╰┈➤ 𝐊𝐍𝐎𝐖 𝐍𝐎 𝐄𝐕𝐈𝐋 ━━ ❝All these worries about villains and heroes... about quirks and the quirkless... when they should be worried about something far worse... me.❞
𝗜𝗡 𝗪𝗛𝗜𝗖𝗛- you, the once powerful and feared Control Devil, find your...
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━ ⭒─⭑━
The weight of Bakugo's cryptic messages hung heavy as you approached his house.
The quiet suburban street was bathed in the golden glow of the setting sun, casting long shadows that stretched like grasping fingers across the sidewalk.
Reaching the Bakugo residence, you took a deep breath, steeling yourself for whatever awaited you within. With a firm rhythm, you knocked on the front door.
A tense silence stretched on for a beat too long before the door creaked open a sliver, revealing a man who looked far from his usual composed self. Presumably Bakugo's father, a middle-aged man of average height and build, stood before you.
His short brown hair, similar in style to his son, was mussed and unkempt.
A short mustache adorned his upper lip, and rectangular glasses perched on his nose, their lenses reflecting the dying sunlight.
Surprise etched itself onto his face, quickly replaced by a flicker of warmth that ignited in his worried eyes. He stammered, his voice laced with a hint of apprehension, "Ah, hello...who might you be...?"
With a polite bow, you introduced yourself. "I'm Akuma ____, a classmate of Bakugo's," you said, your voice carrying a practiced friendliness. "Actually, I brought him some homework notes and wanted to check in since he missed our tutoring session today." The fabricated tutoring session rolled effortlessly off your tongue, a believable excuse you'd concocted on the walk over.
Thankfully, today fell on a Wednesday, a night Bakugo usually spent glued to the arcade games.
Bakugo's father's hesitant expression betrayed his initial surprise. His rumpled clothes and drawn face hinted at a deeper concern, one he seemed reluctant to voice. "Uh, yeah, about that..." he mumbled, trailing off.
You pressed on, your voice laced with genuine concern. "I'm very worried about Katsuki," you said softly. "It's not like him to miss a session, especially without letting me know."
The use of Bakugo's first name seemed to catch the man off guard. Another flicker of surprise crossed his face, followed by a hesitant smile. "Right, right," he chuckled nervously, a hint of relief washing over him. "You must be close to him if you use his first name. I'm Masaru, Katsuki's father."
The confirmation of your fabricated story hung in the air for a moment, but Masaru seemed to accept it at face value. The prospect of his son having a close friend, someone genuinely concerned about him, seemed to ease his initial apprehension.
With a sigh, he gestured for you to enter. "Well, come on in then, ____."
Stepping through the doorway, you were met with an unexpected darkness. The house, usually well-lit, was plunged into an inky blackness. Masaru fumbled for a light switch, muttering apologies under his breath. "Sorry, sorry about that," he mumbled, his voice strained. "We usually have dinner around now, but..." his explanation trailed off, laced with a heavy weight of unspoken worry.
