The mission had started like any other: a recon sweep through an abandoned warehouse on the outskirts of Musutafu. Class 1-A had been split into pairs, each assigned a sector to clear. Y/N had barely registered the assignment before realizing who they'd been paired with.
Bakugo.
Of course.
He hadn't said much when they met at the entrance — just a grunt and a nod, his usual brand of acknowledgment. But his eyes lingered a little longer than usual, and Y/N felt the tension coil in her chest like a wire pulled too tight.
They moved through the corridors in silence, boots echoing against concrete, the air thick with dust and something else — something wrong.
Y/N felt it first.
A pulse.
Like a vibration in her bones.
Then the walls shimmered.
And everything went black.
—
When the light returned, they were no longer in the warehouse.
They were in a room.
Small. Windowless. Seamless.
No doors. No vents. No way out.
Bakugo cursed under his breath, fists already sparking. "What the hell is this?"
Y/N scanned the walls. "Illusion quirk? Dimensional trap?"
Bakugo slammed his palm against the wall. It didn't budge. "I'll blow us out."
"Wait—"
He fired.
The explosion rocked the room — but the walls absorbed it like water. No cracks. No damage. Just a faint shimmer, like the space itself was laughing.
Y/N stepped back, heart pounding. "It's reactive. It absorbs energy."
Bakugo growled. "Then what the hell gets us out?"
A voice echoed through the room — disembodied, mocking.
"Welcome to the pressure chamber. You want out? You'll have to give it what it wants."
Y/N stiffened. "Who's there?"
No answer.
Just silence.
Bakugo turned to Y/N, eyes narrowed. "What does that mean?"
Y/N's voice was quiet. "Some quirks feed on emotion. Energy. Intimacy."
Bakugo blinked. "You think this thing wants us to—"
"I don't know," Y/N said quickly. "But it's reacting to us. To our tension."
Bakugo stepped closer. "So what? We fight?"
Y/N shook their head. "We've already done that."
The room pulsed again — a low hum that made the air shimmer.
Bakugo's jaw clenched. "You think it wants us to—"
Y/N met his eyes. "I think it wants us to stop pretending."
Silence.
Bakugo didn't move.
Neither did Y/N.
The air between them thickened — not just with heat, but with everything they hadn't said. The dream. The glances. The way Bakugo had looked at them after training. The way Y/N had felt his touch in her sleep.
Bakugo stepped forward, slow and deliberate.
"You dream about me," he said, voice low.
Y/N nodded. "You dream about me."
He reached out, fingers brushing her jaw — just like in the dream.
Y/N leaned into it.
Their lips met.
It wasn't soft.
It was fierce — like everything they'd been holding back had finally broken loose. Bakugo kissed like he fought: with fire, with purpose, with need. Y/N responded in kind, hands gripping his shirt, pulling him closer.
The room pulsed again — brighter this time.
They didn't stop.
Bakugo's hands found their waist, their back, their hair. Y/N gasped as he pressed them against the wall, mouth trailing down their neck, breath hot against skin.
"You drive me insane," he murmured.
Y/N's fingers curled into his hair. "Good."
Clothes fell away in pieces, forgotten.
The room shimmered.
The world narrowed.
And then—
Darkness.
—
When the light returned, they were back in the warehouse.
The walls were cracked. The air was cold. The villain was gone.
Bakugo lay beside Y/N, chest rising and falling, eyes half-lidded.
Y/N sat up slowly, heart still racing.
He looked at them.
No words.
Just a look.
Raw. Real.
Y/N reached for his hand.
He didn't pull away.
Something had changed.
And neither of them wanted to undo it.