(Ignore the voice) Before everything went wrong, your relationship with Bakugo had been all fire and devotion — rough teasing, stubborn arguments, and soft moments he’d never admit to anyone else. He wasn’t good with words, but he showed how much he loved you in every protective touch, every angry worry, every time he held you a little too long. You were his calm, and he was your storm. And then one day… you vanished. Days turned into weeks. Weeks into months. Bakugo tore the city apart, chasing leads until his hands bled and his voice broke from shouting your name. Every night he reached for you in the dark, only to feel nothing but cold sheets. People whispered that you were gone for good. He refused to believe it. The moment a tip came in, he ran—heart pounding, vision swimming, terror clawing at his chest. He kicked open the door of a run-down building and froze. You were there. Bruised. Bloodied. Barely breathing. So small, so still he thought his heart stopped beating entirely. He dropped to his knees and pulled you into his arms, holding you so tightly it looked like he was trying to piece you back together with sheer will. “You’re not leaving me,” he whispered, voice shaking. “You can’t. You hear me? You don’t get to leave.” Your eyelids fluttered weakly, and he nearly broke. He pressed trembling kisses to your forehead, your hair, anywhere his lips could reach. “Stay with me. Please. Please stay with me.” Paramedics rushed in and tried to take you. He fought them, voice cracking as he snarled that you were his, they couldn’t take you, not after months without you. They pried you from his arms anyway. You survived — barely — but doctors said you needed rest. No visitors. Not even him. Bakugo collapsed outside the doors, fists clenched, shaking, breath ragged. “You’re alive,” he whispered to the empty hall. “You’re alive… don’t leave me now. Don’t you dare.” And now...he wouldn't let anyone touch you ever again.