Katsuki Bakugo

Katsuki Bakugo had spent two fucking years trying to put you behind bars.

Two.

Fucking.

Years.

Which might not have sounded particularly impressive until someone remembered one irritating little detail:

Katsuki Bakugo had only been a police officer for two years.

He'd joined the force at twenty.

Quirkless.

In a society where heroes could fly over buildings, punch through concrete, freeze entire streets, and track criminals using abilities Katsuki could only dream of having, he'd learned pretty damn quickly that nobody was going to hand him respect.

So he earned it.

Good scores at the academy. Better instincts in the field. Sharp eyes, sharper memory, and an almost concerning refusal to let something go once it pissed him off.

And then there was you.

You had become his biggest case almost immediately.

His greatest accomplishment.

His greatest humiliation.

His favorite problem.

Not that he'd ever fucking call you that.

For two years, heroes and police had been trying to catch you, and somehow, you always managed to slip through their fingers.

Especially his.

Katsuki had tried everything.

Surveillance.

Informants.

Ambushes.

Undercover operations.

Tracking your usual routes.

Tracking your unusual routes after realizing you knew he'd track your usual routes.

Studying the locations you targeted.

Studying the locations you didn't target.

Hell, at one point he'd spent three sleepless nights constructing what he was absolutely convinced was the perfect trap.

You walked straight into it.

Katsuki remembered the satisfaction he'd felt watching you enter the building.

Every exit covered.

Heroes outside.

Officers surrounding the perimeter.

No obvious escape route.

Checkmate.

Eleven minutes later, Katsuki was standing in an empty room staring at an open ventilation shaft.

There had been a note taped underneath it.

He still had the fucking note.

Not because it mattered to the investigation anymore.

Because every time he looked at it, he remembered how badly he'd wanted to strangle you.

His desk at the station gradually stopped looking like a desk.

It became you.

Photographs.

Maps.

Witness statements.

Dates.

Locations.

Strings connecting one incident to another.

Security footage screenshots.

Possible hideouts crossed out in thick red marker.

Possible motives.

Possible accomplices.

Possible identities.

Every mistake you had made.

Every mistake he had made.

Every time you disappeared seconds before he reached you.

There were photographs of you pinned everywhere, although almost none showed your face clearly.

A hood.

A mask.

The side of your head disappearing around a corner.

A blurry silhouette caught by a security camera.

Once, just the back of your fucking shoe.

Katsuki had stared at that picture for twenty minutes anyway.

His coworkers started making jokes about it.

"How's your girlfriend?"

"Any dates with your favorite villain tonight, Bakugo?"

"Careful, man. When you finally arrest them, you're gonna have nothing left to do."

The last one always earned the worst glare.

Because that was fucking stupid.

Obviously.

You were a criminal.

He was a cop.

His job was to catch you.

That was all this was.

And tonight...

He finally fucking did.

Katsuki drove through the city with one hand resting comfortably against the steering wheel.

There was a smug little curl at the corner of his mouth that hadn't disappeared for the last twenty minutes.

Red and blue light occasionally washed across the inside of the cruiser as traffic moved aside for him.

Behind the reinforced divider sat the biggest pain in his ass he'd encountered in his entire career.

You.

Handcuffed.

Caught.

Finished.

"Two years," Katsuki muttered.

His eyes remained on the road.

"Two fucking years."

His smirk grew.

He couldn't help himself.

"Not so damn clever now, huh?"

Silence from the back.

Katsuki didn't care.

Actually, maybe he preferred it.

He'd imagined this moment countless times.

He'd imagined tackling you onto concrete.

Cornering you on a rooftop.

Dragging you kicking and screaming into the back of his cruiser.

He'd imagined finally walking into the station and watching every asshole who'd laughed at his obsession realize that Officer Bakugo had fucking done it.

The case that had practically defined his career was finished.

His board could come down.

The reports could be filed.

Evidence processed.

Charges brought.

You'd go to prison.

Katsuki would move onto another case.

Another criminal.

Another chase.

Another...

His fingers shifted against the steering wheel.

...

Another what?

The smirk weakened.

For the first time that night, something unpleasant crawled into his thoughts.

Tomorrow morning, he wouldn't have to check whether you'd appeared anywhere overnight.

He wouldn't have another report waiting on his desk.

Wouldn't have another grainy security clip to dissect.

Wouldn't have to wonder what you were planning.

Wouldn't have to predict where you'd go next.

Wouldn't get another call saying you'd been spotted somewhere and feel that immediate rush of adrenaline hit his bloodstream.

He'd spent his entire career hunting one person.

Literally.

Twenty to twenty-two.

His whole damn career.

Katsuki's eyes narrowed at the road.

That was good.

Obviously.

This was the entire fucking point.

Police officers weren't supposed to miss chasing criminals.

What kind of idiot thought like that?

There would always be another villain.

Another case.

Another bastard who thought they could outsmart him.

And Katsuki would catch them too.

Simple.

Except...

Would they be as difficult?

His jaw tightened.

Would they make him think the way you did?

Would they learn his traps?

Would they recognize his patterns while he recognized theirs?

Would they piss him off so badly that he'd spend his entire night awake reconstructing a crime scene because there was no fucking way he'd let them beat him twice using the same trick?

Would they...

Katsuki clicked his tongue.

"Fuck's wrong with me..."

His eyes flicked toward the rearview mirror.

And froze.

You were looking directly at him.

Not the mask.

Not the hood.

Not another blurry photograph.

You.

Your mask had been removed during the arrest.

For the first time in two years, Katsuki could actually see the face belonging to the person who had occupied half his fucking brain since he was twenty.

And you were...

Smirking.

At him.

Katsuki's heartbeat stumbled.

Just once.

A tiny, stupid skip inside his chest.

His expression immediately darkened.

What the fuck was that?

Maybe it was the adrenaline.

Had to be.

He'd been chasing a faceless criminal for two years and suddenly the mystery had a face. Of course his brain was going to react.

That didn't mean shit.

Didn't change shit.

Didn't mean justice suddenly stopped mattering because apparently the bastard behind the mask had a face capable of making his heart do something fucking weird.

His eyes snapped back toward the road.

"Quit looking at me like that."

A beat of silence.

Katsuki looked into the mirror again.

You were still smirking.

His eyebrow twitched.

"I'm serious."

Still there.

That same infuriating expression.

For two years, Katsuki had wondered what your face looked like.

Now he was beginning to think the mask had been doing him a fucking favor.

He tightened his grip around the steering wheel.

"Enjoy the ride while you can," he muttered. "You're not slipping outta this one."

There.

That was better.

Cop.

Villain.

Justice.

Prison.

End of story.

Except the city lights kept passing across your uncovered face in the mirror.

And Katsuki kept noticing.

Every.

Fucking.

Time.

His radio crackled.

"Unit 17, confirm suspect is secured."

Katsuki grabbed it.

"Yeah. Suspect's secured."

"Copy. Proceed directly to the station."

"Already headed there."

He returned the radio.

His eyes flicked toward the mirror again.

Still watching him.

Still fucking smirking.

"...What?"

Katsuki finally snapped.

His voice was harsher than necessary.

"What the hell are you smiling about?"

Because something about that expression was beginning to bother him.

You had lost.

Two years of escaping him, and he'd finally won.

Your wrists were cuffed.

The doors couldn't be opened from the inside.

Your belongings had been confiscated.

Heroes already knew you were in custody.

There was nowhere left to run.

So why...

Why the fuck did you look like you were the one who knew something he didn't?

Katsuki stared at you through the rearview mirror.

And for the first time since snapping those handcuffs around your wrists...

The victorious feeling in his chest faded.

His eyes narrowed.

"...Don't tell me you've got another fucking plan."