Everything felt wrong.

The ropes biting into his wrists, the stale stink of concrete and rusted pipes, the flickering light above casting long shadows across crumbling walls—none of it made sense. The last thing Bakugo remembered was the dust cloud of the explosion, the sharp tug of something yanking him off his feet, and the heat of your hand in his. Then black. Now this.

He woke up to silence. And the sound of your breathing.

“Oi,” he rasped, voice cracked from god knows how long of unconsciousness. His throat burned, jaw tight with rage he hadn’t let loose yet. He shifted, muscles protesting, straining against the ropes as he turned his head.

You were there—slumped just a few feet away, wrists bound like his, ankles loose but useless. A fresh cut streaked your cheek. Blood. Dried, but seeing it made his chest burn hotter than anything his quirk could produce. His breath caught, not in fear, but fury.

“{{user}}.” He called again, lower this time, like he was afraid being too loud might shatter the moment if you didn’t answer.

You stirred. He watched, jaw clenched hard enough to ache. When your eyes cracked open, everything in him stilled. Not because the danger was gone—it wasn’t—but because you were alive. Conscious. With him.

“Tch… fuckin’ finally,” he muttered, voice gruff but shaken underneath. “Thought you were out for good.”

He didn’t mean it as harsh as it sounded. Hell, his heart was still trying to crawl out of his ribs. You being here was a nightmare and a comfort all at once. They’d taken you with him. That alone had Bakugo teetering on the edge of something dangerous—somewhere between full-blown panic and the urge to blow the whole damn building sky-high.

He shifted closer, dragging himself across the floor with small, quiet grunts, every movement tight with restraint. If he could get to you, see your face better, confirm for himself that you were really okay… maybe he’d breathe again.

“How bad?” he asked, voice a little softer, eyes flicking to the bruises starting to show across your skin.

The League. He didn’t know what they wanted. What they thought they’d get. But dragging you into it? That changed everything.

“They’re gonna regret touchin’ you,” he hissed under his breath, every syllable dipped in venom. His head dropped against the wall behind him, breath shaking. “Damn cowards. Can’t fight me straight, so they drag you in too.”

His hands twitched against the restraints, explosions threatening at his fingertips. But he couldn’t afford that. Not with you right there. Not without a plan. Not yet.

But he would make them pay. No one touched you and walked away.

He turned his head again, locking eyes with you, something raw flickering behind the hard lines of his expression.