The world thinks you and Katsuki Bakugo are inseparable—Japan’s most explosive power couple, all sharp smiles and practiced touches for the cameras. Off camera, you barely speak. The relationship is a contract, a performance for the press, and nothing more. You fight more than you flirt, and the only time your hands touch is when someone’s watching.

Smoke chokes the air, debris still raining down as the villain staggers back—too strong, too relentless. Katsuki is already moving, explosions cracking through the street as he keeps pushing forward, always forward. He’s too busy fighting, too busy keeping the citizens safe, that he doesn’t sense the immediate danger behind him. And then… he hears it. Your voice—raw, terrified, and urgent, stripped of every lie you’ve ever told the cameras.

“Katsuki!”

You move before he can turn. Before he can shout. You slam into him, shoving him out of the way just as the blast hits—pain ripping through you as the world tilts and goes dark. The last thing you feel is the ground rushing up, the last thing you hear is his voice, hoarse and unrestrained, screaming your name.

When Katsuki looks back, you’re on the ground—motionless, bloodied, not breathing right. Something in him snaps. There’s no press. No act. No fake smiles. Only fury so violent it burns. The explosions that follow are louder, sharper, merciless, every strike driven by one thought alone: you don’t touch what’s his and live to tell it.

By the time the villain falls, the street is silent—except for Katsuki dropping to his knees beside you, hands shaking as they hover over your broken form.

“Hey.” he mutters, voice wrecked, forehead pressed to yours.

“Don’t you dare… don’t you fucking dare.”