You Should’ve Met 2020-2022 Me

It's always

"When will fanfic writers update their stories?"

And never

"Does this fanfic writer have adequate enrichment to engage in writing behaviours?"

Fanfiction writers (Scriptor fictus) are intelligent animals who need plenty of enrichment as well as encouragement! If they're stuck in poor conditions (e.g. have studies, work, have to actually write to have something written) then they require the proper enrichment to engage in more healthy behaviours, like writing. Remember, due to poor breeding and socialisation, over half of all fanfic writers suffer from low self confidence and executive dysfunction so take care of them!

Give your fanfic writers proper care. Fanfiction writers are a life long commitment.

+

He serves so much cunt ugh

my beautiful beautiful beautiful boy

where are the callum turner x reader fics hmmm....?

none, absolutely criminal

Callum Turner

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

CHAPTER 6: 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: 2k

warning: Sexual concepts

an: A little flash back and filler chapter to prepare for the next chapters..! Also merry christmas to everyone who celebrates:) 🎄

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FLASH BACK

“You know those things will kill you, right?”

James, seated in the driver’s side of the sleek black SUV, leaned his head out of the window, his sharp eyes narrowing as he caught sight of you puffing on a cigarette.

“I hope they do, honestly.” Your voice was dry, laced with equal parts sarcasm and resignation.

Tonight, you were meeting Anthony Moretti at an upscale, five-star restaurant. The past few months had been a whirlwind of undercover work, and the plan had gone far too smoothly—so much so that Moretti was falling hard.

You’d spent hours getting ready for this dinner, reluctantly submitting to a makeover that left you feeling anything but yourself.

“I smell like I bathed in my grandmother’s perfume,” you muttered, scrunching your nose as the overpowering floral scent lingered, burning your nostrils.

Leaning against the hood of the car, your eyes scanned the street, catching movement in the shadows across the way.

“That’s my signal,” you said, tossing the cigarette to the ground and grinding it beneath the white heel of your shoe. Straightening, you glanced at James and flashed a thumbs-up. “How do I look?”

He smirked, giving you a once-over. “Good enough. Now go.”

Rolling your eyes, you turned and began your trek toward the restaurant’s glowing entrance. It was an unassuming building from the outside, draped in dim fairy lights that gave it the appearance of a quaint little diner. But stepping inside told a different story. Crystal chandeliers hung from the ceiling, and rows of expensive liquor bottles sparkled under the warm light.

A hand gently touched the small of your back, making you pause.

“Lily.”

Turning, you met the familiar gaze of Anthony Moretti. His dark eyes lit up as his lips curled into a charming smile.

“Anthony,” you greeted, mirroring his expression.

His gaze lingered, unabashed as he took in every detail of your appearance. “You look stunning.”

You were no stranger to his compliments—small remarks about your looks, your presence, the way you seemed to complete him. Usually, they went in one ear and out the other. But tonight, his stare burned a little too long, his words carrying a weight that sent heat rushing to your cheeks.

“Shall we?” he asked, extending his hand.

You hesitated for only a moment before placing your hand in his, allowing him to guide you to a private table tucked in the back of the restaurant.

The table was a picture of elegance—pristine white linen, flickering candlelight, and fine crystalware arranged with precision.

Your eyes drifted around the room, catching on an old bookshelf mounted high on the wall. One particular book stood out—a fictional tale of a mafia war intertwined with a doomed love story. The irony wasn’t lost on you.

Anthony noticed your wandering gaze. “Do you like to read?” he asked, his voice soft as his eyes followed yours.

“When I have the time,” you replied, a hint of longing slipping into your tone.

“I have a library at home. You should come see it sometime.”

The invitation caught you off guard, though you quickly composed yourself. This could be your chance to gather the intel you’d been after for months.

“I’d like that,” you said with a smile.

The next two hours passed in a blur of easy conversation and genuine laughter. You hated how natural it felt, how disarmingly charming Moretti could be. He was a gentleman through and through, a stark contrast to the ruthless criminal you knew him to be.

Walking out of the restaurant, he turned to face you, his earlier offer still hanging in the air.

“It’s late,” he said, “but my library’s always open. Or, if you’d prefer, I can take you home.”

You hesitated, glancing back at the car where James was undoubtedly watching from the shadows. He was going to kill you for this decision.

Reaching for Anthony’s hand, you smiled. “Let’s go see that library.”

Pulling up to his home, your breath hitched. The sprawling white mansion loomed before you, surrounded by a pristine iron gate and an expansive yard where two large guard dogs prowled.

“Your house is beautiful,” you said, unable to hide your awe.

“I bought it hoping to start a family someday,” he admitted, his voice quieter now. “It gets lonely here. Mostly just a few friends stopping by—it’s just me most of the time.”

The mention of a family made something twist in your stomach. You reminded yourself of the reality: the drugs, the murders, the chaos Moretti orchestrated with a simple word. Whatever innocence he portrayed, you couldn’t let yourself believe it.

Inside, the house smelled of sweet musk, warm and inviting, much like its owner.

“This way,” Anthony said, leading you toward the kitchen. He pulled two whiskey glasses from a sleek cabinet and poured the amber liquid with practiced ease.

“What makes you think I like whiskey?” you teased, leaning against the counter.

He chuckled. “You don’t strike me as a wine or cocktail kind of woman. And I remember what you ordered the night we met.”

So he paid attention.

Following him into another part of the house, you couldn’t help but notice how bare the walls were—no photos, no personal touches, just sparse decor.

“I don’t let just anyone in here,” he said as he opened a grand wooden door. “Feel special.”

Stepping inside, your breath caught. The library was breathtaking. Floor-to-ceiling shelves lined the walls, packed with thousands of books. A cozy reading nook sat at the center, complete with plush leather chairs and a soft throw.

“This…” You turned to him, eyes wide. “This is incredible.”

Anthony chuckled, shaking his head. “I’ve never seen anyone get so excited over a few books.”

“A few books? This is a lifetime’s worth!”

You couldn’t help yourself, running your fingers along the spines of the books, reading the titles as though committing each one to memory.

As you immersed yourself in the collection, Anthony moved closer, his gaze never leaving you.

“I find it endearing,” he murmured, “how you appreciate the little things.”

You didn’t respond, too captivated by the room. Picking up a book, you flipped it over to read the summary, only for him to step in behind you, his presence magnetic.

“Can I kiss you?” he asked, his voice barely a whisper.

Your stomach dropped. This wasn’t how the mission was supposed to go, but the line between duty and deception had blurred long ago.

“Yes,” you whispered, the word tasting like betrayal.

Anthony’s lips crashed against yours, hungry and demanding, his hands finding their way to your waist. You barely had time to think as he lifted you onto the edge of the desk, his movements urgent and deliberate.

This was about trust, you reminded yourself. About getting closer. About completing the mission.

But as his lips trailed down your neck, you couldn’t shake the feeling that you were losing control—of him, of the situation, and of yourself.

PRESENT 

You remember that night as if it were yesterday—the sweet musk of his cologne still lingering in your senses, the hundreds of missed calls from James flashing relentlessly on your phone.

You had left Anthony’s house that night with a walk of shame etched into your every step. Telling him you’d call an Uber was a lie; James had been waiting for you all along, parked just outside the gates, his jaw clenched tight the moment you disappeared inside.

At the time, gaining Anthony’s trust was paramount. It was the centerpiece of the entire operation, the linchpin that everything depended on. So, you did what you had to do. Even if it meant betraying yourself, hurting others, and bracing for the therapy bills that would inevitably follow.

James was on the verge of murder that night. The sight of you descending those marble steps, heels dangling in your hand, mascara streaked down your cheeks, and an expression that revealed more than you intended—it made his blood run cold. And he wasn’t sure if he was angrier at you or at Moretti.

“It’s part of the plan,” you had told him, over and over. But he knew better. He knew you. He knew that night haunted you. That every time someone tried to get close, to reach the parts of you long buried, you would retreat into the walls you’d carefully built. Hide away until the risk of feeling something—anything—disappeared again.

Now, staring up at your ceiling, the weight of it all pressed down on you like a suffocating fog. You had chosen to stay in your own home tonight, weary of the endless games, waiting for Anthony Moretti to find you.

And yet, a part of you wanted him to find you. The faster this was over, the faster you could return to something resembling normalcy. The faster you could see your family again.

The thought of your family brought your gaze to the little black box hidden under your bed. A box filled with the fragments of a life you missed so deeply. You only ever opened it on holidays, birthdays, or nights like this—when the ache to speak to them was too much to bear.

Inside were hundreds of handwritten letters to your mom and dad. Letters you could never send, for fear it would all come crumbling down. The ink was smeared in places, marred by tear stains and trembling hands.

You never had the heart to throw them away. You kept them instead, tucked safely under your bed, clinging to the hope that one day they might read the words you couldn’t say in person.

Tonight felt like one of those nights. With a heavy sigh, you reached for a fresh piece of paper and a pen. Settling down at the desk, you began to write, pouring everything you had into the letter—just as you always did.

To Mom and Dad 

Hi, it's me again. I've been sitting here for the past few hours, thinking about you both, and my heart feels a little heavier than usual. I miss you both so much. Life keeps moving, as it always does, but there’s something about being away from you that makes the days feel incomplete. I miss the sound of your voices, the way you always seem to know exactly what to say when I need guidance, and the simple comfort of knowing you're just a hug away. 

I need to tell you something but promise you wont freak out. I'm going undercover again, but not as a hero. Anthony Moretti is back, and he's after me. I know after everything that happened, this isn't what you want to hear and I wish so badly I could come clean about everything and tell you right to your face. I know you guys would know what to say, how to coax me through this. But I promise I'll make it out alive this time. I'll take down Moretti and I'll come home. 

Before I go though, I do have something to ask mom… dad stop reading if you're reading this. 

Mom, before I left we never really had boy conversations. I was never boy crazy in high school, so I never asked for help before. But I'm asking for help now. Remember when I told you about Bakugo? The most self centered, mean, and harsh person i've ever met. Yeah well turns out he's none of those things at all. He's sweet, and he cares about his friends more than any other person I have ever met. He asked me to be his date to a hero gala. And I said yes- and I think I like him. But I'm scared. 

What if he hates me forever when he finds out my secret. What if he can't look me in the eyes after he finds out everything I have done. Will he hate me? I hope he doesn't because I dont think Ive ever felt like this for anyone. And I'm scared because what if he doesn't hate me. What if he is sweet and understanding, how can I let him into my life without being scared? I need your guidance mom, more than ever. 

Okay dad you can come back… 

I hope to see you both soon, to sit together and catch up on everything we’ve missed. Until then, please take care of yourselves, and know that I’m thinking of you every single day.

I love you both more than words can say.

With all my heart, YN

---

TAGLIST: @emmaafinchh @iissza

the best right here

CHAPTER 12: KNOW ITS FOR THE BETTER

pairing: aged up!katsuki bakugo x fem!reader

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

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

wc: 3.2k

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

---

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Perfect. Let them spread thin.

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

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

“What the hell?!”

“Radio’s fried!”

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

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

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

One down.

You pressed on, your steps swift and deliberate. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

---

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