Why Are My Eyes Sweating

anyways him

CHAPTER 7: KNOW ITS FOR THE BETTER

pairing: aged up!katsuki bakugo x fem!reader

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

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

wc: 2.4k

warning: ANGST

an: I apologize in advance

---

If there’s one thing about Katsuki Bakugo, it’s that he gets what he wants. Ever since he was a little boy—whether it was a packet of spicy ramen he begged his mom for at the grocery store, a limited-edition All Might card, or becoming the Number One Hero—he made sure it happened.

He never considered himself spoiled. He worked hard to earn what he truly deserved. But as he stands at your doorstep, his sharp crimson eyes locked onto yours, he can’t help but think how utterly spoiled he is just to be in the presence of someone so utterly captivating.

When you said yes to going to the hero gala with him, it was as if the air around him turned lighter. Since the day he met you in that gym, he’d been drawn to you, like a moth to a flame. There was something about you—an allure, an unshakable pull—that stole the breath right out of his lungs.

And now, seeing you here, framed by the soft glow of your porch light, his chest tightens. You’re radiant. The long black dress hugs your curves like it was made for you, and those dainty white heels showcase your painted toes like a finishing touch. Your hair falls gracefully, brushing against your collarbones, and the smoky eyeshadow accentuates the depths of your gaze.

“You look gorgeous angel.” he murmurs, his voice uncharacteristically gentle. 

The nickname is new, unfamiliar, but it rolls off his tongue like it was meant for you. Judging by the way your lips curve into a soft, fond smile, he knows you don’t mind it one bit.

Standing on your tiptoes, you reach up to press a fleeting kiss to his cheek. It’s quick, innocent, but it’s enough to send his heart into overdrive. He feels foolish, like some lovesick teen, but he can’t help it. That small act of affection sets his world spinning.

“You ready?” you ask, your arm sliding effortlessly into his. Your touch feels natural, like it belongs there.

He nods, leading you toward the sleek limo waiting outside. It’s extravagant, almost out of place parked in front of your humble home, but it’s a small price to pay for a night spent by your side.

“Don’t trip,” he mutters under his breath as he holds the door open for you. It’s his clumsy way of saying, Be careful. His concern is subtle but endearing, and it doesn’t go unnoticed.

The ride to the gala is quiet but charged with unspoken tension. Your eyes meet his in stolen glances, neither of you holding the gaze long enough to risk unraveling whatever fragile balance exists between you.

When you finally arrive, the flashing lights and deafening chatter of paparazzi hit like a tidal wave. Cameras snap, and voices rise in speculation about Bakugo’s stunning “arm candy.” Without a second thought, he shields you, pulling you close to his side as the chaos unfolds.

“You good?” he asks once you’re safely inside, his brows furrowed in that familiar way that somehow makes your heart flutter.

Your soft laughter is enough to disarm him. Reaching up, you smooth the strand of ash-blond hair that had fallen loose during the commotion. The simple act is so tender it nearly breaks him.

“I’m good,” you reply, your voice steady despite the flurry of emotions swirling inside you.

He watches as you decline a glass of champagne from a passing waiter, your smile lighting up the room as you opt for water instead. “You not drinkin’?” he asks, steering you toward a quieter corner of the grand hall. His hand lingers on your waist, hesitant but unwilling to let go.

Without missing a beat, you take his hand and intertwine your fingers. The gesture is so effortless, so casual, that it leaves him reeling. He struggles to focus on your words—something about whiskey and the bar—but all he can think about is the softness of your skin against his.

“Katsuki,” you call, snapping him out of his trance.

“Yeah, sorry.” He pulls you gently toward your table, ignoring the smug grins of his friends as they approach.

“Y/N!” Mina’s bubbly voice cuts through the din, her excitement palpable.

You greet her with a hug, laughing as Kirishima teases Bakugo, earning a sharp glare and a grumbled, “Shut the fuck up, Shitty Hair.”

Mina’s knowing smile doesn’t escape you. “I can’t believe he finally brought you to one of these,” she says, her tone loaded with implication.

You offer a modest laugh, claiming you feel out of place among heroes. But the truth is, this isn’t your first gala. You’ve been to countless events back in America—glamorous nights filled with laughter, expensive drinks, and the warmth of people you once called family. Yet somehow, this feels different. This feels right.

As the night progresses, Bakugo’s hand finds its place on your thigh. His thumb brushes slow, deliberate circles into your skin, a subconscious act of affection that sends your thoughts spiraling. It’s intimate, and it terrifies you.

Excusing yourself, you make your way to the bathroom with Mina. The cool air does little to calm your racing heart.

You stared at your reflection in the mirror, willing yourself to keep it together. Your heart was racing, and you weren’t sure if it was from the whiskey or the way Bakugo’s touch lingered on your thigh like it belonged there. Every gentle circle his thumb traced sent your mind into overdrive, and you needed a moment to breathe.

Mina stood beside you, her pink hair vibrant under the fluorescent lights. She leaned against the counter, studying you with that mischievous gleam in her eyes. You could feel her smirking without even looking at her.

“You know, Bakugo’s single,” she said casually, but there was nothing casual about the way she was watching your reaction.

You froze for a second, then gave a nonchalant shrug. “I know.”

“And he’s been single for a while—like, years.”

“What are you trying to say?” you asked, narrowing your eyes at her through the mirror.

“I’m saying you’re either blind or stupid,” Mina said bluntly, crossing her arms. “Have you seriously not noticed the way he looks at you? Like you hung the moon or something.”

You scoffed, though it came out weaker than you intended. “He doesn’t look at me like that.”

“Oh, please,” she said, rolling her eyes. “The man is hopelessly in love with you, Y/N. Why do you think every girl who so much as breathes in his direction gets shot down?”

“Because he’s not the kind of guy to sleep around,” you said defensively, though a tiny part of you hoped Mina was right.

“Wrong,” she shot back. “All he did in his early twenties was hook up with randoms. That stopped the second you walked into his life. He hasn’t looked at anyone else since.”

“Mina, stop,” you whispered, your throat tightening.

“No,” she said firmly, her voice softening as she stepped closer. “I’m so sick of you two pretending you’re not in love with each other. It’s exhausting to watch.”

Her words hit you like a punch to the gut, forcing you to confront feelings you’d been avoiding. You blinked rapidly, willing the tears to stay at bay. 

“I’ve never seen him look at anyone the way he looks at you. You’re it for him.”

That alone was enough to make the knife in your chest dig deeper. All this talk about love—it was suffocating. You couldn’t do it. You didn’t have the ability to love Bakugo, not now, not in this moment. Not when you knew what waited in the shadows, lurking, threatening everything and everyone you cared about.

Your time was running out. You could feel it, like a clock ticking relentlessly toward some inevitable reckoning. And Bakugo, for all his strength and fire, would eventually find out everything—the lies, the danger, the truth you were so desperately trying to keep hidden.

So if not telling him how you truly felt would spare you both the heartache, then you’d keep this secret buried alongside all the others. It was safer that way. It had to be.

“Thanks, Mina,” you said softly, forcing a small smile onto your lips. But it didn’t reach your eyes, and from the way Mina’s brows furrowed slightly, you knew she noticed.

“You okay?” she asked, her voice laced with concern.

You nodded, ignoring the lump in your throat. “Yeah. Just tired, I guess.”

Mina didn’t look convinced, but she didn’t push. “Alright, but if you ever want to talk…”

You nodded again, grateful for her kindness but knowing you couldn’t take her up on the offer. Not now. Not ever.

Turning away, you smoothed down your dress and took a deep breath. It was time to rejoin the others, to put on the mask you’d perfected over the years. For tonight, at least, you could pretend. You could hold onto the illusion that everything was normal, that Bakugo wasn’t looking at you like you hung the moon, and that Moretti wasn’t out there, waiting to destroy everything.

Gathering every ounce of courage you had, you stepped out of the bathroom. Your heart skipped a beat when you saw him waiting by the door, his broad frame leaning casually against the wall.

“Katsuki?” you called softly, your voice breaking the stillness.

He turned his head, his intense crimson gaze locking onto yours. “Took you long enough,” he muttered, though the corner of his mouth quirked up in a faint smile, softening the sharpness of his words.

“You didn't have to wait for me,” you replied, trying to sound nonchalant even as your heart thudded against your ribs.

He shrugged, shoving his hands into his pockets. “I know. Wanted to talk to you though.”

Without waiting for your response, he turned and started walking down the hall. You followed, your heels clicking softly against the polished floor. He led you through a set of grand doors and onto a balcony that overlooked the city.

The sight was breathtaking. The city stretched out before you like a sea of glittering stars, the lights twinkling against the inky backdrop of the night sky. A cool breeze whispered against your skin, carrying with it the faint hum of distant traffic.

You leaned against the railing, letting the wind play with the edges of your dress, but the soothing view did little to settle the storm in your chest. Bakugo stood beside you, his hands braced against the railing, his posture relaxed yet tense in a way only he could manage. His presence was grounding, like an anchor tethering you to the moment, yet it made everything infinitely harder.

He shifted, his gaze fixed on you rather than the view. “You okay?” he asked, his voice quieter than usual.

You nodded, though your stomach twisted into knots. “Yeah. It’s beautiful out here.”

“Yeah,” he agreed, though his tone said he wasn’t talking about the view.

You turned to face him, your chest tightening when you saw the way he was looking at you—like you were the only thing in the world that mattered. It made what you were about to do all the more painful.

“Katsuki… What did you want to talk about?” you asked, your voice softer than you intended.

He hesitated, rubbing the back of his neck—a rare moment of vulnerability. “You drive me crazy woman.” he muttered, the words tumbling out like they had been waiting years to be said.

“Kats—”

“No, let me finish,” he cut you off, his crimson eyes locking onto yours. “Since the day I met you, you’ve been in my head. And I’ve tried to push it down, tried to ignore this, but I can’t. You’re here now, standing by my side, and I just… need you to know how I feel.”

His confession left you breathless, and for a moment, all you wanted to do was throw caution to the wind and let yourself fall into him. But then Moretti’s face flashed in your mind, the threats he’d made, the lives he’d taken. And just like that, reality slammed back into place.

If you had to spend the rest of your life apologizing to him then you would.

Your grip on the railing tightened. “There is no ‘this,’ Katsuki,” you said quickly, the lie tasting bitter on your tongue.

His brows furrowed, confusion and hurt flickering across his face. “What?”

“I just… I don’t feel the same way,” 

“Don’t give me that crap,” he shot back, stepping closer. “I’ve been patient. Hell, I’ve waited for years, and I’m not stupid. I know you feel it too.”

You finally turned to face him, his crimson eyes locking onto yours with a ferocity that made it impossible to look away. “Feel what?”

“This Y/N” he said, gesturing between the two of you. “The way we just… fit. Don’t act like it’s fucking nothing.”

“It is nothing,” you snapped, trying to keep your voice steady. “Whatever you think this is, it’s not real.”

“That’s bullshit, and you know it!” he barked, his frustration boiling over.

“It’s not bullshit!” you shouted back, the emotion in your voice betraying you. 

His jaw tightened, but he didn’t lash out or demand any more explanation. Instead, he took a step back, his hands clenching into fists at his sides. “You don’t feel the same way,” he repeated, his voice low and strained.

You looked away, the weight of the truth too heavy to share. “It doesn’t matter. This—whatever this is—it can’t happen.”

For a moment, he didn’t say anything. Then he exhaled sharply, turning away from you. “Right. Got it.”

He started to walk away, and you felt like the air had been sucked out of your lungs. Part of you wanted to call him back, to tell him the truth—that you were scared, that you were trying to protect him. But you knew you couldn’t. The less he knew, the safer he’d be.

You stayed on the balcony long after he was gone, the city lights blurring through your tears. And as the cold night air wrapped around you, you silently vowed to keep him safe, no matter what it cost you.

Because loving Katsuki Bakugo meant protecting him, even if it meant breaking your own heart.

---

TAGLIST: @emmaafinchh @faetoraa @iissza

Rooster Bradshaw + tumblr tags 🐓

i can't 😫

I like this

For any relocated TikTok users

you can say sex and kill its fine

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

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

follower count doesnt matter

tumblr fame gets you one thing and it is Yelled At

no one knows what the fuck the nsfw policy is

block anyone that annoys you even a little bit

And most importantly:

post cringe

i love my husband

Asking for permission

"Can I hold your hand?"

"Is it okay to kiss you?"

"Can I hug you?"

"Can I call you later?"

"Is it okay if I sleep here tonight?"

"Can I touch your hair?"

"I would love to spoil you, can I do this for you?"

"Can I tell people about us?"

"Would you allow me to walk you home?"

"Is it okay to randomly text you?"

"Can I take a picture of you?"

"Can I use a picture of you as my background?"

"Is it okay if we cuddled while watching the movie?"

"Would you let me take care of this for you?"

"Are you okay with me calling you my girl/boyfriend?"

TW: Death and Comfort/Bittersweet Ending

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

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

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

You officially taking his name .

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

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

“I d—-“

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You were gone in his arms in a matter of seconds

“Y/N!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You ever read something soo fucking good

that you feel like you are sniffing a line of coke!?

It don't even matter if it's angst or fluff or if it's fucking noncon filled with dead dove do not eat with a side of smut

THAT FIC DESERVES TO NOT ONLY LIVE IN MY BOOKMARKS

BUT BECOME ONE WITH MY CELLS SO IT REPLICATES FOR ETERNITY

CHAPTER 8: KNOW ITS FOR THE BETTER

pairing: aged up!katsuki bakugo x fem!reader

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

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

wc: 2.8k

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

---

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Your heart pounds. This is it.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Isaac snarls. “Fuck you.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

---

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The revelation sent a ripple of unease through the room.

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

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

“How old was she when she was adopted?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He knew this man.

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

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

The timeline fit too perfectly to be a coincidence.

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

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