A/N: I really need to update this more consistently since I still have so many drabbles to upload before I'm caught up! Speaking of catching up I can't wait for the Bakugou vs. Uraraka fight in the anime! It's gonna be great, ugh, my poor heart isn't ready.

Summary: A collection of kacchako/bakuraka drabbles – Prompt 15: Break Me – "As she cries out and squirms in pain, she thinks she's actually going to die…He's actually going to kill her."

Disclaimer: I don't own Boku no Hero Academia, Horikoshi Kohei does.

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Prompt 15: Break Me

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"Uraraka-kun! Uraraka-kun, are you there?! Uraraka!"

With a gasp, Ochako's eyelids flutter open to reality; to a city on fire. Her shoulders tremble with dry coughs as thick smoke burns at her eyes and greedy flames lap at her skin. She groans and her body cries out in violent protest as she breathes, rolls onto her back, and tries to sort out her thoughts.

Where was she?

Why was she here?

The voice crackles again in her earpiece and Ochako sighs in relief when she realizes that it's Iida. "I-I'm here," she wheezes, propping herself on her elbows and looking around.

She is surrounded by the skeletal remains of a city in ruin. The city bleeds fire and exhales smoke from the scattered rubble, the fragments of upturned streets, mangled vehicles and what remained of the buildings. It is hell. It is unapologetic cruelty and wicked savagery.

And she can't remember how she got here.

"Uraraka…," Iida's voice is relieved and then urgent again. "Uraraka-kun! The civilians have been safely evacuated," – if they had been evacuated then why was there so much blood on the streets, on her? – "so please, fall back! We've been given orders to—!"

And then she remembers. Ochako remembers red; the crimson of their blood painting the streets and the deep velvet emptiness in his eyes. She remembered now that she had fought him. She had tried to stop him. She had tried to save him…

"I can't do that Iida-kun," she staggers onto one foot and then the other before she straightens her back and looks warily at the plume of smoke billowing in front of her, "you know I can't."

A pause and then Iida speaks; his voice soft and pained. "Uraraka…it's already too late…"

Ochako freezes at the clunking sound of approaching footsteps before clenching her fists resolutely and stepping back into a fighting stance.

"He burnt down half the city," Iida continues, "the police have already branded him a threat – a villain."

A hazy silhouette ripples in the distance before the figure emerges; parting the smoke with his grand entrance.

"This Bakugou is no longer the Bakugou we know…"

She swallows hard as Bakugou appears before her. But Iida was wrong, this was not Bakugou, this was not her husband. He looked like him, he walked like him, but she knew it wasn't him. She had stared into his eyes enough to know that this hollow gaze was one of a stranger. This Bakugou was a cheap imitation of the real one, a mere phantom of her husband, and the real Bakugou was trapped in this ghost.

Ochako swallows back a sob and tries to still the quiver in her fists. "Give him back," she tries her best to appear strong, to steady the tremble in her voice and blink away the hot tears in her eyes. This Bakugou stops and looks at her as if she is a stranger. Her fragile heart shatters at the unfamiliarity in his gaze as he scrutinizes her. She nearly gags as his hollow red gaze inspects her, dissects her.

"Just…give him back," her voice breaks and her cheeks crimson from the effort of holding back tears.

This gets a response from him. He takes one clunking step towards her and Ochako stiffens, fists held up to her face as she prepares to fight. She had lost the first round but this time all she had to do was tap him once and then they would be able to capture him. Just one tap and they would capture him and figure what was controlling him and then…

"You're distracted."

Ochako doesn't have time to gasp as 'Bakugou' surges at her and torpedoes a flaming punch into her gut. There's the rush of wind – (it hurts) – the burn of scalding tears in her eyes – (it hurts) – and the deafening crack of splintering bone (it hurts). Suddenly, the ground is the sky, and the sky is the ground, and she feels the rush of the earth spinning around her as his punch sends her soaring into the air. She can't breathe, she can't speak, she can't see and all she tastes is the blood swirling in her mouth and the acid of vomit burning in the back of her throat. There's only pain as gravity mercilessly slams her back down to earth and, as she cries out and squirms in pain, she thinks she's actually going to die…

He's actually going to kill her.

Ochako tries to shuffle away as he stalks toward her but she can't escape. He bends down, picks her up by her collar and surveys his prize as he lifts her high up into the air. She thinks that this is her chance; she just needs to touch him once but her broken arms do not comply as they hang limply at her side.

She's dying and he seems to stop as he realizes this. There is a gleam of painful recognition in his eyes, a sudden quiver in his hands as his mouth gapes.

"Ocha…ko…?"

Fresh tears dribble down her cheeks as his consciousness swims to the surface. "I…was right," Ochako croaks, a trembling smile stretching across her cracked, bleeding lips. She summons the last of her strength and lifts a shaky hand toward his face, "Katsuki…"

In his eyes she sees broken refractions of the man she loves still struggling and still fighting – just as he would – before his expression crumples with anguish and he unleashes a strained, tortured yell. His watery eyes look at her – at what he had done to her – in wet horror and lucidity but his body is not his own as he slowly pulls back his shaking fist. He is a puppet on a string, a marionette dancing to the whims of a twisted, cruel quirk of some kind and he can only watch in muted agony as his fist crackles and pops with fiery killing intent.

A tear ghosts down the slope of his cheek.

"I knew…that wasn't you," Ochako whispers.

With a tormented roar, he unleashes and like a meteor his punch streaks and fizzes red and yellow as his fist hurtles toward her. Her fingertips settle softly on his tear-stained cheek and she smiles.

"…Please don't cry…"

It breaks my heart.

She tastes the ashes and embers of dying stars – a farewell kiss of fire and gas – before she slips into darkness.