Chapter Text
~~~
"Shoot him."
The room was cold and silent, cloaked in shadows that clung to the cracked walls. The only light came from a single bulb that swung gently from the ceiling, casting harsh, wavering beams over the grim scene below. It threw strange, shifting shadows across the man on the floor, his eyes wide and pleading, the gag in his mouth muffling his terrified sounds.
You stood there, small and trembling, barely able to hold the heavy gun steady. The weight of it felt unnatural in your tiny hands, as if the metal itself was rejecting you, trying to slip from your grasp. Tears welled up in your eyes, blurring your vision, and the weight in your chest was almost unbearable, pressing down with each shallow breath.
"Daddy, I don't want to." You whispered shakily as you tried to look away and shut your eyes.
But a firm, rough hand cupped your chin, turning your face back to the man bound on the ground. The gentleness in the hold was belied by the iron strength in your father’s grip.
"Don’t you want to avenge your bodyguard?" The deep voice behind you spoke, meaning to soothe you. “How would he feel knowing you didn’t care?”
His words coiled around you, and you shook your head slowly as tears passed down your chubbed cheeks. “I want to…”
Of course, you want to get revenge on the men who killed your bodyguard, also one of your father’s closest friends. A strict man who watched over you whenever your father was busy. He cooked for you, cleaned you, bought you cute clothes, followed you closely outside the house, and took care of bullies so intensely that it backfired because everyone was scared to be your friend. But now he’s dead. And it’s because of this man who tried to kidnap you.
You cringe when your father takes your hands in his, directing the gun in the direction of the man pleading for his life through only his eyes since his mouth was gagged. He steadies your movements and makes you match his breaths.
“Taking a life is easy. Just relax.” He murmurs. And you can feel it, the dark energy radiating from your father. Not directed at you, but the man who had a part in the death of his friend. “Just breathe.”
You follow his words and inhale slowly. Your father’s fingers pressed yours tighter around the weapon.
"Your mom would be so proud." He cooed.
A shiver ran down your spine, and somehow, his praise soothed the turmoil just enough. He’d told you about the evils of the world, how some people deserved this, how it was your role to learn the art of cleansing away the filth. Your heart pounded against your ribs, and with a deep, trembling breath, you tightened your fingers around the trigger.
A distant thought echoed in your mind in a blur: This is for him.
With a final, quaking breath, you closed your eyes, squeezed, and pulled the trigger.
~~~
Your eyes flutter open slowly, the weight of sleep clinging stubbornly to your limbs. A dull ache pulses in your head, and you groan softly, feeling the exhaustion settle deep into your bones. The room around you is dark and silent, the early morning light barely filtering through the curtains. Yet the darkness feels thicker, charged with the unsettling remnants of a dream that has haunted you for years.
‘That dream again, huh?’
You close your eyes briefly, willing the images to disappear, but the vivid memories, along with your father’s voice, linger.
You sit up in the king-sized bed, the blanket slipping off and exposing your naked upper body. The scent of sex lingers in the air, and you lean over to reach for the nightstand, picking up a pack of cigarettes and pinching one out. You put the bud in between your lips and savored the bitter taste of the paper before lighting it.
The gold lighter glinted in the stray rays of the sun through the curtains as you put it down. Smoke curled into your lungs, grounding you. A warmth passed through your chest, spreading as you exhaled slowly and looked out the window.
The moment was short-lived, though, as a hand came up and gently swiped the cigarette from your mouth. You allow the man beside you to take it without putting up a fight and look over to blow out what was left, an annoyed look passing your face.
“What did I say about smoking?” The dual-haired man’s voice was soft but firm, laced with a weariness that betrayed how many times he’d had to remind you. He reached across the small table between you, taking the cigarette from your fingers and snuffing it out in the ashtray with a practiced motion.
You let out a sigh, your shoulders slumping slightly. “It’s bad,” you replied.
The man’s lips twitched into the faintest hint of a frown as he looked at you, his heterochromatic eyes—one a mesmerizing cerulean, the other an intense, stormy gray fixed on you.
“Then why do you keep doing it?” His tone was gentle, a quiet imploring beneath the frustration. But whatever your answer, he knew he couldn’t stop you.
You huffed, looking away from him as you spoke. “You’re not my dad, Shoto,” you muttered, the words coming out sharp.
“Not what you were saying last night.” He teases. And if you didn’t know him so well, you would think he was insulting you with his monotone.
You scoff, and as the automatic blinds split open, you roll over to sit on his stomach.
“You're so bold these days.” You purr from above him. “Back in elementary school, you used to quietly follow me like a puppy. What happened?”
It was true. Back then, when there was still light in your eyes, you met Shoto. But those bright eyes of yours were long gone, replaced by a cool resilience that matched the life you now led.
You trail your hand down Shoto’s bare chest, feeling the ridges of muscle and the warmth of his skin. The softness he once held was replaced with strength, a strong body carved from relentless training and scars, both visible and hidden.
Once, he’d seemed almost delicate, an enigma you worried might shatter. But now, he was definitely a man.
He shows you this by bringing his hands to your hips and pushing you down until the tip of his hard dick is slipping against your core, splitting you back open ever so gently. “People grow up.” He says.
You hum and lean down to brush your lips against his.
“You smell like smoke.” He complains and turns his head.
You grab his face between your thumb and fingers and make him look at you. “You love it,” you whisper before capturing his lips with yours.
~~~
You adjust your blazer as you exit the bedroom, smoothing out any wrinkles to hide any evidence of this morning's rendezvous.
Although everyone in the home knew your and Shoto's relationship, you weren't together. He was more like…a pet. He was someone you kept on a short leash. But perhaps you didn't need to since he happily trailed along anyway.
Your reflection catches in the full-length mirror, giving you a chance to do a once-over.
Dressed in a tailored, red suit jacket with a fitted skirt that stops right above your knee, you embodied sophistication and intimidation.
You begin your day with men lining the walls and standing straight to attention as you walk through the estate. Shoto was your right-hand man and bodyguard. Someone you trusted with your life more than anyone, so he follows behind you in a sleek suit that fits him perfectly.
Well, you would hope–you had it personally tailored for him after all.
Your gaze was sharp as your steps echoed softly. The hallway of the traditional Japanese-style home stretched before you—portraits of your ancestors and other art lined the walls.
Your family, the Takami clan, was renowned in Japan’s underworld. They were feared for their ruthlessness and unbreakable loyalty. Your family held the power to command respect, control territory, and secure alliances that spanned generations.
Yet, that power had been abruptly cut down as your father’s death echoed in the bones of many in this line of work. Keigo Takami was someone who knew everyone. A friend to all. Or so he thought. It wasn’t a natural occurrence that took your father’s life, but instead, a murder.
Four years ago, after a deal, Keigo was involved in a hit and run. An accident? Or an intended hit? You, of course, think there was foul play involved, but it was way too early in the morning to start thinking about your conspiracies.
You were forced to take over as head of the clan six months ago. Even though you were young, they expected you to lead. To command. And to spill blood in his name.
The air inside the dimly lit chamber was thick with the scent of cigar smoke and aged whiskey as you walked in.
You sit at the long, polished table gleaming under the dim glow of an overhead chandelier, its golden light casting shadows on the faces of the men and women seated around it. At the head of the table, in the seat that once belonged to Keigo Takami, sat his daughter.
You.
You leaned back in your chair, one leg crossed over the other, the faint ember of her cigarette pulsing as you took a slow drag. Your fingers were steady, but your mind was calculating. Every person in this room was a player, a piece in a dangerous game where alliances were as fragile as the porcelain cups holding their tea.
“Let’s not waste time,” an older man grunted, setting his glass down with a sharp clink. He was Jeanist, head of the Nitta-gumi and one of her father’s longest-standing allies—or so he claimed. “You called this meeting, Takami. You’ve been sitting in that seat for six months now. Are you finally going to tell us how you plan to deal with Hawks’ death?”
You exhaled smoke, watching as it curled into the air like a spirit leaving the body. “I’ve already told you,” you said, voice smooth but firm. “My father’s killer is still out there. Until I find them, I won’t be making any drastic moves.”
“That’s not good enough,” another voice cut in—Kamui, a younger leader who had been itching to prove himself ever since Hawks’ death. “The other factions are watching. They think you’re weak. We need a show of force.”
A scoff from across the table. Momo Yaoyorozu, dressed in a sleek black suit, rested her chin on her hand. “A show of force will only invite more retaliation,” she mused. “Are you prepared to start a war over posturing?”
Aizawa, the only investigator in the room, leaned forward slightly. His presence here was precarious—an unspoken truce that could be broken at any moment. “If you move too soon, you might tip your hand. If you wait too long, the Council might decide they need someone else in that chair.” His words were a measured, cautious warning.
Standing silently at your right, Shoto tilted his head just slightly. His presence alone was enough to make a few men nervous. The most loyal dog, ready to bare his fangs at your command.
You flicked the ash from your cigarette into the tray, a small smirk playing on your lips. “Anyone in this room who thinks they can do a better job is welcome to try.”
A tense silence settled over the table.
Miriko, arms crossed, let out a short chuckle. “You’ve got guts, kid. Just like Hawks.” She shot a pointed look at the others. “But guts ain’t enough to keep this Council happy.”
You finally sat up, placing your cigarette down in the tray, your gaze sharp as a blade. “I don’t intend to keep anyone happy,” you say. “I intend to keep control. And if any of you have doubts, you’re welcome to test me.”
Silence.
Then Jeanist let out a low chuckle, shaking his head. “You really are Hawks’ daughter.”
One by one, the Council members nodded, some grudgingly, others with amusement. The meeting wasn’t over, and the war for power was far from settled. But for now, you had made her position clear.
“Alright, let’s talk about the elephant in the room—Shigaraki.”
Murmurs ripple through the gathered executives, a few of them exchanging uneasy glances.
“He’s a brat with no respect,” one of the older men grumbles, adjusting the rings on his thick fingers. “The Yakuza has always thrived on tradition, on structure. That bastard wants to tear it all down.”
“He’s not just some brat,” Miriok interjects, her sharp gaze cutting through the room. She’s leaned back in her chair, arms crossed, but her tone commands attention. “Shigaraki isn’t playing by our rules. He’s not just challenging the council—he’s trying to dismantle everything we stand for.”
“Exactly,” you say, tapping ash into the tray in front of you. “Shigaraki isn’t trying to lead the Yakuza. He wants to replace it with something worse. He doesn’t believe in hierarchy, in honor. He wants chaos. A criminal empire with no rules, just power grabs and destruction.”
A younger executive sneers. “And what are we supposed to do? Bow down to him?”
You exhale another slow stream of smoke, eyes darkening. “No. We remind him who really runs this city.”
Bakugou, sitting beside you, lets out a low scoff, flicking the ash from his cigarette. “Tch. He’s just another punk who thinks he’s untouchable. Someone oughta put him in his place.”
Another member leans forward, voice measured but wary. “Takami-san, do you have a strategy in mind?”
You smirk. “Of course. But first, I need to know where everyone stands.”
Silence falls over the room again as the council members exchange glances. Some are loyal to you, to your father’s legacy. Others? You can’t be sure. In this world, trust is currency, and right now, you’re still figuring out who’s worth the investment.
One of the older men finally speaks. “The council is divided. Some fear that going against Shigaraki will only bring more bloodshed.”
Miriko clicks her tongue, leaning forward. “Blood’s already been spilled. Hawks knew this was coming. He was trying to prepare us, but now it’s on us to finish the job.”
You nod, fingers tightening around your cigarette. “Then we prepare. We find out who’s with us and who’s against us. And when the time comes, we strike first.”
The room is silent for a moment before murmurs of agreement ripple through the ranks. You smile when it seems like everyone is on the same page. “Now, since that’s settled, I have business to attend to.”
Everyone stands and fills out of the room quickly.
You lean back in your chair, exhaling slowly as the door clicks shut behind the last departing elder.
"Finally," Bakugou grumbles, running a hand through his hair before pulling out his pack of smokes. He taps one free, holds it between his lips, and flicks his lighter to life. "You ask me, we're wasting too much damn time talkin' instead of movin'. Shigaraki ain't gonna wait for us to get our shit together."
"Agreed." Todoroki stands by the window, his sharp eyes trained on the cityscape below. "If Shigaraki truly wants to dismantle the old ways, we can't just sit here and defend. We need to hit him first."
You tap your fingers against the table, already weighing the possibilities. The council's decision to remain cautious irritates you, but their reluctance is understandable. Unlike them, you and your crew don’t have the luxury of waiting. You need an edge.
"We need information," you say finally. "Something solid on Shigaraki’s movements—his shipments, his safehouses. He’s operating too smoothly for someone supposedly going rogue. Someone’s backing him. We find out who, and we cut the head off the snake before it bites."
Izuku hums in thought, adjusting his glasses as he flips open his laptop. “Before that, Boss, I got some information on that Mineta guy you wanted.”
This piques your interest and you nod at him to continue. “He runs a club now, but it’s a front. Drugs, trafficking—he’s moving product under the table.”
Your expression darkens. “That idiot is still alive?”
"Yeah, and he’s gotten ambitious," Izuku replies. "More ambitious than he should be. He’s got records on every deal he’s made, every client he’s supplied. If we get our hands on that, we don’t just take him out—we take out half the business he’s dealing with."
You think a little, and Ochaco stands up and speaks her opinion. "Mineta has been loitering our territory recently. I’ve seen his men over here harassing women and such. Getting that information could close his business down for good.”
You glance at the brunette and play with the idea. Everyone in this room has some history with you. You value their opinion as much as they do yours—a lot.
Ochaco Ururaka is a charismatic talker who deals with connections and intel. Whether it’s flirting with men for information or buttering up to some old lady who knows everyone, her social network is far-reaching.
“Bakugou?”
“Don’t care. If I can beat someone's ass, I’m happy.” You chuckle at his response.
Bakugou Katsuki. Known for his brute strength and unmatched combat skills. You still remember the day you met. A washed-up boxer hopped up on drugs when you found him. He was like a rabid dog exuding a menacing presence.
He adjusts his gloves, ready for your order, and you ask the final person.
“Shoto?”
“Mineta, I believe he’s been known to find vulnerable women and get them to work at his strip club. Who knows how old they are.”
You see Ochaco dig her nails into her palm just a little, and it solidifies your decision. None of these missions appeal to you personally, so why not?
“Why not?” You echo out loud. “Let’s shut this idiot’s club down.” You lean back in your chair. “A four-man job is fine. We’ll all go as clubgoers and get this done quickly.”
Ochaco relaxes. “I'll prepare some tea.” She says, before slipping out of the room.
You nod and take a look at Midoriya’s findings to inspect the details further. This would be good for you. You've heard that many people have been bothered by this Mineta guy. Getting rid of him could mean gaining some potential allies who would owe you. “So we need to get into his office? For the documents?”
“I don’t think so.” Midoriya answers. “People keep everything digital these days. Get his phone, transfer the information, and we should be good.”
You look at the two other men in the room. “Well, we have a party to attend.” You bring your hands together and clap. Your face changes, a serious tone. “I want this done clean and quietly.”
“Yes, boss.” The three say in unison.
~~~
The next day passes, and night comes quickly.
The four of you are getting ready to infiltrate Mineta's club.
“Is this too short?” You ask aloud while looking in the mirror. The black dress you're wearing hugs your body and accentuates the waist. It’s high quality with a stretchy fabric that makes it comfortable to wear.
It's covered with delicate black sequins that shimmer with every movement. The deep V-line is edged with satin trim that gives it some elegance. But, the problem is, despite the elegant touch, it's countered by its length. If you were to bend over, your red underwear would be exposed. Hopefully, the club is dark.
“More like, is it short enough?” Ochaco spins and looks at the mirror from behind.
The red mini dress she adorned was made from a smooth satin material. It draped her body with a silky finish that accentuated her curves. It featured a sweetheart neckline with a slight plunge, adding a seductive edge.
Hers was about the same length as yours. If she dropped something, it might be gone forever. But Ochaco was bolder than you anyway. It wasn't that you were shy or unconfident; it was more about image and the fact that you had a reputation to uphold.
You turn to Shoto, smoothing down the fabric of your dress and adjusting the neckline. “How do I look?”
“Perfect,” he says flatly. The answer sounds blunt, but you know better. Behind those icy, unreadable eyes, there's a smoldering heat. He’s already calculating the quickest way to tear that dress off of you.
While you and Ochaco work on the finishing touches—adding just the right amount of shimmer to your eyes, fastening earrings, and securing every last strand of hair in place—Bakugou and Shoto stand nearby, dressed in low-key, casual outfits that won’t draw attention. There’s no need for them to go flashy tonight; that part is up to you and Ochaco. You’ll be handling the distractions while they move in the shadows, taking care of the mission’s riskier tasks.
Bakugou steps forward as you apply the last bit of lipstick, handing each of you a tiny earpiece. "The nerd said these would be useful,” he mutters, rolling his eyes at the mention of Midoriya’s advice. Despite the gruff exterior, he’s focused, his sharp eyes assessing every detail.
You tuck the earpiece in place, exchanging a determined nod with Ochaco. This night’s plan relies on perfect coordination. Your job is to charm, dazzle, and keep prying eyes off the others, while Bakugou and Shoto handle the rough work from the sidelines.
“Let’s get this done,” you say, glancing back at them. Shoto’s gaze lingers on you for a beat longer, a flash of something unreadable crossing his face. Bakugou simply smirks, the glint of adrenaline already showing in his eyes.
~~~
The club is loud. It's the first thing you notice. Booming music that rocks through your skin and the chatter of people either singing along or yelling because they can't hear each other.
The strobe lights pulse rhythmically, casting a chaotic dance of red and blue across the room, flooding everything with an otherworldly glow that shifts with each beat of the heavy bass.
On the second floor, your gaze catches on a row of cages suspended above the dance floor, each occupied by women dressed in barely-there outfits, moving with a hypnotic, practiced allure. They sway and spin to the music, their bodies contorting gracefully in time with the pounding rhythm. It’s mesmerizing, each dancer owning her cage like a stage built just for her. Ochaco had mentioned they were called “gogo girls.”
Speaking of, Ochaco seems to fit right in. She was the center of attention right away. Men were asking to buy her drinks left and right. But she only paid attention to the women around her, holding hands and dancing provocatively with each other.
She sure knew how to put on a show.
This scene was pretty new to you. You never had time to experience the nightlife. When you should have been enjoying your youth, you were instead orchestrating assassinations and handling drug trades after your dad died.
Shoto and Bakugou came thirty minutes early. They scoped out the place and told you where to be. Bakugou should be nearby if anything goes wrong with you and Ochaco. Shoto is upstairs, ideally situated behind the VIP area, where your eyes lock onto your target, Mineta.
He's easy to spot. For such a small guy, he has a lot of presence. Especially the beautiful women practically draped over him, pouring liquor down his throat and laughing as he tilts his head back, taking long, indulgent sips without a care in the world.
You turn to look at Ochaco, ready to tell her to move in, but she seems distracted. Her eyes were basically bulging as she stared at the VIP section. Was she looking at Mineta? No, not him, but the woman next to him.
An ashy blonde woman looked down from the second floor, sitting beside Mineta, staring right back at Ochaco. Her gaze was intense, piercing through the crowd. Ochaco’s usual bright and confident demeanor was nowhere to be seen. Instead, a flicker of unease crossed her face, her eyes widening for just a moment before she quickly looked away.
You narrow your eyes, studying Ochaco’s reaction. It wasn’t like her to look shaken like this, not even in the tensest moments of a mission. Who was this woman, and why did her presence unsettle Ochaco so much? A long-forgotten friend? An enemy? Since the day you’d met her, Ochaco had kept her past sealed tight, a mystery you’d never pushed to unravel. She was your ally, and that was enough for you. But now, watching her shoulders stiffen, and her fingers clench around the fabric of her dress, you can’t help but wonder just what kind of ghosts might be lurking in her past.
Still, there’s no time to question it. You shift your attention to Shoto, who’s positioned himself a few paces behind Mineta, blending in with the shadows at the edge of the room. He catches your eye and gives a quick nod, the silent signal to begin the distraction. Whatever personal demons Ochaco might be facing, the mission needs to come first.
You grab Ochaco by the wrist and turn her to face you. You grab her by the side of her neck and swipe your thumb over her cheek. She was shocked at first but then relaxed into your hand, understanding your move. You've started to garner the attention of those around you. Mainly men who were anticipating your next action.
Your eyes flicked to the VIP area, and your gaze zeroed in on Mineta. He was lounging, a smug look on his face, until he caught sight of you and Ochaco. His expression transformed instantly, eyes wide and practically drooling as he watched the two of you.
Perfect. Just the reaction you need.
You leaned closer to Ochaco, fingers brushing along the side of her face, feeling the subtle shiver as Ochaco got into character. Your lips curved into a wicked smile before leaning in, pressing your lips to Ochaco’s in a slow, enticing kiss.
The move had the intended effect. Every eye in the club seemed fixed on you two, and Mineta was all but hypnotized.
Out of the corner of your eye, you saw Shoto, who was using the distraction to slip Mineta’s phone from his pocket, tapping swiftly as he transferred the crucial information to a USB.
His jaw was set, and he looked steely and focused on his face as he finished the transfer in a matter of seconds. Job done.
You pulled away from Ochaco, giving her a slight nod. She glanced back to where she’d last seen Mineta, only to find the blonde girl from earlier. She had disappeared into the crowd. Your gut tightened. Was she onto you guys?
Before you could react, the air shifted, tension creeping through your senses. It wasn't long before you heard shouting and a fist hitting flesh.
Your gaze wandered to where Bakugou should be. A group of unfamiliar men loomed, glaring daggers at the blonde. You saw Bakugou stumble back, but it was the only hit one of them would get before Bakugou split the man's nose under his fist.
You could see his grin, dangerous and all too eager. The men barely had a chance to act before Bakugou launched himself into action, fists flying as he tore into them with brutal precision. The fight was fast and precise. Of course, leave it to a pro boxer.
“Time to go,” Shoto muttered into his receiver, pocketing his phone as he joined you and Ochaco. Bakugou heard it too in his ear and slipped out through the back not long after with a bruised fist and a satisfied smirk.
Outside, Midoriya waited in the driver’s seat of their getaway car, drumming his fingers on the wheel, green eyes sharp and alert. The engine was already running, purring low as you all piled in.
Ochaco giggled. “What a rush. It’s been so long since I’ve danced like that.” She turned to you. “How was it, Boss? Have fun?”
You smirked next to her, “It wasn’t too bad.”
Bakugou shot the greenette next to him a glare as he slammed the door shut. “Step on it, nerd.”
Midoriya smirked, tapping the accelerator just enough to make Bakugou grit his teeth. “Slow down, loser,” he scolded while holding onto the handle. The grenette laughed, hitting the gas and sending the car speeding off into the night.
~~~