pendant resting above your breasts. Your heart lurched as they grazed its jagged edges. You grasped it tightly, pressing it into your palm, letting the sharpness bite into your skin.

It’s got a tracker inside, linked to my phone. Wear it.

Katsuki’s words from a few hours ago flowed into your thoughts, bringing back the image of him silently tossing a thin box onto your lap, then watching you like a hawk as you inspected it. Suspicion had pinched at your chest almost instantly.

Inside, you’d found a solid gold chain, from which a gem dangled, shaped like that silly explosion emoji you sometimes texted him from your burner phone. Black as a void, it fractured the mall’s fluorescent light into blinding sparkles.

It was beautiful. Too beautiful.

And something he shouldn’t have given you.

Your refusal sparked an argument, a tense back-and-forth. You didn’t want it. First, because it wouldn’t work inside, and second, because trackers weren’t your thing. They implied you didn’t work alone. Even Ayumu had given up trying to convince you, backing off after you’d made it clear that pushing would cost him your partnership. His safety mattered more to you than your own.

Now Katsuki’s did too.

But the bastard was a stubborn, smart bull. Giving up wasn’t in his DNA.

It’s gonna work. Wear it, or I’m comin’ with you.

When you’d reluctantly agreed, he’d looked pleased.

Focus on deliverin’ a stellar act in there, the rest’s been taken care of. I found you once, Truthie. I’ll find you again.

Another promise. Another thread of illusion woven into the fragile fabric of your soul. Another reason that would eventually leave you cold, numb, broken.

Wanted a recording camera on that damn thing, but no time to make it happen.

You would’ve vehemently refused it then. A camera would’ve made your intentions clear if you were caught; what you needed was murky. You needed that leeway to juggle the pieces on the board accordingly. Madam seeing you for what you really were—her antagonist—took that option away.

Your hand fell to your side as Lakki Café came into view, lights off and shrouded in eerie silence. People saw it as closed for the night and ready to reopen in the morning, welcoming customers with the enticing smell of coffee and sugar, layered with the nuances of the current season.

If only they knew.

That sugar would taste like dirt. That coffee, like blood. Those walls might feel more like a hellish prison than a slice of heaven touched by the morning sun.

You envied and pitied them all the same. Oh, to live blissfully unaware of the rot. But at the end of the day, you’d still choose that very rot.

People clung to pretty lies when the truth looked like carnage—easier to ingest and digest. Your parents’ death had almost become such a lie. A syrupy tragedy meant to stir that sweet, sweet compassion that tricked hearts away from curiosity. No one would’ve asked the real questions.

That deception and the sticky resignation it brought sickened you. You had no choice but to pursue the ugly, the dangerous, the gruesome, lest your soul be coated in the kind of regret that would’ve followed you into the next life.

Crossing the street, you took out the invitation and headed for the café’s side door, slipping the black envelope beneath it. Then you rapped your knuckles against the metal surface—four sharp taps. As the sound echoed into the night, your eyes flicked to the faint red dot glowing above the door.

Your lips curled into a devious smile.

A camera? How adorable. Too bad it would only capture a disguise.

The door creaked open, and a head peeked through. Your attention landed on the cashier’s face, schooled into a blank expression that could rival your own, if you weren’t busy playing the part of someone who’d hit the membership jackpot. You let your features soften and forced a timid smile.

She pushed the door wider, inviting you in with a polite bow and a soft, “Good evening. Welcome.”

You returned the gesture and stepped inside. “I thought the party would be in the, um, c-cafe?”

“It is, but not on this floor.” Smiling, she motioned for you to follow. “This way, please.”

Feigning hesitance was easy. A subtle widening of your eyes, as if she’d just whispered a secret. A slow sweep of your gaze across the kitchen, taking it in like it was your first time. A single shuffled step backward as the final touch.

She noticed. You caught the dark glint in her eyes and bit back a scoff. Did she have any idea who her precious Madam supposedly invited into the den?

She guided you through the empty café and up the stairs to the second floor. Anxiety plucked at your insides. The space looked the same, but being here as Madam’s guest, about to witness the depravity, cast everything in a different light.

From the crevices of the impeccable decor, malice seeped outward to smother every trace of moonlight. Shadows slithered like vipers across the furniture and glossy floor. Ill-fated tendrils braided themselves into the lovely aroma of sugar and dough still lingering in the air.

Corruption reigned like a queen here, on a throne of bones, blood, and betrayal.

The cashier stopped in front of the door you were sure Miyuki had disappeared through the first time you set foot in the café. She pressed her finger to the scanner on the knobby handle. Unease stirred in your gut.

How many others had been lured in through this same path? How did they feel, following it?

Because right now, the shadiness of it all was pressing hard against your composure.

“Take the elevator at the end of the hallway,” she said. “The host is waiting for you downstairs.”

“Downstairs? I’m sorry, but this feels—”

“Miss, not many get this wonderful opportunity. Make the best of it,” she cut in, stepping behind you and nudging you past the threshold.

Your body stiffened at her touch, muscles tensing with the urge to remove it. Patience thinned as it lingered, and you sighed in relief when it finally disappeared, your aversion to hands tainted by wrongdoing receding with it.

The door slammed shut and locked behind you as you edged closer to the elevator. The narrow, illuminated hallway suddenly felt more like a trap than a passage. You pushed the elevator button and leaned back against the cold metal, welcoming the chill slipping through your coat. There were no mirrors, only the control panel and the sterile glare of LED spotlights overhead.

Your reflection in the silvery walls was blurry, distorted, unrecognizable, making your hands ball into fists at your sides.

A metal coffin, descending.

Your nails bit into your palms as your mind jumped to the first intrusive thought: your parents’ apartment building collapsing. Their descent must’ve been rocky, not smooth like yours. Unless the cables snapped clean.

If it happened, right now, he wouldn’t know. Wouldn’t come. Wouldn’t find your mangled body, blood spilled, bones crushed, and life drained. 

Just as you hadn’t found theirs.

No attempt to save. No goodbye. Nothing. Simply gone.

The tracker would pulse on his phone with the right location, but by the time he realized something was wrong, it would be too late.

The elevator doors slid open to reveal another hallway, saturated in red light. Your breath steadied, but tension coiled tight like a spring in your gut at the sight of the short man waiting for you. His outfit sparkled despite the poor illumination, flashes reflecting in the lenses of his sunglasses, which rested low on his nose. His perverse gaze crawled over your figure as a grin stretched wide across his cracked lips.

Oh, fucking joy. A creep who reeked of trouble.

“If it ain’t the guest of the hour,” he said, his croaky voice one you instantly recognized.

A creep who was trouble. What were the chances your welcome committee was the same man with whom Miyuki talked, and you had eavesdropped on?

Which meant this was where it happened.

Sharp echoes of your heels filled the space as you strode forward, leaving the metal coffin behind. You forced yourself to nervously look around, taking in your new surroundings, barren as the depths of his beady eyes. “Are you, uh, the host?”

“The gatekeeper, sugar.” He sounded proud. “And you’re who I’ve been waitin’ for.”

Stupid pet name. “I-I am?”

He leaned in closer, the rancid stench of cigars curling into your nose. “I’m a big fan of ya…Truth Exposer.”

A shiver rippled down your spine, shattering as it reached your core. If your story held up, it’d be a miracle. This…gatekeeper seemed quite confident in calling you out. Madam was probably convinced you were the vigilante, while you were starting to think she wasn’t as wise as you thought her to be. 

You dipped your chin, tracing the elegant latticework in the marble beneath your feet. Prudence bubbled too close to the surface. Your mask was starting to crack.

“Aw, ya surprised?” he mocked. “You’re thinkin’ about denyin’ it, ain’t ya? But ya can’t. Our background check came up empty. You’re the real deal.”

Your arms went around yourself as you shuffled a step back. “I’m sorry, this was—this was a mistake. I shouldn’t be h—”

His hoarse laugh was as ugly as the day you first heard it, rolling out in waves. The sound scraped at your patience like nails on paper. Anger surged, bringing goosebumps and sharpening your tongue into a blade that itched to cut Madam’s gatekeeper into something unrecognizable. He clutched his belly, while you clung to your mask with white-knuckled resolve.

Ridiculing people came naturally to him, it seemed. You were certain this pathetic attempt barely scratched the surface of his...skill.

“Hard to believe your act, sugar. There ain’t any fear on ya,” he wheezed between dying laughter, then pivoted on polished dress shoes. “If you’re gonna play pretend, work on that. Come. Ma’am’s waitin’.”

Was this the moment when unsuspecting guests turned into victims? Or was the usual approach welcoming and comforting, meant to lull them into trust, and it was just you getting this special treatment?

He received your silence as you decided that wasting your energy on him wasn’t worth it.

You followed him past the dark double doors at the end of the hallway and into a spacious lobby, drowning in the same red light. The shift in sound was immediate. Your sharp steps softened into muffled ricochets as the pressure against your eardrums increased.

Soundproof. And it started here.

In the center of the room, two couches faced each other, separated by a long, low table. Atop it sat a vase of chrysanthemums—the only decoration. The flowers appeared red, but they could’ve been any color under the light. What was this? A tribute to murdered souls? Disgust thickened at the back of your throat.

On one side stood another pair of double doors. Opposite them, a single one, its surface carved with a four-leaf clover. Your eyes zeroed in on the ironic symbol. The nightclub boss had a tattoo of the same thing. Did all of Madam’s people have it? Was it how they identified each other?

Not Miyuki. Or so Katsuki said. He’d know better than anyone what hid under her clothes.

Maybe only the pawns were inked?

The creepy gatekeeper headed for the single door, knocked twice, then opened it, inclining his head in a show of respect. “I escorted her as ya requested, Ma’am.” He moved aside, allowing you to finally come face-to-face with your current enemy.

Madam…huh.

Unlike the hallway and the lobby, her office glowed in warm, honeyed light from wall sconces spaced along somewhat tastefully decorated walls.  She didn’t acknowledge him, more interested in pinning you to the spot with a cold, calculated gaze.

But so were you.

You studied her. Graying brown hair framed her face in soft curls, none out of place. A face that carried the signs of stress in the deep wrinkles around her hazel eyes and mouth. The aftermath of your little adventure in the nightclub must’ve been quite fun for her.

Granny Ma’am looked closer to her real age, despite the makeup and trademark cherry red dress. A far cry from the woman you’d first seen—triumphant on stage, glowing under the spotlight, and joyfully auctioning people like they were the rarest of treasures.

Maybe it was that jarring contrast contributing to the strange pressure swelling in your chest. Something about her presence was…underwhelming.

“Welcome,” she said, shooing her gatekeeper away with a casual wave of her manicured hand. “I must say, I’m pleasantly surprised. Have a seat, dear.”

You definitely didn’t share her sentiment, but greeted her anyway with the most polite tone you could muster for someone like her. “I still can’t believe I got so lucky to win a membership. Thank you for inviting—”

Her melodious laugh overtook your words as she glided toward the glass cabinet beside her desk, the hem of her dress slithering across the dark hardwood floor. “There’s no need to pretend.” She retrieved two sake cups and a bottle, beautifully adorned with ancient imagery. “I know who you are. I’d much rather speak to you, not whatever this little act is.”

“Sorry?”

Returning to the desk, she placed the cups down, uncorked the bottle, and poured the transparent liquid in stifling silence. One cup slid across the wood toward you.

“I’ll have to refuse. I don’t drink.”

“It’s called hospitality.”

“I appreciate it, but I still won’t drink. I have a certain…”—your gaze flicked to the small glass—“allergy to alcohol.” Alcohol offered by an enemy. Alcohol that could be spiked.

A sly smile tipped the corner of her mouth. “It can also be seen as a sign of trust.” Madam reached for her glass.

“Perhaps,” you said. “But my mother taught me not to trust strangers so easily.”

She downed the alcohol in one go, then smacked her lips. “She taught you well. Pity she’s gone.”

Pity…she’s…gone? 

“Excuse me?”

Madam sank into her lavish chair and laced her fingers together, pointing her pinky at one of the open seats. “Sit.” Her tone was final. An order that ended with…your name.

Your real name.

You tried, really tried, to hold onto your mask, but your mind quivered from the shock numbing your tongue. And the mask dropped. Splintered all over the floor, fragmenting the lie. Blood rushed in your ears. Panic roared like a cornered beast.

Fucking impossible.

Only two people knew—Ayumu and Katsuki—so then how? How did she know?

Ayumu would die before betraying you. And Katsuki—

Thorns of doubt punctured your heart, poison to your beliefs. Had you been wrong all along? Blinded by a soft spot? Too naive to see the truth?

The memory of that Takumi guy’s attention snapping toward the balcony during your infiltration lashed through your synapses.

…Takumi?

“Who?” The question slipped from your frozen lips, surprisingly steady.

“Dear,” Madam tutted. “Again, let’s not pretend. It serves no one.” She poured herself another cup of sake, downed it, and set it aside with a soft thud. “For someone exposing society’s more uncomfortable truths, you’re surprisingly liked. Dare I say…admired?”

Your brain slowed, her words stretching, distorting. Shock was giving way to anger. Heat invaded your bloodstream, slowly bringing it to a boil. Your fingers twitched, itchy to touch the pendant.

A dangerous glint danced in her hazel eyes as she studied your reactions. “You have a great deal of power at your fingertips,” she continued. “I don’t doubt you could destabilize this entire country if you put your mind to it.”

You could.

People ate up your truths like melted butter on bread. One malicious speech was all it would take to start the fire, and those same people would throw gasoline on the flames until they raged out of control, engulfing everything. That was why the authorities wanted you imprisoned. Why they sought out Katsuki.

But you wouldn’t. It was never the goal.

Your wish had always been to open a path for people who needed closure, no matter the source of their pain. Hurt could be so much like grief. A lingering ghost wringing hearts dry with its deep, unbearable ache. 

Knowing helped. Knowing silenced the haunting why. Knowing was the reassurance that it was okay to move forward, to find hope in tomorrow.

You inhaled the stale air of Madam’s office, letting its molecules absorb your doubts and fears, cleansing your mind and heart of the impurities disrupting your mission. Then you exhaled, purging the tainted particles.

Truth Exposer existed to end people like her, not to be ended. 

“Get to the point.” Facade discarded, you eased into one of the seats and relaxed into the expensive leather. “Wasted time serves no one.”

Her eyes flared as she straightened her posture. “Now we’re talking,” she said, offering what you assumed was her business smile. You couldn’t wait to wipe it off. “You’re a grand prize, girl—young, smart, cunning. I’d love for you to join me.”

Your teeth clenched the second you heard grand prize. No one had ever called you that, but someone had once made you feel like one. You hated it. Hated how it reduced you to a thing. As if you weren’t the sum of your thoughts, feelings, and experiences.

“Why didn’t you ask me to wear gold?” you deadpanned. “It would’ve fed your delusion well, since I’ve never seen a trophy made out of red silk.”

“Ah, a sharp tongue. How charming.” She let out a delicate laugh, the sound prickling the hairs on the back of your neck. “I’m well aware you’d never willingly join me. Asking nicely—”

“I’d drink myself into a coma before doing something that outrageous.”

“—leads to dead ends. Which is why I’ve had to explore other options.”

She opened one of the drawers and pulled out a manila folder, tossing it onto the desk like whatever it held was beneath her.

“Blackmail?”

Malice curled into the smirk blooming on her face as you reached for the folder and flipped it open. “She’ll be up for grabs tonight,” Madam said. “Poor, precious thing. Sold by her mother to cover her man’s debt.”

The depraved, putrid reality written in black and white stared you in the face, while the splash of innocence captured in the attached photo sent your world spinning off its axis. It spiraled out of control, and you with it.

A tremor ran through your hands. Another down your spine.  

Your chest caved, as if a wrecking ball had slammed into it, turning your breathing into chaos, tiny gasps and ragged huffs.

“You, Granny, are fucking sick in the head,” you gritted out, the paper crumpling beneath your nails. “A child?”

She dismissed your outrage with a lazy wave of her hand. “In my line of work, there’s no child or adult, only—”

Murderous fury exploded in your veins before she could finish. Your fists slammed into the desk. The cups and sake bottle toppled, spilling their contents. Alcohol dripped to the floor.

Drip…drip…drip.

The sound became a torture device, grinding the fragile plates of your sanity together.

“People are not goods. Least of all a child.” You struck the wood again, harder this time, and locked eyes with her. “You couldn’t have possibly made a worse move, Madam.”

She hummed, unbothered. “Are you threatening me, girl?”

The last person who’d asked that regretted it, but back then, you’d fought under anonymity. Your real name was on the table now, and you had no idea how deep her knowledge of you ran.

This was the unknown variable you would’ve never accounted for, and you felt the terror of it.

Because of Ayumu.

Because of Katsuki.

How she knew became an afterthought as realization slapped you with one undeniable, existential truth.

You were compromised. From schemer to pawn on a new board, bound by obscure rules.

Failure stung like a swarm of angry bees, its taste acrid in your mouth. Smart? Doubtful. Unbreakable? Not a chance when your soul was already fraying at the edges in preparation for what was to come.

So much for keeping your hands clean.

Your fingers unfurled as your gaze dropped to the desk. Your body slightly swayed. You were suffocating beneath an inescapable sentence. Reaching up, you grazed your fingertips over the pendant.

I’m sorry.

“What’s the girl’s price?” you asked quietly, disgusted by your very existence.

“Her price? She doesn’t have one.” Madam circled the desk and stopped beside you. Her sweet perfume mocked your senses. You wished it were poison. “I don’t price tag.” She poked you in the arm. “You do.”

Did the end justify the means?

Probably not.

You could walk away, but your light would be devoured either way. Between becoming a villain through cowardice or one by choice, which could you live with?

The answer came in the cadence of your next broken heartbeat.

“So, all I have to do is join your hideous little party and bid?”

You lifted your head in time to see her cruel smile twist into one worn by a winner.

“Your bank account better have enough. You have competition.” Flipping her hair over her shoulder, Madam headed for the door, like a queen abandoning her court after burning it to the ground. “I’m looking forward to it, dear girl. Until then, do try to enjoy the party.”

Red.

She’d made you wear it…to humiliate you.

Chapter Text

Madam’s smug gatekeeper escorted you out of her office, after demanding your coat and purse, and into the room across from it, where the party was in full swing. You walked in with your head held high and a numbed heart. She’d played you well, her strings looped tight around your limbs. But the game wasn’t over. This wasn’t checkmate. Not even close.

Red light bled over silhouettes, and although you blended into it, you were the outsider amidst the mass of black, forced to keep playing your role. She couldn’t have been that stupid, telling her guests who you really were. When the many pairs of intrusive eyes anchored on you, hooks in your cold flesh, you knew she hadn’t. They looked at you disdainfully, labelling you the odd exhibit crashing their perverse party.

An eyesore. Reeking of disrespect for their precious Madam in your pretty little red dress.

Alcohol fumes, seductive piano notes, and that sweet, arousing fragrance that had violated your senses before all merged into a heavy, insufferable atmosphere. It seeped into your skin, heating it from the inside out. Unbidden desire sparked in your core.

As the forced arousal pooled low in your belly, you swept your gaze over the crowd, scrutinizing the scrutinizers. Familiar faces emerged.

Nakamura Yui, the fashion designer you recently exposed. The perfumer whose name you couldn’t recall, but had his face plastered everywhere nowadays, for the innovative scents he brought to the market. And of course, Katsuki’s disgrace of a wife, your personal favorite.

Leaning against the bar with a drink in hand, she inspected you from head to toe, a slight twist to her mouth. She wore a short, tight dress that clung to her fit figure like a second skin, as was customary, accessorized to hell and back. Her minty hair was braided into a flawless fishtail, resting over one shoulder in all its silky, voluminous splendor.

She was an eye-catcher, and you weren’t surprised Katsuki had given her the time of day once upon a time. In looks alone, she was suited to stand by his side.

Envy splashed green across your heart, but at the same time, something wicked twisted inside.

It was you he chased.

“Chin up. She’s got nothing on you.”

You startled at the masculine voice swirling like thick smoke in your ear, and whipped around. The sudden movement caused your heel to slip. Gasping, you tried to regain your balance. A hand clasped your wrist, tugging you forward. Your body bumped into another. Warm and firm and carrying the scent of a cologne you knew all too well.

Seducing your senses.

Without thinking, you leaned into it.

“Caught you,” the same voice whispered too close to your ear, making your body shudder. A low chuckle followed, and clarity sledgehammered your skull.

You shoved away from the embrace and were greeted by violet eyes, not red. Black hair, most of it slicked back, not untamed blond. A sly smirk, not ravishingly cocky.

Your skin crawled where he touched.

Takumi.

“I’m sorry. I’m rather clumsy, it seems,” you forced out, pasting a timid smile.

“Hmm, or maybe just really surprised at finding a pro hero’s wife here.” Takumi reached for your hand, and it took everything in you not to recoil as he pressed a light kiss to your knuckles, his gaze holding yours. “You look stunning.”

The stupid compliment hit the right spot, and you hated yourself for soaking it up the same way dry earth absorbed water. It was hard staying immune to compliments when the thick layers thinned, when your vulnerabilities poked at the surface.

You withdrew your hand. “Thank you, but who…are you?”

“Name’s Takumi. I’m your plus one for the night, darling. Per Madam’s request.”

Your eye twitched at the pet name. Sugar, dear, now darling. What was next? Cutie pie?

His shoulders pulled back, hands sliding into his pants pockets, drawing your attention. His dress shirt, crisp and pressed to the line, was rolled up to his forearms, giving you a clear view of his tattoos. They started at his wrist, irregular, wavy lines resembling threads that climbed up his arm like vines, neatly circling the numbers inked on his skin.

Numbers.

More like dates. Six digits. Year, month, day.

Your mouth dried instantly, and you snapped your head up to find him already staring. Anticipation danced in his violet eyes, eager and almost enamored. Your heart skipped from both dread and interest, because even when all doors were slammed shut and locked tight, there was always one where a fresh draft of air slipped through, promising escape.

“The invitation didn’t mention a plus one,” you said.

“Well, it was supposed to be a surp—”

“Playing host to the newcomer?” Miyuki interrupted, wedging herself between you and Takumi and forcing you to step back before her heels found your toes. Your brows lifted as she leaned into him, arms crossed over her chest. How close were these two? What you were witnessing was far too intimate to be just friendship.

You really didn’t want to jump to conclusions, but the blatant display of possessiveness had you wondering if Takumi was the man she’d cheated on Katsuki with. 

Takumi slid her a cool look. “I’m her date tonight.”

“Since when? Did Madam put you up to it?”

Jealousy? You scoffed before you could stop yourself, earning yourself their attention. “The air in here is a bit stuffy,” you lied, wrinkling your nose.

“Sensitive,” Miyuki muttered.

“Let’s get you out of here.” Takumi pushed her aside and extended his hand to you. “Come, darling.”

You gazed at his hand warily, eyes narrowing on the tattoo inked along his inner wrist. The soul remembers. Three words that thrummed in your skull like a siren’s call. Your stomach plummeted. You wanted to press a hand against it, to soften the drop, but you clenched your teeth instead.

Show no weakness.

“Lead the way,” you said, lacing your fingers together. The rejection seemed to have struck a nerve; violet eyes dulled.

With a curt nod, he turned and strode away, leaving Miyuki to glare daggers at you, completely ignored.

You followed. As you passed her, you muttered, “One man not enough, Mrs. Bakugou?” Satisfaction curled in your chest at the sputters spilling from that lying, manipulative, poisonous mouth. Deserved, and only the beginning. She was high on your list of people to ruin.

Takumi led you past the bar, through a fingerprint-locked door, and up a carpeted staircase to the balcony overlooking the party below, the same one you had spied from during the last auction. Next to the railing waited a single round table, draped in cloth, and two armchairs.

“Any way I can convince you to share a drink with me?” he asked, rolling a bar cart out of the shadows, stocked with expensive spirits, as you eased into one of the seats.

“I don’t drink. Thank you.”

He uncorked a half-empty bottle of liquor. “I won’t spike it.” He poured himself a glass, the liquid glinting in the macabre light. “Not my thing, if that’s your concern.”

“Why would it be? Seems like quite the respectable party,” you said. “I’m just wondering why I’m here, and not down there getting to know the rest of the members.”

Takumi sat down and sipped, watching you over the rim of the glass. “You’ll find nothing of value down there.”

“But I’ll find it up here? With you?”

A devil’s smile spread across his lips as he set aside the glass. “Play a game with me, darling.”

Reclining in the armchair, you crossed your legs. “What game?”

“A truth game. I’ll start. Blondie’s memory problem is my fault.” His smoky voice carried an infuriating nonchalance that roused your anger from its slumber. “But thanks to him, I got you here. You’re on his mind a lot. Pretty, precious Truthie.”

He spat Katsuki’s nickname for you as if its very existence were abominable. And while something deep inside you froze over, your blood boiled, flushing your skin. Anger prowled. Paced behind your ribs. Razor claws scraped bone.

He had been near Katsuki, hurting him. Invading his space. Once? Twice? More?

Your mind worked through the anger and the bits of information as you sneaked a glance at his tattoo. His bare hand. His glass. His face. Puzzle pieces slammed into place with a sickening click. Bile scorched the back of your throat. You felt nauseous, dizzy.

Small.

What good were you when you’d been played like this? What good were you when it seemed like you’d been living in a bubble, oblivious to what lurked outside of it?

Useless girl.

You had promised Katsuki his freedom. Silently, you had vowed to keep him safe.

This fucking lunatic…

Madam’s trump card. Memory Quirk user. The culprit behind the mass amnesia. And more. Much more.

You had every reason to run, to put as much distance as possible. Instead, you closed in on him. A leap of faith.

“There’s something you want from me. What is it?” you asked.

His eyes lit up, violet irises blazing like twin stars in the eerie crimson. Drifting to the party below, where laughter and flirting mingled among the crowd. “All of this burned to the ground,” he said. “I want you to make it your goal—your life mission—to destroy Madam. And not stop until it’s done.”

Shock sprinkled through your nerves. “What?”

“You heard me.” Takumi locked eyes with you. Their intensity charged the condemned air. “Blondie’s freedom, and his memories intact, are incentive enough, I’m sure.” He hummed. “You’ve got quite the weakness for him. I saw it earlier when I touched you. A glimpse of the deal you two have.”

Chills burst across your skin where his hand had been. You’d scrub it raw, but didn’t think it’d erase the violation. Maybe if you cut that chunk out.

“Why me?”

He chuckled, low and long. “Who else would be crazy enough to expose all of this? I don’t think I need to tell you how Madam’s business runs.”

You inclined your head, reluctantly agreeing. “There’s something I don’t understand, though. Why do you want it gone?”

“Mmm.” Reaching into his pocket, Takumi pulled out a pair of gloves and slid them on. “I have my reasons.”

Your eyes strayed back to his tattoo. Again. “I see.”

He called Katsuki your weakness. But the thing about weaknesses, they could be turned into weapons.

You stood, and Takumi watched curiously as your hands planted themselves on the table. “Sounds like it’s me and me alone you need to make your wish come true.”

You had never moved faster. Lunging for his glass, you slammed it against the table’s edge, shattering it. Alcohol spilled everywhere. The shard in your grip slashed up to your throat. 

Takumi shot from his seat, his heavy armchair screeching across the marble. His mouth opened, but you pressed the glass shard harder to your skin, over the frenzied beat of your pulse, afraid of the madness driving your hand.

“Let me make something very clear,” you said, voice dropping to absolute zero. “Get anywhere near him again, and I’ll crush your fucking dream with one precise cut.”

His eyes widened. Fear streaked across them. A first. “You would.” You didn’t miss the way his hand crept over the other, folding tight around his inked wrist. “Of course you would.”

Odd words that you shoved aside. Now wasn’t the time to dwell.

“The girl’s auction tonight, I’m winning it. Fair means, or not.”

“Done.”

“One more thing.” The smile you gave him matched his instability perfectly. “Keep Miyuki on a tight leash for me, okay?”

When he nodded, you tossed the shard onto the table. Its jagged edge gleamed dark.

Your palm stung.

Damn it.

*

Who you had walked in as wasn’t the same as who walked out.

A part of you had been stomped on and killed, maybe the last remnants of innocence. Recognizing yourself felt like a battle against an invisible force, hell-bent on keeping you trapped in a war-torn limbo.

You were the first to leave that wretched place, bolting out as soon as the auction concluded, stomach churning and bile rising as you stumbled through the café’s side door into the icy night air. Your legs shook like those of a newborn fawn, barely keeping you upright, but sheer will forced them to move, to carry you farther away.

Wearing only your dress, its hem ripped, you hobbled in whatever direction your feet carried you, the path ahead illuminated by moonlight. You sought that glow out, your expression contorting with bitterness at the irony embedded in the sky. So clean. So impeccable. It made you wish you could crawl out of your filthy skin and leave it behind.

How are you any different from her?

Katsuki’s voice came back to haunt you. Back then, you had no answer, but now you did.

You weren’t. Madam, Miyuki, Takumi, and you, all monsters, each a different breed. 

On the next full moon, another auction would take place. More people would be sold, more money funneled into that old woman’s accounts. Could you stop it by then? Were you even capable when it was you against her, and the well-oiled machine keeping her empire alive?

I’m your best shot. Bet on me.

How fucking naive. How badly you had overestimated yourself.

Success so far didn’t mean a damn thing.

It’s where she was taken from. Start there, darling. Find her mother.

Your injured hand reached for the necklace, fingers closing around the pendant. You clutched it until the pointed gem pierced through the makeshift bandage.

“How do I tell you? How can I tell you that I—” Your throat cinched shut, strangling the honesty before it could be heard.

The night chill seeped into your bare skin, coaxing a shiver from your bones. You gripped harder at the pendant because the only warmth you felt came from the wet bloom in your palm, comforting despite its bite. When your eyes stung and your vision blurred, you let it go to wipe at them, smudging your makeup.

You had no right to cry. Not for yourself, at least. Actions had consequences. Every choice demanded a price.

“Fake it until you m-make it,” you murmured, the words trembling as much as your body. “You’re…okay. You’re fine. Get a—Get a grip.”

She didn’t bleed and survive for you to break.

You expelled a breath and blinked. The world snapped back into focus—open, spacious. White stripes stretched under your feet, faintly tinted green. Your head lifted toward the source. More green, shaped like a person. Blinking.

Your steps faltered as light caught in your periphery.

Headlights.

Instinct revolted. A thousand thoughts collided at once in your head. For a moment—

The glare flared like a supernova.

Someone screamed behind you.

Brakes screeched.

Time froze, your heart’s gallop the only sign of life. The black sports car halted so close its heat steamed your skin like a dragon’s breath. You barely registered the driver before the door burst open, slamming hard enough to shake the air.

“Truthie!”

At the sound of his voice, your legs gave out. You crumbled to the ground, knees first, consumed by the blaze of the headlights. One agonizing beat, then he was there, dropping to one knee, warm palm cupping your cheek.

Katsuki was…here.

“What the hell? You okay? You hurt?” Concern you didn’t deserve roughened his voice. His eyes searched your face before dropping to your bandaged hand, your ripped dress. “Tell me. Tell me you’re okay.”

“I’m—”

“Is she alright? Should I call for help?” A stranger’s voice interrupted. Katsuki reacted instantly, shifting to shield you from prying eyes. “Oh! Dynamight?”

“I got her. Move along.”

“I can—”

“Move. Along.”

Whether out of a sudden need to soothe his anger or because of his fierce protectiveness, you pressed your forehead to his back, fingers weakly clutching his jacket.

“I’m okay,” you said, biting down on your trembling lip. “I’m okay. No one hurt me.”

But he would, if he knew what you’d done. His hands wouldn’t treat you with such care, like you were the most fragile thing he’d ever held. They’d grip, restrain. His eyes wouldn’t brim with fear, as if damage to you was damage to him. They’d cut straight through your soul.

Bakugou Katsuki wouldn’t be the hero taking off his jacket to wrap you in warmth, but the one stripping your freedom away. And you wouldn’t be in his arms, carried to the safety of his car; you’d be dumped behind bars, discarded, the world rid of you.

Mission successful. Commission completed.

His conscience would be clean.

Once he was in the car and the outside world was shut out of your bubble, you opened your mouth to speak, to ask him to drop you off a short distance from home, but stopped. His hands shook on the steering wheel as he stared ahead, his expression unreadable.

Still, you knew where his thoughts had gone. It didn’t take a genius.

Your spiraling could’ve gotten you killed. By his hands, no less.

You’re on his mind a lot.

He was on yours too, and…

The knot from earlier returned in your throat, painfully suffocating. It didn’t matter. This—you and him—would be over soon. Every passing minute dragged you closer to losing him. Fate would be sealed the moment you spoke the words.

“What happened in there?” he asked, breaking the silence.

Not yet. Just a bit longer. A short while.

Your hands clutched the torn hem of your dress as you forced yourself to meet his eyes. “Can we talk about it tomorrow?”

Katsuki studied you for a second before blowing out a breath and starting the car. “Yeah. Yeah, we can,” he said at last, to your relief. “I’m takin’ you home. While I’m at it, you can tell me why your hand’s like that.”

You nodded. “I broke a glass in anger. That’s it. Uh…don’t you need my address?”

“I know where you live.”

“You do?”

He grunted in reply and pressed harder on the gas, his brows knitting into a frown. The conversation felt over, so you sank into the seat and focused on engraving these last moments with him into your very soul.

Tomorrow, could it not come?

Chapter Text

You hummed at the steaming bowl of soup placed before you, its delicious aroma curling through the sunlit air and wrapping around your senses with the scent of home. You’d missed this, even though it hadn’t been long since your last visit. Smiling, you met your mom’s kind eyes as she settled into the seat across from you, mirroring your joy in the gentle curve of her lips.

“It’s so good to see you, honey,” she said. “Have you been well?”

You picked up your spoon. “Yeah. Work eased up, so I’ve had more time for things, like seeing you. But you already know that.”

“I do, but with how fast things move, I need to stay up to date.” She reclined in her chair and smoothed a hand over the frilly apron she wore, one of many in her ever-growing collection. For reasons you’d never fully understood, she collected them like some people did merchandise. “Especially with you, young lady. You move from one thing to the next in the blink of an eye.”

“Mom.” You shot her a disapproving look as you brought the spoon to your mouth. A blissful sound escaped you as the intense flavors danced on your tongue. “Oh, this is just as heavenly as I remember.” Your eyes fluttered shut for a moment. “Please, please come over sometime and make this for me. I’ll do anything. Visit you every day, or whatever.”

Your mom laughed, light and heartwarming, like windchimes swaying in a soft breeze. “Honey, I would, but your fiancé treats your kitchen like it’s sacred ground.”

“My…fiancé?” You blinked owlishly, staring at her like she wasn’t real. You had no clue what she meant because you were single. At least, the last time you checked.

“Hmm?” Her brows knitted in confusion. “Is something wrong?”

“I think so. You mentioned a fiancé, but I’m not—I’m not even in a relationship?”

“What? W–what do you mean you’re not? You have the ring right there. You even set the date!”

She grabbed your hand and lifted it. Your eyes went comically wide as she tapped a nail against the sunset-hued gems. They shimmered in the sunlight sneaking in through the thin curtains of the living room.

It was beautiful, this supposed engagement ring, but you had no memory of receiving it. No memory of who it came from, either.

“Who, um, am I marrying?” you asked, feeling insane for even saying it. Who in their right mind didn’t know who they were supposed to marry?

Your mom shook her head, taken aback, confirming something was seriously wrong. Then she squeezed your fingers, her concern seeping into your skin. “Did something happen between you and Katsuki? Are you two not—”

“Who? Katsuki?” Something crept along the edges of your awareness, leaving your stomach hollow. There was only one Katsuki you knew, and that was… “Bakugou Katsuki? He’s my fiancé? The guy I’m marrying? The guy who proposed to me and put this ring on my finger?”

Slowly, she nodded.

“No way,” you replied, scoffing. “That’s impossible. He’s already…married.”

Clarity exploded in your skull like fireworks, shifting reality, reshaping it, piece by piece. Gasping, you shoved back from your seat. The chair clattered to the floor as you lurched to your feet. One hand gripped your head, the other sent the bowl of steaming soup flying.

But nothing burned. Nothing spilled on the table or floor.

It wasn’t there.  

It never was.

None of this existed.

The staggering truth punched the air from your lungs, and you stumbled back, reeling from the shock. Your heart pounded, faster and faster, as if slowing down would mean its final thump. 

Your mom rose from her seat, her voice soft and maternal as she said your name. You looked at her. Stared like never before, and wished you hadn’t. The sight made your lungs ache. Each breath stabbed and stabbed and stabbed until you clutched your throat, fighting for air.

She wasn’t solid. She wasn’t living or breathing.

She was…an echo of what once was, her presence fading like the colors in a photograph abandoned by time.

The ground beneath your feet shuddered. The walls quaked as cracks spiderwebbed through pale plaster. Glass shattered around you, the shards catching warm sunlight like a kaleidoscope before they embedded themselves in your flesh. Blood ran down your arms in thin rivulets, clinging to your fingertips.

When the first drop hit the floor, she began to bleed.

Cruel crimson soaked her frilly apron. It stained her ghost, her memory, and stabbed you with its grievous sword, straight into your soul.

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, honey. It always ends like this.” Her voice trembled, sorrowful tears carving paths through the red staining her cheeks. “But this time…it’s not about me and your father. It’s about him.”

Your hand drifted to your chest, finding the familiar pendant warm against your skin. She nodded, with a sad smile on her lips and a thousand unspoken apologies in her eyes.

“Katsuki cares. You know he does, even if you’re denying it. He wouldn’t do what he does, don’t you think?” She glided closer, pressing cold, sheer palms to your cheeks. “He’ll probably get angry, but not hateful. You did what you had to do to save her.”

Overhead, the ceiling cracked, and chunks rained down, shattering into fragments across the floor. Dents appeared in the hardwood.

“Of course, my subconscious would say what I want to hear.” Bitter laughter bubbled up, echoing in the midst of the collapse. “You’re right. I did what I had to do, but it doesn’t change the truth. I’m not her savior, or her hero—I’m her buyer. And I can barely stomach it, let alone Katsuki, when I tell him.” You reached out. Your fingertips met no resistance. “I’m sorry, Mom. I am what I’ve always been.”

“N-no,” she sobbed, pulling you into an embrace you couldn’t feel.

“I’m sorry you and Dad drew the short stick. Maybe—”

“No!”

“—you’d still be alive if you didn’t have me.” Grim resignation tugged at your mouth. “Maybe you two would’ve lived happily in Yokohama. Somewhere with a pretty view of that Ferris Wheel you loved so much.”

The ceiling gave way completely, gaping holes tearing open in the floor. As harsh, blinding sunlight engulfed the space and cast her ghost in a pale glow, the building shuddered. Your legs wobbled from the instability, but with your heart throbbing, pierced by resurfacing grief, you couldn’t steady yourself.

You dropped to your knees before her, gaze lifted when it should have been lowered.

“Do you think I’ll ever stop being a disappointment?” you asked.

Her apparition burst into thousands of kaleidoscopic particles. A moment later, the ground crumbled.

You fell.

The air’s howl sounded like mourning wails, blending with the groans and creaks of the collapsing building. Your skin prickled. The contrast was visceral. Death and destruction all around, and above, the sun blazed, its light consuming every trace of darkness it found.

Strangely, a haunting calm wrapped around you like a mantle the longer you fell through the chaos.

Stranger still, you didn’t scream, unlike the other times.

Your hand pushed forward through the resistance, the ring catching the sun’s rays. What a joke. You stared at it, and all you wanted to do was laugh. It was never meant for you, never would be. But you had to give credit where credit was due: to your mind, for making you believe it was for one delusional second.

As the thought burrowed into your bones, heat surged through your ring finger. Sharp, and searing, and smoldering your veins like thick magma. Something knotted in the center of your chest. You thought it was your heart, but it felt deeper. Deeper than conscious comprehension.

Ivory, radiant threads unfurled from the gems, flailing wildly as you continued to fall. The sky darkened. The sun vanished, replaced by the largest full moon you’d ever seen. But then, it distorted, warped as if an invisible force had begun devouring its essence.

Your lips parted in surprise. Wider as you realized the building was gone. No rubble. No ruin. Just…void.

“Wh—”

You slammed into soft ground. Red petals exploded upward—the last thing you saw before everything went dark. Before whatever swallowed the moon, it swallowed you too.

Your eyes snapped open to the first signs of dawn creeping through the tall windows of your bedroom. You jolted upright and flung the blanket aside as a dull, achy pain tore through your sleep-laden body, scattering your thoughts. Adrenaline surged. Blood roared in your ears, drowning everything else.

Breathing became a battle, your mouth letting out short, rapid bursts of air that felt far from enough. There was pressure on your chest, a crushing heaviness that filled you with irrational fear. And on your tongue, the unmistakable taste of metal bloomed, weird and wrong.

Your bedroom’s walls began to close in and thin the air, but you didn’t wait for them to trap you in their asphyxiating silence. You sprang from the bed, ripped open the door, and stumbled into the open space of your apartment.

It had been so long since you dreamed of her, and yet it still managed to flip your whole world upside down; at least your dad wasn’t there this time to twist the dagger. Nevertheless, you hated it, the way seeing her ghost made you feel—weak with fear, trembling because of vulnerability, choking on grief that shouldn’t wreck you as badly as back then.

But what you hated more was him being the reason.

You were your own worst enemy. Instead of easing the loss, your mind weaponized it, antagonizing your heart with scraps of what could’ve been.

No running from the heartbreak. When it happened, you’d take it and take it and take it, without breaking. Because the outcome was never meant to be any different. The separation was fate, not choice.

You shoved the terrace door open and rushed outside, desperate to escape the feelings reverting you to a younger version of yourself, someone who didn’t belong in your present. You gasped as the freezing autumn air shocked your already frazzled nerves, your only attire the flimsy robe you’d thrown on hours ago before diving under the covers to hide from the world.

Like a well-deserved punishment, you welcomed the cold and ran for the balustrade.

Your hands fisted around the freezing steel as you leaned into it. From the safety of your apartment on the top floor, the view had always been breathtaking. Now, as your arms slid farther apart, it wasn’t stolen breaths you experienced, but the thrill of danger, the heightened risk that something could go wrong. Your insides felt like they were in free fall.

Terrifying, but liberating in a way not many would understand. You had no one to blame but her. Her coping mechanisms followed you into adulthood. Unhealthy as fuck, and responsible for so many of your decisions, impulses, and actions.

Because of her, you confronted fear head-on, exposing yourself to it until you conquered it. Running was forbidden; only fighting was allowed. And if you had to, faking it to make it was the only way forward.

In moments like these, when the cityscape reflected the face of death, you could almost hear her giggle and kick her feet. She kept score. Every time death failed to claim you, it was a win.

Your win.

Your eyes began to flutter shut as you tipped your head back, letting yourself relax, embracing the triumph. You wanted to savor it with her, but then you were yanked back. 

Your balance vanished, along with the city, swallowed behind the balustrade. A scream climbed up your throat and tore from your vocal cords, but it lasted only a moment. Your voice was quickly muffled, your face smushed against something that smelled strongly of peaches.

Something that moved. Up and down. Fast.

Breathed.

A person.

You were close to uttering Ayumu’s name, but peaches weren’t his fragrance. Inhaling, you detected another scent, and your body numbed from how fast your heart soared. The name slipped from your mouth before you could stop it, breaching every possible boundary you’d set.

“Katsuki.”

A sound, caught somewhere between anguish and anger, hit your ears as his arms locked you against him, molding every dip and curve of your body to his. “Goddamn it, Truthie. You can’t be doin’ this to me. You can’t. You just fuckin’ can’t, you hear me?”

Your mom’s words rolled through your mind like dense mist. Words you’d called bullshit on. Words you’d reduced to your subconscious giving you what you wanted to hear, dismissing the possibility that perhaps they were what you needed to see.

Katsuki wouldn’t be here if you meant nothing. He wouldn’t hold you like this, so tightly, as if the safety of his arms alone could cleanse you of misery. As if he wanted his scent to fuse with your skin, your clothes, so the world wouldn’t mistake what you both weren’t: strangers. As if he needed the beat of his heart to complete yours, an intimate proof of what existed—against your every protest—between you.

Denial trembled on your lips. Tears welled behind your screwed-shut eyes. Your cold cheeks were drenched in seconds, stinging salt washing away the lie you'd alchemized into truth. And wordlessly, in the iron clutch of your fingers on the back of his peach-scented sweater, you admitted it to him.

You wanted him right where he was.

More than anything.  

More than anyone else.  

Even with your hands this dirty.

The fragile threads holding you together unraveled, and you came undone in his embrace. Tattered scraps of your heart drifted to the floor with the first raw cry that tore from somewhere deep in your soul.

Katsuki stayed quiet, but his voice was in the way his fingers tangled in your hair, in the way he buried his face into your shoulder. I’m here. I got you.

You felt it and cried harder.

He was. He always had been. That tiny voice in the back of your mind, sometimes louder than your own, pushing you to aim higher, daring you to be better. That invisible presence that brought comfort just by existing somewhere out there.

You didn’t want to—  

“Lose you.”

“Huh?”

Your hand moved from his back to his head, hovering for a beat before settling. Your fingers wove into his thick hair, soft like feathers, but slightly coarse, keeping from seeing your puffy eyes and the rest of your messy face. You couldn’t let him. The spur of honesty would fizzle out if he did.

“I’m going to lose you. And it doesn’t matter that I don’t want to.” You inhaled and bit your lip. “I can’t lie about what happened. One way or another, you’ll find out. Best if it’s from me.”

Katsuki’s breath caught as his body went stiff with tension, but his heart…his heart went into overdrive. Powerful drumming that jolted your ribs. “Why?” he asked.

You let out a questioning hum. Why what? 

Despite your best effort to stop him, he managed to raise his head and find your watery gaze. “Why don’t you wanna lose me?”

Bravery waned the longer you quietly stared at him, but the truth still buzzed on the tip of your tongue, charged and insistent and annoying.

“Why?” he insisted, his warm, humid palm on your nape pulling you closer. You didn’t think he realized just how close.

Hopeful curiosity swirled in those intense eyes of his, coaxing swarms of butterflies to take flight in your stomach. Your mouth parted on a shaky exhale. Ticking moments halted, long enough for you to go crazy knowing that tipping your chin was all it would take to brush your lips against his.

You thought the aphrodisiac in Madam’s den was bad.

This was worse.

Your feelings were intoxicating your mind, drugging your heart with optimism and belief in a future you were certain it was doomed.

“I like us, even though it’s—”

“Inappropriate.”

“Yeah,” you agreed, and stole a glance at his mouth at the same time he did yours. “It is very inappropriate. But you and I…we, uh…we’re fun. I guess.”

“That’s it?”

“That’s…” The focused way he looked between your eyes disrupted your train of thought. His attention hypnotized you. “I wish you’d stay.”

“What makes you think I won’t?” He swiped a stray tear from your cheek with his knuckles.

That snapped you out of the haze.

Here it was.  

The moment of truth. 

The moment of loss.

Anxiety coiled tight in your stomach, strangling every last fluttering butterfly in cold blood. The chill spread through your veins, numbing you to the bone.

“Sweetheart? What’s—Who—?”

Your eyes popped open in horror at the sound of your best friend’s voice. Katsuki’s eyes narrowed. He whirled around, giving you a clear view of Ayumu standing frozen in the terrace doorway. A bag from your favorite bakery dangled from one hand, a drink carrier with two paper cups in the other. The smell of freshly baked goods and cappuccino hit your nose, and you nearly dry heaved.

Fuck.  

A million fucks.

“B—Ba—Bakugou?!” Ayumu’s jaw dropped. His eyes darted between you and Katsuki in total disbelief. “What is he doing here?!”

Responding? Reacting? You didn’t have a second to do either.

Katsuki moved with unfair speed, grabbing Ayumu by the shirt and slamming him against the nearest wall. The bag hit the floor with a loud crinkle that made you cringe. A beat later, the two cups followed, spilling cappuccino across the stone tile at their feet.

“Who the hell are you?” Katsuki snarled, voice twice as deep and lethal.

“Let him go!” You rushed in, hastily wiping the evidence of your breakdown from your face. He didn’t flinch. “Now.”

Your command landed on deaf ears. He was zeroed in on Ayumu like a predator locking onto a threat encroaching on his territory. Hostility rolled off him in waves, poisoning the air and whatever you’d just shared with him. Your heart closed off, iced over as irritation took root in its place.

Puffing out a breath at the emotional whiplash, you smacked a hand to his steel-like bicep and tugged to no avail. “Let. Him. Go,” you bit out each word. 

A heartbeat passed. Then another. 

“For fuck’s sake. Let my best friend go, or so help me, I’ll kick your ass.”

“Your best friend?” His aggression snapped toward you now, narrowed into a murderous glare. “You mean your partner in crime, huh? He knows, right?” That glare cut back to Ayumu, joined by a cruel, taunting smirk. “You the guy watchin’ her back?”

Neither you nor Ayumu uttered a word. It wouldn’t have made a difference. You were caught red-handed. The real question was how the hell was Katsuki even here?

You sorted through scattered memories of last night and came to a jarring conclusion. You’d been so out of it, so indifferent and no fucks given, you’d let him follow you. Into the building. Into the elevator. All the way into your home. Not exactly risky, since nothing incriminating was out in the open, and the chances of him finding your secret room were basically zero.

So where had you fucked up?

…

You’d forgotten to text Ayumu.

But how the hell were you supposed to know Katsuki would stick around?

You brought a hand to your forehead, ready to rub away the incoming headache, and paused when you noticed the bandage wrapped around your palm.

“No balls to admit it? Fuckin’ hell.” Katsuki scoffed, incredulous. “You even aware how piss-poor a job you’re doin’ protectin’ her?”

Ayumu was one of the calmest people you knew when it came to confrontations. All smooth words and charming smiles, even in the face of the angriest people.

You’d only seen him lose it once, but not many could stay composed while tied up and surrounded by captors, watching their ride-or-die storm the place with nothing but a Quirk and a lot of fury. Particularly, when their captors’ target was, in fact, their ride-or-die person. He’d been taken to lure you out.

This, right here, was the second time.

Ayumu’s expression darkened until there was no softness left in his features. He yanked Katsuki’s hand off his shirt and shoved him hard in the shoulder, breaking your grip in the process. You stumbled into the terrace sofa. Another shove landed square on Katsuki’s chest.

“Says the guy doing a piss-poor job managing his own life.” Ayumu’s voice dripped ice. “My best friend is safe. Can’t say the same about your family.”

Katsuki’s face instantly blanched.

“Enough!” You jumped between them, first glaring at Ayumu, then swinging it to Katsuki. “Both of you, cool off, or I’m kicking you out. Do not test me.”

You shoved them both, full force, pushing them back a step and forcing space between them. Then you turned and stormed off, their stares scorching holes into your back the entire way.

As always, screw your luck, especially when it came to timing, men, or feelings.

Chapter Text

“Wait, wait, wait. Back up, sweetheart.” Carrot Head’s arms flailed like one of those balloon mannequins before both hands smacked against his forehead. He let out a long, slow breath. “Madam, who we suspect is the leader, knows who you are? Like, you…you?”

Katsuki watched you from where he leaned against the window, a tight knot in his throat. You were seated cross-legged on the carpet in front of the coffee table, pouring yourself a third shot of hard alcohol. The urge to snatch it from your hand twisted annoyingly in his gut. It wasn’t the drinking—he could handle that, but the way it leached the last light from your eyes had him on edge.

Tremors still ran through his hands, and he shoved them deeper into his pockets as his gaze drifted to the terrace. The balustrade. That sunny, stupid horizon that was too bright for what had gone down in the last few hours. His heart wouldn’t settle. It kept hammering in his chest like it hadn’t gotten the hint that you were safe now.

He wanted to sit with the scraps of honesty you’d given him, but it was impossible with the images that kept haunting him—you under his tires, you falling from a ledge.

Two moments. Two near-death flashes where his entire timeline with you had played out behind his eyes. He’d felt it, what the world would be like without you in it.

Unimaginably incomplete.

A part of him didn’t even care what you and he were, only that you breathed. That you were alive, whether you stayed in his life or not. Simple as that.

“Mm-hmm, but I’m not too worried about it. That granny won’t say a thing. It’s in her best interest to shut up,” you said, drawing Katsuki’s attention to your faint reflection in the glass. Your head was lowered. Fingers absently traced the rim of your empty glass. “She’s trying to recruit me or whatever. Something about power, public influence...blah blah. Honestly? It’s the least of my problems.”

The indifference in your voice left a bitter taste in his mouth. He didn’t intervene, chose to stick to silence. To listen. To watch for any sign that the moment on the terrace had been a lapse in judgment driven by intrusive thoughts, not something else.

“You’re dismissing it. That’s not right,” Carrot Head protested. “It is a problem. A big one. You’re in danger—”

Your head dropped lower, shoulders starting to shake with laughter. “Some would say I’m the danger.”

Jaw dropping, your supposed best friend slapped the table. “How can you laugh?! Madam somehow knows about you, either from someone, or…” His eyes snapped to Katsuki, sharp and suspicious. “Because of someone.”

“You tryin’ to accuse me?”.

“I’m not wrong to suspect you, all things considered,” Carrot Head shot back. “Maybe she was wrong about you all along.”

“Ayumu, it’s not—”

“Or maybe it’s you,” Katsuki cut in, flipping the accusation back. His glare fixed on the other man. “What makes you so damn immune to backstabbin’ her?”

The accuser, now accused, shot up from the floor, springing forward like a jack-in-the-box. He stomped closer, but stopped out of reach, as if that would change a damn thing. If Katsuki decided to strike, he wouldn’t even see it coming. The difference between them, in size and strength and speed, was painfully obvious.

“I bought a child.”

Your sudden declaration cut off the tension chord between them, replacing it with a sucker punch that knocked Katsuki’s world off its axis. What?

“Granny Ma’am set me up real good.” You lifted your palms in a helpless shrug. “Made sure I don’t have a choice but to get my hands dirty. She probably thinks that’ll eat me alive, break me down enough to accept her offer.”

Katsuki watched you fold into yourself, arms wrapped tight like they were the only thing holding you together. Shame rolled off you in waves, slamming straight into his chest. Tears brimmed in your eyes, and he almost tore himself from the spot to be at your side—

Almost.

His gut told him to stay put. To give you distance. Space. His presence would only suffocate and remind you of what happened on that terrace.

And he knew he was partly to blame for those tears. For being who he was.

“She’s e-eight.” Your voice shook, and he swallowed the bitterness on his tongue. “Her mother apparently sold her off to pay some, uh, debt.”

He got it now—why you’d mentioned losing him. Why you’d gone radio silent in his car. Why you’d shut down and disconnected, not caring he was trailing you home. He would’ve never walked in uninvited, but there was no way in hell he could leave when he burned from the inside out with protectiveness. Every fiber of him demanded he stay with you, so he did.

Thank fuck he’d stayed.

“I couldn’t turn my back on her. How? How could I?” Your fists twisted into your robe, pulling so tight the fabric ripped, like the words off your tongue. “I saw her after, and…want to take a guess what she asked me?”

Katsuki could guess. Which was why rage flared hot and fast through his veins. Sweat began to escape his pores, making his palms clammy. Beside him, your best friend’s fists went white-knuckled.

“If I were a hero. There to save her.” You tilted your head and let out a humorless laugh. “Me? Her hero? What a fucking joke. I’m her buyer. It’s my money saving her, not me.”

“You still made the choice, sweetheart,” your best friend muttered, moving toward you.

“Intentions mean nothing in a situation like this. You can want all you like, but without the means to make it happen…” The trail off was telling; you spoke from personal experience. “Either way, she’s safe now. And Madam is waiting for the payment. I’ve got a week.”

Your arms dropped to your sides, a long breath dragging out of you as your eyes shut in what Katsuki read as pure exhaustion.

Carrot Head took your upper arms in his hands, rubbing them slowly up and down. “Are you okay?” Your given name finished the question, proof of the closeness between you. It jabbed at Katsuki’s chest. Something ugly, unwanted, and unwarranted flared hot at the center of it.

You shook your head. “Today, not really, but tomorrow I’ll be fine again.”

That easy honesty of yours cut him deep, planting doubt and pressing something heavy between his ribs. You said it was friendship, but what if it wasn’t? What if you were confused, in denial, or just scared of rejection? Wanting more could ruin everything you had with the guy if he didn’t feel the same.

Did he?

Carrot Head smiled at you with something that looked a hell of a lot like love, and you smiled back. Light. Free. Unguarded. Your eyes sparkled with affection, but when he pulled you into his arms, your hands only smoothed over his back in a simple pat.

Different from when you’d been in his arms.

With him, you’d clung tight, fisting his sweater like you’d vanish if you let go. And you’d called him by his given name—Katsuki—like it was something…fucking precious. And the way you’d stared at him, made it clear you wanted him there.

Katsuki crushed that thought.

Heat of the moment. Out of shock. That had to be it.

You hadn’t spared him more than a glance since you sat your ass down at that table. He wasn’t even in your bubble anymore. Katsuki was kicked out, feeling exactly how he should. Like an absolute, idiotic fool.

His body moved on its own, turning to leave the space that had just split his chest open. The job was done. Mission complete. He’d followed his gut and been there when you needed someone. And now? You had someone.

So why stay? Why stand there and rot in silence, in everything left unsaid but felt too damn much? If you wanted to clue him in on the rest, you would.

He wasn’t fine either. Katsuki wanted. Today, more than ever.

“Bakugou?”

Katsuki scoffed. There was confusion in your voice, but also confirmation that you and he, earlier, had been a case of ‘in the heat of the moment.’ He refused to look back and marched toward the hallway, each step faster than the last.

You chased after him.

“Where are you going?”

He fumbled with his shoes, no idea where the hell he was going. Away. Anywhere you weren’t. Somewhere he could bury himself in distraction.

“Wait!” You slipped between him and the door. “Where are you going? I thought—”

“You thought wrong. Move.”

“No.”

“Move.”

Your hand smacked against his abdomen, pressing into tense muscles. “Don’t go.”

Two words. That desperate touch. And his resolve flew out the fucking window. The knife in his chest twisted deeper. Fuck, it hurt. Hurt like a bitch. Greedy little thing, you took from him tenfold and gave back barely a crumb. Couldn’t you show him, just once, that he mattered to you a fraction of what you meant to him?

The scraps were no longer enough.

“Make me stay,” Katsuki blurted, desperation tearing through his voice. “Gimme a reason.”

Your eyes went wide. The pressure of your hand against his stomach faltered.

Making him stay? How cute. If you really wanted him to—

“I did it for you,” you whispered, eyes locked on his. Your other hand slid up to join the first before both tugged, dragging him in. Into you. “And if I could go back, I’d do it again. And again. And…again.”

His heart kicked back to life, nothing left of the jealous bastard he’d been moments ago. Heat crawled up his neck, his mouth dry, throat too tight to swallow the shock. He wanted to demand clarification, wanted you to explain, but all he did was stare, brows drawn low.

“Ayumu warned me. Told me to stay out of it and let you deal with it since you’re a pro hero, but I, uh…I jumped in anyway, well aware it might not end well for me.”

Katsuki couldn’t breathe over the pounding in his ears. His ribs constricted tight. “Why the hell?” he muttered, voice rough, giving away how much you affected him.

You sighed, lips pursing as you thought over your answer, hands smoothing out the wrinkles you'd left on his clothes. For way too fucking long.

“I see you,” you said at last. “I really do. Believe it or not, I know what it’s like to feel and be trapped. And—” You chewed your bottom lip.

“And?”

“Do you know what else time is meant to do?”

Katsuki nearly groaned. He wanted to bang his head against the door. You were circling again, and it was driving him insane.

He grabbed your shoulders, maybe a little rougher than he meant to, and shook you once. “Spit it out already.”

“Hmm, I don’t know. I might need two more shakes. Like how genie lamps need a little rubbing, I need—”

“Oi!”

You broke into awkward chuckles. “This. This is what time does, too.” The laughter melted into a lovely smile, making his stomach flip. “It grows attachment. You and I, we got some history, don’t we?”

Time. Attachment. You and him. History.

Katsuki had wanted to know he mattered to you, a fraction of how much you meant to him. But you didn’t give him a fraction. You slammed into him with the whole damn thing, and then some. Not once in his life had his knees gone weak from someone giving a shit about him. You did that.

And more.

His feelings exploded inside him like the brightest, loudest, most blinding firework. His palms hit the door before he knew what the hell he was doing, head bowed, lungs quietly dragging in air like he’d just finished a sprint. 

His whole body tingled. Jittery. Restless.

He needed to jump, or run, or…something. Anything.

Lucky idiot. Falling head over heels, and having a real shot at it.

Because you cared.

Was it love, love? He didn’t know. Didn’t give a fuck, either. It was enough for now. He’d go looking for the rest once he was a free man.

And when that time came, Katsuki would try with you—goddamn would he try—like it was a once-in-ten-lifetimes chance.

“Wanna adjust the deal, Truthie?” He raised his head to look at you. “Make it a proper team-up? Kick those fuckers’ asses together?”

“T-team up?” Your gaze searched his, lips parted. Quiet, shaky exhales slipped out. “No. I’m not safe. Being around me puts you at risk you can’t afford.” You shook your head hard. “I wanted you to stay so you could hear me out. Besides, there’s… what I did, uh, with—”

A gasp cut you off as he stepped in, trapping you between him and the door.

“Shut up.” His eyes locked on your mouth, still running with crap he didn’t care about. Risk. Safety. Like he hadn’t lived with that since high school. “You seriously gotta get it through your head—I mean what I fuckin’ say. I don’t bullshit. Not unless it’s, like, a hostage situation. But there’s a reason they ain’t even tryin’ to get me on board with those.”

You huffed a laugh, giving him one of your teasing looks, and damn, the way he wanted to kiss you was fast turning into a craving that felt existential.

“Yeah, yeah. Bet it’s hilarious.” His nose scrunched as he grumbled, “Point is, it’s my damn call. And why act like teamin’ up to take that old hag down ain’t the smartest move?” He shrugged. “You know it is.”

“Maybe, but that was before I—”

“You did what you had to do, Truthie. It ain’t makin’ you a bad person.” Reassuring with words wasn’t his thing, not by a long shot, but he tried, even if it came out like he was ready to bite your head off. “You did good, alright?”

Pretty eyes grew watery. “You…you think I’m g-good?”

If you started crying again, he was fucked.

“I know you are.” His hand dropped to your shoulder, skated over the tension there, and settled at your neck, thumb stroking lightly over your anxious pulse. “Just like I know it messed you up to do it. But your smart ass was never gonna pay a thing.” He paused. “Not with real cash, anyway. You already got a plan.”

The most ridiculous expression crossed your face, somewhere between tearing up and gawking like a fish out of water. “How did you—Wha—How the hell are you doing this?”

Katsuki grinned. “Doin’ what?”

“This!” You motioned wildly between your head and his. “You got a second Quirk? Mind reading?”

He did. It was called countless nights obsessively dissecting your thinking process. “Team up, yeah?”

“No!”

“Yeah,” he drawled. “Team up.”

Groaning, you swatted his hand away as it moved to pat your head, ducking under his arm to slide past him. But he wasn’t done.

“Biddin’ on the girl,” he called, facing your back. “That why the crosswalk and the terrace happened?”

The question, heavy and loaded in its implication, froze your steps. You didn’t turn right away. You stood there, hands flexing at your sides.

When you did finally face him, your legs wobbled. Maybe it was the alcohol. Maybe the exhaustion. Probably both. Either way, he was at your side to catch you, steady you.

“I’m not suicidal, if that’s what you think.” Your eyes cast downward to the tip of your slipper tapping the floor. “I had a moment of zero awareness. And then…a dream. About my mom.” A weary sigh. “When things go bad, I sometimes dream of her. She feeds me my favorite soup, tells me what I want to hear, then leaves me to free fall, while the building collapses around me.”

Grief, huh?

Three years since you lost your parents. Three years since you clawed your way through hell to get them justice. 

Katsuki knew the case inside out, down to the moment you snapped and stopped playing fair. Everyone involved had been loud at first, outraged and bold in demanding truth and justice, but the longer it dragged, the more the narrative warped. People slowly quieted down. Even you, on the surface, when they slapped the label on: grieving girl with a troubled past.

Still, they turned you into the poster girl because of your job. A photo of you on your knees, staring blankly at the rubble, everywhere.

Rising journalist at one of Japan’s top stations loses her parents in a tragic accident.

Just thinking about those damn articles—the headlines, the comments—made his blood pressure spike.

“Where were you when it happened?” he asked, dreading the answer.

“You know I worked in journalism for a while, right? Mostly field stuff. My boss liked having me out there because of my Quirk.” You grasped your elbow. “That day, I was having lunch with Ayumu. Our boss showed up. Crashed the table, dropped the news, gave me some half-assed condolences, then I was on my way home. With a cameraman. To record the aftermath.”

A hot flash of anger blasted through his insides. “Piece of shit. Was that really necessary?”

You shrugged and motioned for him to follow. “He was opportunistic. My connection to the incident was just another card to play. And he wasn’t wrong, the ratings were juicy. His superiors were thrilled.”

“Until you flipped the script and went against whatever twisted narrative they were pushin’.”

“I got lucky. The construction company behind it was into some shady shit, so they resorted to my favorite.” You batted your lashes. “Want to guess what that is?”

As you led him into the spacious living room, where your best friend lounged on the couch, flipping through muted channels, Katsuki muttered, “Considerin’ how you tick? Threats or blackmail.”

“Ding, ding. Yes!” You snapped your fingers at him, beaming with a pride he’d never seen on you. Hot. “Bad things happen to nosy girls like you,” you quoted, voice dropping low and mock-dramatic. It sounded so ridiculous, Katsuki snorted. “That was right before they tried to buy my silence. I took the deal, after I negotiated it into the millions, of course. And used that money to make them losers.”

“What was the catch?”

“Death. They promised to kill me if I tricked them.” You smiled sweetly. “Oops.”

“Are you sure you should be telling him that?” Carrot Head butted in, waving the remote in Katsuki’s direction. “In case you forgot, that’s Dyna…might.” He trailed off as you swept the bottle and empty glass off the coffee table and skipped over to the mini bar by the TV unit.

“Hm?” You cast a glance over your shoulder, brows raised. “You alright, Yu?”

In his periphery, Katsuki caught your best friend sneaking surprised looks, but snapping at the guy wasn’t even close to his priority when you were in front of him like this.

Carefree.

Framed by sunlight.

Happiness danced with the bright fire ignited in your eyes. The sun didn’t stand a fucking chance; it could only pour its light over your figure. You were glowing, almost ethereal. Outshining everything.

Bold strength, wrapped in raw vulnerability and layers of honesty.

The woman who’d chased him down, begging him not to leave, was gone.

Goosebumps prickled along his skin as a single thought crashed through him. Beautiful. Breathtaking. A fucking dream he’d chase to the end of the universe and past it.

You made the impossible seem possible.

“Can’t believe we’re doing this,” Carrot Head whined, dragging a hand through his hair. He stood and tilted his head back, eyes narrowing as they bored holes into the ceiling. As if it might cough up answers to some existential crisis. Then focused his attention on Katsuki. Those same eyes went cold. Calculating. “Dare to throw her to the wolves.” 

Katsuki tracked him as he left, mumbling something about needing food before you put him to work. Out of sight, but sure as hell not out of mind. Katsuki couldn’t get a proper read on the guy, other than his fierce loyalty and the way he looked at you like you hung the damn moon. What the hell was his deal?

“He’ll come around. He’s just worried,” you said, like you read his thoughts. “And for good reason. You and I weren’t supposed to be involved in any way.”

“‘Cause you’re Truth Exposer. And my commission.”

You cleared your throat and retied your robe.

“Does he know? About…us?” The word was sweet on his tongue, like the white peaches Yua always shoved in his face, giggling when sticky juice ran down his chin. His cute brat was way too obsessed with them, for whatever reason.

“No. That’s a secret I’d rather keep for now. Do you think you can do that too? Just a little favor.”

He’d been ready to jump off your terrace if you fell. No hesitation. What did you think? Could he keep a harmless secret when it was you asking him?

“Sure. But why?”

“It’s how I keep him safe. By making myself the only target,” you said. “Meaning that, your target, Bakugou, is still—”

“Katsuki,” he cut in without thinking, then immediately wanted to smack himself. Idiot. Moron. As if he wasn’t obvious enough that he starved to be in your presence. But Katsuki didn’t stop there. Oh, hell no. Ears burning, he went straight for the self-kill. “Keep callin’ me that.” And uttered your given name.

Your whole face lit up before your hands clasped together to press to your chest. His knees nearly gave out. Was your heart doing the same crazy things as his? Racing? Skipping? Stealing breaths?

Was your face burning up like his? 

What about your skin? Did it itch for his touch?

“Katsuki,” you breathed.

“Yeah.”

The air crackled with the static between you, unresolved tension humming in his ears. Calling out to him. The pull was undeniable, and he gave into it, closing the space between your bodies. You peered at him, arms moving behind your back, and traced his face with your eyes.

What were you thinking? What were you seeing?

Was there something you actually really, really liked about him? Something you hated?

He kind of wanted to know, so he could preserve your favorite, fix the rest. Would you even want that? Because so far, you’d…accepted him. Taken him as he was and adjusted around the mess.

“So much for no involvement,” you murmured. “Such hypocrisy.”

“Makes two of us.” He wasn’t any better. Hell, he was probably worse. Katsuki shifted his weight, hands disappearing inside his pockets. “You were sayin’? Earlier.”

“Right. Yeah. Uh…” You scratched the back of your neck. “I’m still your target—your only target—if you ever change your mind and decide to haul me into the nearest police station on suspicion I might be—well, you know.” Your head lowered slightly. “Please leave Ayumu out of it.”

“Got it.” He pinched your chin, tilting your face up. “But you better make sure those bastards don’t catch you. That’s my job.”

“Mm, no promises.” You flicked his hand away and poked his chest. “Can’t have you slacking on the chasing job. Hungry?”

Ravenous.

For you.

Chapter Text

Yawning, you dragged yourself out of bed and through the obscurity of your apartment until you reached the front door, sluggishly unlocking it.

“The hell did you do? It’s freezin’ in here,” was the first thing out of Katsuki’s mouth as you kicked the door shut behind him and flicked the light on. He visibly shuddered, tucking his chin deeper into his collar as he stepped out of his boots, claimed the slippers you’d left out for him, and made a beeline for the thermostat. He scowled at it as he bumped up the low temperature, then at you and your summer loungewear.

“The cold keeps me awake,” you said dryly, your enthusiasm poured instead into drinking him in. Head to toe. Toe to head.

You’d never seen him in full gear up close, and decided then and there: the cameras did him no justice. He was catastrophically ravishing, leaving your mind, heart, and body to fight over which one could make you dizzier.

Your heart took the crown, turning your insides into a giddy fanfare, as if you were some shoujo protagonist spotting her crush under the cherry blossoms, watching the spring breeze gently tousling his perfect hair. Its kicks into your ribs had your stomach tumble. Excited energy zapped your nerves awake.

You weren’t tired anymore. You were hyperaware of him.

Wonderful.

“‘Course it does.” He crossed his thick, defined arms over his chest. “Did you sleep?”

Your cheeks warmed as a proud grin graced your face. “Not a blink.” 

When his eye twitched, you cleared your throat to hold back a laugh, remembering the speech he’d made you sit through before his patrol shift, about the importance of sleep and its many health benefits. Absolutely adorable because beneath the stern delivery was his way of caring. His way of trying to make sure you didn’t miss the day’s cycle again, like you had the past few days. Waking up in the morning, blinking, and suddenly it was the next day afternoon.

“I told you to—”

“I know! But I couldn’t sleep.” Your brain wouldn’t shut up, insisting you go over the plan. Again. “I went over everything once more, just to make sure we didn’t miss anything.”

Everything they—Katsuki and Ayumu—knew, as you oh, so smoothly omitted the crucial details about your encounter with Madam that would’ve set them off. Like…Takumi. His hand in the mass amnesia case. How he’d been your plus one, or how he’d given you the girl’s mother’s location, which happened to be one of Madam’s places of operation, too.

They also had no idea it was normal for the air during the auction nights to be spiked with something that behaved suspiciously like an aphrodisiac. 

Those details would’ve led to questions, realizations, and admissions you didn’t have the energy to face yet. Some things were better left unsaid and unthought, if only to protect them.

Maybe yourself, too.

Discussing the ifs surrounding Takumi would open the worst kind of rabbit hole. You weren’t ready to fall into it.

“Seriously? You’ve been doin’ that obsessively for the past three days. What gives?” Katsuki gestured toward your legs—in translation, he wanted you to stop standing there like an awestruck fool and show him where to go. He was here for a reason.

Shrugging, you snagged his elbow and dragged him into your bedroom. “I counter potential mistakes by constantly reviewing. Sue me.”

He clicked his teeth, annoyed. “Dumbest shit I’ve heard lately.” You sensed him roll his eyes at the back of your head. “You ain’t counterin’ mistakes, you’re overlookin’ ‘em. That brain of yours can only take so much before it fucks off.”

Unfortunately, he was right. Rest was necessary for proper brain function, but stress overwrote that fact. The safety of everyone involved weighed down on your chest like a titanium block, while tragedy dangled above your head. One wrong move, and it’d strike true.

“It’s not my first time. Trust me, Katsuki, I know what I’m doing.” 

You let go and headed for the walk-in closet, his name, although sweet on your tongue, a little bit foreign still. Crazy how, in the aftermath of meeting Madam, more boundaries had crumbled. When no footsteps followed, you hummed in confusion and glanced back.

Today seemed to be a series of firsts for both of you. He stood where you’d left him, gaze drifting over your personal space, curiosity and interest flickering within it. He took in the panoramic windows, frowning before he realized the glass was one-way. Next, your bed that faced them, and the wrinkle-free comforter, on which pillows were piled up in a neat arrangement, reconfirming the absence of your sleep. Then the thick, tall divider behind the headboard, separating your sleeping area from the vanity desk and walk-in closet.

And finally, you.

That interest lit up brighter, setting your heart alight. Eye contact with him had always been bone-deep intense, but you couldn’t complain. It felt like he was demolishing your defense walls for a glimpse of your soul because he needed that, and you liked it. Disarming, overwhelming even, but oddly comforting. Reassuring, too. 

He seeded the naive belief that if you ever lost yourself, he might be the one to bring you back. Show you the way home. Your light in the endless dark.

“You dyed your hair,” he said, your scrunched up nose at his smugness putting a crooked grin on his face. “Got scared someone’s gonna snatch your wig, princess?”

Your hand pressed to your chest. “Not at all. I just felt like being generous, sharing in your misery.” Smiling sweetly, you gave him a mocking bow, head lowered in faux submission. “Your Greatness.”

Muttering a curse, Katsuki briefly turned his head away in what clearly was an attempt at hiding his amusement. Huffed three breaths, one of them sounding suspiciously like a laugh. Then, closed the short gap between you, his strides confident, familiar. Your heart climbed into your throat, anticipating…something. You weren’t sure what.

“Looks good.” His gloved fingers reached for your hair, rubbing the strands softly. “Suits you.”

Warmth bloomed in your cheeks as you soaked in the compliment—another first. Praise that wasn’t backhanded, but so, so sincere. Wherever it came from, you wanted more.

Your voice was a murmur as you replied, “Thanks.”

“For what? The truth?” He clicked his tongue and flicked your nose before moving past you, leaving you frozen in the moment, breath hitched. You could’ve sworn you heard him mumble, too fuckin’ cute. “When’s that dumbass of yours bringing the car?”

You clenched and unclenched your hands to steady your nerves, then turned to him, arms crossed, an attempt to look unbothered. “Two hours.” You pointed to the dresser on the left inside your closet. “Your change of clothes is in the top drawer.” Then to the center island. “Put your gear on it.”

He nodded. “If that damn thing breaks down before we get there…”

“It won’t. Ayumu knows what he’s doing.”

The look on his face said he barely believed that. “Plan’s still the same?” he asked, removing his gauntlets and carefully placing them where you’d told him. His utility belt followed.

“Yes. We drive toward the village, the car breaks down right before we reach it, and if my prediction is right, we won’t even need to make the first move. Someone will come to us offering help.” Your teeth found your bottom lip, unease gnawing at your insides. “You’re a hundred percent sure none of your pro hero friends caught wind of this place?”

“Nah. There ain’t any official investigation, just a request to keep an eye on things. But everyone agrees somethin’s off. Truthie.”

You flinched slightly at the nickname, blinking when you realized your gaze had drifted down his body. Your eyes snapped back up.

“Let’s say the rise in kidnappings and that old hag are connected. Why you think that is?”

You thought about it.

Madam’s methods couldn’t rely on a single way of getting people, as that would raise the risk of detection through pattern alone.

The real questions were: how many were kidnapped on average? What was the vetting process for Quirks? Was the number of those auctioned always within a certain range? And what happened to the ones who didn’t make it to auction?

Your gaze drifted to the tall cupboard in the far corner of your closet as you spaced out, picturing your investigation into Madam spread across the walls of your secret room. Fragments of hard evidence, wild theories, and blurry assumptions took shape in your mind.

Unconsciously, your hand moved to your thigh, thumb tracing the spot where that Quirk-neutralizer dart had struck. You’d been temporarily Quirkless.

“Quirk trafficking might not be her only business,” you said. “That dart I was hit with at the club must come from somewhere, either from within her circle or outside it. Why her men run around with something like that is still a mystery. I assumed it was for easier subduing, but…”

“Too advanced for it to make sense,” Katsuki finished your thought. He frowned as he tugged off his glove, tension carving depth into the lines of his face. “Unless she runs the whole damn underworld, it’s gotta be comin’ from inside her circle. If tech like that was floatin’ around, we’d know. Even just as rumors.” He tossed the glove next to the other. “Which is what’s weird. There should be rumors. No way every single person workin’ for her’s loyal.”

You knew at least one person who wasn’t loyal. Whatever Takumi’s game was, loyalty wasn’t part of it. “Is that even a choice if the person you work for can ruin your life forever? Or worse.”

He grunted, and you took it as him saying fair point. “What’s your runnin’ theory?”

“I…don’t have one yet. But I’m convinced it isn’t experimental.” Your head lowered as your hands lifted. The slim chance of it being experimental, of it actually erasing your Quirk, made your chest tighten. “Maybe I’m fooling myself,” you admitted, voice reflecting your fear. “But everything—from the way it took effect to the moment it wore off—felt…precise.”

There was a time you would’ve celebrated that. You had wished for your Quirk to disappear, but now, you thought you’d probably die without it. Who would you be without your Quirk?

Nothing.

No one.

A girl clawing at the social ladder, desperate to prove that while the past shaped a person, it didn’t have to define them. A girl drowning in grief and injustice, failing her parents again, their truth buried under by the very people responsible. People who’d live happily ever after, seated on piles of souls taken too soon.

A girl without power. Without influence. Your word wouldn’t have much value.

No Truth Exposer.

And, no Katsuki.

Without your Quirk, your life wouldn’t be this, and that thought by itself splintered your heart. Fractured your sense of self into jagged, incomprehensible pieces, forcing you to see a different version of yourself resting in the palm of your hands. 

Frankly, you hated her. 

She made you sick. Too frail, too hopeless, too lost.

Weighty warmth pressed on your shoulders, then slid up the sides of your neck. Your head tilted up.

“Stop.” Katsuki’s voice filtered through the vortex spinning your mind, like sunlight piercing angry, dark clouds. “You think that hag would risk potential powerful Quirks when that’s probably the thing raking in the big money?”

You blinked the turmoil away. “She wouldn’t,” you said, then a tired sigh passed your lips. “This is giving me a headache. There’s so much that we don’t know. So much that I can’t make sense of.”

“One at a time. We focus on that, alright?”

Guilt scraped at your insides, but you nodded like you weren’t hiding anything, like you weren’t keeping crucial pieces to yourself, like you weren’t lying to his face and your best friend’s. The puzzle you’d given them was primitive compared to the one you hoarded deep in your coffer overflowing with secrets.

His palms pressed in subtly. Your pulse jumped.

Katsuki stared at you, long and hard, causing anxiety to nip at your gut throughout. Was he suspicious? Had he caught something on your face that triggered doubt?

You didn’t dare break eye contact. Instead, you let the scarlet imprison you, shackle you within it. Flesh-prickling pressure became the sensation you fed on to raise your defenses into an impenetrable wall. Fooling him was the ultimate test for your pretense, and if you passed it with flying colors, it meant you were a hundred percent on top of your game. Despite everything.

“You told us everythin’ that happened with that hag,” he said, an affirmation dressed like a statement, but the suspicion in his tone put the question mark at the very end.

“Yeah. Of course, I did.” Your hands found purchase on his forearms, nails blocked by the bracers from piercing the lie into his skin. They were freezing to the touch, like a wake-up call. One you ignored for his sake. “You think I’m hiding something? I know trust is debatable between us, but do you really doubt me that much?”

A muscle ticked along his jaw. “Dunno, Truthie. Been thinkin’. You had no problem riskin’ yourself to keep that guy safe, and you made it real clear you got caught up in this mess ‘cause of me.” He shrugged. “Ain’t that hard to figure out your priority list. Or predict some of your moves.”

Smart bastard. “I told you everything I know.”

“Say that again.”

“What?” You frowned. “Uh…I told you everything I know?”

His hands retreated, dropping to his sides, and you instantly missed their heat. “I hope so. Don’t you dare do somethin’ completely fuckin’ stupid, Truthie. Don’t even think it.”

“Or?”

“Just don’t.” Unease burrowed into your bones at the implicit warning as he tugged off his shirt and dumped it with the rest. His thumbs hooked into his waistband. “You gonna watch?”

You choked on your spit. “No way!” Then swiveled around like a glitching robot and nearly bolted when Katsuki broke into a short fit of mocking snickering. The sound wrapped around your heart like a noose, causing the stuttering beats to match its deep, bold frequency.

“Ain’t like you haven’t seen it all before.”

Your jaw hit the floor. “Maybe, but that doesn’t mean I want to see it again,” you said in one breath, picking up the pace. 

“No?”

Something in his voice paused your escape. You faced him and strongly regretted it. His pants were lower than a few seconds ago, gracing your sight with the waistband of his black underwear, those infuriating, unfair, lust-inducing indents on his hips, and his defined abs that shimmered with sweat you’d gladly—

“No.” You turned to leave, huffing. Screw the desire jolting between your legs as if it won the grand prize—his dick. “Come find me in the bathroom when you’re done.”

*

Hours later, you were on the road, closing in on the destination, energy renewed after Katsuki nagged you into taking a well-deserved nap. The mood inside the car brimmed with the usual banter and joviality, brought forth by your constantly bubbling laughter. You couldn’t look at him without losing every ounce of composure, while he kept shooting you annoyed glares that felt more like tingles across your skin than stings of intimidation.

He reached up to his hair, again, and yanked on a blond strand, now a shade darker to match the dull hue of his brown contact lenses. His whole face scrunched up as if you’d fed him lemons when he glanced at himself in the rearview mirror.

“Truthie,” he growled. “If this crap ain’t outta my hair in—”

“Two washes.”

“I’m endin’ you.”

Your hand slapped over your chest as you faked a gasp. “Me? No, no. You’ve got the wrong person. You should be going after the guy who made the shampoo formula. He swore up and down you wouldn’t even notice your hair was dyed.”

The same guy you’d slipped a thick stack of cash to—all while smiling syrupy—persuading him to whip up a temporary dye and foolproof shampoo that’d make it vanish like it was never there.

On ridiculously short notice.

The second stack of money had turned days into hours

Katsuki side-eyed you, propping his elbow in the crook of the window, and clicked his tongue so loud it echoed over the rumbling engine. “You and your damn obsession. Contacts and some fake-ass glasses would’ve done the job, but no—you gotta be extra as hell.”

“Fake glasses that can be easily taken off. Same for the contacts. Not to mention your hair doesn’t exactly help you blend in.”

His fingers drummed against his temple. “You talk like I’m the only blond around.”

“You’re not,” you said with a shrug, “but you’re one famous blond. Plus, we needed to wash out your looks a bit to make it believable.”

“Heh?” The side of his mouth pulled into a cocky grin, and your eyes rolled, exasperated. “You sayin’ I ain’t average lookin’?”

Everything in you screamed yes, that’s right! He was hot, and handsome, and you could stare at him the whole day and night, and it still wouldn’t satiate your needs and urges and cravings. “My opinion is irrelevant.”

“Yeah. Kinda is.”

Your eyes nearly fell out of their sockets. “Excuse me?!”

“What? Words are pointless when the truth’s all over your face.”

“That’s not—”

“Yeah, it is.” His gloved hand moved to ruffle his hair. “Don’t care, though. And you shouldn’t either. Makes us even. You caught me red-handed, like what? Twice now?”

A low fever overtook your face, spreading down your neck and chest. You looked down at your lap, where your leather-covered hands rested, fingers linked tight. He didn’t say it outright, but the admission was clear. If nothing else, attraction was part of your chemistry, the reason you both landed in undeniably improper situations. Sometimes, its pull was impossible to resist.

“See the good part,” he went on in the same nonchalant manner. “This thing between us makes the story look real enough.”

“I should’ve asked Ayumu to do it,” you muttered, regret pinching your insides.

“To do what? Sweet talk the enemy?” He snorted. “Be real, Truthie. Your backup’s gotta be able to get into fights and win ‘em.”

Frustrated whining escaped your mouth. “We’re not here to fight anyone, but to get info,” you reminded him, throwing a stern look in his direction. “For the love of, please behave.”

“‘Til someone pisses me off.”

Shifting in your seat, you faced him and crossed your arms. “You’re supposed to make yourself look as harmless as possible. You know, a perfect match for my good girl act.”

“Fuck’s sake. Want me to fake cowerin’ in fear if it all goes to shit? Toss in a couple of whimpers for extra effect, and hide behind you like the pathetic fake boyfriend I’m supposed to be?”

You choked on the visual he planted in your head. Not of him hiding behind you, or acting like violence scared the hell out of him, but of him actually. Fucking. Whimpering. 

Was that even possible?

Maybe…in very specific, sinful circumstances involving a lot of wicked teasing. Your mouth watered at the possibilities.

“Yes. That’s right.”

“Fuck no. I’m gonna act this out the way I wanna, and you’re gonna suck it up and deal with it.”

Stubborn. Stubborn. So fucking stubborn.

Defeated, you slumped back in your seat and dragged your gaze to the window, watching the shadowed rice fields lining the highway blur with speed.

“Whatever. As long as the story isn’t screwed and we still look like easy targets.” Sarcasm dripped from your tongue. “Just another couple on their way to Fuji for their fourth anniversary, unfortunate enough to have their car break down. Oh, the tragedy.”

“Next time, don’t go for a pro hero, baby, if you need a wimp,” he taunted, clearly, but your brain errored on the pet name. “It ain’t in our nature.”

Your head snapped toward him so fast your neck popped. “W-what did you just call me? B-baby?!”

A wolfish grin broke across his face as he switched hands on the steering wheel and dropped the other onto your thigh, patting it in absolute mockery. “Perfect for a little shit like you. Can’t call my girl ‘Truthie’ or the cover’s blown.”

His touch burned. “Don’t—Don’t call me your girl.” Burned good and burned right. “And don’t call me baby either. In fact, don’t call me anything. Use some fake name, if you can’t help it.” You shook your head, spinning with his deep voice claiming you as his. Temporarily. “This was a mistake. I should’ve never agreed to this.”

So you said, but your heart drummed eagerly at having to pretend he was yours in the hours ahead, and you made no move in removing his hand. You permitted his touch, as you’d always done.

“Sure. Whatever you say, baby.”

“You’re insufferable.”

Your eyes returned to the sight outside, taking in the fragmented moonlight fighting through thick clouds to illuminate patches of the road ahead, and of the rice fields. For a moment. Because in the next, the reflection of his hand on your leg captivated them. Too high up. His fingertips skimmed the edge of your inner thigh, causing it to unconsciously open a fraction more.

You searched for reasons, excuses, to justify why it looked like he belonged there. Maybe it was how natural touching you seemed to be for him. Or maybe, the attraction that ignited wildfires in your veins. 

Neither proved viable.

They were particles of a bigger truth that sent rapid-fire signals through your nervous system. 

You were close to folding on yourself. Never before had you been this overwhelmed by your feelings for him. Denial ripped itself off like a strongly-glued band-aid.

You wanted him.

You wanted him against all judgment and rationale, so badly your body ached, and your heart throbbed.

His—wasn’t there any way that could be you?

No.

Chapter Text

At the speed Katsuki drove, the destination—a small village near Tokyo—came into view before your anxiety even had time to fry your nerves. Wisps of smoke began rising from under the hood, and he swerved out of the sparse traffic, easing the car to the side. He waited until the smoke thickened before cutting the engine.

“Whatever happens, you ain’t leavin’ my side. Where you go, I go. Is that clear?” The authority in his voice left no room for argument. You nodded. “Good. Let’s go.”

The chilly autumn wind bit at your cheeks as you stepped out of the car. You stretched, muscles stiff, joints popping as multiple shivers ran through you. Twilight was close, and the temperature was anything but merciful. You hugged yourself despite the thermal outfit clinging to your skin.

Your eyes swept the vicinity, from the shadowed, desolate road stretching toward the village, to the faint outlines of buildings, then back to the car and the dense smoke slowly rising and hazing the air.

Soon.

Katsuki wasted no time assuming his role. With the car hood lifted, he pretended to assess the situation, grumbling something under his breath that sounded like a string of complaints. He clicked his tongue in irritation and tugged off a glove. His bare palm gleamed in the harsh glare of the headlights.

“Are you sure?” you asked, nodding toward his subtly smoking hand. “I have no idea what Yu asked the guy to tweak. What if something goes boom? And I don’t mean your Quirk.”

His attention zeroed in on you, driving your heart straight into your throat. The rush was dizzying. Your thoughts were still a mess from earlier, caught in a tug-of-war between logic and emotion, where feelings were gaining the upper hand.

Katsuki had been right to reject the role of reserved, meek boyfriend, while you played the outgoing, sweet, naive girlfriend. No amount of pretending could mask the strength, intensity, and confidence he emitted like signal flares.

Anyone with eyes could see he was a man with a foot forward at all times.

“It’s gonna be fine. I’ve got an idea of what was done and how,” he said. “But the air’s too cold. Slows the rise, and I’m fixin’ that.”

“So, the guy didn’t account for that?”

“He did. For the average. That dumbass of yours didn’t bother specifyin’ where the car was headed.” He jabbed a thumb over his shoulder, toward the mountain half-swallowed by thick clouds. You couldn’t see the peak, but you knew it was there, looming. “That makes the temperature way colder.”

“I can definitely feel the bite.” You shuddered as another cold shiver traveled through your body.

Katsuki frowned. “You cold?”

“I’m fine. I can handle—”

“Hey! Are you alright?”

“There we go.” You moved to stand at Katsuki’s side, exchanging a subtle, knowing look.

Your prediction had been on the nose, though you hadn’t expected your helper to appear from the flower field stretching far and wide around the village. He waved his arms in a wide arc until you acknowledged him, then sprinted the short distance toward you.

When he stopped in front of you, he bent over, hands braced on his knees, gasping in mouthfuls of air. But his head stayed up, gaze ping ponging from Katsuki to you. In the brief moment your eyes met, you saw the sinister glint, clear as the stray moon rays streaking across the road and fields. The obnoxiously bright flashlight strapped to his beanie blared in your face, making it impossible to scrutinize him further. Your retinas burned, and you winced.

He quickly apologized and dimmed the light as disgust coiled like vines in your gut.

The whispered rumors about people disappearing around here hadn’t been wrong. And this man might be involved. So young too. He couldn’t have been older than his early twenties.

“I saw smoke, so I thought I’d check. You guys okay?” His tone was jovial, inviting. To anyone oblivious to what lurked beneath the surface, he was just a friendly stranger, eager to help.

“Yeah, we’re good. The car ain’t.” Katsuki’s arm circled your waist and pulled you closer. “Know any car services around? We were about to look for one, but you look like a local.”

The guy took note of Katsuki’s gesture, then flashed a toothy grin. He shoved his sweater sleeves up to his elbows, planted his hands on his hips, and tilted his head.

“You’re looking right at it.”

You were.  

At the small, faint four-leaf clover tattoo inked on his forearm.

*

You teetered on the edge of patience as your finger twisted the belt loop at the back of Katsuki’s tactical pants. Anything to keep from compromising the mission by telling the oh, so helpful stranger to fuck off.

The guy kept chatting Katsuki’s ear off, babbling about the car, potential issues, how long the fix might take—a few days—and tossing around technical jargon that flew over your head. You didn’t care about any of it. You wanted him to stop those sneaky, ogling glances in your direction as if Katsuki wasn’t standing right there, his arm over your shoulders, fingers absently grazing back and forth over your irritated pulse.

Wasn’t it obvious you were more than friends?

You weren’t even sure why it was making you so mad.

“I’m sorry for prying, but I gotta ask.” The fake helper dusted his hands on his denim overalls, stained with car oil and crusted mud. “Where are you guys headed? The car’ll take some time to fix.” He gestured to the malfunctioning vehicle now parked in his repair shop. “If it’s urgent, I could try getting it done faster.”

Ever straight to the point, Katsuki replied, “Fuji. For our anniversary.” His hand dropped to your hip, holding on firm. “You tell me. Sounds urgent enough?”

Your heart jumped, sending a tingle down your spine. You fought the urge to lean further into him, reminding yourself none of it was real, yet the possessiveness in that touch felt disarmingly authentic.

“Sweet. How many years?” he asked, chuckling nervously. 

Obviously, he needed to confirm whether the relationship was new, or old, to assume how bonded the hearts were. Probably to use it against you later. Relationships were as much a weakness as they were a strength.

You gave him a timid smile. “Four years, and counting. Hopefully, until we’re both old and wrinkled.”

“Four? Oh, man. I hope your car breaking isn’t a sign of bad luck.”

Twisted amusement curled at the corner of your mouth. For you, no. For him? Definitely.

“I don’t think so. I mean, we’re somewhere we’ve never been before.” When he nodded, you turned to Katsuki. “What do you think, handsome? You up for a little spontaneous adventure?”

It took Katsuki a moment of looking stumped before he answered, “Yeah. Whatever you want.”

Your arms looped around his neck, and you beamed at him like he’d placed starlight in the palm of your hands. “You’re the absolute best.”

The praise stole his next breath, an innocent spell cast to empower the farce. He pressed you harder into his body, and you were reminded how close you’d come to baring your heart in the car. That overwhelming feeling returned like karma to punish you for the many secrets and every forbidden thought. Your heart whimpered under its weight.

Time distorted. The world blurred. Cracks appeared in his mask, and vulnerability oozed out.

Fake, fleeting relationship, but in this very lie, you glimpsed fragments of what-ifs. Drifting shards of moments where you’d allowed yourself honesty, and of him acting on it. Of making silly memories to look back on, like everyone else. Of crazy days, and quiet nights, and seconds when you died of worry, because even though Katsuki was more than capable of taking care of himself, you’d run to him at the first sign of trouble.

Guilt clogged your throat, and you sucked in a shaky breath, chest tight with the wish to reconsider your choices. To tell him about Takumi, and make it so that your presence in his life wasn’t temporary.

You could, but wouldn’t, and as a consequence, moved back, putting distance. Distance that hurt.

“Is there somewhere we can stay?” you asked the fake helper.

Ten minutes later, you strolled away from the broken car and the guy, luggage filled with old clothes in hand and clear instructions about the direction of the inn. Which happened to be owned by his family—namely, his grandmother. Each step taken down the dimly illuminated cobblestone street, in between closed shops, made awareness poke aggressively at your instinct.

Your Quirk hummed in your veins.

“How about some window shopping?” you asked Katsuki, voice quiet to match the overbearing silence.

“Huh?” Realization passed over his face when you pinched your earlobe and tapped it once. He nodded.

You dragged him to one of the windows and pointed at something random, faking excitement to mask the torturous first few seconds of activating your Quirk. The gasp you let out sounded exactly like surprise.

The village wasn’t as quiet as it appeared. Words mingled and slammed against your eardrums in a jumbled mess. Some soft, others laced with anger, but none clear. Water rushed, bubbled, the sound concentrated to the west. The inn? The river you’d seen on the map, maybe? 

Glasses clinked faintly in the distance, accompanied by the familiar scraping of wood on wood and noisy, drunk laughter.

But there was something else intruding. A distinct sound, like the static of a muted TV. It persisted and remained constant amidst the other oscillating sonorities. You focused on it. Followed it back to the car repair shop, then up to the small antenna jutting from the flat rooftop. Back down to the guy playing helpful stranger.

He was on the phone, the damn bastard.

“Boss will want the chick,” you repeated his words. “Who cares if her Quirk is good? He can use her for other things.”

He paused, so did you.

Katsuki’s grip on your hand turned painful. His heart picked up pace, pounding to a rhythm that commanded your own to follow suit. His breaths grew deeper too, while yours stumbled upon hearing his muttered vow, lethal and brutally honest.

“I’m drawin’ their blood if they touch you.”

You believed it. “I know.” Without a shred of doubt, you believed it. “But I’m asking you not to. Can’t have you caught in the crossfire for me. It’s too risky.” The less you knew how it felt to be his priority, the less it’d hurt when you were gone.

You hoped so.

“You want me to watch? Do nothin’?” Dark fury bled into his clipped tone.

“I want you to hold back, and trust I can deal—”

“Shut up.” 

You were suddenly spun and shoved against the store window. Your intertwined fingers slammed on the cold glass above your head as he stepped into you, his presence chillier than the entirety of this place. Katsuki looked like a storm about to break and rain down rapture on earth, and yet, it felt like a shield forged for the sole purpose of protecting you.

“You always go about me and my safety. Risky this, risky that. Who do you think I am, huh?” He lowered his head, hot breath fanning your face. “When will you understand I ain’t ever gonna be your bystander?”

When his life wasn’t on the line because of you. “You’re making a scene.”

“Couldn’t care less. To that bastard probably watchin’ right now, I’m just a guy too impatient to get his girl alone. I bet he’s gettin’ a kick outta this,” he bit out. “Fix your expression. Make it look like you want me gettin’ a piece of you.” His order widened your eyes. “And tilt your head.”

Your head tilted, but to sneak a subtle look at the fake helper, who watched intensely. His mouth moved. “I think Boss will have some trouble making them betray each other. They’re close.” Sinister snickering scraped at your hearing. “About to make out in plain sight. Damn.”

Katsuki’s fingers grasped your jaw and repositioned your head how he wanted it. “Focus on me, not him. You want him doubtin’ this fuckin’ circus we’re puttin’ on?”

Your eyes narrowed. “Let go of my hand.” The second his fingers untangled from yours, you grabbed at his jacket and tugged. Barely any body parts were left with infinitesimal space between them; everything else touched, pressed, connected. “So, which piece of me are you going to take without crossing a single boundary?”

You couldn’t determine who you were testing—yourself, or him. Sweet sin called out in the alert air exchanged by your lungs and his through parted lips.

The red in his eyes deepened as his thumb hovered over your bottom lip. “Don’t know.” He grazed the surface, injecting criminal desire into your soul. “I really don’t fuckin’ know. Except—”

You gasped when he pressed firmly, tip of his finger against the tip of your tongue, making you despise the glove. Shamelessly, you wanted to taste him.

Katsuki moved his head to your ear. “Screw you,” your name trickled off his tongue like melted chocolate, “for always gettin’ in my way of keepin’ you safe. And screw you for—” He grabbed the fist you’d clenched in his jacket and shoved it deeper against his chest. “—askin’ me to hurt myself. Hate you for it.”

Hurt…himself…?

Your heart punched savagely into your ribs. Blood howled louder and louder in your ears, a maddening crescendo that swallowed up the rest of the noise.

“No.” He didn’t say what you thought he did. “No way.” He didn’t admit you were so deeply important to him. “You’re lying.”

“Told you before, we’re guilty.” His gaze found your shocked one, then he shrugged. “Deny it all you wanna, but it is what it is.”

You wanted to matter to him, and would’ve given anything for that to happen, but not when—

You jerked your head to the side, away from the creep that might still be watching, and bit the inside of your cheek raw, desperately stuffing back the spilled contents of your heart. You couldn’t accept it, and you definitely couldn’t let it escalate further.

“Let’s go. Time is running out on my Quirk, and I want it active inside that inn too.” 

If you were barred from denial, then disregard was your next best option. Even as the truth thrashed inside.

Taking his hand, you hurried down the cobblestone path until the fluttering cloth banner of the inn, embroidered with its name, came into view.

The traditional wooden inn stood two stories tall, surrounded by a natural fence that, at first glance, seemed well maintained. Despite autumn gradually taking the reins, the greenery remained lush under the soft glow of paper lanterns, strung from Japanese maple trees scattered throughout the property.

You stepped through the arched entrance and were greeted by the sharp clack of deer scarers. Back and forth, the still water of the stone pond spilled without pause or escape, caught in an eternal loop to serve a predefined purpose.

Similar to your current predicament.

Choice had been taken from you by Madam, and…by Takumi. But the role they’d forced you into wasn’t far from the one you’d lived your whole life—cut strings to preserve whatever good there was.

“Annoying,” you muttered, prompting your legs to pick up speed.

Katsuki pulled you behind him before you could even place the tip of your shoe inside the inn, guiding you to follow his lead.

Inside, your stomach churned with the kind of nausea only lies could bring.

Sweet like ripened peaches, and strong like a gut punch, the fragrance you knew all too well sucked the oxygen from the small reception room. Its strong potency had your body betraying you before your thoughts could catch up to process the assault on your senses.

You expelled a shaky breath and tried to get a grip on yourself, but with Katsuki so close and touching you, it was impossible.

Your imagination soared to newer, wilder heights. Each glimpse had the potential to happen; the context supported it. This middle of nowhere was perfect ground for mistakes, ones that would hunt and haunt you both later. 

Who would know if he trapped you against the reception counter and kissed you senseless? 

Who would know if you asked him not to stop—never stop? 

Who would know if you both stumbled in the assigned room, desperate to give, but equally starved to take?

Aside from you, him, and the lonely reception bell waiting to be pressed to summon the granny who ran the place, there was no one else.

You heard no one. You saw no one.

“This smell,” Katsuki said, and you watched in horror as he drew in a lungful of it.

Your stomach contorted, panic and something delightfully unacceptable knotting it. You dropped his hand like it had burned your most precious treasure and stumbled back, hip colliding with the reception counter. Distance, the only thing needed between you and him, as vital as the sweltering blood pumping to keep you alive.

But distance didn’t spare you from the fever staking claim to every inch of your skin. Sweat beaded on your nape and descended your spine the way you imagined Katsuki’s mouth might. Your fingers rose to feel your pulse but folded instead over your throat, interfering with the labored breaths puffing from your parted lips.

Katsuki rounded on you, pupils blown with desire and indignation.

Your thighs pressed together. Your destabilized mind misread the moment, interpreted the dangerous combination as one step closer to doomed pleasure, not for what it was: another argument waiting to happen. But if both happened at the same time…wasn’t that what they called angry sex?

Hilarious, but accurate for your dynamic.

This tension wouldn’t bloom like flowers in spring into something nice and slow, but detonate like his Quirk—fast, hard, and destructive.

Suffice to say, you were convinced he’d morph you into a wasteland for any other man.

“You lied to me,” he sneered, though the words were quiet to your boosted hearing. Spoken that low, they’d sound like a mumble to anyone else. “You know exactly what this is. Knew what it was, and you still—” His jaw clenched. So did his fists. “Fuck.”

Fuck indeed. 

He connected the dots.

“Try to calm down,” you tried suggesting, but your voice missed the cue. A sultry lilt, of which he clearly took note, glided around the syllables. “The more agitated you are, the harder it gets.”

Silence condensed in the unfair space between your bodies, but the conversation continued in the collision of your gazes. His thoughts were visible on his face, like your own, and it was smart of him to stay away. While some of his fire simmered for that truth, the real inferno vortexed around darker notions—scorching your layers, burning you from the inside out.

He’d like that, you thought, and so would you. Getting high on the smoke of carbonized boundaries, morals, principles.

When you heard your erratic hearts sync in rhythm, siphoning the reasons why you shouldn’t bridge the gap and ruin everything with your own hands, you broke eye contact and looked for the source. It had to be there in the room with you.

Your gaze swung upward.

A myriad of small flowers coiled around the ceiling beams in shades of ivory white, pale yellow, and vibrant orange. The source of the intrusion.

“Look up,” you told him, reaching for your phone. No signal, no surprise. That antenna you’d noticed earlier likely had something to do with it.

“The hell?” Katsuki muttered as you snapped a picture. “Are those—”

“Beautiful, aren’t they?”

You whirled on the voice. Your balance faltered, tangling your legs. Your hands shot for the counter, catching yourself right as weight pressed to your back. Katsuki’s hands were on your hips, gripping the living soul out of them to steady, and out of livid frustration.

You felt him, harder, thicker and lengthier than he’d been at the bar.

Oh, joy.

Time was up for your Quirk, but you were more worried about his dick. He had to be in serious discomfort.

Stupid flowers.

Clearing your throat, you slapped a polite smile on your face and met the granny’s fond gaze. 

“Such a lovely couple. I assume you two are the ones my grandson…?” Told her about, your brain supplied the missing words. Her smile radiated something bright and warm, the kind a grandmother would give when she welcomed her loved ones home. It almost disarmed your distrust.

Doubt had a way of making even the most stubborn skeptic to question.

Maybe she didn’t know. Maybe her intentions, about to unfold, were genuine. Maybe she, too, was in danger.

Katsuki grunted affirmative. “He said you got a room free.”

“Sure do.” Her melodious laugh emitted sunshine. “He asked to give you the best room…gift—”

The words turned incomprehensible. Pressure flooded your ears. Queasiness churned in your stomach. Acrid bile climbed your throat. Vertigo spun your head. You plunged into a world you still hated, but had no choice but to surrender to, so the damage could heal. You’d never denied it. Until now.

As she reached under the counter and retrieved a thick, worn-out notebook, the granny looked at you expectantly.

You wanted to signal Katsuki that your hearing had gone to hell, but letting go of the counter wasn’t an option, not without tipping her off something wasn’t right with you. Making faces at him would lead to the same outcome. Appearances were vital, and if you wanted the mission to be a success, you needed to keep them up, flawlessly.

Deep breath in, you bit your tongue, and activated your Quirk once more.

“I’m sorry. Could you repeat that?” Years of experience kept your voice even, as if invisible knives weren’t stabbing your skull.

She slid the open notebook across the counter toward you, along with a pen. Her wrinkled, crooked finger tapped the empty page. “If you could please write your name.”

What was this? A different take on Lakki Café’s fortune box? “Of course. Should I write his too?”

“Only yours.” She clasped her hands together and turned halfway. “I’ll get you two the room key.”

The moment she disappeared into the back room, you grabbed the pen and scribbled a fake name in a makeshift font. Before Katsuki could move, you pulled him closer and whispered, “Don’t write how you usually do. Just in case.”

He gave a subtle nod, though his brow furrowed, eyes scanning yours for a beat. “You good?”

You felt like dying, but sure, you were good. Hell-pit-nine good. “Yeah. Can’t wait to see the room.” And collapse. Show him how pathetic you really were behind the front you put up.

The granny returned, exchanging the key for the notebook. “The room is down the hall, last door on the right. Hope you enjoy your stay.”

“Thank you,” you responded, and reached for the key, but Katsuki snatched it, and you by the waist.

Your heart grew frenzied in your chest with the first wobbly step he rushed you to take forward. The wooden floor creaked under your weight, a skull-splitter to your overly sensitive, damaged hearing. You couldn’t focus. Could barely fucking breathe.

One step, then another.

Forward.

Forward.

Nothing hurt. Your vision wasn’t blurry. The hallway wasn’t distorted. The shadows stretching along the walls weren’t nightmares clawing into reality, twisting, screaming into the void. The doors weren’t warping like serpents, hungry to strangle and swallow down prey. The flowers on the hanging scrolls weren’t weeping crimson.

It was all in your head.

All in your fucking head.

Until the door to the room opened and you entered its confines. Perfect pretense coated your every move, polished to a sickening degree that made your chest gape open with self-loathing. For the first time, faking it until you made it felt less like salvation and more like poison, rotting your insides as toxicity trickled into every corner of your being.

But to stop…to stop meant to admit you weren’t as strong, as confident, as unbreakable, as fearless as you convinced everyone you were. You weren’t ready to face that sentence. People seriously worried about your well-being made you feel like the worst person alive.

Katsuki stood in front of you, arms crossed and scowling. “What else did you lie to me about?”

Concern destroyed hearts. You’d seen it. Your mother’s each time she was told you had made no progress in therapy. Your father’s, when he sat with you at the window, his silence telling your family’s tragedy as your gaze wistfully followed the other kids playing outside.

“Oi. You listenin’?”

Your teachers’, when you proved your trauma-induced phobia wasn’t a measure of your intelligence, but a prison for your potential.

Ayumu’s, on the day he dragged your broken self from the ruins of your parents’ apartment building, putting an end to your desperate search through rubble for a single fragment of your parents.

Katsuki grabbed your shoulder, his touch firm. “Ignorin’ me ain’t gonna shut me up.” His voice raised at the end, your unresponsiveness killing the last of his patience. 

Your own heart, when you dreamed of normalcy, while the future promised you four walls.

“Why does it matter as long as I get your freedom?” Empty. Your voice was so empty. “Can’t you write me off as untrustworthy, a liar, the worst—I don’t fucking know—and let me do my job?”

His grip hurt, but what was another drop of anguish in an ocean of it? “You gotta be kiddin’ me. Hell’s with you and this stupid ass speech—” 

What you hated most at the moment, the thing you knew would eventually stop him, stopped him.

“You’re bleedin’,” Katsuki said like it was the first time he’d ever seen blood. Impossible, given his job.

You were bleeding. Had known long before he noticed. Blood pooling in your ear canal was hard to miss.

So, what?

He tugged off his glove and swept his thumb below your ear, bringing it to eye level, stained red. His hand hovered between you as he glared furiously at the color. “Truthie.”

“A Quirk like mine comes with consequences.” Why were you explaining? “I would’ve raised suspicions if I’d tried to let you know, so I used it again to compensate for the damage.”

His fingers twitched. “You chose hurtin’ yourself.”

“I get hurt anyway. It’s the price of my Quirk.”

“Your file—”

“I know. It’s not up to date. When my parents registered it, it was what it does. Nothing else.”

He clenched his fist, your blood smearing his palm. Knuckles whitened. “Why the hell didn’t you tell me?”

You shrugged and let yourself slide down to the floor. “I refuse to be a liability.” The heel of your palm pressed against one ear. You winced.

“Tru—”

“Don’t.” You met his eyes. “Don’t look at me like that, and don’t sound worried. I’m the last person you should fuss over. I’ll be fine in…an hour, or so.” 

Emotions flickered across his face as he grew quieter—blank, really. One eventually claimed him. It evened out his breath. Slowed his heart. Your honesty, apparently, was what shut him down.

“Ain’t gonna, then.” He pulled his glove back on, his stare cutting cold enough to chill your blood. “But you don’t get to give a shit about me and act on it, either. Mutual, or nothin’.” He turned to inspect the room, leaving you to your misery.

You smiled, resigned, at his back, breathing out, “Too late.”

Chapter Text

“The flowers? Ah! They’re called osmanthus. We grow them here,” the fake helper said, answering your curiosity before pointing behind you. “If you walk that way, you’ll reach the fields.”

You were at the car repair shop, pretending to check on the vehicle’s progress while coaxing information out of the guy. Meanwhile, Katsuki sat in the car, following his instructions but glaring daggers at you. You probably deserved every single one of those glares after gifting him a front-row seat to something close to your worst and cutting him off from helping.

Katsuki hadn’t spoken a word since, or spared you more than a cold look. It had been hours—sleepless hours of awkward tension, evidence of the differences between you. At the root of it was your stubbornness, but at least it had reason to exist. You weren’t this way for the sake of it.

“Great. Something to explore.” You offered the fake helper an easy smile, which he returned with the same enthusiasm. “They smell really nice.”

“They smell even better when processed and mixed into cosmetics.”

Your brows lifted. “Cosmetics? Do tell.”

He reached into his toolbox. “This place might seem small and insignificant, but it’s actually pretty well known in certain industries for our oil extraction techniques. Perfumery, mostly.” Wrench in hand, he leaned in close enough to get a whiff of your scent. “The perfume you’re wearing might have some of our flower oils. What’s the name?”

“Name’s less tryin’ to flirt with my girl and more fixin’ the damn car,” Katsuki snapped through clenched teeth, slamming the car door shut. His foul mood was impossible to miss.

“I–I wasn’t!” The guy raised his hands, laughing nervously as he backed away from you. “Sorry if it seemed that way.”

“Tomorrow the car’s fixed, you said?”

“Yeah. That’s—That’s what I said.” Another shaky laugh. “I’ll get back to work now. You two enjoy your day!”

Thanking him, you timidly waved, hoping it sweetened his thoughts. He was already on your case; you couldn’t have him suspect you were on his too. Maybe a show of delicacy would make his mind blame Katsuki’s sudden hostility on the thick clouds gathering overhead, promising the downpour of the century. Gloomy weather did things to people.

Your fingers laced through Katsuki’s as you sneaked a peek at his bitter face, words on your tongue for appearance’s sake but no will in your voice to let them out. Talking seemed to be the last thing he wanted to do, especially with you. 

It stung, seeing him shut off like this.

For the best. 

But was it? Every knock he made at your heart’s door was met with some form of rejection. And for what? His safety? Morals? The risk of his heart getting cut open?

Looking at the bigger picture, you were deciding for him, inexcusably so. But between the two of you, you were the one with less to lose. In the worst-case scenario, your life.

A burning knot lodged in your throat, catching you off guard. Deep down, something recoiled at the idea of dying, and it wasn’t your inner child, that brave little survivor. It was you.

Your hand squeezed his in surprise, only for your breath to hitch when he returned the gesture. Gentler, but there nonetheless.

Before omitted truths could invade your thoughts, the horizon shifted. At the end of the cobblestone path, fenced-in flower fields—different from the ones flanking the road to the village—stretched out in every direction, as far as your eyes could see.

A sweet scent thickened the air, dizzying in its intensity. But breathing it in didn’t bring the fever you’d begun to grow familiar with.

“These ain’t the same as whatever the hell we had at the inn,” Katsuki voiced your impression.

You hummed in agreement. “Maybe modified? Sprayed with something?” you offered, wrinkling your nose at the potent floral aroma. Your nostrils itched. “What if those flowers were a decoy? That guy did say they extract oils from these.”

“Doubt that old woman smeared oil all over the walls.”

“I wouldn’t dismiss it,” you muttered, slipping your hand from his to pluck a flower. You twirled it between your gloved fingers for a moment, then crushed it in your palm, imagining everything you despised. The scent that rose was subtle—apricots and peaches with a trace of honey. Sugary. Delicious. But not arousing. “Smell this.”

He caught your wrist and pulled your hand closer, inhaling deep.

“Feel anything? Some kind of…you know?”

“Of what?” His gaze locked on yours, glinting with the obvious. He was messing with you. Because of course he was. What better way to bleed off his anger than by riling you up?

You offered him an insincere smile. “Arousal? Lust? Increased libido? I could keep going. Pretty sure I can come up with a whole list of words right up your alley if it’s not clicking.”

“That so? Well, shit. Not gettin’ it, so spell it out for me.”

“You—” Bastard. “I’m asking if it gets you in the mood to fuck.”

“Depends. We talkin’ those damn flowers, or somethin’ else?”

This time, your frustrated groan slipped free. “Katsu—” His name broke off in a gasp as he yanked your body into his. The mood instantly shifted, from petty to dark and cold. Silly heart cracked like old porcelain beneath his impassive stare. He was about to punish it. Thorny whip wrapped in indifference swung.

“Answer’s no. Dick’s more dead than dead.”

The second meaning struck bull’s eye. The rotten taste of your own medicine forced itself down your throat, and you felt sick. Was this how your rejections made him feel?

“Awesome.” Your tone was flat. “Guess that concludes the preliminary. There’s more at play with these flowers.”

Scoffing, he dropped your hand and pushed past, sauntering down the dirty, dusty path.

“Deserved, I guess.”

You kept your distance as you followed, planning your next steps. You still had to find the girl’s mother, and time was running out.

Your trek through the flower fields was soon over, leading to an unexpected destination. The abandoned-looking house stood surrounded by the ruins of what once was a sturdy fence. The air itself seemed to whisper of age, decline, and tragedy. Your gaze drifted to the dried, stony pond suffocating under the parasitic plants that clung to it, and then further to the well, covered in filth, its roof mostly collapsed. 

Goosebumps scattered over your skin.

Amidst the gloom, there was a burst of color. 

Lush. Vibrant. Alive.

Flowers sprang from the neglected soil, climbing and circling the well like a crown, causing your chest to tighten as you stood rooted, caught between awe and unease.

You didn’t have to find anything. It had found you.

“This is what we came here for,” you told Katsuki.

“How’re you so sure?”

“Look at it.” You gestured at the scene. “Poverty. Plants thrive in a dead zone. This village is where she was taken from. And the first kanji of her last name’s right there on that rusty plate.” You half-turned toward him. “Checks all the boxes.”

Deep lines cut into his brow. “Only one way to find out.”

Caution marked your advance as you trudged over the grimy gravel, nose scrunching at the putrid air wafting from the door left ajar. If you thought Katsuki’s place had been a pigsty, this one won gold without question.

You stopped him with a hand on his elbow and drew a deeper breath, immediately regretting it as the stench of rotting trash, cheap alcohol, tobacco, and other questionable odors slammed into you.

The good news? Someone lived here, and they didn’t smell like death.

Slowly, you pushed the door open, about to sneak inside when Katsuki pulled you back and stepped in first. You nearly threw your arms up. You were the one with the better senses, so why was he acting like he was?

“Got more field experience than you,” he whispered in your direction, then scanned the dilapidated interior. “Question was written all over your face.”

“Right. Because experience magically heightens your senses.”

He tossed you a condescending smirk, and you flipped him off before your gaze dropped to the floor. Three pairs of worn-out shoes lay scattered in the genkan, one unmistakably a child’s. The irony wasn’t lost as you crouched to pick them up. Once white, now yellowed, the small sneakers were smudged with dirt and scratched. Innocence bled dry within these walls.

Koharu was written inside in fading black ink, framed by little doodled flowers.

If you’d had any doubts left, they vanished. This was where she had lived. Where her own mother had sold her off and watched her being taken away.

The image of her in that glass cage crashed into you, clutching a ragged plush to her chest, teary eyes wide with fear. Then Miyuki, presenting her Quirk with the same nonchalance as someone talking about dinner. And you, snarling fuck this as you cut her off, shouting your bid with white-knuckled fists gripping the balcony rail.

You could still hear her indignation. Still see the disgust in her icy eyes as they locked on you—the rule breaker. Still feel the violent surge of anger when the perfumer, whose face was everywhere now, dared to try to outbid you. Takumi had held you back, both arms locked tight around your waist, keeping you from leaping down there and tearing that bastard a new one.

Kiyomizu Kaoru. 

His name rang in your skull.

“No matter what happens, don’t get in my way,” you warned Katsuki as you sprang up, dropping the shoe and brushing off your gloves. Your gaze locked on his, and whatever he saw there had him tense. “I’m not leaving until I wring every last drop of information out of that woman.”

With how pissed off you were, it took less than a minute of storming through the house to find the woman, snoring like a tractor, oblivious to your presence. Blackout drunk, you diagnosed, judging by the empty sake bottles piled next to her futon.

The room was as much of a filthy mess as the rest of the house—broken furniture, chipped walls, cracked wooden floors. Some panels squelched under your shoe where water had infiltrated. The only thing untouched sat on the dresser.

Framed pictures, beside a vase of dried flowers.

In those snapshots, the house looked pristine, splendid. The woman smiled, cradling a small girl you didn’t recognize but could guess was her daughter. In another photo, the same girl, now older, placed a flower crown on a baby you knew instinctively to be Koharu.

Koharu had an older sister?

Katsuki stopped at your side, scowling down at the pictures. His thoughts were written so plainly across his face that you nodded, brushing your fingertips against his in silent comfort.

As a father, seeing this had to be rough. His daughter’s reality, set against this, was a dream. Even with the impending divorce and the truth about Miyuki, Yua had everything she needed: protection, love, opportunities, dreams. Katsuki wouldn’t have it any other way.

You believed that with everything in you.

Sadly, not every child had a parent like him.

Turning on your heel, you glared at the sleeping woman. “Tempted to give her a rough wake-up,” you muttered, your foot flicking the edge of the futon.

“What’s stoppin’ you?”

“Good point.” You gripped the futon and yanked with all your strength, stumbling back into the dresser as the woman flopped face down in the grime. “Morning, lady. Slept well?”

“Who…who are you?” she slurred, rolling onto her side to squint first at you, then at Katsuki. “Police?”

“Koharu ring a bell?”

“Who?”

The audacity. You slipped a hand into your jacket and pulled out the check, one with enough zeroes to make anyone’s eyes bulge. You waved it at her. “How about now?”

Her eyes flew open.

*

“I don’t know what you want from me, but I've got nothing to offer a rich, privileged girl like you,” the woman said from her place on the porch in a monotone voice, smoke curling from her cigarette. “Unless it’s not for you, but your pretty boy here.” Her lifeless eyes dragged over Katsuki’s physique. “For that many zeroes—”

“Shut up!” Your anger sliced through the tense air, nails digging into your palms until they nearly broke skin. “Koharu. We’re here for the daughter you sold.”

Her thin brow arched lazily. “Sold?” She threw her head back with a hoarse, grating laugh. “I gave her a better chance at life and got compensated for it. Why? You want to return her?”

You stepped forward, unsure of your intent. Did you want to slap some sense into her? Scream in her face? Tell her that her daughter—that eight-year-old girl who shattered your heart with her hopeful eyes—wasn’t fucking goods?

Fingers clasped your forearm, gently pulling you back. Then came the muttered truth, a lullaby to your fury. “She ain’t worth your anger.”

Closing your eyes, you breathed in the wretched air and reminded yourself: violence had a time and place. This wasn’t it. If anything, it would wring less truth from her and more lies, just to spite you. Your center steadied, so when your eyes opened, the weight on your shoulders was no longer your own. It was that of Truth Exposer.

“Earlier, you asked who I was,” you began, shrugging off Katsuki’s touch. “I’m Koharu’s buyer. Who you sold her to, put her up for auction. Quirk auction.”

Something flickered in the woman’s gaze. “How much?”

“Want a rake?” Your mouth curled. “Or are you curious how valuable her life is compared to yours?”

She ripped the cigarette from her lips and hurled it at your feet as she sprang up, jabbing a finger your way. “Don’t call me worthless when you’re no better,” she hissed. “You bought a kid. That makes you scum, too. And now you’re here for what? To judge me? Get off your moral high horse.”

She had your full attention now, thanks to the outburst. Your gaze dropped to the smoking cigarette at your feet as your mind began to work.

Indifferent to her daughter. Unapologetic for her actions. Quick to anger when her self-worth was questioned. And…oddly eloquent. The bedroom photos drifted through your mind.

You stomped out the smoldering stick, twisting at the waist to take in the decrepit house and the dreary garden. They were your canvas, waiting for the pins, post-its, and colorful strings to connect it all. A new perspective fell over the old one.

The flower fields were impossibly close to the house. The ruined fence here matched the one dividing the fields. Every path leading out of the property curved toward the flowers.

Oil extraction techniques. A village whispered about in the perfumery industry.

Perfu…mery.

Perfumer? Perfumer desperate to get his dirty hands on a child?

Laughter burst from your chest, louder when Takumi’s face flashed in your mind, grinning like a cat that just knocked over something expensive. 

“You’re the owner. Or rather, your family is. Those oil extraction techniques this place is supposedly famous for, they’re yours,” you stated, confident in your conclusion. “Someone screwed you over. Let me guess—Kiyomizu Kaoru?”

She went white as a sheet, like you’d just ripped her darkest secret into the open, which, in a way, you had. Koharu fit somewhere in this twisted puzzle, too, though you clung to the slim hope she wasn’t who you feared she might be.

The woman staggered back onto the low porch, trembling like a newborn fawn. Her chapped lips parted, but all that came out was a mess of incoherent babbling. She pointed at you, eyes wide with fear.

“Shit, Truthie,” Katsuki muttered, his grip on your arm firm enough to get your attention. “You serious? That guy? The one plastered everywhere with his shitty perfumes?”

“He tried outbidding me,” you said, watching her fumble for another cigarette. “Looked really desperate, too. I wonder why.”

Katsuki glanced at her, then back at you. “You don’t seriously think that kid is…?”

“I’m hoping not,” you said. “But I think I’ll end up disappointed.” You raised your voice. “Hey, lady! Is Koharu his daughter?”

Her lips pressed into a thin line, and something cold lit behind her eyes.

“Really?” You stepped away from Katsuki’s side, moving with the grace of a predator. “This is where you draw the line?”

She took another long drag from her cigarette.

“Was it for revenge?” you pressed, feeling your heart freeze over. No more compassion. Screw that sentiment when it became more and more apparent she had none when she threw Koharu to the wolves. Your own parents had every reason to rid themselves of you, but they didn’t. They had held onto you like you were their most precious, even as you brought them nothing but loss, suffering, failure. “You wanted to destroy the man who clearly ruined your life by using his daughter? Do you realize how fucked up that is?”

“What would you know?” she barked, slamming her palm onto the rotting wood. “You’re so arrogant. Obviously privileged.” Her hand flew in your direction. “I wouldn’t be surprised if you’ve never had to deal with a damn thing in your life. Just like the other bitch who came here, asking again and again if I was sure, when it was obvious she didn’t give a shit. Hypocrites. All of you.”

“Watch your goddamn mo—”

You raised your hand, shutting Katsuki up. “Don’t waste your energy. It’s not worth it,” you told him with a quick glance over your shoulder. Despite your nerves buzzing with the thrill of new information, your outside composure didn’t falter. “This other bitch, is she the one who took Koharu away?”

“Yes, she did. What about it? Want to go after her too?” She laughed and picked up the money check, tapping her fingers on the zeroes. “Two more and I’ll tell you about her.”

“One, plus everything you know, including your own story. In exchange, I’ll succeed where you failed with your ex,” you bargained, then added in a softer tone. “And I’ll take care Koharu gets a real chance at life.”

For the first time, something other than bitterness flooded her gaze. Perhaps you’d been wrong. Perhaps she wasn’t completely indifferent to her child. Perhaps resentment had crusted too thick over her heart. Not that it excused anything. Nothing could.

“Why are you going so far for her?” she asked.

Where were you supposed to start? There were a thousand answers. You could lie, dodge, twist, but what came out was the rawest, most honest and personal thing in you. “No child should ever have to ask themselves, ‘Why me?’”

You’d been that child. Time and time again. Asking that haunting question to your parents, to yourself, to the…woman who eradicated your innocence.

The answer? There wasn’t a definite one.

Sometimes misery happened, out of one’s control. Other times, it was the sum of choices.

Growing up and experiences taught you that reality came in layers, but to your younger self, it all translated into not being good enough. Not useful. Not worthy.

She looked away, almost in shame, hands clasping tight. “You’re cruel,” she murmured, her voice hoarse with the weight of emotions threatening to overflow. “But at least you’re honest. The other one…she was so sweet it made even my rotten heart jump with fear. Really manipulative. A snake, through and through.”

“Do you have a name?”

Her gaze flicked back to you, then wandered briefly to Katsuki. “I’m not sure. She called herself Yuki.”

Yuki?

“Anything else you can tell me about her? Something more…specific.”

She considered your request. “Her hair was strange. I think she wore a wig—black—because I saw light green strands at her temples.”

And you thought the ground tremored beneath your feet because your knees wobbled. But instead of steadying them, your first instinct was to check on Katsuki.

He was already marching away, fists clenched at his sides. Your heart ricocheted in its bony cage, panicking at your own paralysis.

Move, move, fucking move! It screamed. Go after him. What are you doing?

He wouldn’t want it. 

“Do you two know her?” the woman asked cautiously.

Katsuki would probably hate you more if you ditched now. You had a mission, and it wasn’t softening the blow he’d taken, or putting out the fires consuming his world, or fighting off the guilt he drowned in with your bare hands.

The urge to bolt clawed at your soul, almost unbearable. You crushed it, holding your breath until your lungs burned.

He’d want you to finish this. His freedom hinged on it.

“Tell me everything.” You locked eyes with the woman. “About this Yuki. About Koharu. About you.”

She studied you for a long, quiet moment, then reached into the wooden box by her scrawny legs. Wordlessly, she offered a cigarette.

Silence stretched thin between you until you accepted it. Sliding the token of trust between your lips, you leaned in and let her light it.

Chapter Text

Your feelings toward Koharu’s mother hadn’t softened, but hearing where she came from had shifted something in you. Her story started in normalcy and spiraled into isolation, hollowing her out, swallowing hope like a greedy black hole. The weight of her life pressed against your ribs, but it couldn’t smother the anger throbbing between them.

Tragic past or not, her actions were inexcusable.

“If I asked you ‘why me,’ what would you answer?” she asked, tears rimming her lower lashes.

Your eyes narrowed on the cigarette butt pinched between your fingers. One last draw. You stubbed it out and exhaled the smoke that had festered in your lungs.

“Consequences of falling for the wrong person, I guess. But I’m the last person to judge.”

It was the first time you’d ever admitted it, and to a stranger, no less. Someone you were supposed to wring dry for information, not bond with over personal mistakes. Pathetic. Absolutely goofy.

Wiping at her cheeks, she scooted closer and rested a hesitant hand on your shoulder. “Take my life as a lesson,” she said quietly. “Don’t end up like me.”

Easier said than done. The ride you’d strapped yourself to was halfway to crashing or flying off the rails. Either way…you were probably a goner.

You rolled your shoulder, shaking off her touch. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

She nodded, holding your gaze like she didn’t want to let go of it, or you. She then placed the check you’d bribed her with into your palm. “It’s yours. I don’t want it.”

“Oh.” You pressed it back into her hand, folding her thin fingers over it. “Sucks, but the check isn’t optional. Your girls might want to see you again. I want them to have that option.” Your hand applied pressure on hers, crinkling the paper. “There’s a sticker on the back. An address and a number. Let me know where you end up.” Tighter. “Survive, alright?”

Silence lasted for a few heavy beats before she covered her mouth with her hand. Tears sprang and spilled down her face. The first raw sob tore loose from her chest, pulling a thread of compassion tight in yours.

“I’d turn you in—have you confess it all—if it didn’t mean jeopardizing Koharu’s safety,” you added bluntly. “Leave this place, lady. Give life another chance. Consider that your punishment. And who knows, maybe sometime in the future, I’ll ask you to speak your truth.”

You stood. Sighed and brushed dirt from your pants. Then left. Left her weeping for the what-ifs, for the broken relationships and the uncertain future.

Her pain left a bitter taste in your mouth, knowing part of it was your fault. You’d fractured the status quo of her life.

“You really are c-cruel!” she called out in your wake. Her final words and a necessary reminder of who you were.

Cruel. Ruthless. Mean.

Because you pushed people to act. Pressured them to become what you refused to be for them—an executioner.

Her words pulsed in your skull as you trudged the dirt path through fading light, searching for Katsuki. Finding him silenced them.

“Is that fence comfortable?” you asked his perched self, hands buried in his pockets. The sight was harder to take in than usual.

Katsuki acknowledged you with a side glance, and your pace slowed, his emotions that radiated feeling like living entities. Seeping into your skin, stinging your nerves with their intensity.

Guilt and self-hate.

Yua and himself.

He was slipping under.

Your shoulders sagged as the urge to run to him hit your heart like a furious wave. Even harder than seeing him was fighting the pull. It urged you closer, insisting you dove into his chaos before his eyes, no longer in secret. Pull him out.

You weren’t sure how, so you allowed instinct to take over. Your body followed it.

In the quiet, with the cold wind needling your skin and the sweet floral scent invading your nose, you wrapped him in your arms. One hand pressed between his shoulder blades, the other clenched in his jacket. Forehead to his pulse, you felt it beat, beat, beat.

His body was alive, though still as a statue. You didn’t think the same could be said of his heart, his soul, or the wreckage of his mind.

You held him without expectations, hopes, demands. This one time, here, now. Memory carved into his timeline, and yours, that would bleed its colors at the hands of your future cruelty.

“I’m sor—” He engulfed you in his embrace as you tried to speak.

“In a few.”

‘In a few’ turned into minutes you didn’t count, only felt, trickling too fast out of the flow of time. They rushed to end what was ill-fated, but they failed. They failed because even curses held on for one more drop of empty hope.

“You stink like cigarettes,” Katsuki grumbled, nose squished into the juncture of your neck and shoulder. “You smoked with that woman, or somethin’?”

“Yeah. Seemed to be her requirement to open up.” Your arms slackened, giving him the chance to shove you away. You expected it.

He held you tighter, closer. “Sayin’ no exists for a reason, idiot.”

“I know, but the mission—”

“Screw that. Find other ways to bond with your targets.”

His scolding involuntarily put a silly, bittersweet smile on your face. Why couldn’t he just stop caring?

“You make it sound like I’m doing it every day,” you said. “Look on the bright side. For a short while—”

“There ain’t one.”

“—my awareness is sharper. Reaction time, too, if I remember right.”

“Fuckin’ hell,” he groaned, leaning back to scowl at your relaxed expression. “Truthie’s random facts? Again?”

“Did you miss them?”

“Never.” His arms loosened, withdrawing enough for his hands to find purchase on your waist. “Why the hell would I miss stupid?”

“Need me to remind you how my ‘stupid’ helped you catch a killer, hm?”

“Helped, my ass. I had it solved.”

You poked him in the chest. “Except for his identity, his next victim, and his potential whereabouts.”

“I had it—” His mouth clamped shut at your raised eyebrows, daring him to keep going. Then, through clenched teeth. “Who randomly thinks to test dust for DNA?”

“Certainly not the amateurs on that investigation team,” you said. “You get a pass, since murders aren’t your expertise. I can’t expect you to know the more niche methods.”

A hot topic almost a year ago that had sown panic among the population once the first report hit the news. The media nicknamed the culprit Sealer Killer, a jab at his method—death by asphyxiation in a sealed space—and the serial killer label the police slapped on him after finding four victims and linked them to the case.

What piqued your interest was how the victims were untouched, no signs of a struggle or violence whatsoever. Curiosity led to more curiosity, and eventually to Katsuki, who you found out was on the case. Cue your parallel investigation.

On the surface, to spite him, but deep down, to satisfy your selfish desire of knowing what it’d be like to team up with him.

When opportunity waved, how could you refuse?

The credit went entirely to him, naturally. Dynamight-Truth Exposer duo? An anomaly with no right to exist.

“Nerd.” Katsuki shook his head as if disappointed, though pride shimmered in his eyes. Good. His fire still burned bright. He was breathing again. “Had fun?”

“Depends on which part we’re talking. Figuring it out, or watching you shove the kicking and screaming killer into the arms of the first officer to cross your way, just so you could desperately search the scene for me.” You grinned, grateful your shared history had enough sentimental substance to lighten his mood, even when the topic was morbid. “If it’s the second option, I did.”

“Little shit.”

He pinched your side, snorting when you squealed and jumped away. His amusement dissolved a beat later, like foam, leaving only seriousness, and the sense that what he was about to say came from somewhere deep, deep within his soul. Stepping closer, Katsuki brushed your fingertips with his knuckles, throat bobbing on a hard swallow.

“Don’t slip up. Be this,” he said. “Always find reasons to be this.”

Don’t you dare turn out to be a fucked up person with fucked up intentions. That was what you heard. Loud, clear, almost pleading.

Guilt avalanched through your chest, cracking it open. You weren’t that, but you weren’t his level of good either. Inevitably, you would disappoint him. Inevitably, you would destroy the budding care he had for you.

The slightest nod tipped your head. You shuffled back, distancing, and forced yourself to meet his eyes. “Are you okay?”

Dipping his chin, he kicked at the dirt, pebbles scattering everywhere. “Fine. Was it her?”

“Unfortunately—or fortunately, depending on how you look at it.” You made no effort to hide your dislike. “But let’s not talk about that here. Come with me. I know a place.”

You offered him your hand, and he accepted it, letting you pull him as he asked, “You got the whole story?”

“I did. Wrung her dry as promised. Oh! Our trip is over, by the way.”

*

Your eyes followed the steady stream of the river skirting the village, the last of daylight reflecting the dark clouds above across the wavy surface. Rock formations, like deformed unchiseled statues, were strewn along the riverbank. You had claimed one as your seat the moment you arrived.

Crisp air, smelling of rain’s beginnings, wildflowers, damp soil, and rotting leaves, filled your lungs.

“And if it’s gonna take years to clear me?” Katsuki asked after you told him you’d hold back on revealing the extent of his wife’s involvement until he was deemed innocent. An investigation would happen, digging into every corner of his life, possibly reaching back to when he first met her.  Perhaps further.

It was bad enough that a Quirk trafficking ring had been operating right under everyone’s noses; the wife of a pro hero being involved brought up direr consequences. You could predict the scale of the fallout if you exposed everything up front—colossal.

Things would spiral out of control.

As for the authorities, they’d focus on damage control first, which could mean stalling Katsuki’s investigation, or…twisting it into a golden opportunity for a scapegoat. 

You shook your head before meeting his eyes. “It won’t take years. With the right motivation, they’ll do it in no time.”

His brow arched in silent question.

“I don’t know what that motivation is yet, but I’ll find it.”

He stared down at you for a full minute, making you squirm on your stony seat. Intensity was intrinsic to him, and while you’d grown used to it, in a moment of uncertainty, it still sank into your bones, making your nerves cower.

You breathed easier when he nodded, then said, “Spill. What’s her story?” His gruff tone couldn’t hide the curiosity underneath, and amusement poked at you.

“Oh? Curious?” you teased, earning a pointed look. You scooted to the edge of the flat stone and patted the space beside you. “Sit. My neck is starting to hurt from looking up.”

“Don’t look.” But he accepted the silent invitation.

“And miss the way curiosity makes your eyes sparkle? No way.” You chuckled. “It’s like a once-in-a-century event.”

Rolling his eyes, he picked up your legs and settled them across his. “Start talkin’ already.”

You began after a moment of simply blinking at him, trying to calm your leaping heart. The frogs around would be jealous of how high it jumped.

Koharu’s mother’s story began with Kiyomizu Kaoru, the trending perfumer. They’d grown up together, not exactly friends, but close enough. Kiyomizu, born and raised in the village, often helped her family tend the flower fields.

As their business grew, so did his fascination with it. What drew him most was the family’s herbal extraction techniques, passed down through generations, a closely guarded secret that became the root of the first problems.

His insistence—bordering on obsession, as she had described it—culminated in an ill-fated break-in into her family’s house. He tried to steal the secret in the dead of night. That was when her parents finally cut ties with him.

Years passed, and her parents passed too. 

After she took over the business, Kiyomizu returned to the village to plead for her help. His attempt to start a perfumery in the city had failed miserably. Something in his fragrances had driven every customer away.

She had refused him.

“Here’s where it gets crazy.” Your forearm rested on Katsuki’s shoulder as you gestured with your other hand. “At the time, she was married and had her oldest daughter. And well, they were involved in a serious car accident, neither she nor her daughter remembers fully, but her husband died in it. Guess who supported her through it.”

“Perfumer thief,” Katsuki guessed correctly. “You said she ain’t rememberin’. Permanent amnesia?”

“Mhm.” You tried not to grimace at the flash of Takumi’s face invading your mind like an uninvited guest. “Somehow, she fell for the guy. Left everything behind and moved in with him in Tokyo. Fast-forward to their anniversary.”

Your fingers plucked at Katsuki’s jacket, then drummed against his collarbone as anger bubbled up.

“He screwed her over?”

“Worse.” You blew out a breath. “She found out she was pregnant with him and was about to tell him, but she never had the chance. He drugged her. Then forced her to sign away the family business and its secret. Afterward, he kicked her out.”

His reaction was instantaneous. “Shit.”

“Yeah, but that’s not all. This oxygen breather recently found out about Koharu and her Quirk—”

“What’s her Quirk? You never said.”

“She can taste any part of a plant and tell exactly what it needs to flourish at full potential,” you explained. “Pretty cool, but the side effect is the real kicker. She’s immune to plants’ effects. Poisonous or not.”

“Hah. Kid can grow winter plants in summer, that kind of deal?” You nodded, and awe flickered across his face. “Damn. Go on.”

“This is where the stars aligned for granny Ma’am. Pure speculation, but I doubt I’m far off. When Kiyomizu found out about Koharu and her Quirk, he went to Madam for help. But she saw it differently.” Your shoes knocked together until Katsuki’s hand landed on your calf, stopping the anxious movement. “Looking at the timeline, it happened after I put my… name in the fortune box.”

“The old hag used the kid to further her messed up agenda?” Irritation rang loud in the click of his tongue. “Probably sold that bastard some story.”

“Or offered him something…” You could hardly think it, how were you supposed to say it?

“Better.”

You gave him a hesitant nod and turned toward the undisturbed river. The story Madam sold you—that Koharu’s mother had sold her daughter to pay off some man’s debt—was a blatant lie. That woman had no partner. Besides, she’d looked you square in the face, swearing through clenched teeth and angry breaths that she would never trust a man again, let alone give him her heart.

You believed her. 

“Somethin’ ain’t makin’ sense.” Katsuki’s confusion drew your gaze back to him. “That woman, why the hell’d she go and do that with the kid?”

“I guess seeing that bastard at her door again, all smug and successful while she lay in the ruin he brought her, made her snap,” you said. “So, when your wi—”

“Don’t call her my wife. She ain’t.”

“Then, your—”

“Don’t call her my anythin’ either.”

You blinked. “…So what should I call her?”

“Whatever.”

“Disgrace in stilettos. How about it?”

He dragged in a breath, chest expanding, before shooting you a tired glare. “Truthie…call her Void-for-Brains, for all I care.”

Your composure cracked a fraction, your mouth fighting a grin. His indifference to Miyuki smoothed out the jealous crinkles in your soul, flooding your veins with satisfaction.

“As I was saying, when Madam offered a solution through Void-for-Brains to make Koharu disappear, she took it. She believed she hated her daughter as much as she hated Kiyomizu.” You looked down at where your fingers toyed with his jacket’s zipper. “That’s pretty much the story.”

The silence descending upon you both thinned the cool air, even quieting the surrounding forest. You chewed on your lip, battling anger, disappointment, and the press of hopelessness. Koharu would be fine, sunlight warming her street once more, but what about the other children out there, suffering because of their parents?

Who would step in?

Who would tell them it wasn’t their fault? That life had a side brimming with colors, light, and hope? That the future wasn’t bleak and suffocated by misfortune?

That they could dream?

“Talk to me,” Katsuki said, his deep voice carrying a rare softness.

“What am I supposed to say?”

“What’s makin’ you cry?”

You glanced at him, vision blurring, and sighed as you tugged your gloves off, pressing the heels of your palms into your eyes. Damp. “I’m angry at her, and I don’t think I’ll ever stop feeling this way,” you admitted. “I know life is nuanced, and that there are bad choices, bad luck, and things out of our control, but none of that excuses what she’d done. Did anyone stop to think what it’ll do to Koharu? How it’ll make her feel?”

“Yeah. You.” His arm slung around your lower back. “You did.”

Your head fell to his shoulder. You closed your eyes as the painful knot in your throat became harder to swallow. Frustration spilled out of you. “I don’t know when everything got this complicated. It’s like a rabbit hole that keeps going and going, and I can’t—I can’t see the damn bottom. I haven’t dealt with anything this messy since my parents, and even that felt simpler somehow. I…I’m just…”

You paused to catch your breath, but Katsuki finished your thought. “Overwhelmed.”

“Stressed too.”

“And an idiot.” Your heart stuttered when the side of his jaw brushed the top of your head. “Dunno what kinda dumb shit’s goin’ on in your head, but you can count on me. Not gonna see you as weak.”

If only it were that simple. You leaned back, masking the ache with a playful smile. “I didn’t think you had this much compassion in you. Is that age, or experience talking?”

He pinched your side hard. “Don’t make me sound like I’m sixty.”

Instead of distancing, you reached for his cheek, ready to pinch just as hard. But his teeth snapped in your direction. You squealed, pulling back, refusing to wear his teeth marks like a ring. “Holy shit, you’re a biter.”

“Scared?” His tongue flicked over his canine. Katsuki looked positively feral. Wild. Untamed.

And you were positively thrilled, a tingly sensation licking the length of your spine. Before you could shudder, you snatched your gloves and sprang to your feet, backing away from him. “Scared of what? The only way you can ‘bite’ me is verbally. Anything else, and you’re crossing the line.”

He stood. “For now. When that day comes, you’re in deep shit. Your legs better be pro-runner level.”

That day would come, but you wouldn’t be there to see it. “You won’t catch me, Dynamight.” Your laughter expressed your confidence. To his ears, a challenge he’d chase. To yours, a future already bled into stone.

“Bet.” He dashed toward you, and you stumbled back in surprise. The air burst from your chest as your stomach slammed into his shoulder, and the world flipped upside down. “Gonna get a kick outta cornerin’ you again.” You heard the wicked grin in his voice. “Promise to buy you ice cream after. I know a nice place outside our city.”

Your mouth fell open. A call back to summer? To the ice cream you had lost because of him?

Your heart beat at double speed as your insides fluttered. You scrambled to put up your walls before everything you were turned to mush. “Let’s f-find Koharu’s sister, shall we?”

“Huh?”

“She disappeared a couple of days ago. That lady thinks the bar owner took her.”

“Got it.”

“Put me down?”

“No.”

…I hate you.

For infiltrating your secret resolve, fusing with its fearful core. He might dissolve it.

For drowning your soul in the urge to hold onto him. You craved to.

For forcing the realization on your mind that you already existed in his future because he wasn’t envisioning an end, but a continuation. You wished that too.

Your hearts orbited closer, aligning, and that terrified you more than the monster coming for you.