Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The ballroom gleamed like something out of a rich bastard’s fantasy. High ceilings, velvet drapes, and a chandelier that looked like it cost more than a city block.

Bakugo hated it.

But tonight—he let it slide.

The drinks were strong, the music soft, and the company? Perfect.

At the center table, tucked away from the polite crowd of agency heads and politicians, sat the real reason Bakugo had agreed to the party: his people.

Midoriya was halfway through explaining the strategy behind his completely unnecessary betrayal in the last round of the game, hands flying like he was debriefing a mission.

Uraraka was laughing so hard she nearly tipped over her beer. Kaminari and Sero were tag-teaming a full-on dramatic reading of the game instructions like they were voicing an anime.

Ashido kept stealing everyone’s tokens when they weren’t looking. Kirishima just grinned and let it all happen, sprawled comfortably in his chair like the life of the table.

Bakugo lounged with one arm thrown across the back of Todoroki’s chair, whiskey glass in his other hand. His jacket had been discarded long ago, the sleeves of his dress shirt rolled up, collar loose, tie forgotten somewhere near the coat rack. He looked… relaxed. Happy.

Not just content—happy. The kind of smile that made his eyes crinkle and his voice lose its edge.

“You're cheating,” Kaminari pointed at him with mock outrage.

“I’m winning,” Bakugo snapped back, “because I’m not a dumbass.”

Todoroki moved his piece quietly behind Bakugo’s shield card, shifting a crucial token into position.

No one noticed—except Bakugo. He looked over, smirking. “You're sneaky.”

Todoroki didn’t look up from the board. “It's your night after all, baby. And you’re smiling.”

Bakugo huffed a laugh. “Yeah, I am.”

Kirishima slammed his fist on the table. “Another win?! Bro, are you secretly a board game genius or just possessed tonight?”

“He’s just lucky,” Uraraka said, narrowing her eyes. “Or maybe we’re all just bad.”

Midoriya leaned in, peering at Bakugo’s cards. “No, no—he’s got an actual strategy. Look at how he’s been positioning his—”

Bakugo snatched the cards away. “Back off, nerd. It’s a party, not a conference.”

“Rude,” Midoriya muttered, but grinned anyway.

The drinks kept flowing. Someone brought over a second bottle of whiskey. Laughter peaked.

At one point, Kaminari tried to convince Ashido to create a new hero agency called “The Drunk Tank.”

Sero recorded a clip of Bakugo and Todoroki when Bakugo slung his arm fully around Todoroki’s shoulder and leaned into him like he owned the space—which he kinda did.

Todoroki didn’t flinch. He barely blinked.

He just moved a hand to Bakugo’s thigh under the table, casual, steady, grounding him like always.

“You earned this,” Todoroki murmured, low enough that only Bakugo heard it.

Bakugo looked at him, sharp eyes softening. “Damn right I did,” he said, but the words held none of their usual bark. “But our relationship is the only accomplishment I give a shit about, y'know.”

“You better knock it off. Otherwise, I might have to drag you into one of those obnoxiously fancy bedrooms upstairs.”

Bakugo just smiled, pretending he wasn't blushing as he looked away.

The room faded around them for a second—just a warm blur of sound, clinked glasses, good friends, and soft lighting.

For once, there were no villains. No news crews. No pressure.

Just a Number One Hero surrounded by the people who never stopped believing he’d get there.

And the man who helped him stay sane along the way.

*

The ballroom was quieter now, softer. Most of the suits and handshakes had filtered out an hour ago.

The air still carried the sharp edge of champagne and cologne, but now it was tinged more with the warm scent of whiskey and the easy noise of real laughter.

The eight of them had taken over the space like kids at a sleepover.

The long banquet table had been pushed aside, and someone had found an empty ice bucket to use as a cup for the drinking game.

“I’m telling you, Kugo’s cheating again,” Kaminari slurred, half sprawled across the back of Todoroki’s chair. “No one rolls that many sixes.”

“He's a lucky man.” Midoriya reminded him.

Todoroki couldn't help but smile as Kaminari leaned against Todoroki's upper arm.

Kaminari turned to grin up at him. “Well he brought his good luck charm, huh, Toto?”

“Lean on him one more time and I’ll fry your kidneys,” Bakugo growled, yanking Kaminari’s shoulder just enough to make him stumble away. A faint crackle of sparks jumped from his palm on reflex.

Todoroki, completely unfazed, calmly passed Kaminari a refill of beer. “Don't mind him, he’s just territorial.”

Kaminari grinned and raised his hands. “I would be too.” A buzz of low-voltage electricity arced from his fingers to the rim of the beer can, which fizzed violently before he sheepishly wiped it off. “Oops. Static. Battery’s tipsy.”

Bakugo rolled his eyes, but kept his hand firmly on the back of Todoroki’s neck, thumb brushing against the soft skin beneath his hairline.

Todoroki tilted his head slightly into the touch.

Uraraka had tears in her eyes from laughing too hard at whatever nonsense Ashido was making Sero act out—some kind of villain monologue with a napkin cape and a barstool crown.

Kirishima had declared himself referee of the drinking game and was absolutely failing at staying impartial. Even Midoriya had started to loosen up, laughing so hard at one point he nearly snorted whiskey out his nose.

It was good. It was damn good.

Bakugo leaned in to mutter something into Todoroki’s ear—something filthy, probably, if the way Todoroki’s mouth twitched was any indication—when it happened.

A shudder in the room.

So faint at first Bakugo thought maybe he imagined it.

A glass trembled. Somewhere far off, a low rumble passed through the floor.

Midoriya froze, smile vanishing. “Did you guys feel—?”

The second tremor hit harder.

The chandeliers overhead swayed, lights flickering. Plates clinked against the table. Someone’s half-full glass tipped and shattered on the floor.

“Okay,” Midoriya’s voice snapped sharp and fast, switching gears like the flick of a blade. “Everyone down. Ochako, Mina—under the table, now.”

Uraraka dove for cover, grabbing Ashido’s arm and yanking her under the table with her.

“Shit,” Kirishima barked, his skin hardening to red stone with a grinding crack. He threw an arm around Kaminari and yanked him down behind a flipped table. “Denki, get down!”

“I am down—!” Kaminari started, just before another jolt made him yelp. A small burst of electricity flared uncontrolled off his body, briefly flickering the lights again.

Sero was already moving, firing tape in a crisscross across one of the marble pillars, anchoring it like a structural harness.

Another line shot out, catching a falling chair before it hit Midoriya’s back.

Todoroki dropped to one knee and slapped his hand to the floor.

Frost erupted outward, slick and precise—gliding along the marble in spiderweb cracks, reinforcing the weak spots like ice-bolted steel.

Bakugo moved on instinct, one hand flying to Todoroki’s waist, dragging him close.

The other sparked in a defensive flare, palm glowing like a fuse had been lit but wasn’t ready to explode just yet. He bit back the reflex to blow through the floor itself—he needed control, not chaos.

Then— A roar.

Not a sound. A sensation. Like the entire earth exhaled and collapsed in on itself.

The floor gave way.

Not cracked. Not crumbled.

It disintegrated. As if it hadn't been structurally sound for several years.

Midoriya’s Blackwhip lashed out from his arm like a whipcord, but there was nothing to grab onto. Just air and falling debris.

Sero fired a last strip of tape toward the ceiling, trying to anchor himself as the stone under his feet vanished.

Bakugo shouted—no words, just instinct—and reached for Todoroki’s arm. Their fingers caught for half a second—

Weightlessness. Noise. The sound of metal snapping. Stone crashing. Someone screaming—maybe him. Definitely him.

He was falling.

He could still feel Todoroki’s hand—he swore he was holding on—but it slipped. Cold fingers, warm skin, then—

Nothing.

Darkness swallowed everything.

*

The landing probably would've hurt.

Uraraka hovered just above the ground, slowly opening one of her eyes and then the other, almost afraid of what she might see there.

She let herself come back down to the ground, standing on her feet and looking around the dark underground room.

“Ashido?” she called out, blinking into the darkness. The only light came from a cracked emergency panel flickering red against the walls. “Mina, are you—”

“I’m here,” came the reply, rough but alive. “You good?”

“Yeah. Just… Yeah.”

Ashido pulled herself out of a shallow pit of something wet, panting. Her pantsuit was half-coated in mucous-like gunk, the edges hissing slightly where it touched her own acid. “Ugh. Where the hell are we?”

They looked around. The space felt like a basement that had been overtaken by something alive.

Walls pulsed faintly, almost like breathing. The air was humid and thick.

And then they saw the cocoons.

Lining the walls, hanging from what used to be ceiling vents. Translucent sacs, each one human-sized, throbbing faintly with whatever was inside. Some were still. Others… twitched.

“What the..?” Uraraka whispered.

Ashido crouched beside one and grimaced. “This one’s fresh. Still warm.” She looked up. “These aren’t just… animals. Something put them here. Like a nest.”

A loud click echoed from deeper down the corridor. Followed by a dragging, wet slither.

Both women went still.

A creature shambled out of the dark.

Its body was spiderlike, but too big—torso the size of a person, limbs stretched and malformed, joints bending wrong. Patches of flesh looked stitched together from different sources. It had no eyes.

But it turned its head toward them.

Uraraka inhaled sharply. “It senses us.”

“By heat or sound,” Ashido murmured, stepping slowly in front of her.

The creature’s body tensed.

It shrieked, not from its mouth—because it didn’t have one—but from somewhere deep in its body, vibrating through the air like a siren. The cocoons began to rustle.

“Shit—move!” Ashido shoved Uraraka back as the thing lunged.

Acid sprayed wide, melting through the creature’s leg with a hideous hiss. It screamed again, twitching wildly.

But it didn’t fall. It kept coming.

More screeches echoed in the distance.

They weren’t alone.

Uraraka yanked Ashido down a side corridor, adrenaline pounding. “This way! Left—there’s a hatch or something—”

“Cover me!”

Ashido turned and unleashed another corrosive burst across the tunnel entrance, narrowing it.

The acidic spray caused the walls to melt and buckle, buying them a few seconds.

They ducked through a maintenance hatch, slamming it behind them.

Silence.

They panted in the dark, trying not to breathe too loud.

Finally, Ashido whispered, “You okay?”

Uraraka nodded. “Yeah. You?”

Ashido shook her head slowly. “We’re in a hive. I think we’re food.”

Another beat.

“...You think the others are in this mess too?”

“Yeah,” Uraraka whispered. “But they didn’t land in the nursery.”

From the walls, the sound of something scraping against metal started again.

Ashido tightened her fists. “When it finds us—and it will—I’ll draw it off. You find the others.”

“No way,” Uraraka said immediately. “We do this together.”

Ashido looked at her—eyes fierce in the dark. “Raka, I can melt my way out. You can’t fight that thing without distance. Let me—”

Uraraka grabbed her hand. “No one’s playing bait. We’re gonna survive this. Both of us.”

The scraping got louder. Close.

Ashido exhaled shakily. “Then we kill that thing.”

*

The scraping had stopped.

Uraraka held her breath, ear pressed to the rusted door of the maintenance hatch.

The metal was warm from the other side—like the air itself had a fever—but no footsteps. No shrieking.

Just the occasional drip from the pipes above them and the sound of Ashido quietly tapping on her phone screen.

“Any signal?” Uraraka whispered.

Ashido didn’t look up. “No bars. Nothing. Either we’re too far underground, or something’s jamming us.”

“Great,” Uraraka muttered. “Creepy cocoon nest and a dead zone.”

Ashido slipped the phone back into her pantsuit pocket.

“Alright,” she said, crouching by the door with her hands braced to push it open. “We go quiet. No Quirks unless we’re cornered. We find a staircase, an elevator shaft, a tunnel—something.”

Uraraka nodded, her expression focused. “We stick together.”

Ashido offered a dry smile. “Just like old times.”

They slipped through the hatch slowly.

The corridor was empty. But it wasn’t silent.

There was… breathing. Not human. Subtle, animalistic. Like hundreds of tiny lungs quietly inhaling and exhaling in the walls.

The cocoon-lined tunnel stretched on in both directions.

Ashido pointed left, toward a slight incline. Uraraka nodded.

Step by step, they moved forward, dodging slime puddles and sticking to the wall. The air felt thicker now, like it was pushing back against them.

Uraraka swallowed. “You think those things—”

“They’re not mindless animals,” Ashido cut in, voice low. “Too organized. Too fast. This whole setup feels… designed.”

They turned a corner—and stopped.

At the far end of the corridor stood a husk.

A creature half-dissolved, its limbs melted, one arm fused into the wall. It had been trying to crawl away. Its chest had been hollowed out like something hatched from inside.

Uraraka covered her mouth.

Ashido stepped forward and crouched. “It didn’t die fast.” She looked back, her voice even. “Whatever did this… Looks like it eats its own failures.”

Another screech rang out—closer this time.

Both women backed into the shadows.

From the opposite corridor, a cluster of creatures emerged.

Smaller than the first, more insectoid, crawling like oversized centipedes with human faces twisted into blank, twitching masks.

Their legs skittered over the wet floor.

They moved in unison.

Uraraka barely breathed. Her hand brushed Ashido’s, and they didn’t let go.

The swarm passed them.

Ashido mouthed, go.

They ran—silent and swift, shoes splashing in the shallow muck, weaving between supports, ducking under loose piping.

At one point, Uraraka spotted a flickering emergency light and motioned toward it.

A stairwell.

They reached the door—but it was sealed. Bent out of shape, jammed.

Ashido pressed her hand to the seam. “I can melt it,” she whispered.

“But they’ll hear it.”

“We don’t have a choice.”

Uraraka hesitated, then nodded. “On three.”

Ashido’s palms flared with pale green acid.

And from behind them—

“Ah. There you are, Mina.”

The voice wasn’t human.

It was a whisper from the dark. Soft. Loving. Imitating.

Uraraka turned, wide-eyed. “Who—?”

Ashido grabbed her arm. “Run.”

***

Chapter Text

Midoriya’s lungs burned.

He coughed as the dust settled, hacking again when something sharp scraped against his throat.

The air was thick—hot, dry, suffocating. Metal groaned around him like the building itself was trying to hold its breath.

“Shoto!” he shouted, stumbling forward over cracked concrete slabs and snapped piping.

A strip of Blackwhip flared out from his shoulder instinctively, anchoring against the wall to keep him upright.

“Shoto—are you—?”

A weak cough. “Here.”

Midoriya dropped to his knees, heart slamming against his ribs.

Todoroki was half-pinned beneath a collapsed beam, blood trickling down from a gash at his temple.

His shirt was scorched, the edges blackened by a heat that hadn’t come from him.

“Shit—okay, okay—stay still,” Midoriya said, gripping the edge of the slab.

Another Blackwhip tendril lashed out, curling under the beam for extra leverage as Midoriya braced.

He powered up just enough to lift it—legs straining, forearms trembling—and shoved the beam off with a shout. It landed behind him with a wet crunch.

Midoriya offered him a hand. “You okay?”

Todoroki sucked in a breath and sat up slowly. “Fine. Just a broken rib or two.”

“That's not fine. Can you stand?”

“Yeah.” He didn’t hesitate. Didn’t even look down to check. He just pushed himself up, legs wobbling only slightly before locking into place. “Bakugo?”

Midoriya shook his head. “Haven’t seen him.”

“Bakugo!” Todoroki’s voice cracked as he called out, raw with urgency. “Katsuki—!”

The only answer was the distant clang of metal shifting… and something else.

Scuttering.

Fast. Wet. Like something with too many legs crawling across hot metal.

Todoroki froze.

Midoriya heard it too.

Midoriya slid under Todoroki’s arm without a word, wrapping one arm around his waist, guiding him forward.

The floor beneath them hissed with each step—some kind of leaking steam vented through the grates underfoot, and the air shimmered with heat distortion.

“This place is a furnace,” Midoriya said under his breath. “We need to find a cooler section or you’re gonna pass out.”

“I’m fine,” Todoroki muttered, jaw tight. “We need to find the others. Find Katsuki.”

More clicking now. Louder. Closer.

They rounded a corner and came face-to-face with a huge industrial boiler—its surface slick with condensation, as if the entire thing were breathing.

Heat waves rose off it in steady pulses.

Todoroki staggered slightly.

Midoriya caught him—a small whip shooting out to stabilize his shoulder, barely noticeable but enough to hold him upright for half a second longer. “Okay, no, we’re not pushing through this blind. We find another way. Can you use your ice?”

Todoroki shook his head. “I just need a second.”

More skittering. This time, from the ceiling.

They looked up.

Pipes ran like veins overhead. Some of them twitched.

Midoriya took a step back, every nerve alight. Blackwhip slid silently from his forearm again, pulsing—sensing.

“Let’s go,” he whispered, guiding them down another passage.

Behind them, one of the pipe valves slowly uncurled.

It wasn’t a pipe.

It was a leg.

*

Kirishima crashed through the wall shoulder-first, Kaminari tumbling in after him in a heap of limbs and panicked breathing.

They landed in a hallway that wasn’t broken.

It was still… intact.

Dust hung in the air like fog, but the floor was tiled. Clean.

The walls were lined with wallpaper, faded pink with curling edges.

Overhead lights flickered, dim yellow. A hallway stretched ahead of them—an imitation of a home, not quite right.

Kaminari blinked. “Are we still in the building?”

“I don’t know,” Kirishima muttered, looking around. “But this part wasn’t in the floorplan I saw.”

Kaminari staggered to his feet, hand on Kirishima’s shoulder. “Yo, Eijiro? I’m not tryna be dramatic but this is giving me haunted house vibes.”

Kirishima didn’t respond. His eyes were fixed on the hallway’s end.

A door stood open.

From inside: movement.

The men crept forward, instincts sharp, Quirks at the ready.

Kirishima’s arms were already hardening. Kaminari kept his fingers loose, sparks jumping across his knuckles.

Then—

“Sero?” Kirishima’s voice echoed.

A figure in the room turned.

It was Sero—suit torn up, one arm half-bandaged with his own tape, crouched low behind a busted cabinet.

His eyes widened as they entered. “Kiri? Kaminari?”

They ran in, and Kaminari dropped to his knees beside him. “Dude! Are you okay?”

“Yeah—yeah, I’m fine,” Sero said, glancing around. “Something separated me from the others. I ended up here.”

He motioned around the room.

It looked like a living space.

A table set for two, covered in thick dust. Bowls with fossilized food remnants. A bookshelf lined with science journals and children’s picture books.

One of the walls was covered in pinned-up diagrams—hand-drawn sketches of human anatomy overlapped with insect limbs.

Kirishima scanned it. “This is someone’s home.”

“Or lab,” Sero said. “There’s more in the back.”

They moved slowly, passing into another chamber—this one more overtly scientific.

Tubes, vials, scribbled notes. Glass containers, some empty, some holding what looked like preserved larvae. 

Kaminari hovered near a desk with an open journal. “Guys, check this out.”

He read aloud:

Day 2,674: The skin accepts chitin faster after childhood trauma. Faster bonding. I believe the signal is strengthening. One spoke to me today. They know my name. They remember me.

Motherhood is a burden, yes—but only above ground. Here, they thrive.

 

Kirishima exhaled. “What the hell is that?”

Sero leaned closer. “Based on the other shit I saw... She’s been down here for years. Growing them. Breeding them. Planning this.”

They heard a sound.

Not a creature. Not scurrying.

A lullaby.

Faint. Echoing down the hall from an unseen room.

A woman’s voice, humming something tuneless. Off-key. Like she was singing to something small, cradled in her arms.

Kaminari went pale. “Nope. Nope nope nope.”

Sero backed toward the wall. “We need to get out of this sector. Now.”

Kirishima’s fists clenched. “Or we figure out who the hell the Mother is.”

When they left, Sero made sure to slap a strip of tape across the doorway, in case they needed to find it again.

*

The silence was absolute.

Bakugo pulled himself out of the rubble, blood dripping from a gash above his brow.

Dust coated his jacket, and one arm was scraped raw—but he didn’t limp. He didn’t hesitate.

He stood.

The room around him was unfamiliar—metal, stone, half-mechanical.

A warped basement that had once been part of the structure, now twisted into something unnatural. Fungal growths pulsed along the walls.

The light overhead flickered red, then died.

No sounds.

No friends.

Just the heat of being watched.

Bakugo ran a hand through his hair and exhaled through his nose. “Great. Creepy ass bug dungeon. Smells like moldy assholes down here.”

From the dark, a voice.

Soft. Feminine. Too calm.

“You’re not afraid?”

He didn’t flinch. “Not of something too chicken-shit to show its face.”

The voice moved—behind him, then above. It echoed like it had too many mouths.

“You’re a sharp one. I can smell it on you. Pride. Pain. Rage.”

He rolled his neck, small sparks flickering from his palms.

Nothing charged—just reflex.

His sweat glands were always the first to know. The nitroglycerin tingled at the edges of his skin. Instinct.

Fight or flight. And Bakugo never fled.

“You forgot 'better than you,’” he muttered.

Laughter followed. Not loud—quiet and pleased, like a parent humoring a child.

“You burn so hot. But fire alone doesn’t save. It destroys. It isolates. Is that why he had to help you win the game?”

Bakugo’s body went still.

His jaw clenched, but his voice stayed even. “You spying on me, freak?”

“I watch all my children.” The voice curled around the corners of the room. “But you—oh, you’re something different. You don’t break. That’s what makes you… interesting.”

He started walking.

Slow, steady steps down the dim hallway. Every step echoed like it hit bone.

The walls twitched once—just barely. As if the place was breathing with him. Or waiting for him to bleed.

He found the door. Rusted metal, half open. Behind it, a concrete stairwell leading up.

He stared at it for a beat.

“Nice try,” he muttered, and took the first step.

The temperature dropped.

“You think he’s alive?” the voice whispered. “He’s not as strong as you. Not as stubborn. What if he’s already gone?”

Bakugo laughed—short and bitter. “You don’t know shit about him.”

“You love him, don’t you?” the voice asked softly.

He didn’t answer.

Instead, he kept walking, one step at a time.

The only thing louder than the hallway was the sound of his own pulse.

The air tasted like iron.

Something in the stairwell creaked—above, below, it didn’t matter.

He stepped over a half-melted stair rail. Something squelched under his boot, but he didn’t look down.

“Keep talking,” he growled. “Every word’s another reason I blast your face off when I find you.”

He flexed his fingers, letting tiny sparks snap off the ends, just enough to light his path in brief flashes of orange.

The stairwell creaked beneath him.

Above, something scuttled across the ceiling.

Watching.

Following.

Bakugo didn’t look back.

He had one focus.

Find Todoroki.

Burn through anything in his way.

***

Chapter Text

Step by step, Bakugo climbed.

The stairwell stretched longer than it should have—concrete giving way to metal, then stone again.

The walls sweated moisture, and the light from his explosions flickered across damp pipes and shadowed corners.

At the top: a rusted ceiling hatch.

He stared at it.

Tension coiled low in his gut. Not fear, exactly—something colder. A whisper in the back of his mind that whatever waited up there wasn’t going to be good.

He gritted his teeth. “Fuck it.”

Bakugo reached up and pulled.

The hatch groaned open with a shriek of rusted metal—

And someone screamed.

A body tumbled halfway through the opening, legs flailing.

Bakugo caught her instantly, hands locking around her waist. “Uraraka?”

She blinked down at him, hair wild, cheeks flushed. “Bakugo? Holy shit—Bakugo, thank god.”

He grunted. “Yeah. I’m here. You done forgetting about your float Quirk?”

She laughed breathlessly, grabbing the edge of the hatch. “Mina, over here!”

Another set of legs appeared, and he steadied himself as Ashido dropped partway down, gripping the rim of the hatch with shaking hands.

Bakugo reached up, strong hands gripping their arms one at a time, lifting them down gently—carefully, like they were made of glass, though his face stayed scowling.

Once both were on the ground, Uraraka threw her hands into the air. “Oh my god, you would not believe what we just went through—these creatures, Bakugo, they were like centipedes with people faces—”

“—and there was this lady, and a room full of cocoons, and they were alive and moving, and I melted one of them and it screamed,” Ashido added, barely pausing to breathe.

Bakugo’s eyes swept over them both.

Not a scratch on Uraraka’s face. Ashido had a gash across her thigh, but it was clotted, clean.

Both were shaking a little, adrenaline still riding high—but they were breathing. Conscious. Talking.

His chest eased.

Just a bit.

He didn’t say anything. Just set his hands briefly on their shoulders before letting go.

They kept talking—filling the silence with too many words, too much nervous energy—but Bakugo wasn’t listening anymore.

Something had shifted. The air went still.

Then the voice returned—softer this time, almost maternal. “You keep finding your little pieces, don’t you? The ones you care for. So fragile. So loyal.”

Bakugo raised a hand. “Stop.”

Uraraka and Ashido blinked at him—then heard it too.

The voice echoed from the walls. The floor. Inside their heads.

“How many will shatter while you chase the one you can't lose?”

Bakugo’s fingers curled into fists, quiet.

 “Don't let it shake you, Number One.” Ashido spoke up softly. “What do we do?”

Bakugo looked at the hatch above, then to the corridor ahead.

Then back at the girls. “We move,” he said flatly. “Now.”

*

The elevator shaft yawned wide and dark in front of them.

Midoriya knelt at the edge, peering down into the black. “Cable’s cut. If we’re lucky, the others could’ve landed near another shaft. We could climb up—maybe hit ground level again.”

Todoroki leaned against the wall beside him, breathing shallowly. His ribs ached with every movement, and a sharp sting in his side made it hard to take a full breath.

The edge of his suit jacket was torn and smeared with dust, blood, and sweat.

“We should go up,” Midoriya said. “Regroup. If anyone made it, they’ll head for the surface too.”

Todoroki didn’t answer right away. His eyes were fixed ahead—unfocused. “They’ll be trying to escape,” he murmured.

Midoriya nodded. “Exactly.”

Todoroki closed his eyes. “But what if they’re stuck? Like we were.”

Midoriya shifted. “Then we find help. Come back. This place is huge—we can’t search blind forever.”

For a beat, Todoroki seemed to agree.

Then, Todoroki saw something. “Bakugo!”

Midoriya flinched.

Todoroki turned sharply, head tilted like he’d caught a thread of sound no one else could hear.

“What is it?” Midoriya asked, stepping toward him.

Todoroki didn’t answer.

He took a slow step back from the shaft, toward the hallway behind them.

Another faint sound—muffled, distant, yelling. It echoed down the corridor, indistinct, but laced with fury.

“Katsuki—” Todoroki’s voice caught, and then he was moving.

“Shoto—wait!”

But Todoroki was already pushing off the wall, clutching at his ribs, staggering into a sprint.

Midoriya cursed under his breath and ran after him. “Wait!”

They barreled through the corridor, boots pounding the metal-grate floor, passing broken lights and leaking pipes.

Todoroki moved like gravity had stopped applying—fueled by sheer will, pain be damned.

Midoriya chased him down a twisting hallway, deeper into the hive, every instinct screaming that this was wrong.

The voice had lured them before.

It could do it again.

And yet… something in Todoroki’s posture—his desperation, his certainty—froze Midoriya’s warning in his throat.

What if it was Bakugo?

And what if he didn’t reach him in time?

*

Sero was flipping through a spiral-bound notebook stained with what looked like dried bile. Pages were filled with anatomical sketches—half-human, half-insect hybrids mid-transition.

Some still had eyes. Some didn’t. One was labeled “early molt failure: rejected by hive.”

Kirishima stood behind him, silent and still. Just taking it in.

Kaminari, on the other hand, had wandered toward the far wall where a larger, more grotesque drawing was pinned across cracked tile—a woman in stages of mutation, her limbs elongating, skin splitting to reveal chitin. One of the frames showed her spine extending into a stinger. Her mouth had begun to unhinge.

Kirishima walked over to him, staring at the same drawings. “Damn.”

“Damn is right,” Kaminari muttered, nose wrinkling. “She got uglier the more human she stopped being.”

“Not a very nice thing to say,” came a voice right behind him.

Kaminari froze.

Slowly, he turned.

And there she was.

Mother Hive stood barely a foot away, so silent it was as if she had materialized from the walls themselves.

Her long black hair draped down her back in knotted cords. Her pale face was smooth, eerily calm—except for her eyes, which shimmered with insectoid facets, twitching ever so slightly.

The robe she wore shifted as if something moved beneath it.

Kaminari stumbled backward so fast he slammed into Kirishima, who caught him by the shoulders instantly, eyes snapping wide.

Sero dropped the notebook.

Mother Hive tilted her head, smiling softly. “Judgment from the ones who burn, break, and electrocute for praise,” she said. “How human of you.”

Kirishima stepped forward, arms hardening into stone. “You the one making these… things?”

Her smile deepened. “I am. You can call me Mother, if you'd like.”

Sero took a slow step back. “We’re not here for speeches.”

“Oh, I know,” she purred. “You want to run. They always do. That’s why I give them time. I speak first. Let them hope.”

Kaminari looked to Kirishima. “She’s stalling.”

Sero's eyes darted to the ceiling. “Shit.”

They hadn’t heard the clicking. The scurrying. Not until now.

But suddenly—it was everywhere.

From the air ducts, from behind broken walls, from under the furniture. Limbs clicked, pincers twitched, heads lolled on unnatural necks.

Dozens of insect-hybrids slithered and crawled into the room, surrounding the three of them in a semicircle.

Mother Hive’s voice dropped to a whisper. “You really should’ve left when I was being polite.”

*

The room was hell.

Kirishima’s fists were already cracked and bleeding from punching through carapaces. Sero was dodging webs that hung like traps from the rafters.

Kaminari blasted arcs of lightning in every direction, already near his limit, the electric charge strobing like a horror show.

Then—

A crash. The door slammed open.

Bakugo stood in the doorway, framed by dust and light, Ashido and Uraraka flanking him. For a split second, the room stilled.

Then Ashido screamed, “Kiri!” and charged.

Her acid sprayed in wild, beautiful arcs—melting through exoskeletons like paper.

Bugs shrieked and thrashed as she carved a path to Kirishima, who met her halfway, grabbing her hand and pulling her behind cover.

“Holy crap,” Kaminari gasped, ducking under a lunging bug. “You guys are a freaking cavalry charge!”

Uraraka leapt into the fray next, kicking off the floor and making the creatures float helplessly into the air.

At the door, Bakugo stepped forward.

Eyes sharp. Breath steady. Sparks building slowly in his palm.

Then— a hand touched his shoulder.

Cold fingers. Gentle. Purposeful.

“Shh,” Mother Hive whispered, her voice velvet-slick.

Before he could react, her nails brushed the skin of his neck.

It wasn’t pain. It was clarity—for half a second.

Then came the twist.

The air shimmered.

Ashido and Kirishima were suddenly gone. The lab was empty.

In their place—villains.

Ghosts from old fights. Enemies in familiar shapes.

Todoroki’s voice echoed behind him, distorted, shouting something he couldn’t make out.

Then Todoroki’s face—bloody, blank-eyed, turning away from him.

Running.

Running from him.

Bakugo’s breath hitched.

Behind him, Mother Hive stepped back into the shadows, unhurried. Pleased.

Her whisper slid down his spine, “Let’s see who you burn first.”

*

Across the room, Kirishima drove his hardened fist into a bug’s face and turned—

To see Bakugo in the doorway. Still.

Expression blank.

Arm raised.

Charging a blast.

“Kugo?” Kirishima said, breath catching. “Hey—hey, what’s wrong?”

Bakugo’s eyes narrowed. The spark in his palm flared.

Kirishima’s blood ran cold. “Oh, shit.”

***

Chapter Text

The bugs were gone.

They didn’t scurry—they retreated, as if called away. Every twitching leg, every glossy-eyed creature vanished into ducts and walls like smoke clearing from a fire.

Then— Bakugo exploded into the room.

He wasn’t walking.

He was charging.

Ashido barely had time to shout before he reached Sero.

“Where's Shoto?!” Bakugo roared, grabbing Sero by the collar and slamming him into the wall. “What did you do to him?!”

Sero’s eyes widened. “Bakugo?! What the—”

Bakugo’s fist cracked across his jaw.

Kirishima lunged, catching Sero before he dropped. “Bakugo, stop!”

Ashido stepped in fast. “We don’t know where Todoroki is! You’re not seeing straight, you’re not thinking—”

But Bakugo didn’t hear her.

Didn’t see her.

His eyes burned, wild and glassy, pupils shrunk to pinpoints.

Sparks bled down his forearms, sizzling against his skin.

He shoved past Ashido like she wasn’t even there and turned to Kirishima.

“You—you tried to pull him away! I saw it—!” Bakugo screamed, already swinging.

Kirishima blocked the first punch with a hardened arm but stumbled under the second explosion. “Kugo—! Don't do this, I won't hit—”

Another blast.

Another scream.

“Where is he?! You took him—you took him from me!”

Sero, dazed, wiped blood from his mouth. “He’s spiraling—!”

Uraraka dove from behind and slapped her hand to Bakugo’s shoulder. “Float!”

Bakugo shot up into the air, snarling, fists still clenched and glowing.

Sero grunted through the pain and fired his tape—clean, practiced shots that wrapped around Bakugo’s arms, legs, chest, everything, pinning him to the ceiling like a rabid comet mid-launch.

For a second, the room was quiet—holding its breath.

Then—boom.

Mini-explosions burst from his palms, burning through the tape in smoking patches. The ceiling blackened above him.

Uraraka winced from the heat distortion warping the air, and all Ashido could do was stare.

“I’ll kill you for touching him! I’ll kill every last one of you—” Bakugo snarled, voice ragged, eyes unfocused. “You think I don’t know what you did?! You think I didn’t hear him scream?!”

Sparks rained down like embers.

Kirishima stepped forward, chest heaving. “Kugo, please, you’re not—”

Uraraka’s voice cut through the static. Steady. Unshaken.

“Bakugo,” she said. “I don’t know what you’re seeing right now. But listen to me—we’re your friends. We’re not here to hurt you. We’re here to find Todoroki too.”

Bakugo’s head twitched toward her voice. Just for a moment. The fire in his eyes flickered—then raged back.

And then—

Footsteps thundered down the corridor.

The door burst open.

Todoroki and Midoriya stormed into the room—Todoroki clutching his ribs, face pale and smeared with blood, but upright.

Midoriya flanked him, eyes wide, hands already glowing with Blackwhip tendrils poised for action.

Bakugo’s body went still—straining in midair, arms bound, hands sparking.

He twitched at the sound. His head jerked toward the door, eyes blown wide.

Todoroki stepped forward, breath shaky. "What's..?"

Bakugo bared his teeth. “No. No—you’re not him. You’re another one—another fake, another mask—”

“Katsuki—look at me,” Todoroki said, stepping beneath him.

Midoriya reached out instinctively. “Shoto—”

Todoroki lifted a hand toward Bakugo. “Let me.”

He stepped beneath the floating inferno of Bakugo’s body. Sparks hissed past his face, Bakugo still determined to burn that tape to the ground.

“Don’t,” Bakugo hissed, trembling. “Don’t touch me. I’ll blow your hand clean off—”

But Todoroki didn’t stop.

He reached up—slow, deliberate—and pressed his palm gently to Bakugo’s cheek.

His palm was cold.

Just cold enough to ground.

Bakugo flinched.

But he didn’t pull away.

Todoroki met his eyes, completely calm. “…Katsuki, sweetheart,” he said. “I need you to listen to me. Just for one second. I need you to come back. I need you to see me. Please.”

The air around Bakugo crackled.

His pupils flickered—unstable.

The hallucinations surged.

Villains reappeared. Faces twisted in rage. Todoroki, limp and bloody, slipping from his hands again.

Bakugo’s body twitched midair, bound by tape and gravity, but the rage had stopped flaring.

He saw Todoroki—standing beneath him, injured, dirty, bleeding—but steady. Real.

But his mind screamed, what if it’s a trick?

What if it was another mask, another lie?

Don’t fall for it. Don’t reach. Don’t risk it.

If he reached and it wasn’t him…

If he touched that face and it melted into something else—

He’d break.

Todoroki could see the conflict on his face, and he knew he needed to say something only Bakugo would know.

“Baby,” Todoroki stepped forward, calm and clear. “We’ll always have Aogashima.”

The hallucination cracked.

Reality flickered—like a glitch in the system. The ghosts fell away.

And suddenly, Bakugo was back.

Back on that beach.

Back in the heat of that quiet, golden dusk.

Todoroki, barefoot in the sand, squinting at the sun, his hair lit up like wildfire and snow.

He’d laughed at something dumb Bakugo had said—half a snort, half a smile—and Bakugo remembered the way his heart had thudded in response.

Like it knew.

Like love itself had reached across the space between them and grabbed him by the throat.

His breath hitched. His fists loosened.

It’s him.

It’s really him.

“…Say it again,” Bakugo rasped.

Todoroki’s voice broke just a little. “We’ll always have Aogashima.”

Bakugo squeezed his eyes shut. The burning in his limbs faded. The sparks dimmed to a flicker.

The hallucinations peeled away like dead skin.

And in their place: silence. Reality. The room.

Sero, bleeding.

Ashido crying.

Kirishima—bruised.

He saw everything.

“Oh… fuck,” Bakugo whispered.

Todoroki felt the shift. Saw it.

He reached both hands up now, wrapping around Bakugo’s arm. “It’s okay. Come down.”

Uraraka released her Quirk, and Sero unwound the last of the tape.

Bakugo dropped.

Straight into Todoroki’s arms.

He didn’t let go.

Didn’t even hesitate.

He crushed Todoroki into a hug so hard it forced a cry from his throat, cracking ribs be damned.

“Shit—” Todoroki groaned, voice muffled. “You’re gonna finish what the monsters started.”

Bakugo didn’t laugh.

Didn’t move.

He buried his face into the curve of Todoroki’s neck and said, voice softer than usual, “I thought I lost you. I thought they had you.”

Todoroki’s voice shook. “You didn’t. I’m here.”

“I saw you die.”

Todoroki closed his eyes. “But you didn’t, baby. I'm okay.”

*

For the first time since the ground caved in, they were all together.

Still catching their breath. Still bleeding.

But alive.

Todoroki let out a quiet grunt as he leaned back against Bakugo’s chest. “I need to sit,” he muttered, voice thin with exhaustion.

Bakugo didn’t argue. He just slid an arm around Todoroki’s waist—gently, like he was afraid to touch too hard—and guided him over to one of the old lab stations, sweeping aside cracked beakers and a rusted tray with one swipe.

Todoroki eased down onto the edge of the counter, hissing through his teeth. One hand pressed to his ribs, the other bracing behind him.

Bakugo hovered in front of him like a storm cloud—fists loose at his sides, mouth tight, eyes scanning Todoroki like he could will the injuries away.

“How bad?” he asked.

“Two ribs. Maybe three,” Todoroki said. “No punctures.”

“You should’ve stayed put,” Bakugo muttered, kneeling beside him. “I could’ve found you.”

“Nah. I needed to find you.”

Todoroki leaned forward until their foreheads touched, his hand sliding briefly to Bakugo’s nape. He stayed there for a second—breathing him in, grounding both of them. Then he pulled back, but only just.

“You took too long, so I had to do it myself,” he added, quiet.

Bakugo huffed, but it was half-laugh, half-exhale. “Smartass.”

He didn’t move from where he knelt. Just stared at him—like the fire in his veins hadn’t fully gone out.

“I thought—” Bakugo stopped. Swallowed. His voice had the rasp of someone still tasting ash. “I thought she got to you. That I was too late.”

Todoroki looked at him for a long moment. Then, with a small, tired smile, said, “We’re not allowed to die until we go back.”

Bakugo blinked.

Todoroki’s voice softened, barely above a whisper. “You still owe me a volleyball rematch. Aogashima rules.”

Bakugo’s throat bobbed with a swallow. A flicker of warmth crossed his face, almost pained. “That was a stupid game,” he muttered.

“You smiled the whole time.”

“I was kicking your ass.”

“You fell in the water trying to spike the ball.”

“You froze it like you were helping me, and then melted it so I’d fall in!”

Todoroki’s smile widened just slightly, and Bakugo… let himself mirror it. Just a bit.

He reached out then, hand brushing against Todoroki’s knee.

It wasn’t romantic, not yet. But it was close. Like reaching for proof that the person in front of him was real and warm and here.

“I remembered you,” Bakugo said, voice low. “When you mentioned that island. I remembered you there, in the sun, on the beach. I remembered your stupid smile. I think... I think I fell in love with you that day.”

Todoroki didn’t answer right away. Just leaned forward again, pressing their foreheads together once more. “I think that's the first time you've said that to me.”

“Don't get all mushy on me. I said, 'I think.'”

Across the room, Kaminari waved Midoriya and Uraraka over, flipping through the pinned sketches and dusty notebooks.

“Okay, okay—guys, seriously, look at this freak show nightmare fuel,” Kaminari said, thumbing open a page. “She’s been living down here for years. Like, deep-end science fair from hell kind of stuff.”

Uraraka peered closer. “Are those… nerve grafts?”

“And molting patterns,” Midoriya murmured, flipping pages. “Human-insect Quirk fusion. She notes ‘behavioral imprinting,’ ‘emotional resonance’—this isn’t random mutation. This is engineered.”

Kaminari pointed to a sketch of a hybrid—six limbs, no eyes, the note scribbled underneath: Useful for herding. Sensitive to tone of voice. Killed a sibling for misbehaving.

“Yup. Bug nightmares forever,” Kaminari muttered, taking several casual steps backward.

In the corner, Sero and Kirishima sat shoulder-to-shoulder against the wall, both still catching their breath.

“You good?” Kirishima asked.

Sero nodded, cradling his arm. “Yeah. You?”

Kirishima nodded, then muttered, “You looked like you were about to cry when Bakugo started burning that tape.”

“I was.”

Kirishima huffed a laugh—short, cracked, but real.

Then a voice from across the room, “…Didn’t mean to hit you that hard.”

They both turned.

Bakugo was sitting nearby, elbow propped on his knee, not quite looking at them.

His eyes flicked toward Sero and then away again, like it cost him something just to say it.

“Wasn’t me,” Bakugo added quickly. “Not really.”

Sero blinked. “You mean when you punched me in the face? Or when you told us you’d kill us?”

Bakugo scowled faintly. “Take your pick.”

Kirishima raised an eyebrow. “Is this your way of saying sorry?”

Bakugo crossed his arms. “I’m saying I could’ve blown your jaw clean off and I didn’t.”

Sero snorted. “Damn. Now I feel honored.”

Bakugo muttered something under his breath that might’ve been “I knew it was you, eventually”—but no one pushed him to repeat it.

Ashido stood by the door, unmoving.

Her arms were crossed tight over her chest. Her eyes never left the hallway.

Every creak made her flinch.

“You think she’s coming back?” she asked, voice low.

Bakugo looked over. “Yeah.”

Ashido nodded. “Cool. Guess I’ll just keep standing here, then.”

No one said it aloud, but the truth was clear in the silence that followed.

The team was back together. Held together with blood and tape and half a breath—but whole.

For now.

But the hive hadn’t gone quiet out of fear.

It was waiting. Watching.

Letting them believe they’d survived.

***

Chapter Text

They moved as a unit now.

Not perfectly—but enough.

Midoriya stayed near the front, murmuring directions to himself, mentally mapping every corridor and broken stairwell they’d crossed. “The elevator shaft wasn’t far from where Shoto and I dropped in... If we loop past the corridor with the fractured boiler—then we should—”

“We found a staircase,” Ashido offered from the middle of the group, her eyes flicking back to the hallway behind them. “Me, Bakugo, and Uraraka. Led up... but not out. Just another level full of webbing and collapsed beams.”

“So, nothing useful,” Sero muttered, stepping carefully over a chunk of cracked rebar.

“Hey,” Kaminari piped up, voice thin, “I know we’re all traumatized and shit, but is it gonna be, like, this dark the whole way?”

It was dark.

Too dark.

Their only light came from broken emergency panels flickering like dying stars.

Shadows danced with every movement. The walls felt closer than before—like they were breathing again.

Todoroki raised his hand, conjuring a faint flame at his fingertips.

Warm, soft orange light bloomed in his palm, casting their faces in uneasy glow.

“There,” Todoroki said. “Better?”

Bakugo, supporting him from the side with one arm looped behind his back, snorted. “Will you relax? You're hurt. And you’re not a flashlight.”

“I’m being helpful.”

“You’re being stubborn.”

Todoroki gave him the barest shrug, careful not to move too much. “Same thing.”

The flame flickered against the rubble as they climbed through what had once been a hallway—now twisted, splintered, unrecognizable.

Burnt wallpaper peeled down in strips. Half the floor had caved in, leaving jagged edges and loose stones.

Power cables dangled like vines, sparking faintly overhead.

Midoriya led them around a rusted pipe, eyes scanning constantly. “Watch the footing. Don’t touch anything buzzing. We’re still in the hive’s core—she could still be routing energy through here.”

Ashido kept at the rear, acid ready in her palms. Uraraka stuck close to Sero, who looked more rattled than he’d admit.

But it was the sound that kept them tight.

That constant skittering.

Not close. Never close. Just on the edge of hearing—scratching, clicking, scurrying.

Every few minutes, a shadow darted past the edges of their light.

Never full figures. Just motion. Presence.

“Why don’t they come at us now?” Kirishima whispered. “They’re watching. We know they are.”

“They’re not supposed to strike yet,” Midoriya muttered. “She’s waiting. She’s… planning something.”

“She’s hunting,” Bakugo said darkly.

The group fell silent.

The only sounds were breathing, crumbling concrete beneath their boots, and the ever-present whisper of the hive above, below, and around them.

*

“There,” Midoriya said, pointing. “Elevator shaft—same one we found earlier.”

At the end of a long corridor, the broken steel doors stood open, one panel bent like a peeled can lid. Faint light filtered down from somewhere above.

Hope.

Real, sharp, stupid hope.

“Looks clear,” Kirishima said, breathing heavily. “We climb?”

“I’ll go first,” Sero offered, stepping forward with tape loaded and ready. “Test the cables. Make sure it’s stable.”

They moved as one, careful and focused, boots crunching over cracked tile and dust.

Kaminari muttered, “Air smells better up here. Less rot. Maybe we’re close to the surface.”

Sero reached the edge of the elevator shaft and crouched, peering into the open void. He fired a long strip of tape upward and gave it a few strong tugs.

“Feels good,” he said. “We climb single file—fast. No room for error.”

Midoriya stepped up beside him, offering his hand to Uraraka as she moved closer. Ashido hovered just behind them, keeping her acid ready in her palms. Todoroki hung near the back, one arm braced against the wall, chest rising fast, pain carved into his expression.

Kaminari lingered a few steps behind, eyes flicking toward the shaft, then back down the hallway.

Bakugo was last, guarding the rear.

Then—

Click.

A sharp, wet sound—like bone snapping inside something alive.

From the vents. The ceiling. The walls.

Then the explosion came.

The walls burst outward, splintering in a shower of concrete and pipe. A tidal wave of bugs poured into the corridor—dozens, maybe more, screaming and clawing and snapping.

“Go!” Bakugo roared, blasting two off the walls in a burst of fire. “Get up there—Move!”

Midoriya lunged for the shaft edge, hauling Uraraka with him. Sero was already climbing, tape winding up the side of the shaft in long, sticky lines.

Ashido turned and screamed, melting through a lunging insect that nearly took her leg.

Todoroki stumbled forward, pushing through the pain in his ribs, flame flickering weakly in one hand.

Kaminari tripped on a severed pipe, hitting the floor hard.

“Shit—!” Kirishima dove down and caught him, shielding his body with his own.

A sound from above.

Something massive slammed into the top edge of the shaft—a bug the size of a van, limbs spread wide across the concrete. Its body hit the upper frame like a wrecking ball—

CRACK.

The ceiling split.

Then the floor beneath their feet fractured and dropped.

The tile buckled. Metal supports groaned.

And the entire section of hallway—the elevator shaft threshold, the surrounding floor, everything—collapsed in one violent lurch.

They didn’t even have time to scream.

They fell.

All of them.

*

They didn’t hit the floor.

They hit the web.

A massive, sticky sheet of silk spanned the elevator shaft like a trap laid just for them.

White as bone. Stretched tight as a tendon.

Their bodies slammed against it mid-air, pinned like insects beneath glass.

Bakugo grunted, teeth clenched. His limbs stuck fast, the threads coiling around him like they were alive. He couldn’t move. Not properly.

No one could.

“I—I can’t lift us—” Uraraka’s voice trembled. “It’s too—sticky—it’s pulling me down—”

Midoriya hissed as he tried to wriggle free. “Don’t fight too hard. It’s tension-based. The more we resist, the stronger it pulls back.”

Ashido raised a shaking hand, acid already forming in her palm. She let one drop fall.

It sizzled—barely. The web darkened for half a second… then sealed back up, unharmed.

She stared. Horrified. “It neutralized it,” she whispered. “Like it was… engineered for it.”

Then a voice slid through the darkness. “It’s silk,” came the croon. “Made it myself. Laced it with paralytic venom.”

They all twisted to look.

Mother Hive clung to the elevator wall like a spider descending its own spine. Her robe flowed behind her like rotted lace.

Her limbs didn’t move—they glided. Drifted. Her feet made no sound on the metal wall.

“You’ll stop struggling soon,” she promised. “That’s what the venom is for. Still bodies. Still minds. Just in time for the final phase.”

She raised a hand.

The wall behind her split open.

Dozens of cocoons unfurled like rotten fruit.

From inside crawled shapes—not fully formed. Not human. Not insect. Something in between.

Each one wore a hint of their faces.

Kaminari gagged. “Oh my god—they look like us—”

“Better versions,” Mother Hive said sweetly. “Each of you, reborn. Smarter. More obedient. Free of fear. Free of doubt. Perfect.”

The creatures twitched forward, matching their assigned heroes like shadows.

“You’ll stay here,” she continued, “in the dark. And they’ll go above. They’ll shine. They’ll lie. Just like you did.”

Uraraka whimpered, tears sliding down her cheeks. “No—Deku, I can’t—I can’t do this—”

Bakugo strained against the silk, a snarl in his throat.

His limbs felt heavy. The venom was creeping deeper.

Still, he fought. Still, he moved—barely.

But he was slowing.

Then she landed beside him.

Mother Hive's touch was silent, reverent, peeling open his button-up shirt with the ease of unwrapping a gift. Threads fell like petals.

“Starting with you,” she whispered, eyes shining like beetle shells. “Number One Hero.”

Bakugo's torso heaved with every shallow breath, muscles tense under too-thin skin.

A bug—the biggest of the group—scuttled up his leg, its legs sharp against his skin. It reached his stomach, pincers twitching.

And still—

Bakugo didn’t scream.

Didn’t cry.

But he looked at Todoroki.

Locked eyes with him through thread and fear.

“I love you,” he said. Fast. Like he had to say it before it was too late. “I love you so much, and I’m proud of you, and it’s been such a goddamn privilege knowing you. Loving you. Even just—getting to watch you grow.”

Todoroki’s throat worked. His body fought the paralysis.

Todoroki's whole body strained against the silk. “No.”

He couldn’t breathe.

Couldn’t watch.

“Don’t do this,” he rasped.

Bakugo blinked hard, and turned away. “It’s okay. Just… look away. Don’t let this be what you remember.”

Todoroki’s voice cracked. “No.” He fought harder. “Look at me.”

And Bakugo did.

He looked.

Todoroki’s arm tore free with a howl of pain. Silk ripped. Blood burst across his sleeve.

But he didn’t stop. His teeth dug into his lip. His palm ignited.

“Stomach in,” Todoroki warned, voice low and raw.

Bakugo didn’t flinch. Just held his breath.

A flare of fire roared from Todoroki’s hand, precise and furious. It struck the bug square in the thorax.

It shrieked—burned alive—twitched, blackened, and burst into pieces.

Bakugo gasped, eyes wide, a sharp breath hissing through his teeth.

A thin burn bloomed across his stomach—red, angry, and real—but shallow. The bug was gone.

He was still breathing.

Todoroki didn’t stop.

He turned his arm inward and fired again—at the web. At the silk.

His own body screamed in protest, the pain so bright it went white—but he kept going.

The threads around him curled and blackened, falling in ribbons.

Mother Hive shrieked and leapt backward, shielding her eyes.

Todoroki twisted, to look at Bakugo.

The heat from his palm continued to melt the silk around him, trying to shake himself of the paralytic venom.

“You don’t get to die yet,” Todoroki growled. “Not until we go back.”

Bakugo blinked.

That wind again.

That sun.

Aogashima.

He could almost smell it—salt, sea, Todoroki’s beautiful sun warmed skin.

Could see Todoroki’s face turning up toward him, laughing under the stars like it wasn’t the end of the world.

Like they were infinite.

His eyes stung.

“I promised,” Bakugo whispered.

***

Chapter Text

Mother Hive struck like a shadow on fire.

No preamble. No whispering. No grand speech.

Just a scream—sharp and inhuman—as she lunged at Todoroki.

Claws extended. Mandible-like fingers dripping with venom. Her black robe snapped around her like wings, maternal calm shattered into a whirlwind of rage.

Todoroki didn’t flinch.

He was still burning the web. Still focused on Bakugo. Still trying to save them all.

Too slow.

“Get away from him!” Midoriya roared.

He burst free from the web—barely, just barely—floating unsteadily on the last dregs of his control.

Blackwhip lashed behind him like a live wire, flaring as if his emotions had given it voice.

His limbs trembled. His legs twitched. The venom in his bloodstream made the world spin—but he launched.

He slammed into Mother Hive mid-lunge.

They crashed across the web in a violent tangle of silk and limbs, sliding in sticky spirals as bugs screamed in chorus—answering her pain.

Hungry. Obedient.

One bug urgently surged forward to do it's duty, rushing toward Kaminari and climbing up his leg.

Kaminari thrashed weakly in place, face pale, electricity crackling off his skin in erratic pops. “Shoto—Shoto, I’m next, she said I’m next—please set me on fire or something!”

Todoroki twisted toward him, breath ragged. The web around him smoked from the heat. His right arm blazed—red, raw, flaring with uncontrollable flame.

Then Midoriya’s voice rang out from above, “Don’t burn—Freeze it!”

Todoroki blinked, following his eyes, and he saw what Midoriya saw.

The ground.

Just below the web. Several feet down, but it was still somewhere to land.

Midoriya floated above them, barely upright, the whites of his eyes sharp with focus. “Now! I can break it!”

Todoroki gasped, fingers clawing at his ruined shirt to free his other arm from the silk.

It hurt—like dragging bone through glass—but he didn’t care.

He slammed his palm down onto the silk.

Ice exploded across the web, cracking and spiraling in crystalline bursts.

Limbs froze mid-crawl. Bugs twitched and locked in place.

Even Mother Hive shrieked, frost racing up her legs like a shackle.

Midoriya clenched his fist, and threw himself down at the web with a shout.

His punch shattered the frozen web with a boom that echoed down every corridor.

The web collapsed.

They fell.

This time—free.

Uraraka’s body moved before her mind did. Her fingers—red, shaking off paralysis—reached for Todoroki’s back, then lunged for Sero’s wrist.

“Float,” she whispered, her voice quaking.

The fall slowed.

Midoriya grabbed Ashido's arm, barely catching her and setting her down as carefully as he could on the ground below.

The others hit the ground like breaking waves—Kirishima, Bakugo and Kaminari bouncing off rubble, cursing and groaning.

Uraraka dropped to one knee, fighting to breathe, her hands still outstretched as she gently lowered Todoroki and Sero beside her.

Todoroki blinked through tears and frostbite. “Thank you,” he rasped. “Hero.” 

Uraraka nodded faintly, jaw locked against the pain.

Above them, on the fractured edge of the web, Mother Hive screamed—

—and dropped after them.

*

The moment they hit the floor, pain crashed in.

Kaminari groaned, cradling his head. Electricity still fizzled off his fingertips, harmless and twitching.

Kirishima rolled to look at him, his hardened skin fading a little. “Sorry, buddy. I tried to grab you.” 

Bakugo lay on his side, chest heaving shallowly, one hand curled near the burnt skin of his stomach.

Todoroki didn’t hesitate.

He dragged his battered body across the rubble, crawling on knees and elbows, debris slicing open his palm. His ribs shrieked with every movement.

“Sho—?” Bakugo rasped, blinking through haze.

“I’ve got you,” Todoroki whispered, brushing damp hair from Bakugo’s face. “Just stay still. You’re okay.”

A shadow fell over them.

Mother Hive landed hard.

No grace. No levitation. Just fury.

Her voice had lost all poetry—now it was a hiss. Her mouth was smeared red. Her limbs twitched like broken clock hands.

Her children followed. Crawling, shrieking, screaming.

Midoriya shouted toward his friends. “Anybody not paralyzed or hurt, on your feet! Now!” 

Ashido surged forward with a snarl, acid blazing in her palms.

Her skin had lost its usual pink—it was pale now, faded to a soft, sickly rose. She didn’t seem to notice.

“Come on, freaks!” she screamed. “I’ve got plenty left for all of you!”

Midoriya met her side, One For All crackling in flickers down his arm. “You take the swarm—I’ll take her.”

Sero joined, tape blasting from both arms like steel. “Let’s end this.”

They charged.

Ashido melted through twisted limbs and mandibles. Sero bound Mother Hive’s arms mid-lunge—but her legs were still free.

She tore through one restraint, lunging for Midoriya.

He ducked low and launched into her chest, a solid blow that sent her smashing into a wall, bone and stone crunching on impact.

She didn’t get back up.

The room stilled.

Then—

Her robe twitched.

The floor moved.

Hundreds of bugs poured from beneath her—crawling from walls, from silk, from her body. A new wave. Endless.

Todoroki threw himself over Bakugo.

His arms shook. His breath stuttered.

Bakugo reached up weakly, fingers brushing his bicep. “I’ve got you too, dumbass—”

“Stop,” Todoroki snapped, fire roaring in his palm. “Let me protect you for once.”

Bakugo reached out to grab Kaminari, physically dragging him closer to keep him safe too.

Todoroki's flames shot out, forming a circle of fire around them—hot, furious, unyielding.

The bugs hissed and reeled back.

Ashido screamed, slinging acid until her skin was nearly white.

Kirishima, bleeding from a gash in his shoulder, slammed his fists into carapace and fang.

Sero tripped—Midoriya caught him with a lash of Blackwhip and hauled him up.

Together, they tore through the final wave, punch by punch, blast by blast.

And then—

Silence.

Ash and smoke drifted like snow through the air.

The last bug twitched at Kirishima’s feet. He crushed it with one tired stomp.

The group stood, breathing hard.

Alive.

Midoriya limped toward the crumpled body of Mother Hive.

He knelt, hesitated—then pressed fingers to her neck. “Nothing,” he said.

Sero coughed. “Technically—for spiders—the pulse is in the abdomen.”

Midoriya froze. Cringed. "...Seriously?"

Sero gave a shaky nod. “I think so. Sorry.”

Midoriya sighed, wiped sweat from his brow, and reached out with a groan.

Long pause.

“Yeah. Still dead.”

Kaminari flopped over on the ground. “Thank God. I cannot do another round of boss battle bugs.”

Todoroki sat back, every breath aching. Bakugo leaned into his side.

Their hands were laced.

He glanced down at the burn across Bakugo’s stomach. “I’m sorry,” he whispered.

Bakugo didn’t hesitate.

He turned, pressed a firm kiss to Todoroki’s temple. “Shut up,” he murmured. “You saved my life.”

Todoroki let out a shaky breath. “Yeah. I guess I did.” Then, quieter, “You’re not dying here. You still have to marry me on a beach.”

Bakugo froze.

Then slowly, he smiled. Like the first sun breaking through.

“Aogashima,” he said.

Todoroki nodded, lips curling. “Let's stay longer this time.”

“Anything you want, baby.”

The firelight flickered around them, pushing the dark away.

Not just the shadows—but the weight. The grief. The almosts.

This time, they won.

*

When they made it back up, the ballroom was unrecognizable.

What hadn’t been swallowed by the hive’s collapse was charred, cracked, or dripping with remnants of silk.

The chandelier lay shattered across the floor, crushed under a slab of marble. The long banquet table was split in two.

The place that once glowed with celebration now looked like a war zone.

The team stood at the edge of the broken floor, eyes scanning the destruction they’d crawled out of.

Kaminari winced, still pressing a hand to the back of his head. “I think my brain’s sloshing around in here. Anyone else feel… floaty?”

Sero huffed a laugh and cradled his injured arm. “That’s just the trauma, man. You’ll level out.”

Midoriya walked slowly ahead, steadying Uraraka with one arm. Her steps were shaky, her lips pale, but she was upright—and smiling faintly.

“I really thought I was gonna become part of the bug army,” she muttered.

“No way,” Midoriya said. “Not on my watch.”

Behind them, Ashido leaned heavily against Kirishima.

Her fingers were tight around his forearm, stained with green acid residue. Kirishima’s skin was cracked, raw in patches, blood seeping through—but he didn’t complain.

“Hey,” Ashido murmured. “I'd make a cute bug, huh?”

Kirishima finally cracked a smile. “The cutest. But... I like you exactly how you are.”

They stepped slowly over collapsed flooring and burned webbing, weaving their way toward the building’s back exit—the only path still intact.

At the rear of the group, Todoroki glanced down at Bakugo’s stomach.

The skin around the almost bite site was bruised, red, swollen. Ugly.

“I’m sorry,” Todoroki said softly. “About that. I should've aimed a little better.”

Bakugo didn’t even slow his steps. He just turned his head, pressed a firm kiss to Todoroki’s temple, and muttered, “Seriously, stop. I love you, so you're automatically forgiven. Like... Always.”

Todoroki’s mouth twitched. He nodded, eyes forward again.

Todoroki winced mid-step, hand moving to his ribs. “God, I hope I never see another spider again.”

Bakugo adjusted his hold around Todoroki’s waist. “You say that like it’s not your new trauma kink.”

“That's not funny,” Todoroki gave him a sideways look. “I wasn’t the one shirtless on a webbed altar.”

“Wasn’t for lack of trying.”

“Shut up.”

Bakugo smirked. “That’s my line.”

At the exit, Kirishima turned, surveying the battered squad limping behind him.

“I brought my van,” he called out. “It’s still in the lot. Not fast, but she’s sturdy. I can take everyone to the hospital. Maybe someone should call the cops for... Her? It? Whatever?”

No one even hesitated.

Just nods. Quiet ones. The kind you give when the adrenaline has all burned out and pain is the only thing you’re certain of.

Together, they stepped out into the night air.

The scent of blood, fire, and silk still clung to them.

But the sky was clear, and they were out.

***

Chapter Text

The van wasn’t made for eight half-conscious pro heroes, but somehow, they made it work.

Kirishima drove—hands steady on the wheel, eyes flicking nervously to the passenger seat where Ashido sat with her head leaned against the window.

Her fingers were still laced with his, knuckles white, even in sleep. Her skin hadn’t regained its usual pink hue, still pale and washed out under the streetlights.

Kirishima squeezed her hand. Said nothing. Just drove.

“Hey,” Kaminari croaked from the middle row, head lolling against the window. “I know we just barely survived a nightmare cave of mutant insects and trauma bonding, but like… is it too much to ask for a milkshake?”

Sero snorted beside him, cradling his taped-up arm. “Bro, your spleen might be floating in your chest cavity.”

“Milkshake,” Kaminari whispered dramatically. “For the soul. Doesn't that sound amazing right now?”

“We’re not going through a drive-through,” Midoriya said firmly, though his voice was hoarse and one eye was swollen. He looked like he’d gone twelve rounds with a boss-level villain and lost on technicality. “We’re going to the hospital.”

“I second the milkshake,” Uraraka mumbled, her cheek smushed into Midoriya’s shoulder. “Van’s already gross. May as well add fries.”

“Somehow I knew I'd get outvoted,” Midoriya muttered, but it was weak and fond.

“Fries sound good,” Ashido whispered from the front, without opening her eyes.

Kirishima sighed. “Fine. One drive-through. But if anyone throws up in my van, you’re cleaning it with your Quirk.”

A tired cheer rose from the middle seats.

And in the very back, behind it all, Bakugo and Todoroki might as well have been on another planet.

Bakugo sat turned sideways, one leg up on the bench, completely blocking anyone from seeing Todoroki but him.

His hands were busy—checking, pressing, inspecting. He pushed Todoroki’s torn long-sleeved shirt aside, frowning at the scrapes along his arm.

Then, without ceremony, he tugged the bloodstained shirt up, revealing bruised skin beneath.

“Turn a little—don’t be a baby,” Bakugo muttered, even as his hands moved with careful precision. “I think you cracked this one clean through.”

“I told you I did,” Todoroki said, half-lidded eyes watching him with an almost lazy affection.

“You’re a shit patient.”

“You’re a worse doctor.”

“Smart mouth for someone who almost overheated his own Quirk.”

“You were the one webbed to the ground, about to get eaten, like a sad rotisserie chicken.”

Bakugo growled and tightened his hold. “Say that again. I dare you.”

Todoroki smirked, utterly unfazed. “Chicken.”

Bakugo kissed him for that—fast, and a little too aggressive, but his hand didn’t leave Todoroki’s ribs.

His palm stayed pressed there, firm and grounding, like he could shield the fracture with sheer will.

Todoroki’s eyes fluttered closed at the contact.

“Hey,” he said after a beat, voice quiet enough that only Bakugo could hear.

“What,” Bakugo murmured, still half-distracted tracing the bruises like he could memorize them.

“Let’s go back soon.”

Bakugo looked up.

“Aogashima,” Todoroki clarified, lips curving. “You still owe me.”

Bakugo blinked.

The world around them was a haze of fast food wrappers, burned uniforms, and leftover adrenaline, but in that moment, none of it mattered.

He stared at Todoroki, breath catching in his throat.

Then—softly, reverently—he pressed his forehead against his and whispered, “Yeah. I do, huh?”

Todoroki leaned forward and kissed him again.

Slow. Steady. A promise returned.

And behind them, the van rolled on through the quiet night, headlights cutting a path toward recovery, toward safety, toward whatever came next.

But in the back seat, it was just them.

Wrapped in warmth.

Wrapped in love.

Wrapped in the unshakable, undeniable truth: They made it.

And they weren’t going anywhere without each other ever again.

*

Two weeks later, the bruises were fading.

Midoriya’s stitches had dissolved. Sero’s arm was out of the sling. Ashido’s color had come back, soft pink blooming at her cheeks again.

Even Todoroki’s ribs were nearly healed with healing Quirks—though that didn’t stop Bakugo from checking them every time he so much as breathed wrong.

But most importantly— They were together.

And this time, nothing was crashing through the ceiling.

Todoroki’s apartment was unusually lively tonight.

The table was loaded with snacks—both high-end imported sweets (courtesy of Todoroki’s budget) and tragically stale chips (courtesy of Kaminari).

The lights were low, the music upbeat, and someone had brought a karaoke mic that probably should not have existed.

“Okay, but hear me out,” Kaminari was saying, gesturing emphatically with a cup of sparkling cider, “if someone doesn’t rap Bakugo’s top hero theme right now, we’re wasting our lives.”

“Ooh yeah! Remember how catchy Endeavor's little commercial was?” Ashido added excitedly.

“No,” Bakugo barked from the couch, where Todoroki was half-lounging against him. “We’re celebrating me, not humiliating me.”

“But why not both?” Sero asked sweetly, draped across a beanbag like a man who had survived both death and dorm food.

Kirishima chuckled and shoved a tray of onigiri into Kaminari’s hands. “Here. Eat first, heckle later.”

“Classic hero party motto,” Ashido muttered from her spot at the kitchen counter.

She leaned heavily into Kirishima’s side, her acid-streaked hair now pulled back in a soft braid.

She looked tired—but more like the kind of tired you get after laughing too hard, not fighting for your life.

Midoriya and Uraraka sat close together on the floor near the coffee table, knees brushing, hands drifting closer every time they passed the cup between them.

They weren’t drunk—but they were warm, and full of that kind of post-trauma affection that made everything feel more real. More fragile.

“Hey,” Midoriya said, nudging her. “You doing okay?”

Uraraka looked at him. Her eyes were clear, her smile soft. “Yeah. You?”

He gave a little nod. “Better now.”

Back on the couch, Bakugo ran a hand across Todoroki’s side for the third time in twenty minutes.

“I’m fine,” Todoroki said, amused. “Seriously.”

“You lied to me, and the Doc told me that it was actually three ribs you snapped. Forgive me if I’m not totally convinced.”

“You’ve already kissed it better.”

“Doesn’t count if I don’t keep doing it.”

Todoroki turned his head and kissed Bakugo on the jaw, lazy and slow.

“God, get a room,” Sero muttered from the floor. “Or a balcony.”

Todoroki raised his eyebrows. “That’s a good idea, actually.” He sat up. “Kat, can I talk to you? Outside?”

Bakugo blinked, but nodded. “Yeah. Sure.”

Todoroki led him through the glass doors and onto the apartment balcony.

The city glowed below them, scattered stars above, and the crisp wind tousled Bakugo’s hair the second they stepped out.

They stood side by side for a moment, quiet.

Then Bakugo cleared his throat. “I, uh…” He dug into his jacket pocket. “I’ve got something for you.”

Todoroki turned toward him, eyes curious.

Bakugo held out a folded piece of paper.

Todoroki took it.

It was a receipt.

Two tickets. Private helicopter. Aogashima Island.

This weekend.

Todoroki stared at it.

Bakugo didn’t look at him—he was too busy fidgeting with the zipper of his sleeve. “I booked it a few days ago. Thought… we could go back. Just the two of us. Thought maybe… maybe I’m ready to start doing the whole ‘sacrificing things for someone else’ part of being in love.”

Todoroki didn’t say anything.

He surged forward and wrapped his arms around Bakugo’s neck, pulling him into a hug that knocked the breath from both of them.

Then—he kissed him.

Not rushed. Not messy. Just… full.

When they pulled apart, Todoroki smiled, fingers drifting down the front of Bakugo’s chest.

Then he stopped, and frowned.

“What’s this?” he asked, brushing his hand over the front of Bakugo’s jacket.

Bakugo’s eyes widened.

Todoroki reached into the inner pocket.

And pulled out a small velvet box.

“…Shit,” Bakugo said, too late.

Todoroki stared at it, blinking hard.

He opened it.

Inside sat a silver band. Simple. Clean. Like everything about Bakugo had ever been.

“What is...?” Todoroki whispered, voice thin with disbelief.

“I was gonna do this on the island,” Bakugo muttered, ears red, visibly short-circuiting. “You weren’t supposed to grab my—whatever. Damn it, okay—” He stepped back, rubbed a hand down his face, and then dropped to one knee with a pained grunt. “Fine. Let me do it right.”

Todoroki covered his mouth with one hand.

Bakugo took a breath.

And began again.

“You make me better,” he said, voice rough. “You make me want to be better. You never asked for anything, but you got everything out of me anyway. And I want to keep giving it. I want to spend every fight and every quiet morning with you. I want to build a life with you that no villain could ever touch.”

He paused.

Then looked up, eyes fierce and glassy. “Shoto. Marry me?”

Todoroki didn’t answer right away.

He was breathing hard. Hands shaking.

And then— He dropped to his knees too. Threw both arms around Bakugo’s shoulders.

“Only,” he said, voice breaking, “if we stay longer this time.”

Bakugo froze. Pulled back, just slightly.

Todoroki’s eyes were shining. “You promised me a wedding on Aogashima,” he whispered. “So now you’ve got to fulfill it.”

Bakugo stared at him, stunned.

Then he broke into a grin so soft it could have melted steel. “I plan to.”

They kissed again—messier this time, wind whipping around them, stars bright and blazing above.

Inside, their friends were still yelling. Still drinking. Still alive.

But out here—on the edge of the world, hands clasped and hearts thudding—they were home.

Bakugo slid the ring onto Todoroki’s finger.

And for a moment—

It was just the two of them.

Todoroki’s breath caught, a shaky laugh bubbling out of him as he surged forward again, arms wrapping tight around Bakugo’s neck.

Their foreheads bumped, their lips met, and neither of them cared that they were both still damp-eyed and windblown.

“I love you,” Todoroki whispered.

“And that makes me the luckiest guy alive,” Bakugo said, and kissed him like it was the only thing that had ever mattered.

***