❝ 𝘳𝘦𝘯𝘦𝘨𝘢𝘥𝘦𝘴 . ❞ [ Katsuki Bakugo x reader ]

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𝙿𝚁𝙾𝙻𝙾𝙶𝚄𝙴,

𝚂𝙴𝙲𝙾𝙽𝙳-𝙿𝙴𝚁𝚂𝙾𝙽 𝙿𝙾𝙸𝙽𝚃 𝙾𝙵 𝚅𝙸𝙴𝚆...

"Why don't you tell me about that night?" 

You let a heavy sigh escape your lips while you leaned back further into the plush chair. 

"It was, uh... cold. Dark." You began to recall the night. Your eyes shifted across the room, desperate to land on anything besides the woman's eyes. The near-silent tick of the clock hanging on the porcelain wall almost made you anxious.

"I felt helpless," You admitted calmly. "I was dizzy, but I was nailed to the floor." Your hands rested on your knees. Your gaze briefly drifted across her clean desk, noticing how she folded her hands. Her stare was perspective, studying even the smallest details of your body language.

"I could," You let out another heavy breath, "I could hear him laughing at me. He uh... He said no one would come and save me." You paused. "And he was right. I was alone. I can't remember exactly what he did to me, but it hurt like hell. Don't know how I survived." The woman hummed in understanding. She let a moment of silence settle the words you had struggled to speak.

"Are you still having nightmares?" She wondered softly. Your jaw stiffened.

"No," You stated, looking her directly in the eye. The woman sighed, hanging her head. She then leaned back in her chair, casually looking in your direction.

"You have a better support system than most of my other patients," She explained to you with a certain fatigue. "There isn't a reason to lie."

"Can we change the subject?" You asked rather defensively.

"When was the last time you've spoken to your parents?"

"Pass."

"(Y/n)," She chastised you, like a mother scolding her child.

"Let's work our way up to that one," You told her, though you had no true intention of ever diving into that topic.

"We've been working for weeks," She reminded you. The woman took a moment to think of a less personal question. Unfortunately, her job was primarily made up of asking personal questions.

"The night you died, why did you decide to stay dead?"

"See, you just went in the opposite direction." You could tell the woman was getting somewhat irritated with your antics. She opened her mouth, but the chirping of a small alarm cut her off. Her watch was going off and simultaneously, so was yours.

"Looks like our time's up," She sighed, putting on a smile. "But you're making great progress, (Y/n). Keep it up at this rate and your rehabilitation will be over in no time."

"Yeah, maybe," You stood up and tucked your hands into your jacket's pockets. "See you next week, Dr. Goya." You wasted no time slipping out of her bland office. You shook the feeling of her presence off your shoulders. There was no relaxation with her, after all, she was a therapist so her job was to pick you apart.

Your rehabilitation will be over in no time. Her words echoed in your skull. When you had agreed to join UA High's new probation and rehabilitation program, you had underestimated just what it would entail. Of course, you expected supervision. But it felt as if you had no room to breathe, like if you exhaled incorrectly someone would die. You tried not to complain. You signed the papers.

"UA High's Outlaw Program in collaboration with the prefecture police department and chief prosecutor's office is a trial-basis probation program for vulnerable criminals. The program includes criminals convicted of both violent and non-violent offenses, who will be placed under the direct supervision of a UA faculty member for up to six months. 

This will include, but will not be limited to, daily check-ins, random home inspections, random drug testing, and location monitoring. This probation period will include limits on travel, consumption of alcohol and or tobacco, restrictions on weapons and quirk use (unless explicitly instructed by the designated probation officer), and mandatory weekly professional counseling until the end of the probation period." 

The phone in your back pocket buzzed rhythmically. You recognized that pattern as your ringtone. Speak of the devil, it was your designated UA probation officer. You answered the call, knowing you were contractually obligated to do so.

"Hey, Aizawa. What do you need?"

𝚃𝙾 𝙱𝙴 𝙲𝙾𝙽𝚃𝙸𝙽𝚄𝙴𝙳...