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lightseoul · 1 month ago

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CHAPTER 5 | ALL OUT OF LUCK

w.c. 3.5k

tags. fem!reader, pro-hero!katsuki, aged-up (26), some cussing here and there, presence of breadcrumbs if you look close enough, dark and mature themes related to quirk supremacy

a/n. i'm back! thank you for waiting patiently for this chapter. i haven't had the time to sit down and lock in on writing until yesterday, but i hope the wait is worth it! important plot points will be discussed in this chapter, so i hope this one is a fun one for y'all!

links. masterlist, ao3 (coming soon)

Sooner came later than you wished it would.

After that late-night conversation with Bakugou where he implicitly emboldened you to exhibit patience, you really made it a point to double down on the entire charade. You’ve attended as many activities as you could with the pro-hero, made a good impression on your fellow members, and even gone as far as constantly initiating affectionate behavior with Bakugou, to which he’s been getting better at responding.

So much so that he’s bordering dangerous.

There’s been that singular instance where he ushered you to the cafeteria after one of your quirk training sessions—like a gentleman—a big, firm hand planted on the small of your back. It wasn’t a huge gesture, but it was the first coming from him without prompting ever since you had to start acting like a couple. You’d be lying if you said it didn’t catch you off guard, but you played it off well enough, shooting him a grateful smile as you reached your usual table.

He only looked away, solemn.

You shrugged it off, thinking everyone had to start somewhere.

And while little moments like that have helped in taking your mind off of how routinary your days have been, the fact of the matter is: said patience is thinning.

You didn’t have to look far for proof either to know that Bakugou’s experiencing the same thing.

He’s been doing a decent job at regulating his emotions, as well as acting in front of everyone else to play his part, but when the trackers are long gone and cameras are sealed shut, and you’re in the privacy of your shared bedroom, that’s when he puts the mask down.

You could tell he’s been trying to remain kind—or at least, civil—with you, but there’s no denying the increased curtness of his responses, as well as how he’s been extra grumpy when roused in the mornings by either of the twins.

And you can’t blame him—you really can’t.

You yourself were just about to mentally give up and accept that you’re never going to get on with the mission at this rate when it comes on a regular evening.

You shoot up from where you were sprawled lazily across the mattress, alarmed. You glance at Bakugou, who’s already looking at you from the couch, that same caution you know is written all over your face etched on his.

Two weeks of living here, and the impending cardiac arrest that comes with a barrage of unexpected knocks still prove to be a probable cause of death for the both of you.

Wordlessly and without your behest, Bakugou grabs his pillow and blanket before throwing them beside you on the bed. You’re quick to adjust them into place as he slowly walks towards the door, another round of rapping resounding from the entryway.

Probably over the whole hammering thing just as much as you are, Bakugou promptly turns the knob and swings the slab of wood open, revealing a serious Omiru.

She speaks up almost instantly, but not without first glaring you both daggers. “The boss’s office. Now.”

And before she turns on her heel or either of you can ask any questions: “We’re gonna discuss the plan.”

The first thing you notice when you get to Masaki’s office a few minutes later is that for a large organization’s leader, the space is—just like its owner—remarkably…plain.

Similar to your small bedroom, the walls are colored off-white, the floor is dark hardwood, and there are very minimal decorations. Aside from the picture frames of what seems to be a family of four littered on his modestly sized desk, the room is pretty bare in terms of embellishments.

You don’t get to take a closer look at the photographs, though, because the second thing then catches your attention: how, rather than plastered leisurely on the sofa and conversing with each other, the three heads actually seem busy.

While, in fact, seated on the couch, Sayaka and Kouki are far from being relaxed. They’re sitting on the edge of their seats, hunched over what seems to be a…chart? You don’t get to peer at that, either, because their bodies are blocking the view.

So, instead, you let your gaze drift over to the main man himself, who is behind his workspace and has his back turned against you, fiddling with what you think is a push pin as he stares at the large corkboard in front of him.

“Bakugou and his girlfriend, sir,” Omiru announces before you. “Just as you requested.”

At the sound of her low voice, Masaki turns around, a pleasant expression on his face. “Welcome, you two. Please, go and grab a seat.”

You quickly scan the room for said seat, but there aren’t any more vacancies aside from the set of furniture the cyborg and the old man are occupying. So, albeit begrudgingly, you quietly follow Bakugou as he takes a few steps and sits down across the two, with you plopping yourself beside him.

The man next to you clears his throat.

“Is there any reason why we’re being summoned at,” Bakugou pauses, checking his watch, “9:27 PM?”

Playing it cool and not at all eager, huh?

You can do that as well.

Feigning ignorance, you look at Masaki as he rounds his desk and situates himself on the single sofa perpendicular to the four of you.

“Apologies for that,” the man starts diffidently. “I’ve been…busy with things at home, and now’s the only time I have to discuss this with you for the next few days.”

“Are you finally telling me what my role is?” asks Bakugou, manspreading as he brings an arm on top of the backrest behind you. “Because if you are, then fucking finally.”

“Yes,” answers the plain-looking man, “We’ll get to that. But before that, I’ll have to preface this meeting by making sure we’re all on the same page.”

“As you all know, our vision here in The Quirk Coalition is for a future where quirks are cultivated to their greatest potential and are regarded with the highest primacy in society. That means those who can wield their strong powers will take their rightful place in the community and reap the benefits of their gifts,” Masaki pauses, before looking at you and Bakugou. “Do you see where I’m going with this?”

You nod, pushing against the dread that’s creeping up your spine. You feel Bakugou stir beside you.

He continues.

“For the gifted to fully enjoy what they deserve, we’re going to have to remodel society to serve those with formidable quirks. After all, it’s them who serve as the pillars of our nation that’s constantly under the threat of malicious villains.”

Villains like you, you think to yourself. You bite your tongue.

Masaki then leans forward, a sinister look dawning on his features.

“That then, my dearest members, leaves no space for those who are weak and quirkless. As such, we’ve taken upon the difficult but noble duty to eliminate those who are such. This is necessary, so as to be able to rebuild a world that’s suited to the beauty that are quirks.”

Silence.

“…All this yappin’ yet I still don’t know what kinda action I’ll get?” spews Bakugou.

You mentally facepalm.

“Right,” retorts Masaki, “I appreciate the enthusiasm, Dynamight. You’ll be glad to know that you play an important role in the whole scheme of things.”

“We’ll essentially be using those bombs of yours, boy,” Kouki chimes in, catching the rest of your attention. “There was no way for us to procure munitions without alerting the government, so we’re going to have to use the ones you produce with your quirk.”

“That’s it?” Bakugou spits out, performing for his life. “You’re just gonna make me into a factory? Don’t I get to blow things up myself?”

“You can’t without exposing yourself,” comes Masaki’s level-headed reply. “That’s what our volunteering members are for. They’ll be carrying your bombs with you and infiltrate the venues.”

“Volunteers?” you can’t help but ask, voice small. You feel Bakugou’s eyes boring at the side of your face. “Are you saying they’re…?”

“Going to die in the line of duty, unfortunately, yes.”

“But aren’t they going to be detected?” you push, tamping down the panic that’s blooming in your gut. “Most places here in Japan have radars that can easily spot a grenade.”

Masaki smiles at you.

You feel goosebumps rise in its wake.

“I appreciate your concern, sweetheart, but we’ve made sure our targets are free of such devices.”

You let the confusion show on your features.

How can that be?

This has to be a joke, or this man has to be bluffing.

But why would he, if he needed the two of you—or at least, Bakugou—to execute his plan?

His choice of victims ought to be sheltered in secured skyscrapers or guard-riddled complexes, neither of which would tolerate the presence of explosives.

Unless…

You chance a glance past Masaki’s shoulder and onto the corkboard he was just studying a moment ago.

And when you do, you barely manage to fight back a terrified gasp as your eyes land on the rows of photographs that are pinned onto the panel.

Because staring right back at you are tens of faces of children.

“…Y/N?”

You snap to attention, turning to regard the concerned faces looking at you. “Huh?”

“You okay, babe?” comes Bakugou’s gruff voice, and you barely register the hand that slithers through the space between you to encase yours in a gentle hold.

You shift to meet the pro-hero in the eye. You find yourself glad you’re sitting down, because the sheer intensity of his gaze is enough to knock you off your feet.

“You zoned out there for a second,” he explains, shooting you a boyish smile, although it comes out slightly stilted.

“Yeah, no, I’m alright,” you try to laugh, “Sorry, I guess I’m just sleepy.”

“Are you sure she needs to be part of this conversation?” asks Kouki, who’s looking a bit too unsettled for your taste. “Masaki, I think you can send her back to their room if she needs to rest.”

“No,” you quickly interject, “I’m fine! I want to be here.”

You flash them the most sincere grin you can muster. “I want to help.”

“She’s the real deal,” Bakugou adds, to your relief. “Her quirk can make a huge difference in how successful your whole operation will be.”

On that note, and just like last time, you prepare yourself to utilize your quirk when none of them say anything for a beat. You maintain your carefree countenance as you wait for your go signal, but it never comes.

What comes, instead, is a decisive nod from Masaki.

“Very well, she can stay. But no more tangents, please. We need to get this ironed out.”

You nod eagerly. The man deems it enough for him to go on.

“Now that we’ve established Bakugou’s role in this entire enterprise, it’s high time we go through the actual plans.”

He gestures to the blueprint-sized chart on the coffee table in front of you. “As you can see here, we have ten circles. Each circle represents a target elementary school. One volunteer—”

Suicide bomber, you note in your head.

“—will be assigned to each school, armed with an ample number of bombs courtesy of Dynamight. Groups of at least six members of the organization will also be appointed per target to assist the volunteers and capture escapees if necessary. They’ll be teleported to their respective venues via their portkeys.”

Before you can even think of asking what the hell a portkey is, Kouki beats you to it.

“They’re devices,” he declares haughtily. “Magnetic devices, to be more precise.”

He holds out his thin wrists, which you now notice are adorned with silver bands made up of thin, rectangular pieces that stick to his wrinkly skin.

“Each member has a piece themselves, which pairs with the ones I have here,” he wiggles his hand for emphasis. “This is how we do mass teleportation.”

“Thank you, Kouki-san,” Masaki interrupts, before pointing again at the chart. “Now that we have that cleared up, I’d like to invite you to look at this portion.”

“While the rest of the members execute the plan at the ten locations, Kouki, Sayaka, and Bakugou will be in the headquarters overlooking the entire thing, while Y/N and I will be in the Prime Minister’s Office executing the final blow.”

A wave of terror instantly hits you just as Bakugou bristles in his seat.

“The fuck are you on, separating us?”

Despite the nausea pooling in your stomach, you still manage to register the contortion of Masaki’s features into a frown.

“You gave me the idea, Bakugou. You said your girlfriend here boosts one’s success rate, and I need all the help I can get to make sure I wipe out the entire office and elect a new set of like-minded officers.”

“I don’t give a fuck,” comes Bakugou’s hostile response. “She could get hurt, and I need to be there to protect her.”

If you weren’t in a literal life-or-death situation, you would’ve snorted at that.

But alas, you are, and the last thing you feel like doing right now is laughing.

So instead, you squeeze the hand that’s been holding yours since what has felt like forever ago, shrinking in yourself ever so slightly to seem afraid and to further sell the act.

You avert your gaze downwards, too, to make them feel like the alpha in the situation, but not before you catch a glimpse of Masaki sighing.

You hear it, too.

“What do you suggest we do then, huh, Dynamight?”

“You can station me where you and Y/N will be.” He eyes the robotic woman and the old geezer, “These two are more than capable of manning the HQ, anyway. Besides, I’m more useful out in the field.”

“But the risk of you getting caught—”

“I’m well-fucking-trained in stealth missions, if you really have to know,” Bakugou cuts him off. “Just let me know how I can contribute to your particular objective and I’ll do it. Without getting caught.”

He says it so confidently that even you’re convinced. But you don’t get to bask in his unfounded (up for debate, really) confidence, because he squeezes your hand this time before tightening his hold and turning to look straight at you.

You stare into each other’s eyes for what feels like an eternity before he delivers the finishing blow.

“…I just need to make sure she’s safe.”

A chuckle yanks you out of your daze, and you whip to see Masaki smiling at the two of you.

“Since when did the Great Explosion Murder God Dynamight become such a loverboy?”

“None of your goddamn business,” comes the pro-hero’s snappy reply, which grants him another bark of laughter.

“I suppose not,” Masaki quips, and you find yourself wondering how this man can manage to joke around like this when he’s got arrays and arrays of photos of children he’s planning to murder behind him.

Despite the sheer absurdity of the situation and the undeniable thumping of your heart, you’re eventually able to school your face into a neutral expression and listen in to the rest of the meeting.

After adjusting Bakugou’s placement from headquarters to the Prime Minister’s Office alongside you and Masaki, the latter proceeded to discuss further arrangements for the two of you. Apparently, there will be three people assigned to each of you to monitor your movements during D-Day. Neither you nor Bakugou protested against it, aware that you’re already walking on thin ice after negotiating that you be together during the day of the attack.

Once he got that part done and over with, the leader went through a few more details about the bombings before adjourning the session altogether with a conclusive pat on the knees like he did during your first meeting.

And just like that, you’re sent back to your room.

Words aren’t exchanged between you and Bakugou as he retrieves his pillow and blanket from your space, carefully laying them out on the couch.

You don’t have to ask him if he’s feeling the same heaviness you’re carrying, the load evident in how he seems to be physically weighed down with the way he moves.

It’s not even just about the news of tens of children being the targets. It’s also the pressure to succeed in this mission with this new knowledge, even more so the looming reality that you’re currently leaning way closer toward failing it.

And you don’t know what takes over you—it may be that burden, or the palpable fear, or the very fact that you’ve been sharing more and more touches over the past two weeks—but you do it.

You stand up from where you’re seated on the edge of the bed and pull him by his wrist—the Bakugou who was just about to lie down on his makeshift bed—and into an embrace.

Bakugou instantly stiffens in your grasp, but he doesn’t say anything nor try to wriggle himself out. Stubborn and admittedly craving for a comforting hug yourself, you don’t let go of your hold around his torso, shifting to pat his back all the while.

“We can do this,” you whisper a few moments later, forehead against his firm chest.

And, as if your words are magic, you sense his body relax before you feel him wrap his arms around you.

You fight back the urge to bury the rest of your face into his chest and cry when he does so.

“‘Course we can, dumbass,” comes his uncharacteristically soft answer. “We don’t have a choice.”

Keeping your head high the following morning proved to be more difficult than you initially thought, let alone getting your ass out of the comfortable bed where you decided you could die then and there.

Bakugou himself didn’t look too excited when he got woken by the female twin at 8 AM sharp, that prominent frown deeply embedded in his mouth as he tossed his things onto the mattress just like clockwork.

And really, you were this close to asking him if he wanted to join you on your deathbed when your last bit of common sense reared its ugly head and metaphorically detroit-slapped you in the face.

Not now, bitch.

You had lives to save.

And so with that onerous knowledge, you hauled yourself out of bed, got ready in record time, and trudged beside Bakugou down to the mess hall.

You try to suppress the disappointment that lurches to your throat when you spot a small group of 20-somethings eating at the far end of your favorite table. You were looking forward to some peace and quiet, at least this morning after the debacle from last night, but apparently, that’s not happening.

You know better than to move to another spot, though, knowing all too well that such an action will make you seem snobbish and ruin the amiable reputation you’ve been trying to build for yourself. And so with a heavy heart, you head there with your full tray in tow and seat yourself beside Bakugou, just like how you’ve always had since Day 1.

And the moment you do, that’s when you hear it.

“…Have you heard?” surfaces an enticing voice that must belong to one of the women you clocked before sitting down. “Word’s spreading outside about the attack.”

“Seriously?” comes a man’s voice this time. “What about it?”

“Not much, just that there’s an impending one. But get this,” she pauses, and drops her volume enough that you have to strain to hear the next part.

“There…rumors…#2…involved.”

Your body moves before your brain can catch up—you whip to look at Bakugou beside you, whose eyes are already wide as saucers when you meet his gaze. Without a word, the both of you quickly move to demolish the food in front of you, and within a matter of minutes, you’re up and clearing your dishes by the kitchen area, before stomping toward the leader’s office.

Bakugou doesn’t even bother to knock on the door, opting to unceremoniously barge into the room instead.

“What the—”

“We’ve overheard that rumors are circulating about the attack and my involvement,” Bakugou announces.

Masaki, who’s looking stunned from where he’s seated on his office chair, tosses you a perplexed look. “What?”

“Let us out for one day,” Bakugou swings out of nowhere you’d almost get whiplash if you didn’t stop yourself from gawking at him at the last minute.

The man frowns. “I’m afraid I don’t follow, Bakugou.”

“Let the two of us be seen out for a day,” Bakugou expounds, although not by much.

Though, that seems to be enough for you, because only then do you get it.

Dating scandals have always been the rumor mill’s favorite, after all.

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