𝗦𝗘𝗥𝗜𝗘𝗦 ᥫ᭡ 𝗣𝗥𝗘𝗩 ᥫ᭡ 𝗡𝗘𝗫𝗧

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 :)!

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Perfect. Let them spread thin.

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

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

“What the hell?!”

“Radio’s fried!”

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

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

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

One down.

You pressed on, your steps swift and deliberate. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

---

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

@nombakugoswife1

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

Callum Turner

Wrong Person

The bar was crowded, the vibrant music filling the air, and the lights flickered in colorful tones. You looked around, trying to distract yourself. After a tough week at university, all you wanted was to relax and enjoy the night with your best friend, Mina.

However, your plans quickly changed when Mina became enchanted by a guy—tall, handsome, and clearly interested in her.

“Go talk to him!” you encouraged her. It was obvious she wanted to.

“We came here to unwind. I’m not going to leave you alone,” she hesitated.

“It’s okay, don’t worry. We came here to have fun, so go get him, girl,” you smiled, giving her a little push.

She smiled back before making her way toward him.

Not long after, they disappeared into a more private area, out of your sight. Now alone, you tried not to let it bother you. It was true that you had told Mina you didn’t mind, but in reality, the last thing you wanted was to be alone. You attempted to distract yourself—scrolling through your phone, observing the people around you—and, since you were at a bar, you figured you might as well get a drink.

The first one went down easily. The second did too. Before you knew it, the third was on its way. The bitter taste of alcohol barely registered as you focused on feeling less out of place.

However, as the alcohol took effect, a wave of dizziness hit you. The voices around you blurred together, the music pounded in your head, and suddenly, everything felt distant. You tried texting Mina, letting her know you wanted to leave since she was your ride, but after waiting a few minutes with no response, you figured she wouldn’t see your message anytime soon.

The discomfort grew, and you suddenly realized how vulnerable you were. Not knowing what else to do, you decided the right thing was to text your brother so he could come pick you up.

Fumbling with your phone, you scrolled through your contacts. After some difficulty, you finally tapped on his name and typed a message.

"Hey, Eiji. I’m at the bar, and I’m not feeling great. I think I drank too much… Can you come pick me up?"

His response came almost immediately.

"Coming."

You noticed his reply was unusually short. He was usually much more affectionate over text, but maybe he was just annoyed that he had to come pick up his little sister at 2 a.m.

Even so, you sighed in relief. You really didn’t want to be there anymore.

A few minutes later, you spotted a familiar blond-haired boy at the bar’s entrance. His eyes scanned the room, searching, until they locked onto yours. You tried to smile, but with the alcohol clouding your system and your mind in a haze, you figured you probably weren’t doing a great job of it.

He walked over quickly, his expression calm—no sign of judgment.

“Hey, let’s get out of here,” Katsuki said, placing his hands gently on your shoulders.

He started leading you outside, but as soon as you stepped out of the bar, you pulled away, stopping in your tracks and looking at him, annoyed.

“Where do you think you’re taking me? You can’t just drag me anywhere just because you’re Eijiro’s best friend.”

He sighed, turning back to face you.

“You texted me to come pick you up, dumbass.”

You stared at him, confused.

“What? No, I didn’t. I texted my brother.”

Too impatient to deal with you in your drunken state, he pulled out his phone from his pocket and held it up, showing you the message history. And there it was—the same message you thought you had sent to your older brother had actually been sent to his best friend. Your cheeks flushed as you realized your mistake.

“Can we go now?” he asked, his tone leaving no room for argument.

You simply nodded.

He turned his back to you and walked toward his car. Now that you were calmer, you took a proper look at him. He was dressed in comfortable clothes, his shirt slightly crooked—almost as if he had rushed out of the house without even bothering to fix it.

Was he really that worried about you?

The thought lingered in your hazy mind as you followed him to the car. Katsuki wasn’t the type to drop everything for just anyone. He was blunt, impatient, and rarely went out of his way unless it was for someone he truly cared about.

Had he really rushed out just because of your message?

Your gaze drifted back to his slightly disheveled appearance—the messy hair, the crooked shirt, the way his jaw was set, like he was annoyed but still here. Still making sure you were okay.

Maybe, just maybe, he cared more than he let on.

Snapping you out of your thoughts, Bakugou opened the passenger door and waited for you to get in. Obediently, you did as he wanted and sat down. You watched as he walked around the car and got in himself.

“Are you okay?” he asked.

“Yes, I’m fine. Just a little dizzy.”

He nodded. “If you need to throw up or something, tell me. I don’t want you messing up my car.”

You smiled at his words. It was no surprise to anyone that his car was his most prized possession. But now that you were finally inside it, you understood why. The car was immaculate. Not a single speck of dust, the leather seats looked brand new, and the faint scent of something fresh—maybe citrus or mint—lingered in the air. It was the kind of car you’d expect from someone as meticulous as Bakugou.

You let your fingers glide over the armrest absentmindedly, still feeling the slight buzz from the alcohol in your system. “I get it now,” you murmured.

Bakugou glanced at you briefly before focusing back on the road. “Get what?”

“Why you’re so obsessed with this car. It’s… nice,” you admitted.

He scoffed, but you could see the corner of his lips twitching upward, as if he were suppressing a smirk. “Damn right it is.”

A comfortable silence settled between you as he drove, the soft hum of the engine filling the space. The city lights blurred past the window, and despite the night not going as planned, a strange warmth spread through your chest.

Maybe it was the alcohol, or maybe it was the fact that, even though you had texted the wrong person, Bakugou still came for you.

Not long after, he finally reached your place. Parking the car, he stepped out and walked over to help you.

“Here we go,” he muttered as he steadied you, guiding you up the stairs to the apartment you shared with your brother.

Fumbling with your keys, you unlocked the door and stumbled inside, leaving it open so Bakugou could follow.

“Isn’t Eijiro home?” he asked, glancing around.

You looked around as well, but there was no sign of your brother.

“Oh, that’s right. He’s spending the night at a classmate’s place to finish a project,” you said, suddenly remembering.

“I see,” he muttered.

“Katsuki, can you help me get to my room?” you asked, pointing in its direction.

He nodded and led you there, steadying you when you stumbled slightly. Once inside, you grabbed your pajamas and made your way to the bathroom.

Bakugou sat on the edge of your bed, waiting patiently for you to return. Normally, he would have just left. But for some reason, he was still here.

And strangely, that was comforting.

As the warm water ran over your face, you took a deep breath, trying to shake off the lingering dizziness in your head. Slowly, you changed into your pajamas, exhaustion settling deep into your body. The night had been overwhelming, but knowing that Bakugou was still there, waiting, made it feel a little less lonely.

When you stepped back into your room, he was still sitting on the edge of your bed, scrolling through his phone. At the sound of the door opening, he looked up, his sharp eyes scanning you quickly before nodding in approval.

“Feel better?” he asked.

You nodded. “Yeah, much better.”

He stood up, stretching slightly. “Alright, then. I should probably—”

“Stay,” you interrupted before you could stop yourself.

He froze, raising an eyebrow at you.

You fidgeted with the hem of your sleeve, suddenly feeling a little embarrassed. “I mean… just for a bit. You don’t have to, but—”

“Tch.” He rolled his eyes, but instead of leaving, he sat back down. “Fine. Just until you fall asleep.”

A small smile tugged at your lips as you climbed into bed, pulling the covers over you. Bakugou leaned back against the headboard, arms crossed, looking like he wasn’t planning to move anytime soon.

The room was quiet except for the occasional sounds of the city outside. The only light came from the moon, casting a soft glow over Bakugou’s face. He looked ethereal—almost unreal—and something shifted inside you.

Sensing your gaze on him, he turned to you. “You know, to sleep, you actually need to close your eyes, idiot,” he muttered.

You weren’t sure if it was the alcohol or something else, but you couldn’t take your eyes off him.

“Thank you for coming to help me,” you whispered, shifting a little closer to him, seeking warmth.

“Whatever. You’re my best friend’s little sister—I couldn’t just leave you there, dumbass.”

You smiled and, before you could think twice, moved even closer.

“What are you—” Before he could finish his sentence, you kissed him.

It was soft, hesitant. But before you could fully savor it, he pulled away. You looked at him, confused.

“Look… you’re drunk. I don’t want you doing something you’ll regret tomorrow,” he said, looking away—but you caught the redness creeping onto the tips of his ears.

You smiled, nodding in understanding before curling up under the blankets. Your eyelids grew heavy, the exhaustion and alcohol finally catching up to you.

Just as you drifted off, you felt the mattress shift slightly, a warmth settling beside you.

Maybe, just maybe, you hadn’t texted the wrong person after all.

Remember kids! NEVER save left-over antibiotics! You should never have leftover antibiotics, because you have to finish the whole course! Not doing so, or giving your antibiotics to someone else who hasn’t been prescribed them is how we got superbugs, that are resistant to antibiotics! 

ALWAYS finish your antibiotics, even if you don’t think you’re sick anymore! NEVER give your antibiotics to other people, there is no guaruntee they will have any effect, or the same effect, and without a full course, will not help them even if it is the right medicine for the job. 

BOTH cases result in resistant superbugs, which are dangerous to everyone, and hurt everyone. You might think you’re helping your poorer friends who cannot afford an antibiotic/to be seen by a doctor, but you’re not. You’re just hurting everyone. 

The Things He Doesn't Know — K. Bakugo

This is part nine of the series, so chapters will be on the m.list.

☞ Link: click here.

Pairing: Katsuki Bakugo x Jealous female reader

Synopsis: When you realize you're in love with your childhood best friend, but force you're feeling's down for the sake of your friendship.

Author's note: 🫢 Is all I have to say. It's a long one.

You can’t get Kimiko’s words out of your head.

"I think you and I both know you’re full of shit."

What did she mean by that? And why couldn’t you just let it go?

It wasn’t just the way she said it. It was the look in her eyes, the smug, knowing smirk tugging at her lips like she had figured something out before you did.

It irritated you to no end. Everything Kimiko did made you mad.

But this? This was something else entirely.

Her constant flirting with Bakugo got on your nerves, but more than that, it made you sad. Every time she leaned into his space, every time she laughed a little too sweetly at something, he said, every time she called him Katsuki so casually, like she had the right to? it made your stomach twist. It wasn’t jealousy, was it?

No. It was something worse. Something heavier. Because she could do all those things, and you couldn't. Or rather, you wouldn’t.

You sigh, rubbing your temples as you slump against your desk. Kimiko had a way of making sure her words stuck in your head like a splinter, and you hated it.

This was probably her plan all along, to make you overthink, to make you question yourself. And the worst part? It was working.

A sudden knock on your dorm door startles you out of your thoughts.

"Who is it?" You call out, still lying face-down on your desk.

"It’s me. Open up, dumbass."

Bakugo.

For some reason, your brain immediately goes into panic mode. You sit up straight, smoothing your hair down and glancing around your mess of a room. Why did it suddenly feel like a disaster zone? Why did you care?

You hurriedly shove a pile of clothes under your bed and straighten out your sheets before clearing your throat. Get it together.

"Um… come in!"

Bakugo opens the door, stepping inside, and you abruptly stop what you’re doing, frozen mid-motion like a deer caught in headlights.

"Hey."

"Hi."

Silence.

Bakugo lets out a small grunt before plopping down onto your bed like he owns the place.

Meanwhile, you just stand there awkwardly, shifting from foot to foot. Why were you acting like an idiot? He’d been in your room plenty of times before. Hell, he’d seen it in way worse conditions, so why were you acting like some flustered fool now?

"What brings you here, partner?" You lean against your desk, trying to act casual, trying, and failing.

Partner? Partner?! Could you sound any more stupid?

As if to further cement your humiliation, your elbow knocks over a pile of books, sending them tumbling to the floor.

"Shoot," you mutter, scrambling to pick them up.

From behind you, Bakugo lets out what sounds close to a laugh.

You freeze.

That was a laugh.

Your face burns as you quickly gather your books, your fingers fumbling. It was just a laugh. Just a laugh. Don’t be stupid, Y/N.

"So… you wearing that out?" Bakugo suddenly asks.

You glance down at yourself, oversized, wrinkled T-shirt (with a mysterious green stain you’d rather not think about), old sweats with a hole in the knee.

"Well, uh—wait. Out where?"

Bakugo stares at you like you’ve grown two heads.

"Seriously? You don’t remember?"

You blink. What the hell is he talking about?

"No? Did I forget a birthday? Whose did I forget? Kaminari? Kirishima? Mina—"

"No, you dumbass. Chill out." Bakugo rolls his eyes. "We’re going to the arcade. Me. You. The other extras."

Oh. Right.

Your stomach sinks a little. You had completely forgotten. It's probably because Kimiko would be there.

"Heh… right. I totally remembered that." You mumble, scratching the back of your head.

Bakugo narrows his eyes at you. "It’s not like you to forget."

His words catch you off guard. "Something on your mind?" That’s not something he usually asks.

"Er, uh, no. Just slipped, y’know?" You force a grin.

Bakugo doesn’t look convinced, but he lets it go.

"Right. Well, get ready unless you wanna go out looking like a damn hobo."

"Hey, not too much now." You chuckle, grateful for the shift in topic.

Bakugo huffs and stands up, heading for the door.

And you should let him go.

But you don’t.

Before you can stop yourself, your hand shoots out, grabbing his wrist.

Bakugo stiffens slightly, glancing down at your hand, then back up at you. His expression is unreadable.

"Um… you can stay, y’know." Your voice comes out quieter than you intended. "And we could head down together. Like we used to?"

For a second, he just stares at you, eyes scanning your face. Then...

"Okay."

You got an okay!?

You let go of his wrist and step back, heartbeat hammering in your chest as you quickly escape to the bathroom to change. You try really hard not to freak out.

By the time you and Bakugo head downstairs, everyone is already gathered in the common room. Kaminari jumps up from the couch the second he sees you.

"Finally! Took you two long enough. Let’s go!"

"God, Kaminari, could you be any more impatient?" Jirou sighs, standing up.

Kaminari and Jirou are the first ones out.

"Wow, man, I didn’t even have to drag you out this time," Kirishima teases.

"Shut up," Bakugo grumbles, walking past him.

Kimiko, because of course she does, immediately rushes to Bakugo’s side, smiling sweetly.

Major eye roll.

The arcade was alive with flashing neon lights, the sharp chimes of tokens clinking into machines, and the occasional victory yell from a lucky player.

The air smelled of buttered popcorn and cheap pizza, the kind that tasted way better than it should.

You had barely stepped inside when Kimiko started her Bakugo antics.

“Hey, Bakugo,” she said, flipping her hair over her shoulder. “Wanna team up? I bet we’d destroy everyone else.”

Before Bakugo could respond, you felt his hand on your wrist.

“Nah,” he said, pulling you along. “Already got plans.”

Your heart jumped at the sudden contact, and Kimiko’s expression flickered, just for a second, before she forced on a smirk.

“Oh, I see,” she said, crossing her arms but making no effort to hide her displeasure. “Have fun, I guess.”

Bakugo didn’t even acknowledge her before leading you toward a row of games.

“Pick something,” he said, hands shoved in his pockets.

You grinned, trying to ignore the warmth still lingering from where he grabbed you. “What, giving me full control? That’s dangerous, Bakugo.”

“Tch. You act like I won’t kick your ass at whatever we play.”

That, of course, became the challenge of the night.

First game: Air hockey. You managed to score a few points, but Bakugo, with his stupidly good reflexes, sent the puck flying into your goal more times than you’d like to admit.

“Damn it,” you muttered, watching the scoreboard light up with his victory.

He smirked. “Hope you’re not gettin’ discouraged already.”

Second game: A co-op zombie shooter. The two of you stood side by side, plastic guns in hand, mowing down wave after wave of the undead. You weren’t sure if it was just the adrenaline or the fact that Bakugo actually made a pretty solid teammate, but you found yourself laughing at how serious he got, cursing every time he missed a shot.

By the time you reached the final boss, you were both on your last lives.

“Shit, move, dumbass, you’re in my line of fire!”

“You move, I’m covering your left!”

Somehow, you both landed the final shot at the same time, causing the screen to flash VICTORY! in bold letters.

You turned to Bakugo, grinning. “We actually make a decent team.”

He snorted. “Obviously. You’d be dead without me.”

Final game: The claw machine.

Bakugo wasn’t one for the “kiddy” games, but after catching you eyeing a plush sitting in the pile of prizes, he shoved a few tokens in without a word.

“You don’t have to win me anything,” you said, watching as he maneuvered the claw with expert precision.

“Didn’t ask,” he muttered.

It took him three tries, but eventually, the claw managed to grab hold of a stuffed bear with lopsided button eyes and a slightly crooked smile. He pulled it out and tossed it to you, acting as if it was no big deal.

You hugged the bear close. “He looks a little messed up.”

“Yeah, well, figured he suits you.”

You rolled your eyes, smiling. “What should we name him?”

Bakugo tilted his head, pretending to think. “Dynamutt.”

You burst out laughing. “That’s awful.”

“Like you could come up with somethin’ better.” He mutters.

You glanced down at the bear and grinned. “Fine. Dynamutt it is.”

By the time you all returned to the dormitories, everyone had collected their fair share of arcade prizes.

Kirishima had an armful of plushies from a rigged punching game. Mina somehow ended up with a collection of flashy LED glasses. Kaminari and Sero had spent most of their time hoarding candy from a ticket machine.

You held Dynamutt close as you flopped onto one of the common room couches, exhausted but content.

Bakugo sat down on the opposite couch, and before you could blink, Kimiko plopped down beside him, far too close for comfort.

“So,” she started, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. “Did you have fun tonight?”

Bakugo just shrugged. “I guess.”

Kimiko giggled, tilting her head. “You’re always so hard to please, huh?”

You watched as she leaned in slightly, her voice dropping just a little lower.

“You know, I bet I could make things more fun for you,” she added, her fingers barely brushing against his arm.

You clenched your jaw. There it was again, that same feeling that had burned in your chest at the party and many times after.

The frustration, the annoyance, the overwhelming urge to say something.

But not here. Not in front of everyone.

“I’m gonna get some fresh air,” you mumbled, standing up abruptly. “Be back soon.”

Sero, who had been watching the entire thing, shot you a knowing look before getting up as well. “Yeah, me too.”

The cool night air was a relief against your heated skin as you leaned against the railing outside the dorms.

Sero stood beside you, silent for a moment before finally speaking.

“She really gets to you, huh?” He said, casually shoving his hands into the pockets of his jeans.

You let out a bitter laugh. “Is it that obvious?”

“Only to me. I know the feeling.”

You turned to him. “Kimiko?”

Sero sighed, running a hand through his hair. “Yeah. I mean, I know I don’t have a chance or whatever, but watching her go after Bakugo like that… it sucks.”

You hesitated before admitting,

“I don’t even know why it bothers me so much. I mean, I do, but…”

“But?”

You swallowed hard. “It’s like some part of me still doesn’t want to admit it.”

“That you love him?” Sero blurts out.

The words made your stomach flip. "Yeah.." You kick a small pebble.

Sero smiled knowingly. “Denial’s a bitch, huh?”

You groaned. “God, you’re the worst.”

“Nah, I’m the best. And I think you should tell him.”

You gave him a look. “Oh yeah? And what about you? Gonna confess to Kimiko?”

Sero huffed. “Hell no.” Then, after a pause: “Maybe.”

You both laughed, the weight on your chest feeling just a little lighter.

“C’mon,” you finally said, nudging his arm.

“Let’s head back.”

As the two of you step back into the common room, you hear Kimiko’s voice cut through the air.

"Y'know, Katsuki, if you want to hold someone's hand, you could just ask me." She tilts her head, eyes glinting with mischief. "I wouldn’t make you work for it."

There's something in Bakugo’s eyes that tells you he's barely back his frustration. He takes a deep breath before responding.

"Could you stop that? It's annoying."

Kimiko’s expression falters just for a moment before deciding to continue. "Oh come, Katsuki, you know you like it." She reaches out to touch his arm once more, but he shifts away from her.

No, I don’t," he says, voice firm, final. "I never have."

Silence falls over the room. Kirishima shifts awkwardly, looking like he’s about to step in, but Bakugo isn’t done yet.

"I’ve just been putting up with it because I didn’t wanna deal with the drama." His voice is sharper now, frustration rolling off him. "But you’re annoying as hell, and I don’t like it, so stop."

The weight of his words hangs in the air.

You and Sero, still standing near the doorway, exchange a glance. This is... a lot.

Even Kaminari and Jirou, who had been hanging around earlier, had the good sense to disappear before things got worse.

Kimiko mutters something under her breath, too quiet for you to hear before pushing off the couch. She leaves without another word.

Mina sighs, rubbing her temples before grabbing Kirishima’s wrist. "Come on, Red, we should check on her."

Kirishima hesitates but follows. "That was kinda harsh, man," he mutters to Bakugo before leaving.

"Well, that was—" You turn to Sero, only to find him gone.

You huff a quiet laugh. Traitor.

Bakugo looks up at the sound, his usual scowl still in place. You hesitate for a second before walking over, dropping into the seat Kimiko had left empty.

Silence stretches between you both.

It’s not uncomfortable, though. Silence has always been your thing.

"You heard all that?" he finally mutters.

"Yeah..." You pick at your sleeve, not sure how else to respond.

There’s another pause before Bakugo exhales sharply, his voice lower when he speaks again.

"I don’t get why people think I’m into that flirty crap. It’s annoying." His gaze flickers toward you, then away just as quickly. "Not my thing."

"Then why did you tolerate it?" you ask.

You’ve spent months watching Kimiko flirt with him. At times, he barely reacted. Others he seemed to like it, so you assumed he was fine with it. But now? Now he’s snapping, like he’s had enough.

"’Cause damn Shitty Hair wanted me to," Bakugo mutters. "He said she was just trying to be friends with me, so I let it go. And she’s an okay sparring partner, I guess."

"Oh... I see..."

There’s something heavier in his voice now, something that goes beyond just Kimiko. You wait, and sure enough, he keeps going.

"After the war," he mutters, almost like he’s talking to himself, "everything felt… different."

He exhales sharply, frustrated. "I know I probably worried the hell outta everyone, almost dyin’ and all. I feel like, like I gotta make up for that somehow. Be better. Do shit right."

You swallow. "You did worry everyone," you admit softly. "Me, especially."

Bakugo clenches his jaw, his hands curling into fists in his lap. "I know, and I hate that," he mutters. "I hate knowing I made everyone go through that."

His gaze flickers up to meet yours, and there’s something raw within his expression.

"That’s why I let that shit slide. Why I put up with dumb crap like Kimiko’s flirting. ‘Cause it felt like… I dunno, something I should do."

You feel your heart tighten in your chest. "You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to, Bakugo."

"I know, and that's why you’re the only one I don’t gotta pretend around."

Your breath catches in your throat.

"You’ve always been my best friend, but—" he hesitates, just for a second, before pushing forward. "You’re different. You always have been."

Sero’s advice flashes through your head.

And suddenly, you feel like you’re on the edge of something terrifying.

Your hands clench into fists. "Bakugo..."

His eyes meet yours.

"Katsuki, idiot," he corrects automatically.

Your pulse races.

"Katsuki," you say, and his name feels heavier in your mouth than it ever has before.

His brows furrow slightly, like he can sense something shifting. "What?"

You take a breath.

And then, before fear can stop you, you say it.

"I’m in love with you."

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ID LET THEODORE NOTT MANIPULATE ME AND GASLIGHT ME. OKAY?!

ID BE FINE WITH IT.

ID PROBABLY KNOW ITS HAPPING AND BE LIKE

“oh my god, you are so right, baby. im so sorry. how can i make it better?”

there is a huge difference between criticizing an institution and criticizing individual behavior. i can criticize the makeup industry without criticizing the 14 year old girl who uses concealer because she’s self-conscious about her acne; i can criticize the plastic surgery industry without vilifying the woman who decided to get a nose job after two decades of pointed comments and bullying. it is intellectually dishonest to respond to an institutional criticism as if it were a personal attack; on the flip side, it is cruel and unnecessary to leverage personal attacks in the name of institutional criticism

if i see one (1) more person respond to a perfectly reasonable beauty-industry-critical sentiment with “but i personally enjoy eyeshadow. why are you attacking people who like eyeshadow :(” or “exactly, all women who wear makeup are miserable and brainwashed” i am going to climb a tree and bite the top of it

😍😍

Austin Butler as Benny in THE BIKERIDERS (2024) dir. Jeff Nichols