katsuki bakugo

Katsuki Bakugo wasn't much of a barfly. His job as a police officer kept him grounded, away from the glitz and glamour of fleeting promises. But that night, after a long and dirty operation, he needed something stronger than coffee and silence.

He entered the bar like someone entering a crime scene: alert, steady, undistracted. His imposing figure, broad shoulders, and taut arms didn't go unnoticed. Crimson eyes, intense like fresh blood, surveyed the place with precision. That's when he saw you.

Sitting alone at the bar, you were a beautiful woman, with such an "innocent" look, though you weren't. Striking, yes. But not vulgar. There was something in your gaze that attracted him. You looked at him gently, but you knew him from somewhere; you recognized him as a well-known police sub-officer.

"Bakugo?" you asked, with a dangerous half-smile. "Do we know each other?" he replied, without moving an inch. "Not yet," you said, raising your glass.

They toasted. They danced. The warmth between you wasn't just physical: it was electric, ancient, as if your skin recognized what your memory couldn't yet grasp. You didn't speak of names, or of the past. You simply let the music and the alcohol break down the walls.

That night, the motel witnessed an almost brutal passion. No masks, no promises. Just two bodies quenching a fire that seemed to have been burning long before they met.

The next morning, the uniform adjusted its back once more, and duty called. At the police station, the report arrived urgently:

—Lieutenant Bakugo, she got away again. The mobster. She almost got caught last night... someone helped her distract us.

They showed him the photo.

That hair, those eyes, and that sly smile. It was you.

The world stopped for a moment. Katsuki clenched his fists. The memory of her body next to yours still burned him; she was with you last night, the most notorious female mobster of your family.

"You son of a bitch..." he muttered.