Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Part One
The Billboard of Awakening

Katsuki’s manager jumped on him before he could get a foot through Endeavor Agency’s front doors.

It was 7.30am on a Monday morning. He hadn’t technically clocked on yet, but there she was, waiting for him like a bloodhound with a wedge of papers tucked under her arm and an expression that could stop a train. She had two takeout coffees balanced in a holder under her other arm, which almost placated his annoyance.

Almost.

He plucked one out of the holder as he walked by, not bothering to greet her.

“Bakugou-san,” she began, not bothering to greet him properly either, “your list of talents is truly astonishing and leaves me in a state of constant awe, but every day I ask why the gods made your number one endowment being a total, uncensored asshole.”

“It is a gift,” he allowed after taking a hefty swig of coffee. He’d been on patrol until 2am and was pretty much running on fumes; he was not in the mood to be lectured again today.

Anya was an astute manager – apparently the agency hired her specifically to handle Katsuki’s affairs because everyone else kept quitting - and was all business – pristine pinstripe suits and Louboutin heels – and was entirely unafraid to dress him down when needed. She reminded him a lot of his mother. Which wasn’t a good thing.

“I’m serious,” she went on, trailing after him as he stalked towards Endeavor Agency skyscraper. “Namiko on the PR team nearly quit after you called the minister of defense – and I quote – ‘a brainless shit flinging monkey’ on national television.”

“And I’d do it again.”

“Bakugou-san, you can’t say that kind of stuff on live TV about government officials! Do we need to discuss the meaning of ‘damage control’ again?”

“Miruko thought it was funny.”

“If Miruko-san is setting the bar for your conduct then we have a big problem. Seriously. You need to grow a filter between your pea-sized brain and mouth before the agency drops you.”

“Being an asshole is my brand.”

“Gods protect us from your insufferable ego.” She opened the door to the agency building for him while pulling up a calendar on her phone. “Anyway, you’re rammed today. Three meetings and a ten-hour patrol shift that starts at four. Oh, and the photoshoot for your sports apparel is happening this morning. We’re still on target to launch next Monday. The designs are great by the way, your parents did an incredible job. Have you seen them?”

“My parents?”

“No, the samples.”

“I fucking approved them, dumbass.”

“Right. Anyway, the creative director signed up one of your old friends to model, which is a great marketing strategy because people love a collab between heroes.”

Katsuki blinked out of his semi-stupor as they stepped into a glass elevator that climbed the side of the skyscraper. “Wait, what friend?”

“What friend, indeed.” She rammed the button on the panel and the doors slid closed. “Your list of friends is so short I’m sure you can guess.”

“Ha ha, very funny. Please do not tell me it’s Pinky ‘cause I will not hear the end of it from -”

“Uravity.”

Katsuki nearly spat out his coffee. “Round Face!?”

“Who?”

“You got fucking Round Face to model my merch and you didn’t think to fucking ask me first?”

“Bakugou-san, did you just call Uravity, one of the best and most loved heroes in the country, ‘Round Face?’”

“For fuck’s sake. Of all the people you could’ve picked.”

“What’s wrong with her?”

“She ain’t exactly…” He fished around for the word. “On brand.”

 “Well, that’s kind of the point. Your image suffers because you’re…”

Katsuki glared sideways at her.

 “…A tough guy,” she finished generously. “So we thought it’d be good to hire someone like Uravity to offer a different perspective to the brand. A wider appeal. Expand the target audience. She’s super nice and bubbly and cute and – “

“She’s not cute.”

“- all the things you’re not. Also, yes she is. Her legion of rabid fanboys would wholeheartedly and violently disagree with you.”

Katsuki scoffed.

“Anyway, the link between you two isn’t completely out of the blue considering you graduated together and caused a storm during the Sport's Festivals. People still talk about those fights even though it’s been, like, ten years.”

“Yeah, and I haven’t properly spoken to her in ten years either.”

“So? The press don’t know that. And I thought you see her at those yearly graduate get togethers?”

“Doesn’t mean I talk to her.”

She rolled her eyes as the elevator dinged and opened to their office floor. “Gods, you’re hopeless. She implicitly stated she’s doing this because it’s you, by the way. Otherwise she would’ve said no.”

“Hmph.”

“You should be pleased! We’ve managed to snag one of the most sought-after heroes in the advertising industry. The collab she did with Canmake last summer tripled their sales within a week of her billboard launching in Ginza.” She reached over and pinched his cheek between her manicured nails. “Think of the money, GZ. The monnneeeyyy.”

He batted her away as they walked between rows of terminals occupied by lower ranking heroes. The general office hubbub of ringing phones, clopping heels and morning small talk grated on his nerves. They slipped into his private office at the back, with its chic glass walls and tall windows that overlooked central Tokyo.

“It would’ve been nice if you’d fucking asked before hiring another hero into my campaign,” he said.

“You said you didn’t care who they were so long as they – and again I quote – ‘looked badass.’” She leered at him as he collapsed into the chair behind his desk. “Am I gonna have to tell Uravity that you don’t think she’s badass enough to model for us?”

“You know what? I don’t fucking care. But if the launch bombs, I’m placing 100% of the blame on you.”

“It won’t bomb!”

“Great, now get outta my office. I have a shit ton of paperwork to do before my shift later.”

“Tch, fine. Don’t forget you’ve got a meeting at 11, a press conference at 1, and another meeting with the head of PR at 2, probably to address your public conduct. Again.” She smiled sweetly. “I’ll have someone bring you lunch and a snack.”

“Thanks, mom.”

“I wish I was your mom,” she replied, “then maybe I’d be allowed to kick some sense into you.”

She dodged the explosion he shot her way before slipping out the door, and finally he was left alone in his office.

Before he’d broken Top 20, his desk had been in the open plan office which he’d shared with the agency’s other heroes and the general admin staff. He didn’t mind sharing resources, but he hadn’t really clicked with the other heroes.

He knew he wasn’t an easy person to get along with. He was abrasive and curt and hated office small talk and people prying into his personal business. The other heroes respected and admired him, but hadn’t particularly liked him, so when he’d been given a private office he was quietly relieved to be able to work alone, in peace, without hearing workplace bitching and commentaries on the fucking weather.

And he’d be lying if he said he didn’t use it as an opportunity to nap under the desk from time to time. His only reservation about being a hero was the lack of sleep and unsociable hours; he literally didn’t have a social life, aside from his weekly night out with the ‘bakusquad’.

It was no wonder so few heroes had families. He’d never even had a girlfriend, and he was twenty-eight-fucking-years old. Just a list of nameless one-night stands that his agency berated him about in the name of his precious ‘reputation’. It wasn’t his fault the paps liked to snap his flings as they left his apartment at unholy hours of the morning.

Fucking stalkers.

Katsuki focused his thoughts as he turned on his terminal. He had a two day backlog of reports to write that ranged from him begrudgingly retrieving a ball that was stuck up a tree for a five year old, to apprehending a self-proclaimed nationalist who had tried to detonate a bomb on Migoya Bridge after beating a hostage to death.

Being a hero was weird. He loved it most days  - loved the adrenalin and the attention and money – but it was physically, emotionally and mentally draining. The agency forced him to go to therapy (everyone else only had to go once a fortnight but he had to go twice a week because he had ‘anger issues’) but that didn’t cover his feelings about how lonely it was being a hero.

He was admired, loved, scorned, idolized. His name had been in the spotlights since he was fifteen. But the closer he edged to the Top Ten the more he realized how isolating it was being on a pedestal. How he had to water down his identity to meet public expectation (even though his publicists insisted he was doing a shit-poor job at that) and how he still went back to an empty apartment after his long shifts.

So sometimes – just sometimes – when the cameras were flashing in his face and everyone was thanking him for his service on the back of a hefty paycheck – he wondered what it was all for. After he became Number One, what then?

Had All Might felt this way? Or had it been enough to know that he was a savior to millions?

An hour later, a tapping on the glass walls of his office pulled him from the hell of never-ending reports, and he looked up to find Round Face waving at him from the other side of the door. Her smile was blindingly bright and genuine – he knew because he could see the dimples in her pink cheeks. She never had dimples in her campaign photos, nor when she addressed the public; her rare, genuine smiles were reserved only for her friends.

He gave her the finger.

Behind her, her management team looked horrified. Behind them, the office workers – who had gathered to catch a glimpse of the famous Uravity – collectively withered.

She puffed out her cheeks, eyebrows settling into a half-hearted scowl, then let herself into his office and closed the door behind her.

“Nice to you see you, too,” she said. “I can’t believe I came all this way for your photoshoot and you didn’t even turn up!”

“Wasn’t on my schedule.”

“Gosh, you couldn’t even spare five minutes to say hello?”

“Hello,” he deadpanned.

She stood beside him and cocked her hip against his desk, briefly drawing his attention to her thick thighs barely concealed under a pair of yoga pants. Her hair was longer than he remembered, falling in soft waves to her shoulders, and she was swamped in a pink, fuzzy sweater that made her cheeks look even rounder, if that was possible.

“You look like a fucking marshmallow,” he commented.

She glanced at her sweater, then pouted. “My stylist says it makes me look cute.”

“I’m sure it makes the villains quake in their boots.”

“Oh, you know I make ‘em quake,” she remarked with a mischievous smirk that he really liked.

Not in a weird way. He just wasn’t interested in the cutesy persona she put on for the public when he knew she was an absolute powerhouse on the battlefield.

To be fair, though, being underestimated had likely secured her the win on many occasions. Hence why he'd never been stupid enough to do it.

 “Your sports apparel is super cool!” she said. “And comfy. They gave me the samples to take home and I’m gonna wear ‘em to the gym just to piss off my agency. They said it could have a ‘negative impact’ on my reputation.” She rolled her eyes.

“Good for you,” he said.

She walked over to the window and threw it open, letting in the noise and stink of the city. “You didn’t turn up to the drinks Deku arranged last week.”

Katsuki leaned back on his chair and twirled a pen between his fingers. “Why the fuck would I wanna hang out with you nerds?”

“He misses you.”

“Shut the fuck up.”

“It’s true! Don’t tell him I told you; he’d kill me.”

“I don’t give a shit about your lover’s quarrel.”

She looked over her shoulder and frowned. “You know we haven’t dated since school, right? Deku is literally engaged to Shouto-kun.”

“I’m sorry if I have better things to do with my time than keep up with your boring lives.”

Uraraka’s assistant poked his head into Katsuki’s office with a nervous look. “Uraraka-san, you have to be at the department of health in fifteen minutes. You’re going to be late!”

Round Face flapped a hand in his general direction. “Sure, sure. I’ll meet you there.”

“But –“

“Get the fuck out of my office,” Katsuki snapped at the extra, explosions crackling above his palms, and the assistant disappeared with a frightened squeak.

“And that’s why nobody wants to work with you,” Uraraka commented, although she wore a smirk like she secretly found it funny. “Anyway, I hope you like how the photos turned out.”

“I damn well better. I didn’t approve you as a model, y’know. The higher-ups decided for me.”

“Would you have said no?” she asked curiously.

His gaze dropped to his desk. “…Dunno.”

She was grinning when he looked up again, so he rearranged his expression into a scowl. “Are you done? I’ve got shit to do. I don’t have time for a fucking social.”

She sighed theatrically, then climbed onto his window ledge. “Okay, okay, I’ll take the hint. Don’t be a stranger, okay? It’s nice seeing you.”

And then she jumped out the window of the 200-storey skyscraper.

Katsuki dragged himself out of his chair to watch her activate her quirk then propel herself off the side of the building then onto another, back and forth like a Ping-Pong ball, until she disappeared around a corner.

When he turned back, he caught all the office workers pressed against the windows to watch her leave. Her management team looked like they were having a collective heart attack. He grinned.

Show off.

He spent his weekend working solidly; a grueling ten-hour shift on Saturday night that turned into twelve hours because the police couldn’t deescalate a fight in the holding cells between inmates that Katsuki had caught. He snatched a whole four hours sleep Sunday morning before working more overtime to get reports done – albeit from the comfort of his couch on the company MacBook – before heading straight into another ten hour shift in Kabukicho, of all the fucking places.

He’d almost forgotten about the launch of his gym line until Anya jumped on him first thing Monday morning before he’d stepped foot inside the building. Again.

“Espresso,” she said as a way of mollifying his temper because she knew damn well he needed a coffee before he dealt with work shit. “Aaaand a celebratory bagel!”

“What’s the celebration for?” he asked after downing the espresso and biting a chunk out of the bagel. At least she knew he liked cream cheese and chorizo filling.

“Bakugou-san, how are you so out of touch? It’s launch day, remember?”

“Oh shit. Yeah.”

“’Oh shit yeah’!? That’s all you have to say? After months of planning and designing and creating and pouring your blood, tears and explody sweat into the project?”

It was actually his dad’s idea, but Katsuki had admittedly been excited about owning his own line, even if he didn’t have much to do with its production. He just turned up to meetings, said what he wanted, offered insights, made sure everyone got a fair wage, then let the production team sweat the small stuff.

“Has it launched already?” he asked as they rode the elevator up to his office.

“Yes, you dummy! 6am this morning. The marketing team were dropping teaser photos all weekend and one of them went viral.”

A flicker of excitement dampened his morning crankiness. He wiped bagel crumbs on the back of his jeans and peered sideways at her. “Oh yeah?”

“Yeah! Like, nationwide sensation viral. You seriously don’t go on twitter?”

“You banned me from managing my social media accounts,” Katsuki reminded her.

Anya’s look was unrepentant. “Bakugou-san, you left a comment on Deku’s public profile calling him ‘a waste of human tissue.’”

“And I’d do it again.”

“I know you would! Hence why you’re not allowed on social media. Anyway! Ground Zero Apparel is the number one trending hashtag in Japan right now!”

That surprised him. He was a household name, sure, and the designs were damn good, but he wasn’t even Top Ten. His normal merch was designed and distributed by an external company; he had little to do with it aside from receiving royalties once a month. It did well but never made a big splash in a world over-saturated with hero merch.

“Aren’t you pleased?” Anya said, eyeing his dubious expression.

“Sure,” he said slowly. “What made it go viral?”

“My hard work,” she replied snippily, although the grin on her face suggested there was something she wasn’t telling him. “You’re gonna get one of hell of a paycheck, ya know. It’s flying off the shelves. We’ve already placed another order for two thousand units. It’s insane! This has gotta push you into the Top Ten.”

He felt another buzz of excitement at that thought.

As they walked through the office, the lower ranking heroes congratulated him on a successful merch launch, applauding and fist pumping. He even started to feel proud, despite knowing he was going to have to deal with a shit ton of PR work off the back of this success.

They walked into his office while Anya listed off his daily tasks. He zoned her out like he usually did – knowing it was all logged on his terminal’s calendar anyway – until she said, “Oh, and Uravity-san has rearranged her schedule so she can make the meeting tomorrow about the apparel.”

Katsuki blinked. “What? Why?”

“Well, she kinda needs to be there.”

“Why?”

Anya lowered her phone incredulously. “Oh, come on. You didn’t think it was just your name that made it go viral? We weren’t expecting this level of success, so our agencies have agreed to collab for the time being to pull in more money. Ride the waves, so to speak. Your parents are coming in, too.”

“WHAT!?”

“To discuss expanding the line!”

“That’s creative shit – they don’t need to be there for a fucking debrief!”

“Like I said, we’ve gotta crank it up a gear if we’re gonna ride the momentum, and your parents have a ton of ideas. Your mom’s been all over social media this morning bragging about you.”

Katsuki visibly recoiled. “For fuck’s sake, why don’t you people ask me before inviting these assholes into my workplace! I swear to god if Deku turns up at my 1 o’clock I will kick him out the fucking window.”

“Ooh, do you think he’d endorse your brand too? Maybe I should ask.”

“I will literally crush your skull.”

“Now, honey, save the sweet talk for the bedroom.” She tucked her phone into her pocket and sauntered out the door, calling over her shoulder, “Try to look at social media when you get a chance!”

Katsuki rubbed his eyes with the back of his hands, then wiped excess nitroglycerin onto his jeans. He was sweating from a mixture of stress, excitement and his usual frustration. Sometimes he felt like his whole life was a series of events controlled by corporate bigwigs that thought they knew better than him.

Whatever. At least he was breaking bank.

Half an hour later, he was on his tenth report when his phone rang. He glanced at the screen and was surprised to see Eijirou’s number. Shitty-hair never rang him during the day.

He accepted the call. “What?”

“Dude. Dude. Bro. Like… dude. Dude.”

“Are you having a stroke?”

“No, man, I’m just like…. losing my mind!”

“You know I’m at work, right?”

“So am I! On patrol through Shibuya, actually. Have you been yet?”

“Why the fuck would I go to that cesspit of tourists?”

“Um, because your campaign is on the central billboard over the crosswalk!”

Katsuki blinked. “Really?”

“You didn’t know?”

“Nobody fucking tells me anything.” He paused. “Does it look good?”

“Um, YES. Are you kidding? You seriously haven’t seen the photos on twitter?”

“No.”

“Bro, literally, get your ass down here now. You are gonna lose. Your. Mind.”

“Can’t you just send me a photo? I have a billion fucking reports to write.”

“Naw, man, you gotta see it for yourself. It’s… uh… something else.”

“You’re an annoying piece of shit, you know that?”

“You’ll thank me later.”

“Doubt it,” Katsuki said, then hung up.

The half-finished report seemed to glare at him from the screen, the flashing cursor as antagonizing as any villain he’d faced, and he nearly considered jumping out the window, Uravity-style.

God, it was going to be a long day.

It was dark outside by the time he clocked out of the office, and he thanked all the gods nobody asked him to work overtime. He didn’t mind picking up extra patrol shifts – being seen by the public helped his ranking – but he really needed more than five hours sleep. As sad as it was, he was excited to be in bed before 10pm. How anyone was able to go drinking after work was beyond him, and he didn’t give a fuck if Pikachu called him an old man; he’d pick sleeping over vomiting his guts into the gutter any day of the week.

He decided to treat himself to takeout ramen on his way home and was leaning against the bar waiting for his order when his phone pinged with a message.

More than one, actually. He’d been inundated with congratulatory messages regarding his gear launch but hadn’t had the chance to reply. Even fucking Deku had messaged him. How that twerp kept getting his number was a mystery, but Anya threatened to cut off his balls if he blocked him, so he all he could do was keep deleting the messages.

One message caught his eye from an unknown number, and he opened it with a frown.

‘Congrats on the launch! Was kinda embarrassed about being on the front page of twitter this morning but I hope it made ya money.’

‘Who’s this?’ he messaged back.

It only took a few minutes before he got a reply.

‘Uraraka! Kirishima gave me your number. Hope ya don’t mind. Can’t be bothered to go through our agents every time we need to talk.’

He saved her into his phone as Round Face. ‘What do we need to talk about?’

‘The collab, duh’

‘It was a one-off thing.’

‘Really? My agent said it’s an ongoing contract now’.

Surprise, surprise; he was the last to hear about it.

The ramen chef broke his train of thought by calling out his order number. He grabbed the plastic bag then stepped out onto the busy streets. When he looked at his phone again, Uraraka had messaged.

‘Don’t you like the photos?’

‘Haven’t seen em’

‘R u srs? Not evn the 1 in Shibuya?’

Oh right. Shitty-hair had told him about that earlier. ‘No. Stop messaging me.’

It was a few minutes before his phone pinged again.

‘If you don’t like em then plz tell me,’ she messaged, ‘cuz I don’t want to represent your brand if u don't like how they look.’

He frowned as he weaved through the heaving crowds. ‘I told you I haven’t seen them yet. I’ll look at the one in Shibuya now, alright?’

‘k’

He grunted as he tucked his phone into his pocket, then took a sharp right down an alleyway toward Shibuya.

The crowds thickened as he drew closer to one of Tokyo’s famous hotspots, the shifting masses bathed in neon lights flashing in the dark. It was boisterous for a Monday night; the overpriced bars were already crammed and the mishmash of different languages from passing tourists muddled his senses.

He rounded a corner and the narrow streets widened into the madness that was Shibuya Crossing. The black-and-white striped intersection was riddled with tourists taking photos and dodging traffic that hurtled between the greenlights, overlooked by a garish display of countless neon advertisements.

Katsuki didn’t like crowds. Never had done. He hid it well, naturally, but not even therapy could completely eradicate his PTSD from being kidnapped as a kid. Not to mention that his quirk wasn’t ideal in large crowds of people. Of course he had impeccable control over it, but it still made him nervous from time to time.

He waited at the intersection for the walk sign to turn green, then was swept away in a crowd as fifty-odd people crossed at the same time, many of them hurriedly taking photos and setting up tripods before the lights turned red again.

Fucking tourists.

He was so busy glaring at passersby that he almost forgot to look up, and when he did, his feet stalled in the middle of the crossing like the tarmac had turned to glue.

The billboard was the largest in the square; it was at least thirty-foot-tall, spanning the entire top half of Shibuya’s main shopping mall. He dreaded to think how much his agency must have paid to secure it. The surrounding ads couldn’t hope to compete for attention, even though his campaign was dark and broody, splashed in flashes of orange and green.

But he barely noticed the subtleties of the campaign. His eyes were helplessly drawn to the feature model, the only one on the billboard.

Uraraka.

He almost didn’t recognize her. She looked so… different. Not like herself at all. But also very much like herself – like the girl he remembered from the Sport’s Festivals, powerful and in control and… and…

Smoldering. That was the only word he could think of.

There was nothing cutesy about her now. She was shot head to mid-thighs, dressed completely in his black and orange gym gear, his hero name branded on the straps that pressed indents into her ample hips and chest. Her hair was swept into a bun and she was sweating like she was mid workout. The cropped top revealed her abs and toned arms, and she was pulling on a pair of green and orange gloves – his gloves, he realized, and for some reason that made a thrill of electricity shoot down his spine.

But it was her expression that really pinned him. She wore the barest of smirks, her head tilted up, peering down at him like a challenge. Like it was just him and her and no one else. Like she could kick his ass from here to Taiwan and wouldn’t bat an eye about it.

His brain conjured the word before he could stop it.

Hot. She looked smoking fucking hot. Was she always this hot? Because holy christ how had he not noticed before?

A car beeped to his right, startling him out of his open-mouthed trance, and he realized he was standing alone in the middle of the empty crossing when the lights were green.

He flipped the driver the bird, then stalked to the safety of the sidewalk as the traffic roared by. Only then he noticed clusters of people taking photos of Uraraka’s – no, his  - ad, and now he knew exactly which photo had gone viral and why.

This was a different side to Uravity, and he was completely unsurprised that it was driving Japan wild.

And him, apparently.

‘You coming to the meeting tomorrow?’

‘O hey! Thought you’d forgotten about me. Isn’t it past ur bedtime?’

‘Stfu’

‘Did u see the ad in Shibuya?’

‘Yeah’

‘And???’

‘You looked ok’

‘ok???’

‘Above average’

‘Wow high praise from GZ, I’ll add that to my resume. So u wanna keep workin together?’

‘I guess’

‘Great! I’m doubling my rates btw’

‘Take it up with accounting’

‘Hehe. Will I get to see u at the next photoshoot?’

‘You’ll need to request an appearance in advance. I charge by the hour.’

‘Alright, hotshot. Consider this an official request, then’

‘I’ll forward your request to my PA’

‘Omg ur annoying’

‘I’ll add that to my resume’

‘Go to sleep, old man’

‘Fuck you’

‘Fuck u right back <3’

Katsuki shoved his phone onto his bedside table and tried very, very hard not to think about Uraraka’s billboard as he drifted off to sleep.

Chapter Text

Part Two
Clashing Colors

The hype around Ground Zero Apparel’s launch continued to grow overnight, and by the time Katsuki woke up his phone was flooded with notifications. Racoon-eyes had sent him approximately one billion screenshots of twitter responses about Uraraka’s billboard that ranged from supportive to amazed to grotesque.

Why were people on the internet so fucking horny?

That said, his gaze lingered longer than it should have on her photo – one of many Racoon-eyes had sent him - particularly on the beads of sweat clinging to her thick thighs. Which was dumb because he’d seen her sweat a million times. They’d sparred routinely in school and regularly crossed paths while on duty. And her skin-tight body suit left basically nothing to the imagination – something he’d quickly gotten used to in school.

So why was this photo hitting different?

He had to give the visual marketing department credit; roughing up her sickly-sweet, squeaky-clean image had certainly caused a stir. Which meant more money for him.

His phone pinged with a message from Anya despite it being 6.30am. The lunatic knew when he woke up and was never afraid to hassle him despite knowing he was still in bed.

‘Dress smart for the meeting today. That means NO JEANS. Don’t embarrass me.’

Katsuki wondered what ill deed he’d committed in his past life for the gods to curse him with two overbearing mothers.

He grumbled his way out of bed, into the shower, then over to his closet, where he pulled out a two-piece grey suit and a black button up. He refused to wear a fucking tie, though. He’d worked at Endeavor Agency for ten years – they could deal with it.

Anya looked like she hadn’t slept a wink when he arrived at the office. She was still immaculately presented in a pinstripe, form fitted suit, but her eyes were bloodshot and ringed with dark circles. Regardless, she grinned excitedly at him and waved her phone in his face.

“We’re sold out nationwide! Sold! Out!”

“Cool.”

“’Cool’!? Bakugou-san, it is fucking insane – excuse my French. There hasn’t been an instance of hero-merch selling out overnight since All Might’s final collection of limited-edition figurines!”

“They sold out in ten minutes,” he told her. He knew, because he had meticulously planned how he was going to murder Deku to steal his if Katsuki hadn’t managed to get one. Thankfully for Deku, All Might had personally sent them one each.

“Well, whatever. It’s still incredible. And this means we can hype up a second launch! But we’ll go over that in the meeting. Did you see the billboard?”

“Yeah.”

“Aaand?”

“What?”

“What did you think of Uravity-san?”

“She looked…” He chewed on the inside of his cheek. “Sweaty.”

Anya stared at him like he’d just called the Empress of Japan a frog, then rolled her eyes. “That’s rich coming from you. Anyway, be nice to her while she’s here. I don’t want you scaring off another collaborator.”

“She doesn’t scare easily,” he told her, shoving his hands in his pockets as the elevator opened to the management floor of the skyscraper.

“That doesn’t mean you can make it a personal challenge.” She roughly straightened his jacket before shoving him towards one of the board rooms. “I know you haven’t bothered to learn the names of the team, but please don’t call them by whatever mean nicknames you’ve thought up. And do not call Uravity ‘Round Face’ or I will personally put rat poison in your coffee. And do not blow up any of the chairs again –“

“Alright! Quit hasslin’ me, woman! It’s just a fucking meeting!”

Katsuki followed her into one of the agency’s many meeting rooms, which was basically a bigger version of his office downstairs – all glass walls and tall windows and plastic plants. Seated at the long table was the heads of the team responsible for bringing Ground Zero Apparel into fruition: the Visual Merchandiser, Head of Marketing, Production Assistant, someone from Endeavor HR, plus their various assistants and, of course, the Head Designers.

Aka. His mother and father.

“Stand up straight, Katsuki, I can’t stand your slouching!”

The slap to the back of his head came too fast for him to dodge, and he angrily gritted his teeth. “Don’t hit me, you old hag! You shouldn’t even be here!”

He’d outgrown Mistuki by a full head since his growth spurt in second year, but she still seemed to loom over him. Katsuki was yet to come across a villain that was as intimating as his mother. She fixed him with that look now – the one he swore all mothers mastered – and squared up to his face.

“You ungrateful little shit! I literally conceived the brand –“

“No you didn’t, it was my idea!” He caught her double meaning and screwed up his nose. “Fucking gross.”

“Don’t argue with me or you’ll see the back of my hand!”

“Get outta my face, you ugly old hag!”

“Maybe we’ll quit! I’d like to see you design something as successful without us!”

“I could do it in my fucking sleep! And as if you’d quit when I’m basically paying for your damn pension!”

“Excuse me!? Last time I checked we were being paid by Endeavor Agency! I don’t see your name on the side of the building, you little brat!”

“Alright, you two…” His father stepped between the pair, placing a tentative hand on Mistuki’s arm. “This a professional setting, dear. Let’s sit down.”

Anya didn’t bother hiding her smirk as she offered Mitsuki a seat and a cup of coffee, whereas the other members of the team at least tried to hide their amusement behind coughs and hands.

“Congratulations on the successful launch, son,” his father said, giving him an amiable pat on the shoulder. “Your mother and I are so proud of you.”

Somehow that was more embarrassing than having his mother yell at him, so he slumped into the seat at the head of the table, furthest from his mother.

“Where the fuck is Round Face?”

“Uravity-san,” Anya said pointedly, “is on her way. Stuck in traffic.”

“No, no, I’m here!”

Katsuki turned grumpily in his seat as Uraraka bounced through the door. She was dressed in a pink halter dress covered in an ice-cream print, a faux fur jacket, and had her hair pulled into a pair of space buns, which, frankly, made her look idiotic. She even had a little pink heart sticker on one cheek.

He couldn’t believe she was the same person from the ad that had almost gotten him run over in the middle of Shibuya Crossing.

He frowned. “How come I have to dress smart but she gets to rock up looking like a Harajuku reject vomited on her dress?”

“Katsuki, you little shit!” his mother snapped.

“Funny you should say that,” Uraraka said without any trace of umbrage, “because I’ve just come from a photoshoot in Harajuku. Hence the get up. But we genuinely got stuck in traffic so…” She tapped her chunky boots – the boots from her hero suit, he noticed. “I abandoned my team and flew here! Didn’t want to be late. Also, I brought sweet bean buns for everyone!”

She slid a box full of said buns into the middle of the table.

“You’ve already eaten half of them,” Katsuki observed.

“Girl’s gotta eat,” she said with an entirely unapologetic wink, then she bowed to the team at the table. “Thank you for inviting me back! And it’s good to see you again, Mr and Mrs Bakugou.”

“It’s been too long, honey,” his mother greeted.

She’d always had a weird soft spot for Uraraka, perhaps because her only son had beat the shit out of her on national television during the first Sport’s Festival. Then again, her affection wasn’t surprising considering everyone in Japan thought Round Face was ‘cute’.

Except him, apparently.

Much to his annoyance, Uraraka took the seat directly next to him, then companionably tapped her foot against his leg. “Phew, that campaign really blew up, huh? My PR team nearly went grey overnight from stress. I think they were kicking themselves for not thinking of it first.”

“It’s performed exceptionally well,” the Head of Marketing (or as Katsuki had uninventively labelled him, Three-horns) said. “Surpassed all our expectations. Our profit margin has rocketed and the interest in the brand has spread internationally. Nobody saw this collab coming.”

The Visual Merchandiser (Cat-whiskers) nodded in agreement. “It’s not unusual for couples or heroes within the same agency to collab, so this was somewhat out of the blue from the public’s perspective. Especially considering Ground Zero’s…” She paused. “Reluctance when it comes to collaborations.”

“His shitty attitude, you mean,” Mitsuki scoffed.

“’I don’t work with extras’,” Uraraka said, mimicking his gravelly tones and scowl.

He glared at her as she giggled, but Three-horns cut off his rebuke.

“Nobody expected it to work as well as it has. It’s the contradictory nature of your brands that’s caused such a stir, as well as your excellent modeling, Uravity-san.”

“That’s the wave we have to ride,” Cat-whiskers agreed. “I’m sure the line would have been successful from the designs alone, but Uravity-san’s modeling propelled it to the next level. The higher-ups are keen to push the collab while the fire’s hot.”

“I’m only modeling though,” Uraraka said, reaching for another bun. “My agency doesn’t want to call it a collab unless my name’s on it somewhere.”

The Production Assistant – a middle-aged woman Katsuki called Blue-skin – excitedly laced her fingers on the tabletop. “Well, that’s what we’re here to discuss. Now the first wave of merch has sold out, we can use this lull before the restock to tease an addition to the line. A collaborative effort, we mean. Is that something you’d be interested in, Uravity-san?”

Uraraka swirled a strand of loose hair around her finger. “You mean combining the Uravity and Ground Zero brands?”

“Precisely.”

 “Sure! I’ll need to get approval from the higher-ups but considering how much money this one campaign has bought in so far, I’m sure they won’t mind.”

“Do I get a fucking say in this?” Katsuki snapped.

“Be quiet, Katsuki, the adults are talking,” his mother said.

Uraraka snorted into her sweet bun and he nearly blew a hole in the roof.

“How are we meant to combine our brands?” he countered. “I don’t do cute and I’m not wearing fucking pink.”

“That’s what we’re here for,” Mitsuki said, then elbowed his father. “Show ‘em, honey.”

Masaru walked to Katsuki’s end of the table and placed an iPad in his hands, then thumbed on the screen to reveal a series of sketches.

“They’re just prototypes, obviously. Concepts. But this is kind of what we’re thinking.”

Katsuki had no idea how the fuck they’d managed to do it, but they’d combined elements of his and Uraraka’s hero suits into something passably cool. Apparently orange and pink didn’t clash as badly as he’d envisioned, and he could instantly see its mass appeal.

“Uwwwaahhh, that’s cool!” Uraraka trilled in his ear. She scooted her seat over and leaned uncomfortably close to him as she looked down at the ipad, her arm pressed flush against his, their knees knocking together under the table. She enlarged the screen – her fingerpads leaving little prints on the ipad’s surface – to get a better look at the ideas for their combined logos.

Did she not fucking understand personal space? She smelt like sweet bean buns and that fruity perfume she endorsed, underlined by a tang of rocket fuel from her boots, and this close he could see the glitter eyeshadow around her eyes.

It made him uncomfortable.

“Did you do all this this morning?” she asked his parents incredulously.

“It’s what we do, honey,” Mitsuki said.

He glanced up at his mother. She was watching them both with a weird look on her face, her eyes darting between them above a small, pleased smile that he didn’t like at all.

“Ge’off me,” he muttered, shoving Uraraka to one side before passing her the iPad. “So will these be launched alongside the restock of the original designs?”

“Yes,” Three-horns said. “Unlike the Ground Zero line, these will be limited edition, which will only increase the hype around the relaunch. We’ll be charging double for the collab merch, and depending on its success, we can think about expanding the line to sneakers, keyrings, that sort of thing.”

“We can think of a cool way to combine your quirks and names into a marketing scheme,” Cat-whiskers said. “UraZero or something.”

Katsuki scrutinized the designs Uraraka was scrolling between. “When’s the next launch?”

“Two weeks today,” Anya said.

“Fuck, that’s a crunch.”

“We’ll manage.” She leaned against the table, grinning. “So is that the seal of approval from Ground Zero?”

Uraraka glanced at him out the corner of her eye.

Katsuki shrugged. “Whatever brings in the cash.”

“Oh, and one more thing,” Blue-skin said a tad nervously. “We’re thinking it would be appropriate to have you model in the next campaign alongside Uravity-san.”

Katsuki recoiled. “No fucking way. I’m not a fucking model!”

“Katsuki, it has to be you,” his mother snipped. “It makes no sense hiring a random model for the male gear when the whole marketing campaign revolves around you and Uraraka-chan combining your brands.”

“I specifically said I didn’t want anything to do with the marketing when we conceived the line. It’s my name, and that’s it.”

“Aw, don’t be like that,” Uraraka said, then leaned over and pinched his cheek. “You’re super cute when you’re not wearing your murder-gremlin face.”

Everyone around the table tried to hide their laughs, except his mother, who loudly guffawed and slapped the table hard enough to shake the mugs of coffee.

Katsuki knocked her hand away and fixed her with a glower. “I’m not doing it.”

“Then there’s no point in us collabing at all! Your absence will only hurt your brand, y’know. Plus, people will want to buy the merch more if you’re wearing it. They’ll see the billboards and be like – ‘I wanna be Ground Zero!’ That’s kinda the whole point of advertising.”

“I know what advertising’s about!” he snapped, then a ran a hand through his hair. “Fine. I’ll do it. If it’ll shut you up.”

She grinned wide enough to show her dimples, then shoved the rest of the sweet bun in her mouth.

That was the last time she was going to get her way with him, he decided resolutely.

After crunching numbers and smoothing out a few details, the meeting ended, and Uraraka announced she had to leave for an appearance on the other side of Roppongi Hills. Somehow she managed to find time to change into a pastel suit over a cropped top, which was a considerable improvement to the Harajuku bullshit, in Katsuki’s opinion; she didn’t look like a complete ditz anymore.

Katsuki also had an appearance at the Fitness Shop in Sudobashi to discuss the launch of his brand, so they headed down together in the elevator along with their respective entourages (Katsuki’s far larger than hers because he needed at least three members of the PR team to stop him from verbally assaulting the press).

Katsuki pulled out his phone as they descended and scrolled through the list of questions they’d prepped him for. He didn’t notice how crowded the elevator was getting until it stopped on the thirtieth floor. More workers piled in, and he propped his arm against the back wall as everyone shuffled back, doing his best to block out the old panic that came with feeling confined.

His therapist told him that his dislike of confinement came less from a feeling of claustrophobia, and more from a panic that stemmed from his own insecurities as a hero. The sludge monster had confined him and put the surrounding heroes at risk because Katsuki had been too weak to fight back. UA had handcuffed, muzzled and chained him up at the Sports Festival on national television because they’d been afraid he would genuinely hurt that half-and-half bastard (he was mad, but he wasn’t that mad). The League had handcuffed him when trying to recruit him – an event that led to All Might’s loss of power.

Confinement felt like judgement. Like people thought he was weak. Or dangerous. Out of control. He didn’t know. It was a confusing subject to unwrap. All he knew was that he hated it – being stuck in a cramped place like this.

A hand tugged on the front of his shirt, and he shifted his gaze from his phone.

Uraraka was pinned to the wall underneath him, his arm propped beside her head. He’d been so in his thoughts he hadn’t even noticed, but now he couldn’t ignore the lack of space between them. He could feel the warmth coming off her, feel her breath feathering his collarbone, smell that fruit perfume again. What was it? Orange blossom or something?

She didn’t seem bothered by their proximity. Her head was cocked slightly to one side, her eyes large and worried, like she could somehow read the panic that he kept buried deep, deep down where he was sure – at least, pretty sure – nobody could see it.

She offered him a reassuring smile, one hand still clinging to the front of his shirt. Nobody in the elevator seemed to notice.

Weirdly, that squirming anxiety in the pit of his stomach diminished.

His attention snapped to her lips, then back to her eyes. He pocketed his phone and reached out to touch her cheek –  and she seemed to hold her breath for a second, eyes going wide – then he peeled the heart shaped sticker off her cheek and held it out to her. She blinked a few times in confusion, then she grinned sheepishly and took it off him.

“Stupid promo stuff,” she said quietly.

“The stylist who put you in that mess should be fired.”

“Aw, what’dya mean? Cute suits me.”

 He thought about this, then said, “I don’t think you’re cute at all.”

She stared at him, looking like she wanted to say something, then the elevator dinged and everybody piled out. Katsuki pushed off the wall then stepped sideways to let Uraraka off first.

She paused in the doorway, then stood on her tiptoes and amiably patted his cheek. “See ya at the photoshoot, Bakugou-kun. I’m looking forward to working with you!”

And then she left with her flock of tag-alongs, leaving Katsuki staring after her in the lobby.

“She’s nice.”

His mother appeared at his side, wearing that fucking look on her face again.

 “Haven’t you got shit to do?” he snapped.

“Haven’t you got shit to do?” she countered, then suddenly pecked him on the cheek and ruffled his hair. “Be good.”

He wiped away her kiss, mortified that she’d done that in the middle of the fucking lobby where everyone could see, but she disappeared with his father in tow before he could set something on fire.

Anya beckoned impatiently to him from the front doors, so he skulked over, in a bad mood now for no real reason. He followed her to the company car then slid onto the back seat while Anya told the driver where they needed to go.

“It’s gonna be a long week,” she lamented as she buckled her seatbelt. “You’ll have to make time to work out a few hours every day before the shoot happens.”

Katsuki bristled. “What are you tryin’ to say?”

“Well, it wouldn’t hurt to buff up a bit, eh?”

“In a week!?”

“I mean, you’re already buff, but I dunno. Might wanna sharpen the edges a bit.”

“Fuck you.”

“Oh, c’mon, Model-san. You wanna look your best for when the photos get slapped across every billboard from here to Osaka, right?”

“And how am I gonna find the time to work out?”

“I’ll ask admin to pick up your paperwork, okay? I know you’ve fallen behind on it. The agency won’t mind considering the absolute mint we made from the first launch alone. And I have a feeling the second launch is gonna be even bigger.”

Katsuki felt a weird flicker of apprehension about that. He didn’t mind being the center of attention on the battlefield. People naturally listened to him, followed him, and that was fine for hero work. But he didn’t like this promo and social media shit. He didn’t like the cameras, or the way people constructed their own image of him in their minds based on whatever bullshit they gleaned from gossip sites.

Shame it came with the territory.

“What the heck is that on your face?” Anya asked, drawing a confused look from him. She reached over and peeled something off his cheek. “Why do you have a heart sticker on your cheek?”

He remembered Uraraka patting his cheek and scowled.

He snatched the heart off Anya’s finger then rolled it into a ball and pocketed it. “Fucking Round Face.”

“Bakugou-san, do not call her that if the press ask about the shoot. I mean it. The public will lose their minds – and not in a good way. Also her face isn’t even that round? Can’t you give her a nice nickname? Like… like Angel or something?”

“Fuck no.”

“Tch, fine. I dread to think what you called me before you bothered to learn my name.”

“I just called you the Mega-bitch.”

“Stop it.”

“Coffee-slut.”

“I swear to god, Bakugou, I will kick you out of this moving car!”

Having the admin team pick up his paperwork was a small mercy that made a huge difference to Katsuki’s schedule; he’d almost forgotten what having spare time was like, which was kind of depressing.

He would’ve liked to spend it sleeping (also kind of depressing), but instead he took Anya’s advice and started working out with Eijirou. Which turned out to be a fucking nightmare because Eijirou was an absolute powerhouse in the gym. Not that Katsuki had a bad physique, not when he hefted around two 5kg gauntlets on his arms every day, but he was nowhere close to matching the human tank that was Red Riot; half an hour into Eijirou’s work out plan, Katsuki was sweating enough to become a health and safety hazard.

“I can’t believe you’re workin’ with Uraraka,” the redhead said for perhaps the fiftieth time that morning while he spotted Katsuki on the weights. “I mean, where did that even come from? So random.”

“I told you, I didn’t get a say,” Katsuki gritted as he lifted the bar.

Eijirou added another weight to either end then put his hands on his hips, peering thoughtfully around the gym room he’d secured for their personal training session. His gym, actually: Riot Fitness. He’d opened the first in Tokyo a few years back, then a second in Osaka.

“You’ve always liked Uraraka, huh?” he said.

Katsuki nearly dropped the bar. “No I fucking haven’t!”

“You were always nice to her in school. Well… maybe ‘nice’ is being generous considering what an absolute shithead you were back then. But definitely nicer than you were to other people.”

“I respected her. That’s different.”

“And she always liked you…”

“Respected me.”

“Sooooo you don’t like her?”

“Do you interrogate all your gym clients like this?”

“Naw, just you,” Eijirou said around a sharky grin as he leaned over him. He lifted the weight from him and placed it on the bar. “Fifty pushups. And you didn’t answer my question.”

Katsuki rolled off the bench onto the gym mat and started doing pushups despite his muscles singing in agony. “She’s bearable.”

“Wow. You are terrible at this.”

“At what?”

Eijirou sighed. “Will you at least admit that she looked smoking hot on the billboard?”

“She looked passable. What am I on?”

“Fifteen – but dude, seriously, she did not look just ‘passable’. C’mon, now. Did you not see the sweat on her thighs?”

“Racoon-eyes will kill you if she hears you talkin’ like that.”

Eijirou laughed. “Are you kidding? Mina printed off that stupid photo and put it on our bedside table like an absolute freak. I’m, like, 99% sure she touched herself looking at it –“

“Fucking hell, I did not need to know that.”

“So yay or nay to the thigh sweat?”

“I’m not looking at her fucking thighs! What am I on now?”

“Fifty-two.”

“God, fuck you, Shitty-hair,” he said, rolling onto his back and panting. “I don’t wanna talk about Round Face anymore. She bores me.”

Eijirou searched his face with a wry grin. “You’re a terrible liar, ya know that?”

Katsuki shot an explosion at his face and it glanced harmlessly off his hardened skin. Eijirou laughed.

“But seriously, dude, I can’t wait to see those photos of you two together. It’s gonna be hot shit.”

“So long as your pervert girlfriend doesn’t masturbate to them, then I don’t give a fuck one way or the other.”

“No guarantees on that.” Eijirou jerked his chin towards the overhead bar. “Now, we don’t wanna disappoint the Ground Zero fangirls, do we? Fifty chin-ups.”

“Fuck.”

Hey u at work?

What do you want?

I left my hero license at ur office yesterday

And?

Can you bring it to me? Plz? I’m on duty in Kichijoji. Parco roof.

No.

Pllzzzzz

No.

I’m gonna get in trouble if they catch me on duty without it!

Everyone knows who you are, dumbass. I’ll get someone to drop it off at your agency tomorrow

Whaaa nooooo I’m gonna get in trouble! Can’t u just swing by after work? I’ll be here for another five hrs or so

Ffs you dumb shit

???

Bakugou?

I’m coming, calm the fuck down. Where are you?

Parco dept store

Eta 20min

Thanks <3

As much as he hated spending time in the collective assholes of Tokyo (aka Roppongi Hills and Kabukicho), he couldn’t think of anywhere more boring than being on duty in Kichijoji. It was a trendy neighborhood full of coffee shops and artsy stores and had a crime rate so low he wondered why agencies bothered sending heroes to patrol there at all.

Regardless, it probably made for a chill shift, and at least he knew he wouldn’t be roped into helping some hero wrestle with drunk hipsters while he was off duty.

He stopped by the crosswalk that connected the Parco Shopping Center with its neighboring outlet, Uniqlo, then tried to spot Uraraka’s trademark suit in the crowd. The streets were lively this time of night with everyone heading to the bars off the main streets to a backdrop of trains running across the elevated tracks.

His phone beeped, and he tugged it out of his pocket.

‘Parco sign, hotshot’

He shifted his gaze to the thirty-foot-high billboard on top of the shopping mall and spotted Uraraka’s tiny form sitting on its edge, swinging her feet over the side, completely unbothered by the sheer drop to the sidewalk.

He’d put on a black surgical mask and a cap to hide his identity because he couldn’t be bothered to talk to anyone, but he supposed that was good for nothing now.

After waiting for a lull in the crowds, he extended his hands behind him then blasted off the ground, aiming for the Parco sign. The explosion spluttered out just above it, and he dropped to the ledge with only a minor wobble. It was far thinner than it looked; how she was comfortable perched there was a mystery.

Her ass probably makes a good cushion, his traitorous brain suggested, and he clamped down on that thought as she smiled up at him from behind her helmet’s visor.

“Hey!”

“Stop calling me ‘hotshot’,” he snapped, crossing his arms. “It’s weird.”

“Um, excuse me? You think I like being called Round Face?”

He waved her hero’s license at her. “It suits you. I mean, look at your ID photo. Your face takes up the whole box.”

“Oh my gosh, it does not!” she bleated, snatching the ID off him and tucking it into her suit. “Meanie.”

Katsuki frowned at her, suddenly feeling awkward, then made to leave.

“Wait!” she said. “Stay with me a bit, would ya? It’s boring, here.”

“Get off your ass and do something then.”

“Eeeeh, it’s kinda awkward tonight. People keep botherin’ me.”

“About what?”

“The ad.”

He felt a rush of anger sweep through him. “You mean men keep bothering you?”

“Oh, no no. Just in general. Nice stuff, obviously, just sayin’ I looked good or whatever. But it makes patrolling hard, so I opted to sit here.” She paused to wave at someone on the ground. “Heh heh. People know you’re here now.”

Katsuki glanced down at the sidewalk and spotted small clusters of people trying to catch a glimpse of them on the sign. “What’s their problem?”

“It’s ‘cause it’s us,” she said, and to his questioning look, she added, “You know, the campaign? People are probably excited to see us in public together for the first time since it’s launch.”

“Why would they be excited about that?”

She hurled him an exasperated look, then rolled her eyes. “Never mind. Anyways, thanks for returning my license.”

“I would’ve sent Anya to run your errands if you hadn’t been on the roof.  Although I wouldn’t put it past her to pull a jet pack out of her ass.”

She hummed vaguely, eyes drifting to no particular point in the distance, then she said, “She seems cool.”

“Who?”

“Anya-san.”

“Oh. She isn’t.”

“She must be if you haven’t given her a weird nickname.” Uraraka chewed on the inside of cheek for a second. “Are you two, like… banging or whatever?”

Katsuki barked out a laugh. “No, Round Face, I’m not banging my manager.”

“You don’t like her?”

“Sometimes I think she’s my bad karma for being a total asshole as a kid.”

“Brave of you to use past tense.”

“Oh, come on, I’m not that bad.”

She fixed him with a teasing smile, seeming relieved for some reason. “There’s a reason your fangirls are too scared to talk to you. I bet they’re secretly a bunch of masochists.”

“If they were that masochistic then they’d actually talk to me.”

“Is that self-deprecation, young man?”

“No. I’m sayin’ my fangirls are the type of people who don’t expect me to be nice, so they shouldn’t have a problem talkin’ to me.”

“Are you tellin’ me you’re not a big softy under all those spikes? Rose petals on the pillows and candles on the bedside kinda guy?”

“Fuck off with that shit.”

“Aw, c’mon, you can tell me. I promise I won’t tell anyone.”

He felt the beginning of a blush creep up his collar and crossed his arms. “Why the fuck are we talkin’ about this? Go break up a bar fight or something.”

“Tch, fiiinne.” Uraraka sighed, then pushed off the sign and floated a few feet in front of him. “Thanks for keeping me company, anyways. Guess I’ll see you at the shoot! Oh, and you might wanna stay airborne for a while.” She gestured to the growing crowd at the base of the building. “Wouldn’t want ya gettin’ mobbed.”

“Yeah, yeah.”

“See ya!” she said, then rocketed away.

Katsuki watched her until she was out of sight, then blasted off in the opposite direction.

It only occurred to him later how weird it was that she’d left her license at his office. Just her license. The thing she needed if she wanted to go on patrol. An integral part of being a hero that nobody would be careless enough to leave lying around. And that she’d asked him to bring it to her rather than sending one of her team out to Endeavor’s reception.

Well, whatever. Nerds were weird.

Chapter Text

Part Three
Fake Sweat

Katsuki’s therapist would’ve had a field day interpreting the anxiety nightmares he suffered on the days building up to the photoshoot. Not that they were particularly hard to decipher. The studio was always too small, too cramped, and the audience that watched him were silent, their faces steeped in shadow from beyond a glaring spotlight. Every time he’d almost make them out – gleaning some semblance of familiarity from their darkened features – the camera’s flash would blind him, and the shadows would return.

It was weird, because he didn’t feel nervous about the shoot specifically – even though he hated having his photo taken – and he was used to people depending on him to get shit done. But this felt different somehow; if he fucked this up then he’d make Uraraka look bad too, all because he didn’t want to stand in front of a stupid camera for a few hours. And that kind of pressure had a way of working under his skin, making a mess of his already short fuse.

So even though he did his best to invalidate his dumb anxiety, he showed up to the office on the day of the shoot in a foul mood and literally exploded the meat bun Anya handed him when she greeted him at the front doors.

“Bakugou-san,” she said while eyeing the burnt crumbs littering the sidewalk, “let’s not start the day like this. Please. Of all days. Can’t you just be…”

“What?” he snarled at her. “What do you want me to be, Anya?”

She hesitated, perhaps sensing that his bad mood extended beyond his characteristic grumpiness. “Professional.”

“I am a fucking professional.”

“I know,” she said, following him into the elevator while trying to appear like she wasn’t looking at him out the corner of her eye. “Look, I know you don’t want to do this. But it’s just a few hours and then you can go back to your usual schedule of scowling and blowing things up, alright? All you have to do is stand there and look like your usual handsome self. Sans gremlin expression.”

“God, shut the fuck up, I know.”

Anya looked like she wanted to say more, but thought better of it, and said instead, “You look great, by the way. Red Riot really made you work, huh?”

“The guy’s a fucking tank.”

“Phew, don’t I know it. He can crush me between his thighs any day of the week.”

“Jesus – can you not?”

 “You’re right. We’re all gonna be focused on someone else’s thighs today.” She elbowed him lewdly. “Eh? Eh?”

“I don’t give a shit about Round Face’s thighs.”

“I was talking about yours, actually.”

Damn. He walked into that one.

Katsuki felt a flash of nerves sweep through him as the elevator opened to a floor of Endeavor Agency’s private studios, and he followed Anya down the corridor to their reserved room.

His dreams over the past week had prepared him for a small, dark room crammed with people, so he was surprised by the reality; it was bright and spacious, with a pull-down backdrop on one side, a few lights, a camera on a tripod, and a half dozen chairs clustered in a corner.

And Uraraka, dressed in a cat onesie and singing along to a kitchy kpop song that was playing way too loud on a set of speakers.

Katsuki stalked over to the speakers and turned them off, earning him Uraraka’s attention.

“Uh oh, here comes Mr Sunshine himself,” she said with a grin. “Lemme guess: you’re not a morning person?”

“I am,” he said (which was true; he wasn’t an evening person), “but it’s way too fucking early for your singing.”

“Mean,” she said, totally unoffended, then tugged on her onesie. “This is the collab gear. Like it?”

“Very funny.”

“Can you imagine? Ground Zero in a cat onesie would break the internet.”

Anya bowed in greeting to Uraraka then said, “I’ll keep a note of that for the next campaign.”

“You know I could turn this building into a pile of rubble, right?” Katsuki said, then glanced around. “Where’s the actual gear? Please don’t tell me the old hag is bringing it in.”

“No, your mother decided to give you some space today,” Anya said ambiguously. “I hope they fit you. I didn’t expect you to bulk up so fast.”

“You do look good,” Uraraka said, bouncing over to him and playfully squeezing his bicep. “Look at them guns. Nice undercut, by the way. Suits you.”

Katsuki shook off her hand, clamping down a shot of traitorous awkwardness, then turned his attention to the team as they introduced themselves as the photographer, stylists and assistants. He didn’t bother to learn their names.

Uraraka clapped her hands together. “Do your best, everyone! I hope we can work well together!”

“I want this over quickly so don’t fuck it up,” he said.

Anya dumped a stack of plastic wrapped clothes in his arms while hissing, “Real professional, thank you for that. Go get changed.”

Katsuki stomped to a side room then pulled the samples out of their bags.

His parents did a damn good job when it came to design; while his trademark orange cross still took precedence, it was cleverly slashed with panels of black and pink that mimicked Uraraka’s hero suit. They’d also made a logo from a grenade flanked by a pair of singed angel wings, which was pretty cool.

He pulled on the first matching set then returned to the main studio to find Uraraka prancing around in her samples. She practically jumped on him in delight, fingertips pressed together as she whirled to show off the women’s version of what he was wearing.

Helplessly, his eyes flicked to her ass – he swore to all the gods she’d never been that thick in school and damn if the skin tight pants didn’t show it off – before she  turned back and fixed him with a wide grin, dimples and all.

“Aaah, it’s looks so good, right!? Remind me to hire your parents next time I need something designed.”

“You can’t poach another agency’s designers,” he stated, because he couldn’t think of anything else to say when he was trying very, very hard not to look at her thighs.

“Aw, your mom would totally do it for me,” she said with a wink.

And she wasn’t wrong; his mother definitely would, like a big fucking traitor, which honestly pissed him off.

A few of the stylists made them sit down then began the harrowing process of hair and makeup, the latter of which Katsuki heatedly objected to until Uraraka made some backhanded comment about his ‘fragile masculinity’, which immediately shut him up. So he let them put the barest minimum on him, and only because he’d look ‘flat’ under the lights without it (whatever the fuck that meant), not because he didn’t want to look like a total meathead in front of Uraraka.

He’d barely settled on the idea when he heard a camera shutter go off and turned in time to see Uraraka sneakily taking a photo of him getting his makeup done.

“Don’t you fucking think about it!” he roared, knocking both the stylist and chair backwards as he leapt to his feet. He stormed across the room and went to snatch away her phone, but she tucked it under her ass and stuck her tongue out at him.

“You better delete that right now or I will haul you out the fucking window!”

“Everyone’s gonna see you on the ads anyway,” Uraraka said, then added with a grin, “I promise I only sent it to Deku-kun.”

A well-aimed explosion blew the legs off her chair, but she landed with irritating grace on her feet and managed to keep hold of her phone. Unfortunately, the set was not so lucky, and the photo backdrop burst into flames.

The team fell into general panic until Anya put out the fire using a mini fire extinguisher (that she kept on her at all times for reasons that started and ended with him), then rounded on Katsuki with her hands on her hips, giving him the look-of-death that almost matched his mother’s.

“Can’t you go two hours without setting something on fire?”

“But she –“

“Do not blame, Uravity-san! What are you, five years old? Don’t make me call your mother!”

Behind him, Uraraka snorted, and it took all of Katsuki’s self-restraint not to blast the whole team into the next century.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” Uraraka said while patting his shoulder. “I haven’t sent it to Deku. I promise. It will be filed away for my own personal amusement.”

“Fucking fantastic.”

“Aaaand maybe Kirishima’s.”

“God – fuck you, Round Face! Seriously. Fuck you.”

She scrolled through her phone with her tongue wedged in her cheek, clearly trying not to laugh. “He replied saying that makeup is very manly, but also said not to wind you up otherwise you’ll spend the whole shoot wearing your gremlin face.”

 “I hope you both die in a fire. Are we gonna do the stupid shoot or not?”

“We should replace the backdrop first,” Anya said. “Which is coming out of your paycheck, by the way.”

The photographer edged forward, contemplating the black backdrop with a cocked head. “Actually, this might work. It’s pretty apt.”

He was right, Katsuki mused, as he ran his gaze over the singed edges and the black streaks. On brand for him anyway.

“Don’t think you’re off the hook,” Anya snipped, then gestured to one of the stylists cowering in the corner. “Just the oil and sweat left, right?”

“Sweat?” he asked.

“Well, fake sweat.”

He didn’t think any more of that until he caught one of the assistants coating Uraraka in a layer of oil. His gaze tracked a droplet that trickled down the side of her neck and pooled into her cleavage, tracing glistening streaks through her makeup.

His mouth suddenly went very dry.

Uraraka happened to catch him staring, and a knowing look crossed her face.

“Wanna do my back?” she asked sweetly.

He summoned a scowl and looked away. What the hell happened to that dumbass schoolgirl who used to float every time someone mentioned Deku’s name? Now that he could’ve worked with, not this Uraraka 2.0 who was making it very hard for him to act like the professional Anya wanted him to be.

He wondered if she was like this with all the male heroes/models she worked with, then shook off that thought. Not his business.

By the time Uraraka was done with hair and makeup, her eyes looked duskier, her jaw more pronounced, and her hair artfully messy.

And she looked sweaty. Very sweaty. Mainly, that’s all he noticed; it was hard not to when little drops of fake-sweat were quivering on her face and chest.

“Ready, Uravity-san?” the photographer asked.

She hopped into the center of the studio set up, lights hitting her in a way that pronounced the muscles on her arms and stomach, then did a random dance. Probably out of nerves, he supposed. Or maybe she was just a weirdo.

Anya slapped him between the shoulder blades, breaking his chain of thought.

“Less gawping, more working.”

“I’m not gawping,” he hissed at her, then stomped over to Uraraka.

His discomfort worsened as the photographer began to take test shots. Fuck, this was not his forte. He was a fucking hero, not a model. It’s not like he’d been trained for this kind of shit. Fuck, the lights were hot. And bright. He was going to sweat off the fake sweat at this rate.

“Hey,” Uraraka whispered, elbowing him gently. “Don’t worry so much, okay?”

“I’m not worrying,” he snarled, explosions crackling to his palms. “I just don’t like having my photo taken!”

“I get it,” she said calmly. “Look, all you have to do is stand there and smolder. Which you do 99% of the time anyway.”

“I don’t smolder.”

“Um, yes you do. You’re literally doing it now.”

“It’s called glaring, dumbass.”

“Glaring, smoldering, whatever. Just turn your handsome glare at the camera. And put your hands in your pockets.” She reached up and started adjusting his body. “Stop hunching. Shoulders back and down. Take a breath. The camera is calling your bluff. Doesn’t think you can do it. Prove it wrong.”

He glared sideways at her, intensely annoyed at her obvious provocation, but to be fair he did feel better. And it definitely didn’t have anything to do with her hands being on him.

“Keep that look,” the photographer said, lights flashing.

“What look?” Katsuki asked,

“The look you’re giving Uravity-san.”

Katsuki felt his face erupt into flames. “What are you tryin’ to fucking say?”

“Rein back the anger, Bakugou-san,” Anya said as she stared at the external monitor behind the camera.

“I’m not angry!” he howled, tensing up again.

The photographer stopped snapping and peered with an unhappy look at the photos on the camera screen.

Katsuki felt his heart sink. He was going to fuck this up.

He felt Uraraka’s hand on his shoulder again. “C’mon, hotshot, you don’t wanna be the only hero not modelling their merch, do ya?”

“I don’t give a fuck!”

“If Shouto-kun can successfully model his own merch, then so can you. The guy has like, zero personality.” She blew out her cheeks, eyes flicking to the watching crew, suddenly remembering that she was at Endeavor Agency. “Redact that. He lacks… charisma.”

Katsuki snorted.

“Even Deku modeled his sneaker line,” she went on. “Deku. Have you seen him in front of a camera? It’s been ten years and the poor boy can barely stand from the nerves. You’ve gotta at least do better than him.”

“You’re not being as clever as you think you are,” Katsuki grumbled.

“Oh, I’m not trying to be clever,” she said offhandedly while propping her elbow on his shoulder. “I’m just tryin’ to make money.”

 He relaxed the best he could, feeling a peculiar mix of discomfort and thrill as Uraraka kept the physical contact while demanding nothing of him, and the photographer resumed snapping.

After a few minutes of this, the team went over the photos and Anya said, “You’re looking a little dead behind the eyes, Bakugou-san. I know there’s not much going on up there, but at least pretend you have two brains cells to rub together, if only for the duration of this shoot.”

“Go die!” Katsuki yelled, because he was on his last thread and that thread was considerably frayed.

“You gotta think about something,” Uraraka whispered to him. “Like… construct a narrative.

“Like what?”

“I dunno… Like, what do you think about when you wanna beat up Deku?”

Katsuki thought about this while staring at the camera, and the whole team visibly recoiled. Someone even yelped and spilled their coffee.

“Oop, okay, too angry,” Uraraka said. She tapped her foot. “Okay, how about this: we’ve just competed as a duo in the International Professional Sports Festival. Our odds were terrible; everybody bet against us. But we won. And this is us standing on the podium together, wearing gold medals, ‘cause we proved everyone wrong.”

He cocked an eyebrow at her, genuinely taken aback. “Is that what you think about?”

 “Naw. I just think about all the ice cream I’m gonna eat after this.”

He scoffed, but took her advice and thought about that weirdly specific scenario she’d apparently made up on the spot.  It reminded him of the first Sports Festival back in school, when everyone thought Uraraka was too weak to fight him. It pissed him off, because she was strong, but to this day people still pegged her as someone not to be taken seriously.

 Maybe this shoot would show her other side – the real Uraraka, not the cutesy model everyone thought she was.

Whatever he was doing must have been right because nobody stopped the session again. The photographer started singing their praises and even Anya settled into a state of moody approval, and slowly, very slowly, he became more comfortable.

But despite everything, his attention helplessly wandered to Uraraka at his side. She was naturally confident in front of the camera, alternating between poses and expressions like a slide show; she knew her angles and interacted with him in a way that seemed both effortless and intimate.

It was weird having her touch him like this, even if it was only on a professional basis. Frankly, he wasn’t used to being touched at all. His physical interactions were limited to kicking the shit out of people or his unromantic, fleeting flings. And he was fine with that.

Totally fine with that.

They rotated through several looks while having their makeup and hair tweaked, until finally they came to the last coordinated set of apparel. Despite finally beginning to relax in front of the camera, Katsuki was relieved it was almost over. The lights and stress were giving him a headache, even if working with Uraraka wasn’t going as badly as he’d anticipated.

As the camera started to flash again, Uraraka turned sideways, pressing her chest against his arm with one hand propped on his shoulder. When he slipped her another surreptitious look, he noticed the label of the sports bra sticking out of the bottom hem. Weren’t the stylists meant to be looking out for that shit? Amateurs.

Tsking, he reached around her back and slid his fingers under the bottom of the band, tucking the label back under the fabric so it was hidden. She didn’t flinch, apparently unbothered by the wanton contact, and kept her gaze on the camera as it audibly snapped.

A second later, Anya clicked her fingers. “That’s the shot.”

The photographer lowered the camera, eyebrows raised, then stood beside her to look at it projected on the monitor.

“Are you sure?” he asked.

“Positive,” Anya said, a devious grin creeping across her face that Katsuki didn’t like one bit. “That’s a wrap folks! Good work, team!”

Uraraka’s hand slid off his shoulder; she looked about as perplexed as he felt.

“Wait a fucking minute,” Katsuki said, “we’ve only taken a few shots in this gear. I’m not being called back because you decided to half-ass the last set.”

Anya waved a hand. “Don’t worry your pretty little head. I’m telling you this is the one. Trust your manager, please.”

“Can I see it?” Uraraka asked curiously.

Anya turned off the screen. “Nope! No time. We’ve already overrun by half an hour and Bakugou-san has an appointment to keep for twelve.”

Katsuki groaned.

Uraraka cocked her head but decided not to pursue the matter, then clicked her fingers suddenly. “Oh, I meant to ask! Anya-san, would it be okay if the Visual Department kept my scars this time? They were edited out for the last shoot.”

Katsuki glanced at her torso and arms. Scarring and injury went hand in hand with being an active hero on the frontlines; he was so used to seeing them on both himself and his brethren heroes that he barely noticed them anymore, but he supposed to the public they might be considered quite shocking. Uraraka was no exception to the rule.

Anya blinked at her, then shrugged. “Sure, if you’re happy with that.”

“It’s fitting with the brand, right?” she replied happily. “All rugged and tough or whatever, like Mr Sunshine over here.” She patted Katsuki’s shoulder and he warded her off with a few sparkler-sized explosions.

Anya shot him a warning look, then bowed to Uraraka. “I’ll shoot an email to the Vis. Department. Thank you so much for working with us, Uravity-san. Someone could definitely learn from your faultless sense of professionalism.”

Uraraka giggled while Katsuki contemplated blowing a hole in the wall, then she bowed to the team and thanked them before pushing Katsuki into a half-hearted bow too. He let her because he wasn’t in the mood to start a fight. Even though he sorely wanted to.

“Ah, I gotta start my shift in twenty,” she announced after glancing at her phone, then hopped over to where she’d stashed her hero boots. “Can I keep these gym samples? I don’t have time to get changed.”

“I don’t see why not,” Anya said, “just don’t wear them in public until the launch. I don’t want counterfeits on the market before they go live.”

“Oh,” she said, looking disappointed. “I was gonna wear them straight to work but…” She glanced around, then picked up the hoodie Katsuki had discarded over the back of a chair earlier. “Can I borrow this?”

“No you fucking can’t,” he snapped.

“Thanks!” she said, beaming, then tugged on her jeans and boots over the yoga pants and zipped up his hoodie to hide the sports bra.

“I said no, you dumb fuck!” Katsuki roared at her while tugging off his gloves. “Don’t even think about jumping out that window, Round Face, or I will personally –“

“Thanks for working with me again!” she sang over him, one foot already out the open window. “Let me know when the final edits come through! Bye!”

And then, predictably, she jumped out the window and blasted out of sight.

Katsuki gritted his teeth, fighting the urge to remind her that she wasn’t the only one who could jump out a window and live. “Someone needs to tell that idiot that once might be cute, but twice is just obnoxious.”

“You thought it was cute the first time?” Anya asked slyly.

Katsuki flinched. “Shut up and get me a coffee! I can’t believe you scheduled more meetings today, like I haven’t been through enough bullshit already. If it’s with the head of PR again I’m gonna lose my mind.”

“It’s with the head of PR.”

“Fuck!”

She handed him a freshly brewed coffee that she’d conjured from exactly nowhere, and two aspirin. “You’ll manage.”

The editing and marketing department took over the project from there, and Katsuki didn’t hear another word about it until the first day of the countdown leading up to the second launch. The marketing team had done a fantastic job teasing the collab (or so Anya told him) and everyone was hyped about the new designs. They’d called the collab Zero Gravity and were releasing a series of clever ads based on the concept of counting down for a rocket launch, NASA style.

Katsuki felt like it was all anyone wanted to talk about. At least to him, at any rate. But unsurprisingly he remained mostly out of the loop; Anya was strangely elusive whenever he asked to see the photos but reassured him that they looked fine. Katsuki had no choice but to trust her judgement.

A choice he sorely regretted pre-launch day.

It was an ill-omen when his phone started pinging with messages barely two minutes after the reveal of Zero Gravity’s main billboard. This one was in Yasakuni-dori in Shinjuku, one of the biggest advertising spaces in the district. He’d been mildly panicky when Anya had told him, because if it looked bad then the whole of Tokyo would know about it and he could wave his Top Ten spot goodbye forever.

So he hesitated before grabbing his phone off his desk, then thumbed on the screen.

All the notifications were from the Bakusquad’s group chat, and the feed was littered with photos. He quickly realized they were all gathered at Yasakuni-dori in time for the launch of the billboard at midday, like the dumb fucks they were.

He was about to open the first photo when Eijirou videocalled him. Taking a deep, temper-quelling breath, he accepted the call.

And was immediately assaulted by unintelligible screeching.

“HOLY FUCK BAKU –“

“Y’ALL WHAT THE HELL –“

“I’M SCREAAAMMMING –“

“- LITERALLY GONNA DIE YOU –“

“ – HOTTEST THING I’VE EVER SEEN –“

“- GRIND MEAT ON YOUR ABS –“

“- WOULD SUFFOCATE BETWEEN HER THIGHS –“

“- ADOPT ME DADDY –“

Katsuki barely found the restraint to keep from exploding his phone while glancing at the workers beyond his office walls. “Will you shut the fuck up!?”

Eijirou’s face appeared on the camera, flushed with excitement and grinning wildly. “Sorry, man, but the ad looks SO good!”

“Y’all makin’ me wet,” Mina said, sliding onto the screen.

“Get your pervert girlfriend outta my face,” Katsuki snapped.

Eijirou tittered and gently nudged Mina off-screen – only for her to be replaced by Kaminari.

“Kaachan, you absolute slut, I didn’t know you had it in you!”

Sero appeared on Eijirou’s other side, wearing a leery grin. “I for one don’t believe it’s him. It’s gotta be a stunt double, right? I mean, when have you ever seen Lord Explosion Murder look like that!?”

Katsuki’s heart was galloping in his chest now. He swore to all the gods, if the Vis. Department had edited the photo to make him look weird, he was going burn everything they loved to ash.

“Show me the ad,” he demanded.

The Bakusquad retreated until just Eijirou was in the shot, and in the background he swore he could hear a crowd of people chatting and cooing.

“I’m guessing they didn’t show it to you,” Eijirou said. “You’re not gonna like it, but honestly I think it’s fucking rad, man.”

“I don’t give a fuck what you think!” Katsuki snapped, even though it was somewhat reassuring having Eijirou’s seal of approval; if he hadn’t liked it, he would have been honest and told him. “Just show it to me, already.”

“Oh my gosh,” Mina screeched in the background. “Are we gonna get a reaction cam from the Ground Zero himself? Record your screen, record your screen, record your screen –“

Katsuki hung up. He was not giving them the satisfaction of seeing his initial reaction – knowing Mina she would probably upload it to the internet – and he was now certain said reaction was going to involve him blowing up his desk.

A few seconds later, Eijirou sent him the ad, and Katsuki enlarged the photo.

“Are you happy now?” Anya said ten minutes later.

Katsuki tried very hard not to pout while getting scolded in Endeavor Agency’s parking lot. The evacuated staff were standing in their designated rows nearby while the building’s fire alarms went off and firefighters assessed the damage in Katsuki’s office.

“No I’m not happy,” he hissed, trying to keep his voice down. “How did you think I was gonna react!?”

 “Not like a child that blew up his own desk and set off the fire alarms!” she hissed back. “What the hell is wrong with you?”

“I’m pissed, obviously! Why didn’t you run that photo past me first? Why didn’t you think that maybe – just maybe – I would’ve liked to approve something like that before the whole of Japan saw it and got the wrong fucking idea?”

“It’s modeling, Bakugou, nobody is getting the wrong idea. Models interact like that all the time – it doesn’t mean it’s romantic.”

“That’s not how it works in the hero world and you damn well know it! Look me in the eye and tell me people aren’t speculating on social media.”

She rolled her eyes and said nothing.

“I fucking knew it!” he snarled. “This is all your fault. You’re purposely trying to sabotage my reputation!”

“Your reputation of being a total asshole? Please. And why would I jeopardize my job like that? Do you not realize what this is going to do for your career? The ad hit exactly the way we wanted it to. Everyone is talking about it. Everyone. This soft, vulnerable side of Ground Zero besides a tougher, sensuous Uravity. You think people would get this excited over another photo of you scowling at the camera?”

He gritted his teeth. She was right, but it still pissed him off. “This whole thing is fucking dumb. I never should’ve agreed to this in the first place.”

“Say that to me again when your paycheck comes in,” she said tartly. “And Uravity-san was pleased with it.”

He glanced at her, surprised. “You’ve spoken to Round Face?” He hadn’t spoken to Round Face; she hadn’t messaged him at all.

“No. She posted a selfie in front of the billboard earlier looking pleased as punch.” She sighed. “She’s such a cutie. And definitely wouldn’t set office property on fire if she didn’t get her way.”

“Oh, shut the fuck up. And why would she –“

“Bakugou.”

Both Katsuki and Anya flinched as a deep, masculine voice cut through the surrounding din.

Endeavor himself weaved through the crowd toward them. Anya bowed low, while Katsuki at least had the decency to stare at the ground.

Endeavor stood in front of Bakugou, demanding his attention without needing to ask.

“If I can get through the day without setting something on fire,” he said, “then so can you.”

Katsuki shoved his hands in his pockets and mumbled an apology. Being dressed down by Endeavor in front of the entire company was the absolute cherry on top of his fucking day.

“I’d give you a verbal warning,” Endeavor continued, “but considering the success of the pre-launch today, I’ll let it slide. This one time. I do not expect a hero of your standing to cause property damage and waste both the fire department and the agencies’ time. Do you understand?”

“Yes,” Katsuki muttered.

“Good,” Endeavor rumbled as he turned away. “Keep working hard.”

Katsuki was very aware that most heroes would have been fired for what he’d done, but he’d known Endeavor since he was kid and was pretty sure the older man saw parallels both in their personalities and the violent nature of their quirks. The older man was also under the false impression that Katsuki was friends with his son, and Anya had been very, very intent on preserving that lie, mostly for times like these.

As the fire department finished their checks and people began filing back into the office, Katsuki pulled out his phone and furtively reopened the photo Eijirou had sent him.

It had all the trademarks of his brand – dark and moody with flashes of orange – but his eyes were naturally drawn to Uraraka again. She had her hand propped on his shoulder, the other pressed against her tiny waist. Her expression oozed sex appeal: she wore the same smirk as the first campaign, spearing him with an alluring look, while her scars worked to tell a story usually hidden under frills and makeup.

And of course there was him. But he couldn’t focus on the gear or how he looked physically, not when he was looking at her with that expression. An expression he did not remember making. Looking at her like… like…

Fuck.

He wracked his brain trying to remember how and when they’d gotten this shot, then suddenly it hit him: he’d tucked the label under the band of the sport’s bra.

Those sneaky motherfuckers.

They’d caught him with his hand wrapped around her back and fingers sliding up her top while he made moon eyes at her like a big fucking sap. And now that image was slapped across every major billboard in Japan where everybody could see it and jump to their weird, completely inaccurate assumptions about him and Round Face.

He wanted to fucking die.

Anya refused to let him switch offices despite it being a health and safety hazard – citing he had to live with his mess if he insisted on making mess – and as he began the painstaking process of cleaning burn marks off the walls and picking up the pieces of his desk, he was disturbed by a tapping on the window.

Round Face was floating outside the building with a huge grin on her face.

He shoved open the window and knocked her backwards, but instead of wheeling away she used her boots to steady herself and drifted back.

“Did ya see it, did ya see it?” she asked excitedly.

“Yes,” he deadpanned.

“It looked so good, right? Honestly, I wasn’t sure we could pull it off and I was so worried it’d be poorly received because of our conflicting brands but – oh my gods what happened to your office!?”

“Mind your own business,” he snapped. “Did you know about it before today?”

“What?”

“The fucking photo!”

“Uh, of course I did? It had to go through my agency too, ya know.” She blinked at his expression until something clicked in her brain. “They didn’t show you.”

Katsuki glowered as her gaze darted to the ruins of his office with better comprehension.

“Ohhh. Wow. Geez. I’m so sorry, if I’d known they weren’t gonna show you I would’ve asked them –“

“It’s not your fault,” Katsuki said, then huffed. “I just wanna cut my check and pretend this didn’t happen.”

He swore there was a flash of hurt on her face, but it was so fleeting he wondered if he’d imagined it.

“You don’t like it?” she asked.

“I…” He hesitated. If he said he didn’t like it then she’d only blame herself, and he didn’t want to hurt her already piss-poor self-esteem. “I don’t hate it.”

She stared at him for a second, then her smile returned. “Good! Because I love it! It’s nice that people get to see the other side of us, ya know?”

“I don’t have another side,” he snapped. “Now get lost, nerd. I’ve got work to do.”

“Alright,” she said, then inexplicably added, “You looked super hot in the ad, by the way! See ya tomorrow!”

He was left blinking after her, entirely perplexed, then muttered under his breath, “What the fuck is happening tomorrow?”

Chapter Text

Katsuki’s 6.30am alarm was cut off by Anya ringing him. Ringing him – not texting him – which was enough to make him want to blow up his phone and pretend he’d dropped it in the sink.

 “Do you ever fucking sleep?” he snapped as way of greeting. “Or stop working? Or do any kind of normal human activities? Because I’m beginning to suspect you’re a robot made for the sole purpose of making my life miserable.”

“My, my – aren’t we articulate first thing in the morning?” Anya chirped.

“Tell me where your self-destruct switch is.”

“Wouldn’t you like to know. Anyway. It’s launch day, and you know what that means!”

“Don’t say promo -”

“Promo! Appearances, interviews, ads – the works. I hope you’re feeling spritely because it’s gonna be a long day.”

“I told you I didn’t want to do this shit.”

“I know, I know, but the agency would’ve thrown me off a roof if I’d turned down the kind of money they were offering. Do you wanna know how much we charged just to have you stand outside a store and look pretty for ten minutes?”

“Don’t care.”

“More than you’re worth, that’s for certain. I’m coming to pick you up in ten, by the way.”

Katsuki shot up in bed. “What!?”

“If you’re lucky I might accidentally fall into Starbucks on the way, but only if you say, ‘My manager is the prettiest, kindest, most wonderful manager in the whole wide world’.”

“Fuck you.”

“Close enough. We’ll call it twenty. Ciao!”

“Fuck.”

Katsuki jumped out of bed and jogged to the bathroom. That sneaky bitch never told him anything until the last minute. And even if she did it to spare him from getting anxiety about public appearances, he wasn’t sure which was worse: the shock of knowing last minute or fretting about knowing.

He got ready in record time and was just considering making something to eat when Anya buzzed at the downstairs door of the apartment building. He let her up, then greeted her at the front door. She looked as pristine as ever, no hint to it being 6.45am, adding credence to his suspicion of her being a robot.

“Coffee,” she said, waving a takeout cup in front of him, but pulled it away before he could take it. “After you get changed. You’ve gotta wear the collab gear all day. Self-advertising.”

He tsked, took the packaged samples from her, then hurriedly retreated to the bathroom to get changed while she waited in the genkan. The joggers he pulled on were black and green with white text reading ‘Zero Gravity’ running down the sides, alongside a matching hoodie and black t-shirt with the logo over the chest. At least he’d be comfortable all day, and anything was better than wearing a suit and tie.

Anya didn’t look up from her phone when he emerged, and blindly handed him his coffee before exiting the apartment. He trailed on her heels, feeling like he was being dragged to the car by his mother on the first day of school.

“Uravity-san is meeting us at the first store,” she said. “While I condensed all your appearances into a day, the poor girl has to deal with them all week. She’s in high demand, you know; I don’t know how she finds the time to do actual hero work around all the promotion. Her agency works her hard, that’s for sure.” She paused. “Maybe I should take a leaf out of their book.”

Katsuki withered at the thought. He couldn’t imagine having a busier schedule.

He briefly wondered if Uraraka struggled with her schedule too – if she got enough sleep, had enough to eat – but pushed that concern aside. Not his business.

“Am I gonna have to put up with her all day?” he asked.

“Of course! It’s a collab – people want to see you together. She can do the rest by herself but today it’s important that you work as a team.” She narrowed her eyes at him. “You know what that means? Teamwork? Working together with someone else? Harmoniously?”

“Yes,” Katsuki gritted as he slid into the back seat of the company car.

Anya got in beside him, still not looking up from her phone. She signaled to the driver, then retrieved a bag from the middle seat and dumped it into Katsuki’s lap. “Breakfast. Eat it all. You’ll need the energy. I don’t want you in a bad mood before we’ve even started.”

Katsuki rolled his eyes. He might as well have his mother here. Although at least Anya didn’t slap him in public.

“Where’s the first place?” Katsuki asked around a mouthful of fruit.

“New Balance in Roppongi Hills. They’re opening at 8am and apparently people are already queuing around the block.”

Katsuki sank into his seat.

“You’re literally just showing your face for fifteen minutes right before they open,” Anya said, noting his displeasure. “They’ll ask you a few questions – I’ve sent them to you, by the way – then you can leave.”

“Do I have to have my photo taken?”

“Yes, Bakugou, you have to have your photo taken. Spoiler alert: that’s going to be a running theme throughout the day.” She sighed. “I’m so glad Uravity-san is going to be with you. Hopefully she’ll take the spotlight. I mean, she’s basically a walking, talking beam of sunshine – especially compared to you.”

“Don’t give a fuck.”

“All I ask is that you don’t swear or say anything uncomplimentary to her in front of the cameras. That includes calling her Round Face, understand?”

“No promises.”

“I mean it, Bakugou! You know the agency gets fined every time a hero swears on live TV. Just let Uravity-san do the bulk of the talking. And while no one’s expecting you to smile, try not to wear that face you pull every time you get mad – yeah, that one.”

“That’s just my face!” he snarled. “I better get some fucking time off after this.”

“You and me both,” she said dryly, then dragged her eyes from her phone and patted him on the cheek. “You’ll be fine.”

Katsuki shoved the rest of the apple into his mouth, core and all.

The queue for New Balance was indeed wrapped around the block, just as Anya had said, and Katsuki bit down a groan as the car pulled up outside the store while struggling to remember why he’d agreed to this in the first place. But he wasn’t given time to recall before the driver pulled open his car door for him and Anya ushered him onto the street.

The screams from the waiting fans almost triggered his fight reflex – now that would have been a  short and brutal end to his promo tour – but he managed to restrain himself as he shoved his hands in his pockets and stalked to the store’s front door. A clerk held it open for him, and immediately he noticed Uraraka waiting on the other side, her attention drawn to the sudden screams.

“Hey!” she said, bouncing over with a bright grin. She was dressed in the matching female set to his gear, wearing just a lick of makeup with her hair swept into a high tail. For all intents and purposes, she looked like she was going to a sparring session, and he liked that a lot. It made him feel at ease. Like maybe this was just a sparring session – except he was up against a shit-ton of paps instead of her.

“You’re too loud this early in the morning,” he told her. “Get out of my personal space.”

The surrounding store clerks gave him an odd look, but before Anya could scold him, Uraraka clapped him amiably on the shoulder and laughed. “Good morning to you too, hotshot. Let’s work well together, okay?”

Katsuki huffed.

Anya and Uraraka exchanged pleasantries, then Anya said, “The press will come in first to ask a few questions, which will be televised but not live.” She pinned Katsuki with a look. “Which isn’t an excuse for you to swear, mind you, so use this opportunity to practice your TV-manners. Then you’ll speak to your fans for fifteen, then officially open the doors and leave through the back exit.”

“I’ll handle the personal questions,” Uraraka told Katsuki.

He frowned. “What personal questions?”

Anya fretfully waved at Uraraka, then turned to the store clerks. “Okay, we’re ready.”

“Wait – what personal questions? Anya, you robot-bitch, don’t –“

Uraraka leapt in front of him with a bright (and very loud) hail aimed at the press as they filed in through the door, effectively shutting down his violent line of questioning. He grudgingly went to stand beside her and managed to keep the anger off his face as the questioning started.

Uraraka answered their quick-fire questions with the kind of cheerful professionalism that came naturally to her. He couldn’t help but quietly watch her as she became alive in front of the cameras – or more, a carefully manicured version of what the public might consider ‘alive’. Not to say that she was ingenuine – rather, this side of her was only surface deep. Not that he knew her amazingly well – they hadn’t spoken much since graduating – but he remembered enough to recognize this carefully crafted façade.

They were similar in that respect, he supposed. Except she covered up her insecurities with a bubbly smile, whereas he used anger. And if you’d asked him about that ten years ago he would’ve denied it completely – but years of therapy had taught him to be self-reflective, so he recognized his own shortcomings as and when they presented. The real issue was that he couldn’t be bothered to deal with them, half the time.

Uraraka’s gaze suddenly fixed on him, and she jerked her head surreptitiously towards the paps.

Oh, fuck. They’d asked him a question.

“What?” he snapped at them.

One man cleared his throat, then repeated: “You and Uravity-san seem to have fantastic chemistry on set. What made you reach out to her after all these years to represent your brand?”

Katsuki visibly recoiled at the word ‘chemistry’ – they did not have chemistry, he’d been tucking in a label, for fuck’s sake -  and was one second away from telling them that it hadn’t been his idea at all before he corrected that train of thought.

“Why wouldn’t I want her representing me?” he said. “She’s one of the toughest heroes in the industry.”

“But there’s half a dozen heroes more suited to the nature of your brand compared to Uravity-san. So why her?”

‘Why her?’ Was this asshole implying she wasn’t good enough to work with him?

A cold anger settled in Katsuki’s chest, and he had to consciously unclench his jaw before he spoke again. “You don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about.”

In the background, Anya made a strangled noise.

Uraraka laughed and elbowed him playfully in the ribs. “What Ground Zero means to say is, there’s more sides to heroes than what’s shown on TV. Ground Zero and I have known each other since school, so we knew it would work from the beginning. Believe it or not, he can be very professional when he wants to be.”

This drew a few choked laughs from the press, and Katsuki let it slide if only to avoid being murdered by Anya later.

Another pap asked, “Will you be adopting this new image permanently, Uravity-san?”

Uraraka bobbed her shoulder. “I think I can do both! I really want to show everyone that girls can be cute and tough at the same time, ya know? I’m grateful that Ground Zero gave me the opportunity to prove that.”

“You don’t need me to prove anything,” Katsuki said hotly, then caught himself. Shit, he really did need to grow a filter between his brain and mouth.

“Is this a collab we’ll be seeing more of in the future?” someone asked.

“I hope so!” Uraraka said cheerfully.

Another asked, “Do you think you’ll start teaming up on the field?”

Uraraka glanced at Katsuki, and he shrugged. “Heroes work together in combat all the time – it’s the nature of the job.”

“But you’re notorious for working alone. Would you make an exception for Uravity-san?”

Katsuki ground his teeth. What were these fucking inane questions? Heroes did whatever was best at the time – whatever resulted in less casualties, fast rescues and arrested criminals. If that meant working with others, then fine, even if most of the time he managed to achieve all three goals alone; it wasn’t his fault other heroes couldn’t keep up with him.

“I’ll work with whoever gets the job done without getting in my way,” he said.

“He’s such a sweet talker,” Uraraka joked in a mock whisper, pulling another laugh from the paps.

“Last question,” Anya called out, tapping her wristwatch.

Thank fuck, Katsuki thought, ignoring the fact this was only the first interview of the day.

One pap stepped forward, mic thrust forward, and asked, “Are the rumors about you and Uravity-san dating true?”

“Dating?” Katsuki repeated, going cold with shock.

But it only took a second for Anya to call out, “No questions about their private lives, please!” and any further questions were shut down. As the press were herded out the door, she busied over to Katsuki and fussed with his outfit.

“Phew, dodged a bullet. It is so refreshing having Uravity-san here to pull you through these things, but you didn’t do terribly, even if you spent half of it gawking at her.”

“I did not!” he hissed, glancing sideways at Uraraka while she politely pretended not to hear. “And what the fuck was that last question?”

Anya pushed a spike of hair out of his face like a fussing mother, then sighed again. “You seriously don’t go on twitter, do you?”

“You fucking know I don’t!”

“Look, people are obviously going to gossip and speculate. You said that yourself when the ad came out.”

“So why the hell didn’t you let me answer?”

“Because it’s great for the hype! It gets people talking not just about you, but the brand too –“

“I don’t want people gossiping – and stop fucking fussing over me, woman!”

Anya took a step back. “I’ve told them not to ask questions about your personal lives, so you don’t need to answer at all. Can you just deal with it for a day? Uravity-san is handling it without throwing a tantrum –“

“I’m not throwing a tantrum!” He turned his glare on Uraraka. “And you’re fine with this?”

Uraraka glanced up from her phone while her stylist fiddled with her hair and shrugged. “I’m used to people speculating about my personal life. Makes no difference to me.”

Fucking traitor.

Well, he wasn’t going to be shown up by her. If they wanted him to keep his mouth shut, then fine, but if it got any more serious he was going to state very clearly what he thought about them dating, and he couldn’t guarantee an absence of explosions while he did it.

“Okay, meet and greet time,” Anya said, shoving him towards the door. “Don’t swear at them or explode their phones.”

“I only did that one time –“

“One time too many.”

“Did you really?” Uraraka commented at his side, looking both amused and shocked.

“I was caught off guard,” Katsuki said lamely. “And I paid for a new one…”

Uraraka snorted.

The doors opened and they exited the building to a ruckus of high-pitched screaming. Katsuki rarely did meet and greets because he didn’t like crowds or talking to people, and his agency knew him well enough to keep them few and far between for the sake of PR’s sanity. But this one was particularly large.

The people in the queue were definitely a mix of their fans, judging by the merch, but he was surprised to find a lot of people had combined their wares; there were her t-shirts under his hoodies and phones strung with both their charms, and his phone cases with her stickers slapped over the top. They seemed excited to see them both, aside from the odd lone man who was clearly here for Uraraka; he found it hard keeping the glare off his face while Uraraka patiently put up with their advances.

Katsuki never posed for photographs but let people take photos of him while he signed autographs with the pen lid rammed between his teeth, eyes down, making blunt, boring small talk with girls who could barely string a sentence together. He was glad nobody expected him to smile and he was good at blocking them out, even if he still found it weird. How could you adore someone you didn’t know? It was all a constructed fantasy, and probably not a healthy one either, considering he wasn’t exactly nice.

Uraraka, on the other hand, maintained her upbeat, bubbly persona for the entire fifteen minutes, posing for selfies and signing autographs in her big, heart-punctuated, loopy signature. Even if the dimples in her cheeks never showed – not quite. He wondered if anyone even knew she had dimples besides her friends.

Besides him.

The meet and greet ended, and they made a show of opening the store before retreating out the back door to avoid the stampede of shoppers. Anya herded them into the company car and took the front seat while Uraraka slid into the back seat next to him. There was a partition between the driver’s and passenger sides, giving them some semblance of privacy, which Katsuki was hugely grateful for because he didn’t want to hear Anya’s inevitable critique of his interviewing skills. Or lack thereof.

It only occurred to him once they started driving that he didn’t know where their next destination was.

“I never expected it to blow up like this,” Uraraka said around the straw of her Frappuccino while scrolling through her phone. “To think my agency thought it’d be a bad idea.”

“Nobody likes change,” Katsuki remarked as he stared out the window. He was already getting a headache and it was barely past 8am.

“You know,” she said ponderously, “I don’t even like pink that much. When I submitted my hero costume design ideas back in UA, the suit had been red and black, but the designers changed it to pink to appeal to a female audience and made it skin tight so men could gawk at a fifteen year old.”

Katsuki said nothing.

“I don’t mind the pink, but I would’ve put my foot down if I’d known ‘cute’ would become my brand. I mean, I’m twenty-seven years old and they’re still putting me in school uniforms and ribbons and frills. And I’m tired of that. The misogyny, I mean. The double standards. The only reason I’ve tolerated it for so long is because it’s a tried and tested system that makes bank in this country. They’re happy for me to risk my neck and capture the bad guys so long as I’m still a submissive good girl at the end of it.”

“Jesus, Uraraka.”

She blinked sheepishly at him. “Sorry, I guess I sound pretty jaded, huh? Didn’t mean to get so dark all of a sudden.”

“Don’t apologize,” Katsuki said. “I’m just… pissed that you have to go through that shit.”

She smiled at him. “Thanks. I don’t have to worry about that with you, anyway. You’ve never seen me like that.”

“Like what?”

“Cute.”

He coughed. “I guess not.”

“It’s not a bad thing,” she rectified, turning to properly meet his eyes. “You have too much respect for me to treat me as something I’m not. I feel like you actually see me for who I am, rather than what everyone wants me to be, or presumes me to be.”

Frail. Cute. It was obvious to him that she was more than that – it had always been obvious to him – so it was strange that it wasn’t to everyone else.

“I just hope all this bullshit is enough to get us into the Top Ten,” he said as he grumpily turned his gaze back to the view beyond the window.

“Aw, what d’ya mean, ‘bullshit’?” she said teasingly. “You look great in pink.”

“Shut up.”

It was a long day. Long and relentless and everything Katsuki hated about being a hero condensed into hours of back-to-back interviews and meet-and-greets. He’d always known fame came with a price, and while of course the allure of fame and money had initially fueled his desire to become the Number One hero, he didn’t care much for it now, and his personality certainly didn’t vibe well on camera. Never had, and probably never would.

They ate in the car between shoots. Katsuki was on his fourth aspirin by 7pm and Uraraka’s smile was thinning a little around the edges. She looked drained, he thought, although she saved her smile-less, tired expression for when they were tucked into the backseat of the car. He was almost relieved to see her like that, honestly, because it meant she likely shared his opinion of the media circus. He could relate to that, and that made him feel better.

Anya slid onto the back seat with them this time, pushing Katsuki into the middle seat, and offered him a coffee which he accepted with genuine thanks.

“That was the last one,” she said with an exhausted sigh. “Lucky you’re used to working twelve-hour shifts, eh?”

“Lucky,” Katsuki agreed humorlessly. He took a long drink from his coffee, failing to remember the last time he’d been this drained.

Beside him, Uraraka leaned against his shoulder and wriggled down the seat to get comfortable. He felt he should have been more annoyed about her total lack of consideration for his personal space, but he was so tired he didn’t care anymore. He put the empty coffee cup in the holder and crossed his arms, trying to ignore the soft press of her cheek through his shirt.

“That’s it for the week, though, I promise,” Anya went on as she started scrolling through her phone. “We don’t have accurate sales figures yet but so far all the major sports centers are sold out, and we’re sold out online too. It’s been a resounding success – even upper management messaged today extending their congratulations.”

“Congratulations that we made them so much money while they did exactly fuck all.”

“C’mon now. The agency only takes a tiny percentage of your earnings. Anyway, the internet is still freaking out over your collab. Both sets of your fans seem excited to see you together – like a school reunion. Deku has been retweeting all the merch posts on his social media.”

“Fucking nerd.”

“He’s Uravity’s best friend, of course he’s going to support her. You should really message him to thank him.”

“No.”

“All your friends have been supportive, actually. Although everyone seems torn between wanting to see you both spar again or…uh…”

“Or what?”

“Never mind.” She tucked her phone away. “I’ve booked the morning off for you tomorrow. Thought you could do with a few hours more sleep before your patrol shift.”

He blinked at her. “Oh. Thanks.”

“I would’ve booked Uravity-san the morning off too, but she’s outside my jurisdiction.” She leaned around him to look at her, expression softening. “Damn, she’s cute.”

Katsuki glanced down and realized she’d fallen asleep against him, looking fifteen-years-old again with her mouth wide open and a thin line of drool threatening to trickle down her chin.

What a freak.

“I’m glad you work so well together. Seems the feelers I put out about you two were right.”

“What feelers?” Katsuki asked suspiciously.

“Oh, just a few of your school friends. Shouto-san, mainly. He said you two got along during school.”

“You asked that half-and-half bastard about my personal business!?”

“Yes, and he asked Deku, who provided me with a frighteningly detailed catalogue of your interactions with other people –“

“That motherfucking dick-faced piece of –“

“Don’t wake up Uravity-san!” She glanced out the window as the car pulled over. “Oh, never mind, we’re at her agency now anyway.”

Katsuki looked down at Uraraka again, feeling guilty about waking her up, then gently nudged her with his elbow. She didn’t respond, so he elbowed her a little harder. “Oi, Round Face. We’re dropping you off.”

She startled awake with a very unladylike snort, then blinked blearily around before registering where she was. She glanced bashfully up at Katsuki, then stretched and yawned.

“Is it another interview?”

“Nah, we’re done for the day.”

“Thank goodness,” she said, then massaged her face. “If I smile anymore my cheeks will start cramping up. You’re lucky not smiling is your brand.”

“Don’t give him any more of an excuse to be an asshole,” Anya said, then added, “Thank you for your hard work today, Uravity-san. I’m sure we’ll be seeing you soon.”

“Call me Uraraka,” she said. “And thank you for managing us through the chaos. Couldn’t have done it without you. Maybe I’ll poach you along with Bakugou-kun’s parents.”

“That’ll be the dream,” Anya said with a wry smile. “Have a good evening.”

The driver opened the door on Uraraka’s side, and she slipped out. Katsuki noticed there were a few paps hanging around the agency’s front entrance to get a picture of her – as if she hadn’t been inundated with photos enough today.

She leaned back through the door and winked at him. “See ya around, hotshot.”

“Get lost,” Katsuki said, then pulled the door shut.

Beside him, Anya physically withered. “You are the worst person, you know that?”

“Don’t care.”

Katsuki dragged himself to his apartment and barely remembered to kick of his sneakers before he collapsed onto the couch. A light rain began to fall, tapping lightly against his window and calming his buzzing thoughts.

Over now. It was over. He didn’t need to think about the collab anymore; it had served its purpose, which was to make him money, and now it was sold out he could go back to pushing his normal Ground Zero gear and not think about Uraraka ever again.

Which was good. Right?

Right.

Even though it hadn’t been terrible seeing her again. Would it be unprofessional to ask her to spar with him sometime? He hadn’t seen her on the battlefield for a while and was curious about how she’d hold up against him nowadays.

He closed his eyes, listening to the ticking of the clock on the wall and rain against the window. A curious ache formed his chest and it took him a moment to recognize what it was.

Loneliness. A companion that was becoming increasingly persistent outside of work – as spare as that was.

While Katsuki liked his personal space, he acknowledged there needed to be something more to his life than just… this. Whatever this was. Just existing day-to-day. Striving to meet a goal that dangled tantalizing out of reach, for reasons he couldn’t quite pinpoint anymore. He still wanted it, but he wondered if that want was more habitual now. After all, he couldn’t remember a time when he didn’t want to be Number One.

The sound of rain was joined by a needy yowl. Katsuki sighed, then cracked open an eye and peered at the long-haired, ginger cat judging him from the top of the coffee table. There was a sort of stubborn standoff between them, neither willing to move, but it was a standoff Katsuki knew he was going to fail. Cats were persistent bastards.

“Come on then, Shit-head.”

The cat hopped down from the table and made a beeline for the kitchen, where she jumped onto the counter and peered at him expectantly.

“Yeah, yeah,” Katsuki said as he pulled a can of cat food out of the cupboard and dumped its content into a bowl. “I know you’re just here for the food, you mangy animal.”

Shit-head purred as she rapidly devoured the meat, paying no mind to Katsuki’s criticism. He noticed the fur was re-growing nicely over the healing wounds he’d paid to have treated. Maybe she’d look like a nice, normal housecat in a few months rather than some beat-up trash gremlin he’d been stupid enough to feed in an alley some weeks ago.

“Troublemaker,” he muttered before roughly tousling her ears with the back of his hand.

She growled, which as good as thanks as he was going to get.

After falling in and out of the shower and brushing his teeth, Katsuki climbed into bed despite it barely clocking past 9pm. Honestly, he didn’t give a single fuck; the only person around to judge him was his stupid cat – who spent seventeen hours a day sleeping in a garbage can, probably, so she was in no position to judge him for an early night. Even though she gave him the stink eye as she jumped onto the end of his bed.

“I’m not getting attached to you, you little asshole,” he told her. “One of these days I’ll kick you back on the streets, where you belong. Hear me?”

She curled indifferently into a ball and closed her eyes.

Katsuki was about to follow her example when his phone beeped. Once. Twice. Three times. Reluctantly, he grabbed it from where it was charging on his bedside table and thumbed it open, only to find the notifications were coming from the Bakusquad group chat. Despite knowing instinctively that it was going to be about him, he opened the chat anyway.

Mina had posted a one-minute video clip, followed by a series of eye emojis. Underneath, Sero had commented the same emojis, Eijirou had left a simple ‘dude’, while Kaminari had said ‘not me watching this 50x on repeat’.

Katsuki closed his eyes, blowing air through his nose to channel his temper – because he sure as shit did not need this to top off his day – then grudgingly opened the video.

It was him and Uraraka from the interview earlier that morning. Mina was filming her TV as the clip played on a chat show. The bottom of the screen had garish text describing the launch of Zero Gravity, plus a few reaction cams from whoever they had guesting on the show – pretty standard Japanese TV.

In the clip, Uraraka was blathering on about the concept behind combining their brands while the show had added dumb sparkly effects around her smiling face. Why had Mina sent him this? Was it just because they were on TV together or –

Oh.

He carried on watching and immediately knew what had got that brainless harpy into a frenzy.

Mina messaged again, breaking his train of thought. ‘U watching it, Blasty? We can see you’ve read the message, ya know.’

‘100% watching it,’ Sero said.

‘Watching HER u mean,’ Kaminari added.

Alright, so he’d been staring at Uraraka for the entire minute of the video – so what? ‘It’s called active listening, you fucking assholes, maybe you should try it some time.’

Mina sent an enlarged screenshot of his face. ‘Kitty-Kat, look at ur expression LOOK AT IT.’

Kaminari: ‘That is some hardcore simping, my guy.’

Eijirou: ‘You all owe me 1000yen’

Sero: ‘Midoriya is gonna get a hard on when he sees this’

Katsuki had never wanted to collectively punch four people through his phonescreen more than he did now. ‘I fucking hate all of you’.

Mina added, ‘Btw I’ve printed out the photo of your collab ad and put it on my bedside table. Gonna enjoy that later <3’

Katsuki turned off his phone.

Chapter Text

Damage Control

Being woken by midday sunlight streaming between cracks in the curtains was a rare luxury for Katsuki nowadays. The fact he’d slept away the entire morning said a lot about how tired he was. An extended vacation was overdue by roughly ten years, but it was hard scheduling time off when him being on-duty often made the difference between someone living and dying. He felt guilty when he wasn’t working, and that sucked, because he didn’t want to work all the time.

His plan to go back to sleep for another few hours was thwarted by Shit-head, who was less than impressed by the change in feeding schedule. She jumped onto his chest and fixed him with a glare, tail swishing with displeasure, then hissed when Katsuki tried to stroke her.

“Fine, fine,” he grumbled, sitting up. “Grumpy bitch.”

There were too many troublesome women in his life for his liking.

Yawning, he dragged himself out of bed and pulled open the curtains. His apartment was on the highest floor of a high-rise complex in Ebisu, giving him a fantastic view of Tokyo simmering in the June heat under a haze of smog.

He didn’t hate Tokyo, but he’d never been a city boy. He missed the mountains, missed the sound of cicadas in the summer, missed the smell of pine after rain. He missed the peace and quiet. But moving to the suburbs wasn’t an option, not if he wanted to crack Top Ten.

And even then – even when he became Number One – what then? Would he be caught in an endless cycle of working until he retired? It was strange to think about the future in such a jaded way, and certainly a subject he’d never bothered to linger on as a kid. But part of being a kid was living under the illusion that you could achieve anything if you worked hard enough, especially when 30 had seemed so old and far away.

Except it wasn’t so old or faraway, and the years slipped by at a frightening speed. He still felt like a kid in many ways and wondered if that ever stopped.

Shaking off his melancholy, Katsuki headed to his kitchen to feed Shit-head, brew coffee and grill some fish. A glance at the digital clock on his cooker told him he had a few hours before his patrol shift started, and he fully intended to utilize that time doing absolutely jack-shit.

He thought about turning on his phone but decided against it. Anya could live through one morning without checking on him, and he doubted the world had ended in the space of a morning.

Breakfast (lunch?) made, he collapsed onto the sofa and turned on the TV, more for meaningless background noise than a desire to engage with whatever trash aired in the middle of the day. He pushed on his reading glasses then balanced the book he’d been reading (Yoroi Musha’s autobiography) on his knees while eating, and Shit-head curled up on the other side of the couch, content on pretending he didn’t exist until he was needed for food again.

He was so absorbed in his book that he didn’t notice his name being said on TV until it was her saying it. Some subconscious part of his brain recognized the voice and immediately diverted his attention, and he looked up to find his campaign photo acting as a backdrop on a live chat show.

One of the guests was Uraraka. She was sitting on a couch between two other guests he didn’t recognize, dressed in a black rollneck, a plaid skirt and –

His hoodie.

What the fuck.

He turned up the volume and put aside his book.

“- did you find working with Ground Zero?” the host was saying. “I hear he can be tricky to work with sometimes.”

“He’s certainly got an explosive personality,” the other host said, nodding sagely (and probably thinking he was the first person to use that terrible pun).

Uraraka laughed, practically beaming sunshine. “Well, he wouldn’t be Ground Zero without the firecrackers! He’s very mellow in person, ya know, and it was a lot of fun working with him.”

“You were school friends, right?”

“Yes, we were. I was sad when we fell out of contact, but it’s to be expected considering how busy Pro Hero work is. I’m glad we’ve reconnected, though.”

Thank fuck he didn’t have to do these chat shows, Katsuki mused, because there was no way he could answer these mundane questions with Uraraka’s strain of saintly patience.

“You’re both quite the talk of the town, now!” the host went on. “Collaborations between heroes are quite common nowadays, but yours has done phenomenally well. Congratulations on that!”

“Thank you.”

“Did you anticipate this much of a reaction to your collab?”

Uraraka touched her cheek and cocked her head, unconsciously looking the part of the innocent girl she wanted to step away from. “Not at all. But it just shows how well we work together. We have a mutual understanding of one another, and I think that comes across in the campaign.”

Katsuki sipped his coffee. Did they have a mutual understanding? From a hero perspective, maybe, but any deeper understanding likely sprang from Uraraka’s uncanny ability to read people. It wasn’t just him, surely? She would’ve worked just as well with anyone else.

“It certainly does,” one of the hosts said. “It’s easy to understand why people have been drawing conclusions from the ad.”

“I guess so,” Uraraka said around a laugh.

“Can we ask if there’s any truth to the rumors?”

She flapped her hand. “Oh, I don’t know about that.”

An excited ripple went through the guests and hosts. One said, “So it’s true? You and Ground Zero are dating?”

Uraraka smiled brightly. “Yes we are, but it’s early days!”

Katsuki spat out his coffee.

What the actual fuck!? Was this a joke? Did she not understand the question? Was she fucking high?

He loomed over the TV while she continued the interview, but the subject wasn’t brought up again and the host eventually moved on to his other guests. Meanwhile, Katsuki wondered if exploding through the studio ceiling and confronting her live on TV would end his career. Probably, but he was definitely weighing up his options.

His mind worked in overdrive as he stormed into his bedroom and yanked his phone from its charger. He turned it on while returning to the TV and waited for Uraraka to leave the chat show before immediately ringing her.

It rang.

And rang.

No answer.

He hung up and tried again.

And again.

And again.

On the fifth time, it went straight to voicemail. He nearly threw his phone across the room.

That sneaky fucking bitch. What the hell was she thinking?

He had to take several calming breaths to stop his hands from shaking so he could send her a message. He tapped out roughly five drafts before deeming them way too violent to have as written evidence for when he fucking murdered her, until finally he sent one that simply said ‘RING ME NOW FUCK FACE’

Which genuinely was the nicest wording he could manage in his state of delirious rage.

He had approximately two hours to sort this shit out before he had to go on patrol, so his next point of call was Anya. As much as he hated to admit it, she would be able to rationalize this entirely fucked situation. Damage control was her specialty; she’d know how to handle it in a way that didn’t involve levelling half of Tokyo – which was his one and only plan right now.

The phone rang, but she didn’t pick up. Katsuki nearly ground his teeth to the nerves.

Why. Why did he have so many difficult bloody women in his life!?

‘PICK UP THE FUCKING PHONE,’ he messaged, and was very proud of himself that he didn’t tack a crude name on the end of it.

He pulled on a jacket and headed for the window. There were strict laws about quirk-users flying around Tokyo, but considering the nature of the emergency and him being, well, him, he hoped he’d be let off with a warning. If they caught him. And judging by his state of sweaty fury, he highly doubted anyone would be able to keep up.

He leapt out the window, then blasted towards to his agency.

Anya wasn’t there to hound him at the doors like she usually was, which only infuriated him more, so he stormed through the agency building, explosions crackling on his palms, until he found her sequestered in her office under a mountain of paperwork.

“Did you fucking know about this!?” he snarled as he kicked aside the door.

She raised an eyebrow at him. “Your bad mood?”

“Don’t act like you don’t know exactly what I’m talking about! Did you make her say that? Is this your idea of a fucking joke!?”

She placed her reading glasses delicately on the desk then folded her hands. “No, Bakugou-san, I didn’t make her say that. Nobody did. In fact, I was going to ask you about it. You know the agency needs to approve heroes dating before the information is made public.”

“We’re not dating!”

“So she lied?”

“I don’t know because she won’t fucking talk to me!”

“Maybe it was a joke that got out of hand.” Anya sighed. “We were all surprised when she said that. It’s quite an unexpected development –“

“No it isn’t – this is your fault! You're the one that approved the ad which was intentionally out of context!”

“It’s cute though.”

“I don’t fucking care! You’re both playing into a lie and that’s shitty.“

“That’s showbusiness, honey.”

“I’m a hero, not a fucking Kpop idol.”

“They go hand in hand nowadays, I’m afraid. Besides, I think it’s a good idea if you two started dating.”

“What!?”

 Anya sighed. “Here’s the thing. The reason you haven’t broken Top Ten is because you’re not… palatable.”

“I’m not a fucking cake, you crazy bitch!”

She cocked a finger at him. “That’s what I‘m talking about. Nobody is questioning your abilities; all the polls show that people think you’re cool and brave and strong. You were the Number One most eligible bachelor in Japan last year –“

“Wow fucking great, exactly what I want –“

“- but you’re not family friendly. You’re not… nice. Do you understand? You’re mean and you swear too much and you publicly pick on Deku, who is very much a family-friendly sweetheart of a hero. And someone who broke Top Ten months ago.” She cut him off with a look before he could tell her exactly what he thought about that. “Now, on the other side of the coin, we have Uravity-san. Who is adorable. She’s pretty and friendly and wears maid uniforms and takes photos with fluffy kittens and cupcakes. But she’s too cute. She isn’t taken seriously. So she joined the campaign not just as a favor to you, but because she wants to be tougher, formidable, intimidating – all the things Ground Zero has that she lacks.”

“She’s all those things,” he said, a tad defensively. Because she was. It wasn’t her fault her agency chose to ruthlessly market her as otherwise.

“Sure,” Anya said. “But you see my point, right? Combining your strengths will help both yours and Uraraka-san’s public image. You’ll enhance her tough side, and she’ll show your soft side. Then we can finally put to bed that awful playboy image you’ve been pushing for the past decade.”

“The press pushed that, not me! You think I want my private life splashed across gossip magazines?”

“No. So at least with this you’ll have control over what you leak. Just think of it as a temporary business partnership to improve your brand’s image. It won’t be the first time heroes have forged fake relationships to better their image, nor will it be the last. I guarantee, with some careful marketing, you’ll both be in the Top Ten by the end of the year.”

That thought tempered his grievances. Of course he wanted to make Top Ten through hard work alone, but she had a point; his reputation wasn’t stellar, and no matter how hard he worked, he couldn’t budge from the Number 12 spot. He’d been there for five fucking years and he was tired. Tired of working double shifts and keeping his abrasiveness in check lest her hurt a few poor feelings.

Anya let him stew for a moment, then said, “Look, just think about it while you’re on patrol. There’s a lot to consider, of course, and I can’t speak on Uraraka-san’s behalf, but I’ll bet money on it that this is all business.”

“She could’ve fucking asked me first.”

“And I agree with you there. She should have. She really won’t pick up the phone?”

“No.”

Anya’s expression soured. “Then it was probably a spur of the moment decision.” She glanced at her wristwatch. “Alright, listen. You’ve got an hour before you’re due on patrol. Go talk to her and see what you want to do. Nobody is expecting you to get married and have kids, but you have to be comfortable with this kind of publicity stunt. Just promise you won’t get angry with her.”

“I can’t promise that,” he snapped, then settled. “I’ll talk to her.”

“Good,” she said, then redonned her glasses. “I’ll pull some strings to find out where she is exactly, but do not – and I repeat, do NOT – cause a scene. That means no explosions, no yelling and no calling her names. Your reputation depends on it, understand?”

“Yes, woman!”

She pulled out her phone. “Now go make your poor manager a coffee while I find your girlfriend.”

Fifteen minutes later, he was blasting his way between skyscrapers in central Tokyo, hunting for the car that should – by Anya’s approximation – be taking Uraraka to her next set of interviews; he swore to the gods the woman was a spy because she’d even found out the number plate.

He finally located it at a set of traffic lights – which was a stroke of luck considering how many cars traveled through central Tokyo – and wondered what Anya would consider a ‘scene’ as he dropped out of the sky and yanked open the passenger door. At least he’d restrained from exploding the tires, though nothing was off the table yet.

Katsuki leaned through the door, drawing expletives from both Uraraka’s manager and the driver, and a squeak from the traitor herself.

“Get out,” Katsuki snapped at her manager.

The man looked like he was being accosted by the devil as he scrabbled back against the window. “H-hang on, you can’t just –“

“OUT!” Katsuki roared, and the man practically fell out of the car to get away. “Partition up!” he snapped at the driver.

The driver obeyed just as the manager climbed into the front seat. Behind them, the cars beeped as the lights turned green. Katsuki flipped them off, then slid onto the back seat beside Uraraka and closed the door.

The car began to move, and she squeaked again as he pinned her with a furious look.

“H-hello,” she said.

“First of all,” he said, “fuck you. Second of all, I want my hoodie back. And thirdly, I have exactly thirteen minutes before my shift starts so you better explain whatever thoughts you have pinging around your empty head, because lemme tell you, my patience ran out about fifteen years ago.”

She swallowed, then fiddled with the hem of his hoodie. “Sorry.”

“Twelve minutes.”

“Okay, okay!” She sighed and ran her hand through her hair. “Look, I don’t know what I was thinking. It’s just all anyone wants to talk about and they keep asking me and asking me –“

“So you said yes for a change of pace? Because you were bored with saying no?”

“I don’t know! I just thought maybe if I dated you then they’d take me more seriously.”

“Why would dating me do that?”

She shifted her gaze to the window, her cheeks going pinker. “’Cause you’re tough and scary so I thought maybe that’d make me tough and scary too.”

Katsuki blew air through his nose. “You dumbass! Just talk to your agency. They’ll stop booking you those cutesy gigs now the campaign has done so well.”

“Yeah maybe…” She hesitated, biting her lip. “You know I get a lot of unwanted attention, right? From men. And I shake it off 99% of the time, but I’m tired of it. Even those chat show hosts were hitting on me off-camera, and I thought maybe if you were my boyfriend they’d stop. Because even when I say no that doesn’t always stop them, and the agency says it’s just part of being a female hero and I have to put up with it but –“

“Fuck that!” Katsuki said, feeling hot anger rush through him in a wave so fierce that an explosion spontaneously crackled to his fingertips. “I’ll fucking kill anyone who tells you to put up with that shit!”

She smiled weakly at him. “See, that’s the kinda scary I wanna be. Nobody talks to Miruko-san like that, ya know. But for me, with my brand, if I’m mean or swear or yell then it has a negative impact on my reputation, and my ranking will slip. I’m just…” She hunted for the words, looking increasingly upset. “Tired. And while I adore being a hero and helping people, sometimes I just want an easy leg up in the world. I mean, Deku’s ranking increased by two places when he and Shouto-kun got engaged.”

Katsuki tapped his thumb against his knee while he peered out the window. “So it’s purely business?”

“Yes…”

“You should’ve asked me first. Did it occur to you that I might be dating someone?”

“Are you?”

“It doesn’t matter now, does it?”

Her eyes widened. “You mean you… want to go along with this? I thought I was gonna have to say it was a joke.”

“It is a joke,” he replied grumpily. “But this could create the momentum we both need to break Top Ten. It’ll create exposure, brand deals – all the shit that’s needed to increase ranking.”

The look of shock still hadn’t budged from her face. “It’s just… this is dating. Us. You, me. Dating.”

“No it isn’t. It’s just a business arrangement. A farce.” He shrugged. “I can live with that, temporarily.”

 “What if people find out? What if we actually want to date someone, for real?”

“I don’t have time to date,” Katsuki told her frankly. “And nobody will find out if we’re careful enough.”

She seemed at a loss for words for a moment. “I just…. Can’t believe you’re agreeing to this?” She nudged him with her elbow. “What’s gotten into you, huh?”

Loneliness, he thought reflexively, and that stupid ad. But he crammed those confessions deep, deep down because he was absolutely, 100% not doing this for the company. It was for the money and exposure. It was a tried and tested method; if this didn’t get him into the Top Ten, then nothing would short of saving the world. Again.

It was unfair of her to rope him into her personal life just because she was – what? Lazy? Insecure? Tired of men creeping on her?

Strangely, he wasn’t half as annoyed by those reasons as he should have been. Even if he couldn’t quite pinpoint why.

“Maybe I’m tired too,” he said eventually. “Don’t think you’re off the hook, though. I’m really fucking angry with you.”

“I understand,” she said, looking down.

“Lemme think about it. I’ll give you an answer later.”

“It’s… it’s fine, you don’t have to. It was a stupid idea. I can just tell people it was a joke and –“

“I said I’d think about it,” Katsuki snapped over her. “We’ve both got until tomorrow before our agencies will have to make an official statement; they won’t give us longer than that, all things considered.”

She nodded slowly, still not meeting his eye.

The car stopped at another set of traffic lights, and Katsuki opened the car door. “Don’t comment on it again today. I don’t wanna hear you announcing that we’re getting married on a gameshow or some shit. Y’hear me?”

She smiled weakly. “Yeah.”

“And get that pathetic look off your face. If you’re gonna do something like this then at least grow a set of balls first.”

“Geez, okay, get out already!” she said, playfully kicking him away as the sorry expression dissolved. “Meanie.”

Katsuki pulled a face, then slammed the door shut and blasted away.

The bar near Daikan-Yama Station was an old favorite of the Bakusquad since their early days as Pro Heroes. It was small and humble, hailing back to a generation almost forgotten, and owned by a man that probably should have retired twenty years ago. He served top quality whisky that pulled in the kind of locals who were entirely unbothered by celebrity-hero culture and who were, by now, used to the raucous group of twenty-somethings that wrought havoc on the bar once a week.

Today, though, it was just Mina, Eijirou and Katsuki sitting at a table in the corner, nursing a bottle of saké between them while Eijirou demolished a bowl of nuts and wasabi peas. Mina once joked she used Eijirou as a nutcracker, and Katsuki didn’t doubt that in the slightest.

“Do you think she’s, like… having some kind of quarter life crisis?” Eijirou asked. “I’m only saying ‘cause ‘Chako is usually the definition of professionalism. She’s never slipped up like that, not once. The only people who match her professionalism is Momo, and I’m pretty sure she’s a robot or something.”

“Big titty robot,” Mina agreed, then added, “I wouldn’t say ‘Chako is having a breakdown, but I do think she’s sick of the press. She’s constantly being scrutinized, ya know. For her weight, appearance, her vernacular.”

“What’s wrong with the way she talks?” Eijirou asked.

“Oh, y’know, she’s casual. Cute but casual. I guess people want her to be well spoken, like Momo. Though if she spoke like Momo, I’ll bet people would call her uptight or unrelatable or snobby, or whatever. She can’t win either way.”

Katsuki grabbed a handful of nuts and shoved them into his mouth before the human shark devoured them all. “You could’ve fooled me. She’s whipped the press into a frenzy after today’s stunt.”

“Don’t I know it!” Mina said excitedly while pulling out her phone for the billionth time that evening. “It made the national news. The news! And there’s a ton of fan pages already – they’ve even given you two a name. Wanna hear it?”

“No.”

“Kacchako.”

“Kacch…?” He frowned, then slammed the bottle of saké onto the table. “From fucking ‘Kacchan’? I swear to god if that fucking nerd is behind this I will strangle him with his own entrails!”

“Anyway, people are losing their minds about you two gettin’ together.”

“In a good way?” Eijirou asked.

Mina shrugged. “Both. Typical reaction to when heroes become official. Some people love it, some people hate it -”

“We’re not ‘official’,” Katsuki interjected

“- but mostly people are just surprised.”

“Not as surprised as me,” Katsuki mumbled into his sake glass.

“I’m more surprised that you’re even considering it,” Eijirou said to him.

“I’m not surprised in the slightest!” Mina sang. “Ochako is Top Tier Bangable.”

Katsuki chose to ignore her. “It’s not an emotional decision; it’s business. I told her that earlier. What bothers me is the deception and negative fallout if anyone finds out it’s fake. It’s shitty and manipulative.”

“Sure,” Eijirou said, “but nobody’s getting hurt, right? Everyone gets to see their favorite idols together and buy some cool merch. Pretty harmless stuff.”

“I thought agencies prefer to keep heroes single to make them more marketable and work-focused?” Katsuki pointed out.

“Yeah, but that’s pretty old fashioned now,” Mina said. “Plus that’s aimed more towards the younger heroes. We’re edging towards an age where it’s acceptable to start settling down, so I think the agency might bend the rules for you two.”

“Not to mention that it’s becoming increasingly frowned upon to treat heroes as assets rather than people,” Eijirou added. “So they might see this an opportunity to boost their own reputation. Dunno about Uraraka’s agency, though. She was Japan’s Number One most Eligible Bachelorette last year, after all.”

Katsuki scowled over his drink. “Who the fuck comes up with these polls?”

Eijirou cocked a finger at Mina, who smiled innocently. “I have to know for science reasons.”

“Anyway,” Eijirou said, pulling the bowl of nuts back to his side of the table. “Let’s list this out, pros and cons style. Pros of fake-dating Uraraka: branding deals leading to more money, more exposure, and increasing your possibility of breaking Top Ten.”

“Pro: dat fine ‘Chako ass,” Mina said.

Eijirou nodded. “Definitely a good point. Other pros: expanding your audience, softening your image, improving your brand. Again, all points towards becoming Top Ten.”

“Pro: spending time with our fave cutie-pie!” Mina then added with a cheerful smile, “Also pro: if you hurt her, I get to murder you slowly with a spoon and toothpick!”

Katsuki rolled his eyes.

“Cons,” Eijirou went on, counting off the points on his fingers. “Press storm. You’ll get ten billion times more attention than you do now. Which is good for your exposure but, uh, not great for your mental health.”

Katsuki said nothing.

“Also you can’t actually date anyone else or… y’know… get laid.”

“What!? Why?”

“Imagine what it’d do to your reputation if the press caught you ‘cheating’ on ‘Chako,” Mina said. “The fallout would be nuclear.”

She had a point, but he was extremely unhappy about it. “So I’m supposed to go celibate for however long we keep this up?”

“Hmm, maybe. Or you’d just have to be real discreet about it, man,” Eijirou said with a strained expression. “Like, you can’t invite girls to your apartment anymore. You’ll need a country side-chick or something.”

“Ooooor you could just bang Ochako,” Mina suggested with a grin. “I’m sure she wouldn’t mind if you asked nicely enough. Or kink-ily enough.”

“Absolutely not,” Katsuki said, pouring himself another drink. “I’m not confusing emotion with business. This is to break Top Ten and that’s it.”

“Who says sex needs to be emotional?” Mina said. “Do you even know what emotional sex is, Kitty-Kat? ‘Cause I’m pretty sure you aren’t pouring your heart out to those drunk fangirls you stumble home with from Roppongi Hills.”

“Will you shut up about my sex life, already? Christ.”

Eijirou crunched wasabi peas between his teeth for a moment, then said, “Okay, so let’s say you do this and in a few months’ time, you break Top Ten. Would you be happy with how it came about?”

Katsuki drank his saké and thought about this.

 Fifteen-year-old him would’ve spat in his face for relying on someone else to vault him higher in the rankings, but he wasn’t fifteen anymore and had accepted long ago that it was near impossible to sustain the hero lifestyle alone; even All Might had sidekicks (even though he’d probably never had a fake girlfriend.) He wasn’t happy about it, but he wasn’t unhappy about it, either. And he quietly wondered if Uraraka had something to do with that.

Eventually, he said, “Top ten isn’t just about saving people or being the strongest. They didn’t teach us that in school because focusing on the shit that really propels you up the ranking – money, fame, brand deals, social media, gossip – isn’t moral. And it shouldn’t be the reason why you want to be a hero; it’s the opposite of what defines a hero. But that’s how it is.” He hesitated to drink again. “This is what the League were angry about. And you know what? I kinda get it now.”

Eijirou and Mina stared at him.

“Don’t look at me like that,” he went on. “I’m not about to go rogue, nor justifying what they did. I’m just saying that there’s no such thing as a pure ‘hero’ anymore. Nobody’s anonymous. Nobody is doin’ it just to save people. Even Uraraka is only half selfless intentions – the other half is wanting for money. Even if it’s for her parents or whatever.”

“’Chako is almost entirely selfless intentions, actually,” Mina said defensively. “You know she lived in some shit-hole apartment in Kabukicho throughout her teens and early twenties while she saved up to buy her parents a fancy house in the suburbs. And she’s flown them to Hawaii every year for the last five years, while taking no vacation herself, might I add. Thankfully she lives in a nicer apartment now, but she’s always put everyone else before herself. Always.”

“Alright, alright,” Katsuki said. “So she’s a better person than me. That doesn’t change how I feel about hero society half the time.”

“If you don’t like the way society markets heroes, then why keep trying for Top Ten?” Eijirou asked.

Katsuki shrugged. “Something to aim for.”

“Like a promotion?”

“Guess so. What’s the point unless you’re aiming for the top? Anything less and it’d feel like I was half-assing my job or giving up.”

Mina tapped her phone against the tabletop and grinned. “Sooooo…. Can I tweet that you and ‘Chako-chip are officially d-a-t-i-n-g?”

“No,” Katsuki said. “I need to talk to her and my agency first.”

“Then can I tweet about it?”

“I don’t care.”

“I’m gonna write dirty fanfiction about them,” Mina whispered to Eijirou.

“You’ve been doing that for years,” Eijirou accused.

Katsuki exploded the bowl of nuts across the table.

‘You awake?’

‘Yep, what’s up?’

‘I’ll do it.’

‘Really???’

‘On a six month rolling contract’

‘ummm’

‘What?’

‘R u srs? U want 2 draw up a contract?’

‘It’s a business venture. There needs to be some legality around it. Even if it’s verbal to avoid a paper trail. You know what this’ll do to us if it ever leaks.’

‘Fair point’

‘And you can’t tell anyone. Not even Deku.’

‘What??? I bet you’ve already told Kirishima!’

‘I asked his advice earlier’

‘Excuse me that’s not fair! Deku is very good at keeping secrets!’

‘I know. But he’s a shit liar and the less people involved the better. Will your agency approve this?’

‘They don’t know it’s fake. Only u know.’

‘Why didn’t you tell them?’

‘Lots of reasons.’

‘Fine, don’t tell me. You understand this is just business, right? I don’t want things getting complicated.’

‘It won’t! I know ur not interested in me that way. U better be nice 2 me tho otherwise I’ll drag ur name through the dirt <3’

‘Whatever, psycho.’

‘Goodnight, honey xxx’

‘fuck off’

Chapter Text

Instagram Official

Katsuki was called into work early the next morning. The internet was exploding with the news of Uravity and Ground Zero allegedly dating, and his agency wanted to make an official statement by 9am. Luckily, Anya snagged him before any of the higher-ups found him first, and took him to a secluded office to run through the details of the bizarre agreement he and Uraraka had decided upon.

“Are you sure this is something you want to do? Absolutely positive?”

Anya had asked Katsuki the same question perhaps twenty times in ten minutes, her face taut with the same anxiety that was brewing deep inside his chest.

“I told you I’m fine with it!”

“This is a big deal, Bakugou-san,” Anya said. “We have to handle this far more delicately than a regular contract. First of all, this cannot leave this office. I’m sure you’ve already told Red Riot and Pinky, but that has to be it, understand? If it leaks that your relationship is fake, it will ruin both of you. Permanently.”

“I know,” he snapped.

“So with that in mind, you have to make your relationship look convincing. Which means spending time with her in public on a routine basis and being nice to her. And I mean nice, Bakugou, because I dread to think what your skewed idea of chivalry is. Probably something involving explosions and death threats. Can you be nice?”

“Yes, Anya, I can get through a day without threatening my fake-fucking-girlfriend.”

“And you’ll be happy spending time with her? Regularly? Publicly? Being social and speaking and not moping around your apartment or whatever the hell you do in your spare time.”

“I don’t mope -”

“Yes you do.”

“ – and if I can tolerate being around you for half my work day then I can definitely tolerate Round Face’s banality.”

“Bakugou! That is exactly what I’m talking about! You can’t say that stuff about her.”

“I’m sayin’ it to you.”

“It’s still mean. Anyway, we have to consider your eventual break up. You need to become celebrity sweethearts, and that doesn’t happen overnight. True, you’ve got the romanticized back story of going to school together, the festivals, then the modeling campaign where you reconnected, but it has to appear as something more than a fling if you want companies to endorse you as a hero partnership. Unsurprisingly, a one-night stand with Uravity is not going to influence your rankings; the point is to give you a wider appeal, and that won’t happen instantaneously.”

“I told her six months.”

“That’s a fair time allowance. A year would be best, but we’ll see how it goes.”

Katsuki shifted in his seat. A year? Christ. This really was a long-term commitment. Would Uraraka be willing to postpone actual dating for a business contract like this? Then again, it had been her idea in the first place.

“And then what?” Katsuki asked. “We just break up?”

“Yes. No drama, no arguments. We can make a statement saying you’ve amicably parted ways and are still friends. We’ll make sure any brand deals don’t extend past a year so there’s no awkward dancing around contractual obligations. And if you haven’t climbed in ranking within the first six months, we’ll reconsider the endeavor altogether.” Anya sighed, pushing her reading glasses up her nose. “This could work, so long as you don’t mess it up. But it’s going to take quite a bit of dedication to make it believable. Luckily everyone knows you’re not the most affectionate person in the world, so at least you won’t have to try too hard on that front.”

Katsuki wiped sweat from his hands on the lining of his pockets. Fuck, was he really going through with this? Not only was it a blow to his pride (it felt like cheating his way to the top, if he was totally honest), but this was fucking Round Face they were talking about. It was going to be weird, whichever way he looked at it.

But it was just business. And admittedly there were worse people he could be fake-dating. In fact, he wouldn’t have tolerated fake-dating anyone else. Uraraka was the only woman that didn’t completely grate his nerves to dust.

“So are you sure this is something you want to do?” Anya said. “Absolutely posi-“

“YES! I fucking told you already!”

She pursed her lips and considered him through narrowed eyes, then broke into a smile. “Your mother is going to be thrilled! She loves Uraraka-san.”

Fuck. He hadn’t even thought about telling his parents. There was no way he could tell his mother that the relationship was fake - she would definitely beat him for being manipulative – which meant he was a) going to have to lie to his mother and b) have to tolerate her swooning over Uraraka for the next six months. Great.

Anya tapped a finger against the desk, drawing his attention. “Okay, as you’re absolutely positive you want to go through with this, I’ll tell the higher-ups that you’re officially dating Uravity so they can release a press statement. I presume you appreciate the international reaction this is going to trigger?”

“Gods, why, who fucking cares who’s dating who? It’s dumb.”

“You should be thankful people have an unhealthy interest in strangers’ love lives because that’s what’s going to increase your ranking. I’m just warning you, the pap interest in your daily life is going to get very intense over the next few weeks. They’re definitely going to get personal and you are not going to like what you hear and read.”

“Why?”

“Because people are very fond of Uravity and will likely think you’re an ill-suited match. Understand? I need you to be mentally prepared for the criticism.”

“I don’t give a fuck what people think. And I don’t follow celebrity gossip. It’s asinine.”

“Well, don’t start making a habit of it now. And please… please be on your best behavior with Uraraka-san in front of the paps.”

“Are we fucking done here? ‘Cause I have shit to do.”

“No, Ground Zero, I have shit to do,” Anya said while standing up. “If only Uraraka-san was really your girlfriend, then maybe it would half my workload.”

Katsuki shot an explosion at her as she exited the office, then rubbed his face with the back of his hands. The next six months were going to be fucking insufferable, but hopefully it would be worth the effort.

How hard could dating be, anyway?

The press statement was short and concise, delivered by someone from the PR team, and because it was deemed a private matter rather than a business one, nobody bothered to ask many questions; The agency was legally obliged to respect Katsuki’s boundaries, so any questions regarding their relationship were met with a cold ‘no comment’.

Katsuki wasn’t there for it. He sat in his office staring blindly at the monitor, tapping one finger against the desk while he waited for the inevitable fallout. Reluctantly, he realized his mother would skin him alive if she heard it first on the news, so he pinged her a brief message (‘Uraraka and I are dating’) before turning his phone on silent. 

But it was hard to concentrate, and as the minutes ticked by into hours, his attention was haplessly drawn again and again to his phone, which lit up routinely as the messages started flooding in. After finishing his final report for the day (thanking the gods the admin team had helped him catch up), he opened his inbox to a cacophony of shocked and congratulatory messages.

Not a single one was from Uraraka, but he figured as much. Not like they had anything to say to each other.

His mom had replied with ‘She’s too good for you. Mind your manners around her’, while Mina and Eijirou were doing a good job at pretending they were shocked in the group chat. He was surprised to see his and Uraraka’s face side by side on the front page of the news app, and half interestedly scrolled through the article outlining their histories, the apparel campaign and various false claims from anonymous sources that stated they’d been ‘seeing each other long before today’, were ‘hopelessly in love’, and ‘glad to finally make it public’.

The comments on the article were a mixed bag. Mostly shocked, some enraged, some happy. Katsuki didn’t care about meaningless public opinion; he cared about the momentum it created for both their brands. The hero polls were happening in a few weeks, so he needed to work hard to keep himself in a favorable light.

If he could call dating ‘work’.

Around midday, Mina posted a screenshot of Uraraka’s public Instagram in the group chat. It was a photo of them as kids in their final year, standing side by side with the rest of their classmates in their hero costumes (everyone wore them on graduation day), except she’d cropped everyone else out. Truthfully, he didn’t remember standing next to her at all; he could tell Eijirou was on his right and Deku was on her left, which was kind of awkward when he thought about it. Hadn’t they been dating by third year?

The caption was just a series of heart emojis; her way of confirming they were dating, he supposed. Maybe she found putting the lie into writing too difficult. Uraraka was, after all, a naturally honest person. So was he. Which made what they were doing even weirder.

But he had liked her in school, he thought, as he enlarged the screenshot. It was hard not to like her. She never complained, always pushed herself, and had the wellbeing of others forever at the forefront of her thoughts. He’d just never bothered to critically analyze her personality beyond the sparring ring, and back then there’d been no room in his brain for anything remotely associated to romance or sex.

Otherwise he might have considered her. Maybe. If she hadn’t been so infatuated with Deku at the time.

Ignoring the flood of messages and articles, he continued working until after lunch when routine maintenance of his hero suit provided relief from the boredom of paperwork and meetings. He liked the physical labor, even if he suspected the engineers didn’t like heroes sniffing around their workshops.

The day finally ended, but Anya cut him off in the lobby before he could leave.

“I’m off the clock,” he told her imperiously. “I’ve already done fifteen hours of overtime this week, I’m not –“

“I’m driving you home,” she said. “It’s chaos out there.”

“What? Where?”

She jerked a thumb to the front entrance, and through the huge glass walls Katsuki spotted a large flock of paparazzi.

“What do they want?”

She looked at him, exasperated, and said, “You. I warned you it was going to be intense, at least for the first few weeks. They’re outside your apartment, too.”

“What!?”

“I warned you.”

“They can’t be on the property.”

“No, they can’t, but they can be on the street outside. Don’t worry, I’m sure they’ll lose interest when they realize how boring you are.”

“Ha ha.”

“Which reminds me, I’ve cleared your schedule so you can have a few date nights together a week. It’s synced to the calendar on your phone, but I’ll leave the details up to you and Uraraka.”

A protest surged to the tip of Katsuki’s tongue, but he bit down on it. Seeing her publicly was kind of integral to maintaining the façade.

“Please don’t do anything weird with her,” she said in a strained voice. “Just take her to dinner like a normal person.”

“Lame.”

“Bakugou.”

“Alright, alright! But I’m clocking it as overtime.”

“The company will not let you do that.”

“Business expense?”

“I’ll see what I can do, but no promises. Only I know about this, remember? Also that’s not very romantic of you.”

“Uraraka doesn’t have to know.”

“Gods, you’re awful. Do you want lift home or not?”

“No, I’ll blast my way home.”

Anya let him go with an air of reluctance, but at least she did it without protest. He rode the elevator to the top floor then went to the roof, which functioned as a helipad and launch site for those with flight-based quirks. Not that Katsuki’s quirk was flight based, but he’d mastered the art of staying airborne with only the occasional need to stop and recharge.

The nauseating drop to the distant sidewalk – riddled with ant-sized people and toy cars – had little effect on him now as he propped one foot on the edge of the skyscraper and shook his hands. It looked like it was going to rain, which would put an end to his flight once it washed away his sweat, so he had to be quick about it.

Taking a running jump, he exploded himself off the side of the building and went temporarily into freefall. Despite years of routinely flying, the initial surge of terror and excitement never failed to suck the air out of his chest. The wind whipped through his hair and clothes and gravity dragged him down, and the knowledge that it was only his quirk keeping him airborne – not a gadget or plane or even the will of the gods – heightened his adrenaline.

A second explosion kept him aloft while altering his trajectory, and before he knew it he was exploding his way between the buildings of Tokyo, shaking windows in their panes and probably startling a few citizens (who would, after a short delay, recognize the explosions as Ground Zero’s and go back to their business), but leaving not so much as a scuff mark or crack on the architecture. He was a professional, after all.

He was about twenty minutes from his apartment when the rain started. Dropping to the sidewalk, he walked the rest of the way home with his hood pulled up and his hands in his pockets. The year was edging towards the middle of June, Kanto’s rainy season, his least favorite time of year (besides the cold snap that happened around January) because his patrol duties would be cut in favor of paperwork; his quirk simply didn’t work great in the rain, and he had to layer the fuck up if he wanted to sweat and keep dry.

On the plus side, the rain had deterred the paparazzi lingering around his apartment. They’d retreated under the eaves of the surrounding buildings or into their cars, while others had dispersed completely to hunt for umbrellas. This lapse in their concentration allowed him to buzz through the entrance without them noticing – and when they finally did, the best they snapped was the door swinging shut and locking behind him.

The elevator in the lobby took him to the top floor of the complex. His apartment wasn’t particularly fancy, but it was a cut above the rest when it came to Tokyo. It was a one bed, one bathroom, 80square-meters, with an open plan kitchen/dining/living room that opened out to a balcony. It was a corner apartment too, which meant the tall windows wrapped around two sets of walls, so it was always bright and sunny. Not that he spent much time there, but at least it was nice when he did.

He owned it too, which was pretty much underheard of for someone his age in Tokyo. Truthfully, his parents had loaned him the money for the deposit, which was always a note of embarrassment whenever anyone asked. He’d paid them back by his mid-twenties and of course he paid the mortgage and bills, but despite his embarrassment, it was way better than being stuck on the renting ladder forever. Or living with his mom.

The click of his key turning in the door gave him a feeling of both relief and weariness, but also the loneliness that seemed to haunt him on the regular nowadays. Because he wasn’t coming home to anything. Just a hot shower and leftovers and an early night. And a stupid cat that didn’t care if he came home at all, half the time.

As Katsuki walked into his apartment, he was stopped short by the smell of cooking. Quashing down a flare of panic – why the fuck would a villain break into his home and cook dinner? – he kicked off his shoes in the genkan and hung his dripping jacket in the cupboard. He was perturbed to find a pair of unfamiliar sneakers on the shoe rack, and his slippers missing.

“Mom?” he called.

There was the crash of a saucepan being dropped, then a muffled curse. The fact it was muffled clued him to the fact it wasn’t his mother. Padding across the wooden floor, he leaned around the hallway wall to peer into the kitchen.

Uraraka was juggling plates in one hand and a serving spoon in the other, looking flushed and flustered above the neckline of a faded All Might tshirt (was that Deku’s?) and a pair of booty shorts. She was wearing a pair of his slippers, which were ten times too big for her, and her hair was hurriedly pulled into a bun on top of her head.

“Oh, hey!” she said after spotting him. “Welcome back!”

Katsuki opened his mouth to start yelling, but she kept talking.

“I let myself in through your bedroom window, hope you don’t mind. You should probably lock it, fyi. I know it’s small but if I can wiggle through then anyone can, probably. Also I made us dinner!” Here she gestured grandly to the spread on the table in front of the TV. There was grilled fish, omelet, steamed and pickled vegetables, marinated tofu and rice, alongside an assortment of different drinks.

Katsuki tried to yell again, but she barreled on.

“Okay, okay, I didn’t make it. I, uh, tried to cook but…” Her eyes darted anxiously to the sink. “It didn’t go too well so I ordered takeout. But I did try. Also, your fire alarm needed new batteries so I replaced them, which has absolutely nothing to do with my attempt at cooking.”

Gaze flicking between her, the food, and the saucepan in the sink that was ominously upside down, he was so affronted by the sudden intrusion of his personal space that he couldn’t think of a single appropriate reaction besides swearing or blowing up his apartment. So he simply turned around and headed to the bedroom to get changed.

Boundaries. That’s what he needed to set, he thought, as he changed into a clean t shirt and a pair of joggers. Because clearly she was under the misconception that their fake-dating allowed her to waltz into his apartment whenever she fucking liked. And he was not okay with that.

So he stormed back into the living area with the intention to yell at her, but when he found her curled into one corner of his couch with her knees tucked up to her chest and a small, self-conscious smile on her face  - the kind that suggested she knew her wrongdoing and was prepared for being yelled at – he found he really didn’t have the energy.

“You could’ve just text me,” he said as he sat on the opposite end of his couch. A couch that was huge considering it was just him; it wrapped around the coffee table and the plasma TV, set against a backdrop of Tokyo’s skyline.

“I did,” she squawked, taking him sitting down as permission to start eating as she reached for a bowl of rice. “You’re terrible at looking at your phone.”

That was true. “So you settled on breaking and entering instead?”

“You gonna call the police?”

“Might do.”

“They might wonder why a boyfriend is charging his girlfriend with breaking and entering,” she said teasingly around a mouthful of tofu.

“Don’t start that,” he said, then switched on the TV. “What are you doing here, anyway?”

Uraraka’s gaze drifted from the TV – some Korean drama was playing – to him as she lifted her eyebrows. “Hm?”

“Why are you here?”

“Do I need a reason to see my boyfriend?”

“Stop that shit.”

“Aw, c’mon, gimmie one pass a day to make that joke.”

“No.”

“I did go back to my apartment,” she explained, “but one: the paparazzi were right outside and it made me nervous, and two: my hot water’s broken so the landlord is ringing someone to fix it. I needed a shower and both Tsu and Mina and Deku-kun were working so I decided to swing by your place instead.”

“You used my shower?” he asked, mildly perturbed at the thought, though he wasn’t exactly sure why. The idea of Uraraka being naked inside his apartment was just… weird.

“Uh, yeah,” she said, dragging her gaze away from the TV again to look mildly apologetic. “And I used your shampoo and body wash, too. Hope ya don’t mind.”

“Of course I fucking mind,” he snapped. “You broke into my apartment and used my shit and set the fire alarm off and made a mess in the kitchen –“

“I cleaned it up!” she said poutily. “And I bought you dinner, didn’t I?”

He huffed and rammed more food in his mouth. He hadn’t asked for dinner, even though it was nice not having to cook after getting home from work. It was just weird having her here. Having anyone here. Eating alone was something he’d gotten used to since he left UA, and he wasn’t sure how he felt about this unexpected change in routine.

Eventually he said, “Don’t make a habit of it.”

“Okay,” she said with an easy smile, but it felt very much like the kind of ‘okay’ a child would tell their parent while knowing full well they were going to repeat whatever action had gotten them into trouble in the first place.

They fell into a silence that was neither comfortable nor uncomfortable, at least for Katsuki, who was still adjusting to this invasion of his personal space. But it wasn’t unpleasant, so he managed to half watch the drama and half watch her out the corner of his eye while they both demolished the takeout. He briefly wondered if he should ask her how her day was – she looked tired, he noted, and by the way she ate double portions he wondered if she’d had  a chance to eat lunch – but decided that was way too domestic and lame. He didn’t want her getting the wrong idea.

His thoughts on small talk were severed by the appearance of Shit-head, who rubbed against his legs and – after giving Uraraka an uninterested look – mewed impatiently.

Katsuki rolled his eyes, dumped his food onto the table, then stood up. “Wondered when you’d appear, you little shit.”

Uraraka blinked at the cat like she wasn’t sure if it was a hallucination or not. “Wait, wait, wait,” she said. “You have a cat!?”

“Yeah, what of it?”

She stared at him incredulously. “You. A pet. A dependent. A small, furry vulnerable creature -”

“What are you trying to say?”

She waved her hands, eyebrows raised. “Nothin’, Nothin’! Guess I thought you were more of a dog person.”

“You don’t like cats?”

“Are you kiddin? I love cats!” She slid off the couch and knelt beside Shit-head so she could ruffle her ears. “And this one is the cutest-wutest-ickle-baby-waby I’ve ever seen in my whole entire life! Aren’t you? Aren’t you? Yeaaaah. What’s his name?”

“Her name is Shit-head.”

“Omg, you named her after yourself? That’s so sweet.”

“Shut up.”

“But seriously. What’s her name?”

“I’m bein’ serious.”

“You are not.”

“Will you get up off the floor? She clearly doesn’t want to be touched so quit botherin’ her.”

“Bakugou, you cannot name your cat ‘Shit-head’. I’m renaming her.”

“Like hell you are!”

“Hmmm… What about Pudding?”

 “No.”

“Buttons?”

“For fuck’s sake –“

“Okay, okay!” She squinted at Katsuki for a second, then clicked her fingers. “Shichimi! That’s a cute name right? She looks like a Shichimi. And it totally suits your brand.”

Katsuki rolled his eyes. To be fair, the name wasn’t terrible. “Whatever.”

“You like that, Shi-chan?” Uraraka said, picking up the cat under its armpits so she could press their noses together. “Yeaaah, she does. Cutie pie.”

The fact Shit-head – Shichimi – wasn’t scratching Uraraka’s eyes out was extraordinary. Gods know Katsuki would be missing half his face if he tried that.

Uraraka watched him with her arms folded over the back of the couch, fixated on the entirely uninteresting spectacle of him dumping cat food into a bowl. He prickled for no particular reason, sensing the incoming questions before she opened her mouth.

“Why do you have a cat?” she asked.

“Because I made the mistake of feeding her in the alleyway next to the apartments and she wouldn’t go the fuck away.”

“Sooooo you took her home instead of dropping her off at a shelter?”

“I couldn’t catch her,” he admitted, “and then she got hit by a car or something. Found her under a dumpster. Had to register her as my cat when I took her to the vets.” He shrugged, feeling like that was enough of an explanation. “I’ll give her to a shelter once she’s fully healed.”

“She looks fully healed to me,” Uraraka said, grinning shrewdly.

“What do you know?” Katsuki said. “If you like her that much then you have her.”

“Naw, I’m not allowed pets in my place.” She cocked her head thoughtfully. “I guess I could make a joke about you needing the pussy more than I do, but that would be pretty crass.”

Katsuki nearly tripped over his own feet on the way back to the couch. Where the fuck had that come from? “You’ve been hanging out with Mina too much.”

Uraraka giggled, totally innocent, and said, “Naw, she’s been hangin’ out with me too much,” then went back to eating, leaving Katsuki utterly perplexed. Was this seriously the same girl who fainted after Deku kissed her on the cheek during the 2^nd-year Christmas party back at UA? Because he was seriously beginning to doubt it.

Then again, everyone grew up. Everyone changed. He wondered if he’d changed in the last ten years and if she noticed the changes, if there were any at all. Although she’d probably tell him if that was the case, big blabbermouth that she was.

Katsuki cleared away once they’d finished eating, wrapping up the leftovers for her to take home, because somehow he knew she wouldn’t have anything prepared back at her apartment. He left them by her shoes in the genkan, not bothering to tell her because he didn’t want to hear her protest for the sake of being polite.

She then helped her damn self to the tea without asking – inexplicably knowing where it was – but made him a cup too like an apology, so he found he couldn’t be completely angry with her. Then she flicked through the channels – again without asking – until she found another stupid drama, then curled onto her side on the couch with her feet dangerously close to Katsuki’s thigh. Completely at ease in Katsuki’s home despite not being invited or having been here before.

 Maybe she was like this with everyone, he mused. She had an easy-going way about her, a lot like Eijirou, naturally affable and at ease in a way he could never be. Because despite her silence, he couldn’t relax with someone in his space like this. It felt wrong. Left him on edge. Nervous. Even though he refused to show it.

Uninterested in the stupid romance drama she was watching, Katsuki shoved on his reading glasses and picked up his book instead. The light was fast fading outside, so he switched on the modern floor-standing lamp that hung over his side of the couch, and let a halo of light fall over him.

Some time later, he glanced up to find Uraraka watching him. She was still curled on her side, head tucked into the crook of her arm, wearing a small, playful smile. Shichimi was asleep in the v-shape of her knees.

“What?” he snapped.

“You look good in glasses.”

“Fuck off.”

“I’m bein’ serious! Glasses are sexy.”

He felt a prickle of discomfit but smothered it with anger. “When are you going home?”

“Why? Wanna go to bed, old man?”

Yes, actually, he did. “No. I just want you to leave.”

She shrugged, then yawned. “I’ll go home once the drama’s done, okay?”

“Good,” he said, then went back to his book. The paparazzi should be gone by then, so at least she’d get home safely.

“Next time you’ll have to cook for me,” she said.

“There’s not gonna be a next time, Round Face. The only reason you’re here is because you broke into my apartment like a psycho.”

“You didn’t ask me to leave,” she pointed out.

He blinked, taken aback, then quickly seized an excuse. “I would have if you’d let me fucking talk.”

“I think you like the company,” she said around a smile. “I know I do. My apartment is so quiet and empty.”

“I like quiet and empty.”

“Guess you must be used to it.” She rapped her knuckles against her skull. “Quiet and empty like your head.”

Explosions crackled to his palms until her playful chuckle eased his temper back down a notch. He was not going to let her get under her skin. “I’m lockin’ my window from now on and I am not gonna answer the door to you, so you better find someone else to annoy until your hot water’s fixed.”

She pouted, but didn’t say anymore, and settled back onto the couch to watch TV while he returned to reading.

He was so absorbed in his book that he didn’t notice how dark it had gotten, nor how the drama had long finished, until he felt Uraraka’s feet touching his thigh. He wasn’t even sure how long they’d been there, which was kind of embarrassing.

His gaze trailed up her legs, noting how smooth and soft they looked post-shower, smelling mildly of his body soap, which was alluring for reasons he couldn’t quite place. Her booty shorts were short, too, and if he’d been any kind of pervert he would’ve lingered a moment too long on where they cut off at her ass, revealing just a whisper of black lace under the hem.

But he lifted his gaze and decided it was seriously time for her to go the fuck home now. What was it – like ten?

He shoved his glasses and book on the coffee table, rubbed his eyes, then stood up. “Oi. Round Face. I’ve got work tomorrow so you…”

She was asleep. Christ, of course she was asleep. The fucking idiot.

The lamplight cast her face in soft shadows, darkening the lashes pressed against her cheeks. Her hands were tucked under her chin, her lips parted, chest rising and falling in time with her slow breaths. Behind her, Shichimi was purring.

Katsuki reached out to touch her arm, then hesitated, his fingertips grazing her skin. Huffing, he retracted his hand then grabbed the faux fur throw off the back of the couch and pulled it over her. She sighed and wriggled, but didn’t wake. He watched her for a moment too long, then turned off the TV. As an afterthought, he poured a glass of water and placed it on the coffee table in front of her, just in case she woke in the night.

Then he went to bed, and as he drifted off to sleep, he tried very hard not to think about how this was the first time anyone had stayed a full night in his apartment. 

Chapter Text

Chapter Seven
Sexier the Better

Uraraka was gone when he woke up the next morning, which was a commendable feat considering his alarm went off at 6.30am. His window was open just a crack, hinting that she’d left the way she’d come in and had probably seen him sleeping. Which was all sorts of weird. Even if she’d left via the window to avoid any paps lingering around, she could have used the balcony.

Total lack of boundaries, he thought as he stalked over to the window.  He closed it, then his fingers tapped an erratic beat against the cool, metal latch. Indecisive.

He left it unlocked. Just in case she needed to get in. Just in case there was an emergency or the paps were flocking too thick around the main entrance. Just in case.

The living room smelled like takeout underlined by something feminine: orange blossom. Her scent. Palpable despite her showering with his body wash. He stared at the indent on the couch, at the throw carefully folded over its back, and felt a sense of unease about the whole thing, even though he couldn’t pinpoint why.

That unease gave way to irritation when he stepped into the shower and found a handwritten note taped to his empty bodywash bottle.

Sorry I used it all! I’ll replace it later <3

This is why he didn’t have roommates.

He had one foot out the door when his phone beeped; Anya reminding him that his first appointment of the day was therapy. Katsuki threw back his head and groaned. Which was his reaction pretty much every time Anya reminded him of his biweekly sessions – and she always had to, because they both knew full well he wouldn’t turn up otherwise – even though he’d been going for at least eight years now.

Eight fucking years. And he still felt like a total mess.

Kastuki hated therapy more than anything. More than long, boring shifts at 3am and filling in endless reports, because at least he could switch off in the face of monotony, but with therapy? He had to connect. Had to cut to the heart of matters. Had to confront old wounds that he would’ve happily left buried and forgotten.

Except they weren’t forgotten, not really; they festered inside him like a rotten organ and presented as problematic behavior. Or that’s what his therapist told him, anyway.

He was about to leave through the front door before he remembered the paps outside – undoubtedly still there, persistent as vultures waiting for a sick animal to die – so he grabbed his shoes, went to the balcony, then launched himself off the rails and into Tokyo’s rush hour.

His sessions were based in a private clinic near his agency building, in a small room furnished with dark oak, smelling perpetually of the potpourri that sat on the low table between Katsuki and the man reclined in a high-backed leather armchair: his therapist, Dr Yamada. A thin man of middle-late years, who was entirely harmless with his grey hair and frameless spectacles perched on the tip of his nose. He was quiet and kind in a way that made him a blank slate; Katsuki gleaned nothing of his life beyond his role as a therapist. Which probably meant he was a very good therapist.

“You have a girlfriend,” Doctor Yamada stated in that quiet, soft voice of his; Katsuki often thought he could fall asleep listening to his voice – not that he’d admit that to anyone.

He pondered how much to tell him before trusting the integrity of patient-doctor confidentiality. “She isn’t. It’s a publicity stunt.”

If that surprised Yamada, he didn’t show it. His expression remained fixed in that easy smile, his grey, bushy brows slightly raised. “Oh?”

“We decided to utilize the collab’s success with a partnership. Hoping to break Top Ten.”

“’We’?”

“Us. Uraraka, Anya and I. It was Uraraka’s idea though.”

“How does that make you feel?”

Gods, that fucking question. If Katsuki’s quirk could eradicate a particular set of words in a particular order, that would be the first to go. Ten years ago he would’ve shot down such a question with a coarse dismissal, but he knew it was no use with his therapist; he’d keep digging and digging and digging like a stubborn miner until he stumbled across something of value.

So he thought about this for a minute, sifting through all the layers of annoyance and anger that smothered his more genuine emotions, but all he came up with was: “Don’t know.”

His therapist crossed his ankle over his knee. “Tell me the first emotion that comes to you when I say ‘Uraraka is your girlfriend’.”

“Annoyance,” he said. “Because she isn’t my girlfriend. It’s a lie. So I want to correct you, but I can’t, because we have to keep it a secret.”

“Would you like her to be your girlfriend?”

“No.”

“Why?”

“Because I don’t have time for a girlfriend.”

“But if you did, would you want her to be?”

He instinctively clammed up. “No…”

“Why?”

“Because I… I wouldn’t make a good boyfriend.”

“In what way?”

“I dunno. I just wouldn’t.” His therapist let the silence drag out, indicating he wanted more. Katsuki huffed. “Look at your damn notes!”

Yamada’s smile didn’t falter, nor did he look at his notes. “My notes tell me you’re a very conscientious, honest man that strives to do right by the people around him. A man who is a lot nicer than he gives himself credit for.”

Katsuki snorted.

“What parts of yourself would you consider as ‘bad boyfriend’ material?”

“I’m… not good at managing my stress. So I… lash out.”

“Yes, but we know those are reflexive responses. Only skin deep. Do you think Uraraka sees deeper than that?”

Katsuki wiped his palms nervously on his pants. “I don’t know. Maybe.”

“Do these supposed shortcomings deter her?”

“You’d have to ask her,” Katsuki replied, because he didn’t know. Maybe they did, maybe they didn’t. She’d never seem overly bothered by them – his temper, his swearing, his abrasiveness – but then again she wasn’t a person easily deterred by shortcomings of any sort. She’d dated Deku, for fuck’s sake, and the guy was an annoying shit half the time.

Yamada was jotting notes on his board. “I’d like you to try opening your mind to the idea of forging a meaningful connection with her, the way you did with Kirishima. Forget about business and romance, as much as professionality will allow, and let yourself be friends with her. I’m here not only to help you process trauma, but to improve your ability to make personal connections.”

“I know that,” Katsuki said irritably.

“Is work dictating your meeting arrangements?”

“Yes.”

“Then I’d like for you to invite her to go somewhere, just the two of you. It doesn’t need to be romantic, but it’s important that you delegate your spare time to include human interaction beyond your current circle. Let yourself genuinely feel while you’re with her, even if it ends up being annoyance or dislike. So long as it’s genuine. There’s no wrong way to feel.”

“I’m not going to use Uraraka as a crutch for my issues.”

“You aren’t. I think you want to spend time with her, but you’re pushing her away. We both know you’re uncannily observant when it comes to others, but we need to work more on your own emotional self-awareness. I think Uraraka might be able to help you with that, unintentionally, of course.”

“Fiiiine.”

“Good,” Yamada said, closing his folder with a smile. “Try to be present and enjoy your time with her. Human interaction doesn’t have to be the chore you perceive it to be.”

The paps were clustered outside the main entrance of his agency when he arrived; he had to shoulder his way through them in a hail of flashing lights and yelled questions while ignoring the anxiety that thrummed in the seat of his chest. He hunched his shoulders and pulled up his collar, their way-too-personal questions grating down his nerves, then kept his hands in his pockets for fear of reflexively lashing out. None were brave enough to get within his personal space, and he was glad for it too; he didn’t need another mark on his record for harassing members of the media.

He hoped they didn’t push Uraraka around like this.

Arriving at his office, he found Anya leaning against his desk while scrolling through her phone. She didn’t bother to look up as she asked, “How do you feel about Rolex?”

He shrugged out of his jacket then tossed it over the back of his chair. “What?”

“As in, the watches.”

“I dunno. Why?”

“They want to sign you and Uraraka-san to a modeling contract.”

“I’m not a fucking model, Anya. I don’t even wear a watch! Also Round Face and I have been dating less than a day.”

“Yup.” Anya looked up and grinned. “Told ya it was going to be a marketing dream! That isn’t the only offer you’ve gotten either, but they’re the highest bidder so far. We’re also considering the offer from Givenchy regarding their upcoming him-and-her fragrance. Obviously both brands want you and Uraraka modeling for them –“

“I’m. Not. A. Model.”

Anya threw him a despairing look. “I thought we agreed this was part of the deal? Advertising campaigns create the kind of exposure you need to break Top Ten. Those ads will be everywhere, cementing the idea that you’re some perfect sexy dreamboat couple, yes? Or are you backing out?”

“I thought the photoshoot was a one-off thing.”

“It was initially. But we don’t want your relationship to fade to the backs of people’s minds, especially with the polls coming up.”

“I don’t want to do anymore photoshoots,” Katsuki said petulantly. “Can’t Round Face do that stuff?”

“Uraraka is extremely busy already; you can’t lump everything on her. Besides, they want both of you. That’s kind of the point. The campaigns won’t be for weeks, anyway. Will you at last think about it?”

“…Fine.” If only because he didn’t like the thought of dumping his share of the workload onto Uraraka. She was admittedly busier than him, and that was saying something. It wasn’t fair to worsen her daily life just because he had hang ups about being in front of a camera.

“Gosh, try not to be too unhappy about being the face of Rolex and Givenchy. Honestly.” Anya sighed, catching his mood, then shifted some paperwork across his desk. “Here’s the police report you requested about the gang activity in Shinjuku. Make sure you contact the chief before you chase up any leads.”

“I know.”

“I’ll deal with the branding stuff while you focus on hero work for today, alright? While the Limited Edition stuff is done and dusted, we still have Ground Zero Apparel to think about. Numerous stores are creating GZA exclusive spaces on their shop floors. Pretty cool, right?”

Katsuki grunted while he scanned the report. Three deaths in a month between rival gangs over territory disputes, all quirk users. No civis hurt, but Katsuki reckoned it was only a matter of time, especially when the product involved was so dangerous; quirk enhancing drugs cut with cocaine had fallen into fashion again, and the drug lords were working hard to push their wares while interest was high.

Anya went on, “Sports stores have requested more photos for their displays, so I’ve emailed you a few of the raws from Uraraka’s photoshoot. Pick whichever you like by the end of the day and I’ll forward them to Vis. Dev. Department for final editing. They need to be live in stores by the end of the week. The sexier the better. You listening, Bakugou?”

“Raw, Uraraka, sexier the better.”

Anya stared at him. “Rrrright. Well, forward them to me once you’ve looked them over. I’ll be around if you need me.”

“Go the fuck away.”

“If only I could,” she said around a melodramatic sigh, then dropped an energy bar on his desk before she left.

Katsuki delved into hero work. Tracking drug lords was technically police work, but they rarely objected to Katsuki’s contribution to cases because he was damn good at what he did, and the police were so underfunded they couldn’t refuse an extra pair of hands.

They shared a codependent albeit strained dynamic; by law, heroes deferred to the police, always. While Katsuki could act independently in emergency situations, he faced criminal conviction if he defied the police – something he’d done on numerous occasions, and was only allowed bail because of his connections within the agency and because his decisions always resulted in success.

Yet despite his (mostly) clean record and countless villain arrests, they were wary of Katsuki. He’d grown up with a little red check next to his name on all public records that classified his quirk as dangerous (labeled HRQ, or High Risk Quirk, which essentially meant that if Katsuki felt like it, he could destroy half of Tokyo before the army gunned him down) and as a result, he’d been monitored far more closely than your average person. It was one of many, many types of quirk discriminations, albeit one that didn’t affect him much anymore.

But generally, that little red mark made people uneasy. So maybe if he applied for a normal job, he wouldn’t be hired. Or maybe if he got into trouble, the police would tamper with evidence and pay off the judge so they could lock him away even if he was innocent, because it was easier to keep the HRQ users in a place where they could be controlled. They’d make some excuse about it, of course, because quirk discrimination was technically illegal, but it was hard to prove, much less challenge, unless they were explicit about it.

And of course Katsuki had to attend mandatory extra classes all through school, like Quirk Use Regulations and Courtesies, and Emotional Quirk Use Management, as well as monthly mental health assessments – all of which weren’t mandatory for anyone without that ill-omened red check.

Being presumed a threat from the age of four had kind of fucked him up. It’s like everyone was waiting for him to ‘turn’, including the actual villains. Which pissed him off. Because having a ‘bad’ quirk didn’t make a person bad, no more than a quirk that mutated one’s physical body made them a monster, and he’d set through life angrily trying to prove that.

Helping the police with their trickier cases was one such attempt. Katsuki had scratched off a few dangerous names on Japan’s most wanted list while respecting the police’s authority, earning a vote of confidence from Tokyo’s Police Commissioner. And because he didn’t like having his photo taken, it was never his picture on the front of the newspapers next to the criminal in handcuffs – likely one of the reasons he hadn’t made Top Ten. Which was so fucking annoying when he thought about it that he had to remind himself why he was a hero in the first place.

To help people. He just wanted to fucking help people. It was that simple. Everything else was just bullshit.

His fifteen-year-old self would’ve laughed at that.

Katsuki’s phone buzzed, breaking his concentration, and he shuffled around his notes until he found it tucked between two sheets of paper. There was a notification from Round Face.

‘Can I use ur shower again?’

Was her hot water still broken? How long did it take to fix a damn shower? ‘Fine but let yourself in.’

‘I don’t have a key’

‘Through the window, idiot’

‘will do <3

Oh bt it won’t be until late, is tht ok?’

Katsuki blew air through his nose. It was weird having her creep in and out of his apartment during the night – unless she expected to stay on his couch again. In which case, she was going to be extremely disappointed. ‘Use the balcony on your way out.’

There was a pause this time before she answered. ‘Ok’

She was disappointed. He could sense it somehow. Well, he needed to establish boundaries; he couldn’t let her get too comfortable, otherwise she’d get the wrong idea.

‘And you better replace the soap,’ he added.

Katsuki worked overtime so he could submit his notes to the police, then had to cover a patrol shift in Meguro until ten. By the time he got home, he’d forgotten all about Uraraka until he was making dinner.

The leftovers he crammed into a tub with her name carelessly tacked onto the lid may or may not have been an afterthought. He didn’t dwell on it. Would’ve done the same for anyone.

He was about to jump in the shower when Anya pinged him a reminder about Uraraka’s photos. It was 10.45 by then (seriously, the woman was a robot) and he was pissed about that, but more pissed that he’d forgotten to finish his work tasks for the day.

Leaning shirtless over the bathroom sink, Katsuki wedged his toothbrush in the corner of his mouth then thumbed open his emails. He found the one from Anya (Subject: Sexier the better) then followed the secure link to their shared work portal where she’d uploaded the raws.

The first photo sent the same thrill down his spine that had grounded him in Shibuya. His breath caught in his lungs. Warmth spread through the pit of his stomach. The toothbrush almost fell out of his mouth until he forcibly clamped his jaw shut.

Uraraka was wearing an oversized Ground Zero hoodie, unzipped, falling off one shoulder to reveal the sports bra underneath with his hero name emblazoned on the bands. She had one thumb hooked in the waistband of the yoga pants, tugging them down far enough that he could make out the line of her hip bone. Her gaze was fixed on the camera – on him, it felt like – and she was biting her lip in a way that… that…

He flicked hastily to the next photo, but this one was somehow worse (better?). She was laying on her back, sweat running down her chest and face, her hair coiled under her head, mouth open like she was fucking panting –

Which horny fuck took these photos? Because he swore to the gods Mina could’ve been in charge of the direction if he hadn’t known better.

With the toothbrush still wedged in his mouth, Katsuki adjusted himself in his boxers, mortified that – yep, for sure – that was a hard-on growing down there. Over fucking Round Face. Because apparently he had a clothing kink or some shit, and no amount of being angry would make it go away. A lesson you think he would’ve learned by now.

He scrolled to the next one where she was tying up her hair in a supposedly candid shot, except she was sticking out her ass and tits and fuck she was so thick when had her ass gotten so big? – and then to the next one where was straddling one of his fucking gauntlets. An old model, by the looks of it, which was good considering they were usually full of sweat and could detonate if handled carelessly. Except she knew that, didn’t she? And didn’t care by the way she was gripping the gauntlet’s silver handle with one hand, the other feathering over her collarbone –

Katsuki’s free hand crept down the front of his boxers. He swiped back to the one of her laying on her back, because it was so easy to imagine himself on top of her, so easy to imagine licking off the sweat on her jaw while she panted in his ear. That tight lycra spandex would snap under his fingers, leaving red strips on her pale skin, his hero name digging into her thighs like he owned her – like she was his – so it didn’t matter if she banged other guys because they’d have to see his name every time they looked at her pictures and know exactly who she belonged to. Which wasn’t a healthy train of thought but fuck it turned him on.

He'd barely started to rub one out when the bathroom door swung open.

Reflexes alone saved his dignity; he slammed the door shut so fast he was pretty sure he broke the sound barrier and topped it off with a panicked explosion that scorched the door black.

Uraraka was knocked backwards – he heard her fall on her ass and felt zero guilt about that – then a second later the explosion triggered the smoke alarm.

“Fucking knock, asshole!” Katsuki roared at the closed door. His hard-on was chased back by a tidal wave of mortification; he wasn’t sure whether he wanted to blow up his apartment or lock himself indefinitely in the bathroom. Maybe both.

“The door wasn’t locked so I thought you were out!” Uraraka wailed indignantly.

The fact she wasn’t apologizing implied she hadn’t seen him jerking off to her fucking photos – again, he thanked the gods for his lightning reflexes – so that was something. “I don’t fucking care!”

“Is something burning?” she asked.

“No! Yes! Just… Just turn off the fucking alarm, you dumbass! Fucking pain in the ass, fuck you!”

“Sheez, someone’s in a bad mood,” came her muttering, followed a moment later by silence as the alarm was switched off. She called, “You’re lucky you don’t rent!”

The fact he so regularly blew up parts of his home was, in fact, one of the reasons he didn’t rent.

“Go home, you idiot!”

“But I haven’t showered!” she protested. “Also, I bought soap. Ooh, are these leftovers for me? Aaah, I love gyudon! Can I reheat it here?”

“Just give me the fucking soap!”

“Okay, okay. Am I allowed to open the door, Mr Grumpy-pants?”

Katsuki opened the door just enough to stick out his hand. She slapped the bottle into his palm before he snatched it back and slammed the door shut again. Swallowing to calm his temper, he glared at his reflection in the mirror then ran a hand through his hair.

What the fuck was wrong with him?

As Uraraka reheated the food in the microwave, Katsuki climbed into the shower and turned it on as cold as he could tolerate. He really couldn’t be angry with her considering he hadn’t locked the bathroom door – but why would he? Living alone meant privacy was usually a given.

He grabbed the bottle of bodywash and squirted it down his chest and arms without looking. Only when he started lathering up did he notice the smell of strawberries and glanced at the bottle in disbelief.

Shisheido’s Strawberry Bodywash for Girls with… Sparkles?

“Uraraka you shithead I’m gonna kick your ass out the fucking window!”

Her disembodied voice drifted through the door. “Whaaa? What’d I do?”

“You fucking know what!”

“No?”

“God fucking dammit,” Katsuki muttered as he finished scrubbing himself with the soap anyway. It was better than smelling of nitroglycerin.

He realized too late that he’d gone to the bathroom wearing only his boxers, so it felt like a walk of shame as he stomped past Uraraka to his bedroom with the fabric sticking to his damp skin. He tried very hard to ignore how her eyes were glued on him the entire time, chopsticks frozen halfway to her mouth. Gods, she didn’t even have the common decency to look away.

“I can’t smell like fucking strawberries,” he raged when he returned to the living area wearing a tank and joggers. “The villains will laugh themselves to death.”

“If they’re gettin’ close enough to smell your bodywash then you’re not doin’ a good job,” she told him primly. “And now you can dazzle ’em with body glitter!”

Katsuki glanced at his arms and indeed noticed sparkles. “Fuck you, Round Face.”

“Hey, it works for Aoyama-kun!”

“I swear to god –“

“You’re like a shoujo protagonist!”

“GO HAVE YOUR FUCKING SHOWER!”

She giggled, then put aside her empty bowl and skipped to the bathroom. She was still in her hero uniform, he noticed, and her helmet and boots were stacked by the balcony door. A few minutes later he heard the shower start up, then promptly tuned her out as she started singing some dumb pop song.

To think she’d given him a fucking boner not fifteen minutes ago.

It was weird having someone so casually in his space; he’d been alone for so long he didn’t think he could get used to it. And it was damn hard trying not to imagine her in the shower, lathering herself with the same soap that clung to his skin with cloying tenacity.

He turned on the TV to distract his embarrassingly one-track mind. There was no way he’d make it through six months without getting laid. He’d have to think of something. Or at least start locking the bathroom door. Not that he was going to let her in again; she could use Mina’s shower from now on. Clearly she had no qualms about breaking into people’s apartments like a psycho.

His phone buzzed. Anya again, prompting him about the photos. Seriously, when did the woman sleep?

Uraraka emerged from the bathroom, dressed in a casual change of clothes with her hero suit draped over her arm. Her towel-dried hair clung alluringly to her neck and her faded All Might shirt stuck in patches to her damp skin.

“What?” she asked, noticing his wandering eyes.

“Is that Deku’s shirt?”

She blinked, then looked down at it. “Oh. Um. Yeah, actually, it might be one of his old ones. He gave me a lot of ‘em when he had his crazy muscular growth spurt.” She shifted uncomfortably, eyes drawing up to his. “It’s… uh… not sentimental or anything. I didn’t even think about it. I guess I should throw them out but I just wear them ‘cause they’re comfy so –“

“I don’t fucking care what you wear,” Katsuki snapped, turning his attention back to the TV without really seeing it.

Because he didn’t. He didn’t care.

He didn’t.

But also he really wanted to rip that shirt off and fucking explode it into little tiny pieces so he’d never have to see her wearing Deku’s hand-me-downs ever again.

“Pick one of these,” he said, waving his phone in her direction.

She took it from him and leaned over the back of the couch, swinging her legs in the air, close enough that he could smell strawberries and see beads of water dripping down the back of her neck.

“Oh, are these from the initial shoot?” she asked, scrolling through them. “What are they for?”

“New in-store displays.”

“Cool. Didn’t you wanna pick one?”

“They’re your photos. You should have the first say.”

“That’s not how it works with modeling, but thanks.” She held the screen up to him. “What about this one?”

Of course it was the one he’d been jerking off to. “Isn’t that one a bit too…”

“Too what?”

 “… Off brand?”

“What? No way! Your brand oozes sex appeal.”

He bristled. “The fuck are you talkin’ about, no it doesn’t!”

She squinted at him like he was dumb, then rolled her eyes. “M’kay, if you say so. What about this one?”

“I don’t care, just pick the ones you like.” He didn’t want to be shown a fucking highlight reel of fap material. “You know what works better than I do.”

“Okay. I’ll forward the file names to Anya-san and the editors can do the rest. So long as you trust me making these decisions. It’s kind of a big deal, y’know.”

He shrugged. He trusted her.

She chucked his phone into his lap. “Done!”

He grunted noncommittally as she walked towards the balcony door then started strapping on her boots.

 “Thanks for feeding me and letting me use your shower again. I meant to chase my landlord today but I’m so busy I keep forgetting. I’m sure it’ll be fixed soon.”

“Come over whenever you want,” he said, then quickly clarified: “To use the shower. Until yours is fixed. Then I don’t want you here ever again.”

She smiled brightly. “Thanks, Bakugou-kun, you’re a life saver!”

She was just lifting off the balcony floor when he remembered his therapist’s request. Jumping up and darting outside, he grabbed the heel of her boot before she blasted off.

“You wanna spar sometime?”

She blinked down at him in surprise. “Uh, sure? When?”

He let go of her ankle and she floated higher before finding her balance.

“Friday evening,” he said.

“Uh, sure. I think I’m free.” She grinned shrewdly. “Is that really your idea of a first date?”

He shrugged; he’d never been on a date before and had no idea nor any interest in what ‘normal’ couples did.

“You should at least buy a lady dinner first before she beats the crap outta you,” Uraraka said around a shit-eating grin.

“I’m not buyin’ you dinner.”

“Straight to the nitty-gritty without foreplay? You’re no fun.”

He swiped at her and she drifted backwards with a laugh.

“Fine,” she said, “but you have to buy me ice cream if I win.”

 “You’re not gonna win, Round Face.”

“Uh, yes I will? Definitely? Without a doubt?”

“No you won’t.”

“If you’re so confident then you shouldn’t have any problem agreeing to my terms, right?”

He crossed his arms and scowled. “What do I get if I win?”

“Other than bragging rights that you beat the undefeated Uravity in hand-to-hand combat?” She playfully tapped a finger against her top lip. “Hmmm… I’ll have to think about that one. Probably not too hard though, as you’re not gonna win. I’ll dedicate that time to deciding what ice cream flavor I’ll get instead. I’m thinking chocolate.”

“I fucking regret asking, you shitty nerd,” he snapped, storming back into his apartment. He slammed the door shut then gave her the finger when she waved sweetly at him through the window. A second later she rocketed away, leaving a light trail blazing over Tokyo’s twinkling metropolis.

He wondered how angry Anya was going to be when she found out he was taking his fake-girlfriend sparring for their first date.

Chapter Text

Date Night

‘Squad night, Daikanyama, 1030pm’

‘No’

‘C’mon, bro, we’re dying to see you’

‘You saw me last week’

‘But that was before’

‘Before what?’

‘Operation Fake Girlfriend.

 OFG.’

‘I will bash your fucking skull in, shitty hair’

‘Mina said if you don’t come out tonight she’s gonna turn up at your apartment every day for the next six months.’

‘Better say goodbye to your girlfriend then’

‘I mean it, she’s relentless when it comes to gossip. Also I’m real sorry but I accidentally let slip to Denki and Hanta about OFG’

‘I will kill you if you tell anyone else, I’m dead fucking serious.’

‘I won’t, I won’t! Anyway please just humor Mina for five minutes then spend the rest of the evening knocking ‘em back, eh?

I can FEEL the stress radiating off you through the phone screen. Like telepathy but with phones.

TELEpathy’

‘I’ll go if you stop fucking messaging me’

‘Love you’

‘Go die’

Katsuki had to go to the bar straight from his patrol shift. The owner was by now used to the group of misfits turning up with all sorts of strange and unusual articles attached to their bodies, and carefully stashed Katsuki’s gauntlets and grenades in the back room as he had done many times before, no questions asked. Meanwhile, Katsuki pocketed his mask and gloves, but that was as far as he went to dress down his suit. His agency had long since stopped reprimanding him for drinking in uniform; so long as he didn’t make a public spectacle of himself, they didn’t much care.

The entire squad were already there and three beers deep, by the looks of things. Drunk enough to turn their grins leery as he approached the table, but still articulate enough to piss him off.

“You’re buying,” Katsuki told Eijirou as he slumped onto the bench next to him and ignored the others’ greetings. “Don’t have my wallet.”

“That’s cool.” The redhead nudged a bottle of beer towards him. “You look beat. Still pulling double shifts?”

Katsuki grunted around his drink. He wasn’t going to complain when he was the one that elected to work said double shifts in the first place.

“You know, I think it’ll do you some good having a girlfriend,” Mina said while spinning an empty beer bottle on the table. “All you do is work nowadays.”

“She’s not my girlfriend,” Katsuki corrected.

“Girlfriend, fake girlfriend, whatever. Still gives you an excuse to get out for a change.”

“Or stay in, if ya know what I mean,” Kaminari added while wriggling his eyebrows.

Gods, he’d been here less than a minute and he could already tell this was going to be the theme for the evening. Why did he let Eijirou talk him into this shit?

 “Shut the fuck up, Dunce Face.”

Mina took a swig from Sero’s beer, then swapped it with hers while ignoring his squawked protest, saying, “You and ‘Chako have been living rent free in my mind since your fight in the First Year Sport’s Festival. The sexual tension was just… ugh. Divine. Chef’s kiss.”

Katsuki did not remember it like that at all. He’d been so focused on staying on guard he’d barely heard the booing from the stands, much less had a second to spare on whatever depravity Mina’s mind had conjured around a fight that had pushed him almost to his limits.

“I mean, no offense to Midoriya,” she went on, “but lord they were such a boring couple. No spice. No flavor.”

“He was nice to her,” Eijirou reminded.

“I’m not dunking on Midoriya,” she clarified. “I’m just saying they could’ve coasted along in domestic banality until their end of days just because it was easy. Sure, they worked fine together, but I could tell she was bored, even if she didn’t realize it at the time. Honestly, it was a blessing in disguise when Midoriya had his bi awakening and realized his place on the spectrum edged more towards taking dick.”

Sero shook his head morosely. “Imagine leaving Thunder Thighs for Captain Personality. I’ll never understand it.”

“He can’t be with him for the conversation, that’s for sure,” Mina said. “Must be hung like a moose.”

Katsuki scowled. “Why are you always thinking about other people’s dicks?”

“Must be a habit I picked up from you.”

“Fuck you.”

Kaminari nodded sagely. “I agree with Kacchan. Enough about Shouto’s dick. We need to be asking the real questions here. Most importantly: have you, or have you not, nutted in Uraraka yet?”

Katsuki tipped the bottom of Kaminari’s beer bottle so its contents sloshed down his shirt.

He shrieked. “What the fuck, man!?”

“Guess that’s a no,” Sero said.

“It’s been three fucking days, of course I haven’t!”

Mina grinned. “So you’re just taking your time? Letting it play out naturally? Building up the tension?”

“No, you idiot, I don’t want to fuck Round Face at all!”

“Oh c’mon,” Sero said while dumping napkins into Kaminari’s lap. “Everyone would take a shot at Uraraka if they could.”

“No they wouldn’t!” Katsuki snapped.

 “Oh yeah? Hands up; who would pound down Uraraka if given the chance, no strings attached?”

Everyone lifted their hand, including Eijirou, though his inclusion had a healthy amount of reluctance.

“See?” Sero said. “It doesn’t have to be complicated. She’s hot. Survey says: ten out of ten agree they would bang.”

Katsuki sank further into his seat, glaring over the top of his beer. “Will you stop fucking talking about her like she’s a slab of meat? It’s disgusting.”

And unfair. She wasn’t here to defend herself and probably wouldn’t appreciate being the subject of a poll about her fuckability.

“You’re soft on her,” Mina said, elbowing him slyly. “Admit it.”

“I’m NOT!”

“You’ve never stuck up for Momo or Kendo or even Camie before.”

“That’s different…”

“Becaaaause you’re soft for Uravity.”

“Shut the fuck up, Racoon-eyes, you crazy –“

“Okay okay.” Kaminari cut him off, raising his hands from the bundle of wet napkins in his lap. “As Kacchan unfortunately suffers from a chronic case of emotional constipation, it has fallen to the Squad to deduce the nature of his infatuation with Uraraka through scrupulous analysis of the presented evidence.”

Katsuki decided he was going to give them exactly five seconds before he started blowing shit up.

Sero banged an imaginary hammer against the table. “Court in session. Witness one, please take the stand!”

Mina stood at the head of the table, cleared her throat, then pulled out a folded sheet of paper from her purse. Eijirou audibly groaned, which didn’t bode well.

“Your honor and members of our esteemed jury, we stand in court today to pass verdict on defendant Katsuki Bakugou for wanting to nut in his fake girlfriend, an accusation he fervently denies. Please consider our primary source of evidence presented for today’s trial.” Here she unfolded the paper… and unfolded it and unfolded it… until Katsuki was staring at a printed-out poster of his and Uraraka’s ad campaign blown up to a staggering 30 by 30 inches.

“Where the fuck did you –“

“Exhibit A,” Mina began, pointing to Uraraka’s face. “You’ll notice how person in question, Miss Uraraka Ochako, is totally into that shit. Note the sultry expression, the tilted head, the parted lips, the booty pop. For those in attendance today who may not be aware, this particular combination of body language is otherwise known as the ‘Ruin Me, Daddy’ expression.”

“Eijirou, will shut your fucking girlfriend up!”

Eijirou shrugged uselessly and sipped his beer.

“Exhibit B,” Mina continued, tapping one finger against Katsuki’s half of the photo. “The male subject looks upon the female subject with uncharacteristic softness and desire. Note in particular the casual slouch of his shoulder indicating comfort and the total absence of trademark gremlin expression–“

“Mina I will fucking end you!”

“Final point, and by far the most important, consider Exhibit C: Ochako’s thicc, sweaty thighs.”

“What’s that got to do with anything?” Katsuki snapped.

“Dunno. Just thought everyone needed to appreciate ‘em again.”

Kaminari stood up. “The jury demands a closer inspection of the presented evidence.”

Mina handed it to him, and he folded up the poster until only Uraraka’s thighs were showing. “Yes, yes, I see, quite, very interesting, very interesting indeed…”

Katsuki snatched the poster out of his hands and exploded it to dust. The sudden bang and flare of light drew curious looks from the old locals milling around the bar, but upon seeing its familiar source, they brushed off the anomaly entirely. Explosions were commonplace when a certain blond was around.

Katsuki got up and shoved past his group of insufferable assholes to the bar. “I don’t have a thing for Round Face so get over it. You’re all fucking assholes.”

He tried very hard to convince himself he wasn’t sulking as he sat on a barstool and ordered neat whisky from the bartender. Considering the amber depths of his drink, he decided it wasn’t his problem if his loser friends couldn’t tell the difference between genuine infatuation and following direction in a professional photoshoot. It wasn’t that hard to understand.

Even if, admittedly, he wouldn’t turn down an offer to have sex with her, if said offer presented itself willingly. He wasn’t blind or celibate, but he did have a professional contract with her which he intended to honor. Also he still wasn’t sure how she felt about him. She was nice and tolerant, but she was nice and tolerant with everyone, so he didn’t count that for much.

He was on his second drink when Racoon-eyes slid onto the barstool next to him, wrapping an arm around his shoulders with an expression that always pre-empted mischief.

“Fuck off.”

“I haven’t said anything!” she bleated with feigned umbrage.

“Just say whatever it is you want to say then go the fuck away.”

“I bet Chako-chip loves that kinda sweet talk.”

“I don’t sweet talk her, dumbass.”

“Good,” she said, removing her arm, “’cause lemme tell you a top tier Mina secret: Ochako doesn’t do sweet talk. If ya know what I mean.”

Katsuki sipped his drink, eyes fixed on the bottles of alcohol lined up behind the bar. “No, I don’t know what you mean. Nor do I give a shit.”

Mina propped her elbow casually on his shoulder, one finger twirling through her hair. “Do you ever wonder why our sweet little Uravity doesn’t have a boyfriend?”

“No.”

“It’s because she has a very deceptive brand. Not intentionally, of course; hardly her fault she’s marketed as some cutesy virgin schoolgirl when we all know she isn’t.”

“Can you get to the fucking point?”

“My point is: she dates these guys for like two weeks, right? And they expect her to be a good submissive little wifey, all frills and dimples behind the scenes. But when they get a glimpse of what she’s really like… well, they can’t handle her.”

Katsuki frowned at Mina over his drink, wondering if she was hinting at what he thought she was hinting at.

Mina winked at him.

“Uraraka?” he asked incredulously. “She’s into…?”

“Oh, I dunno about specifics,” Mina said, rolling her wrist. “I mean, that’s personal, right? All I know is those simping losers didn’t like it when her TV persona didn’t match her bedroom persona, and they left in a real hurry.”

Katsuki grunted. “Sucks for her.”

“Yeaaaah.” Mina leaned closer, beath tickling his ear. “Maybe she needs Ground Zero to show her a rough time.”

Katsuki shoved her away and she would’ve fallen off the bar stool if not for her impeccable balance. She laughed as a blush crept over his collar, then patted him amiably on the shoulder.

“Aw I’m kidding, I’m kidding. Didn’t mean to embarrass ya! Doubt you could handle her, anyway.” She slid off the stool and plucked her drink off the bar. “Oh wait – I almost forgot! I have something great to read to you. You’re gonna love it.”

Smiling a smile that meant Katsuki would probably be blowing something up very shortly, she pulled out her phone and cleared her throat, then began to read, “’Chapter One: Blasty gets a Boner. Katsuki Bakugou had been very pent up from months of not being able to get laid, so when he saw Uraraka’s ad at Shibuya Crossing, he instantly got a hard on and -‘“

“Eijirou, come get your girlfriend before I blow her the fuck up!”

Eijirou dutifully appeared and planted his hands on Mina’s shoulders. “Time to go.”

“Aw, but I was just gettin’ to the good bit!”

“No one wants to read your stupid fucking porn,” Katsuki snarled. “The fuck is wrong with you?”

“You just don’t appreciate the fine art of writing,” Mina told him down her nose as Eijirou desperately tried to steer her out of firing range. “But you know who does? The internet. I’m gonna post this right now -”

“Okkaay, seriously, that’s enough, let’s go,” Eijirou said, pre-emptively hardening just in case Katsuki decided to release the firework crackling on his palm.

Mina cackled, but let herself be led away, leaving Katsuki positively boiling in his own skin. If only he had a silencing quirk… or a quirk that made annoying girlfriends disappear. That would come in real fucking handy.

Katsuki spent his week chasing (often literally) suspects dealing quirk-enhancing drugs in Shinjuku, though no notable arrests had been made yet, which was frustrating. They were scared of Ground Zero, but the lords pulling the strings were cautious enough to only send out street thugs they didn’t mind getting caught – those who knew so little it was barely worth the effort of herding them into custody.

He was neck deep in reports when his phone buzzed. It was 7.25pm and his office was dark aside from the jarring glow from his terminal – the office beyond his was completely empty – so the light from his phone worked as a beacon under the stack of paper he’d shoved on top of it. He picked it up in time to see a message flash across the lockscreen, alongside a few missed calls.

‘Are u comin or not?’

He blinked at the message from Uraraka for a whole five seconds before realization whipped away the bottom of his stomach.

“FUCK!”

Not five hours ago, Anya had offered to remind him about his ‘date’ beforehand, which he’d savagely shot down with ‘I don’t need you managing my personal life as well as my work life, you damn busybody.’

‘I thought your arrangement with Uraraka-san was work?’ she’d snidely remarked before shrugging. ‘But suit yourself. Just don’t leave the poor girl waiting.’

He somehow managed to pull on his jacket, tap out a hasty confirmation, and kick his office window open at the same time. Fuck, he was never late. Never. Stupid fucking social life. He wasn’t used to meeting anyone aside from his shitty squad, which was always last minute and at Eijirou’s whim.

No time to waste on the elevator, much less a train or cab, he blasted out the window and went into freefall. No doubt some onlooker from within the building would report him for breaking the strict ‘no-flying-out-the-windows’ rule, but right now he really didn’t care. If Uraraka could get away with it then so could he.

He steadied his flight path with a few explosions before glancing at his phone again. 7.28pm. By the time he got to the gym she would’ve been waiting at least half an hour on his forgetful ass. While he didn’t care what she thought about him, it was still shitty leaving someone in the lurch. Fuck knows a few of his flings had done the same to him last minute on a Saturday night and it was a pain in the ass.

He was about two blocks from the gym when a police car flashed him out of the sky.

Just his fucking luck.

Katsuki let out a frustrated snarl, briefly considered pretending he hadn’t noticed them, decided it wasn’t worth it, then dropped to the sidewalk beside the pulled over car. Police officers tended to be quirkless so signaled to those in flight with spotlights shone from the windows of their cars and a blare of sirens.

The cop climbed out, not in the least perturbed that Katsuki had been spitting explosions out of his hands two seconds ago.

“License,” the cop demanded.

Katsuki ground his teeth. “Are you fucking serious? How many heroes do you know that use fucking explosions to fly? I think I can get a pass all things considering.”

Considering I’m Ground Zero, he was a few syllables short of adding. But he wouldn’t, because throwing his name around felt gross. He’d met enough ‘do you know who you’re talking to’ heroes to know he didn’t want to be lumped in with that crowd.

The cop held out his hand, giving him The Look. The kind that could get him arrested if he didn’t comply.

Growling, Katsuki pulled his license out of his wallet and handed it over. The cop’s gaze flicked from the photo ID to Katsuki, then frowned. “Are you on duty?”

“I…” Katsuki thought about lying, then huffed. “No.”

“Then you shouldn’t be using your quirk to fly around public areas. I’m going to have to issue you with a ticket.”

Katsuki’s temper flared to life again. “I just spent my entire fucking week chasing leads you motherfuckers can’t manage and now you wanna give me a ticket for blasting a few miles downtown? This is fucking ridiculous! I can control my quirk – I’m not going to level a damn building!”

The cop glanced up from the ticket he was halfway through writing. “Are we going to have a problem, sir?”

Katsuki snarled, then crossed his arms and glowered at passersby until they looked away. Great. He hoped they wouldn’t recognize him out of uniform but considering there was a huge fucking billboard with his face on it in Shinjuku, he didn’t hold out much hope. At least the paps weren’t around.

He snatched the ticket out of the cop’s hand – a 10,000yen fine – then took off at a sprint towards the gym.

Uraraka had asked to meet at a place owned by Gunhead, her old agent. It was a four-story building on the corner of an intersection, and as he ran up to it, breathless and sweating, he couldn’t spot her waiting outside its illuminated doors. Had she given up and gone home? Or was she waiting inside?

With a light June rain chasing his heels, he buzzed through the entrance and followed directions to the sparring ring on the ground floor. Here, much to his relief, he spied Uraraka warming up at ringside. Otherwise the room was empty.

She looked up as he entered, her expression both amused and mildly annoyed.

“Well, well, well, look who decided to show up,” she said, straightening out of her stretch. “My good for nothing boyfriend. Imagine being late for a first date? Not very romantic.”

“Yeah, yeah, lap it up,” he said, tossing his wet jacket onto a bench. “If it makes you feel better, I got a fucking quirk violation ticket flying here.”

She snorted into her palm. “Seriously? From a hero?”

“A cop.”

“Oh my god, that is hilarious. Bet he did it just so he could tell everyone he got to write up Ground Zero.”

“Fucking hilarious.” He sniffed, then thumbed his nose, looking awkwardly aside. “Sorry I kept you waiting. Slipped my mind.”

She bobbed a shoulder. “S’ok. I’m hardly top of your priorities. I would’ve been mad if you’d actually stood me up, though. Guess I’ll just have to beat the crap outta you in the ring to vent my frustration.”

He snorted. “You wish.”

She pointed him toward the changing rooms where he shrugged out his work clothes and into his gym gear, then returned to ringside to stretch. Uraraka watched him the entire time, leaning against the ropes, while he made a good show of ignoring her.

“I used your shower while you were out the other night,” she told him.

“Ok? I said you could.”

She hesitated before she asked the next question, almost like she wasn’t sure she wanted to know the answer. “Were you at work?”

“No.”

“Oh… So, were you… out, or…?”

“I was with the idiot brigade.”

“Oh!” She seemed relieved for no particular reason. “Oooh, actually that makes sense. Mina sent me a super drunk text at 2am. Something about reaching a guilty verdict? And a unanimous vote in some kind of poll?”

Katsuki cringed into the outer atmosphere. “She talks out her ass. Ignore her.”

“Aw, I think she’s cute.”

“Yeah but you think Deku’s cute.”

She blinked at him, and he suddenly realized how he sounded.

Jealous.

 “Are we gonna spar or not?” he snapped.

“Excuse me, you were the one that kept me waiting forty-five minutes before finally gracing me with an appearance.”

He jabbed a finger at her. “You’ve used up all your passes on that one. Bring it up again and I’ll kick your ass.”

“You sure can try,” she sang as she skipped to the other side of the ring. “Think I’ve waited long enough tonight.”

“You’re askin’ for it,” he growled, ducking between the ropes.

She grinned, then fell into an offensive stance.

The old excitement flickered to life in his gut as he watched her. First and foremost, Katsuki thrived off challenges, but his daily routine provided so few besides the occasional confrontation with a villain. But it wasn’t the same. There hadn’t been a real threat in years (not that he pined for anymore near-death experiences) and nobody could quite match up to him in sheer power and speed besides heroes, who tended to hold back in the ring during the few times a month they could spare the time to spar.

“No quirks, right?” she said.

“No quirks,” he agreed, then grinned his most savage grin, all teeth and gums and dangerous, hungry eyes.

Oddly, Uraraka didn’t look even slightly intimidated. She took a step back – almost like a stagger – flushing red and swallowing loudly, like his look had somehow shot her right through the chest. Then she recaptured her stance, eyes unusually dusky over a smile.

Weird, but whatever.

With no starting signal, Katsuki flew at her across the ring. No point in holding back or pulling his punches; she wasn’t a rookie. And she proved that almost instantly, ducking and weaving around his quick jabs, her flow natural, effortless – pure instinct and reaction. She kept her eyes trained on his, reacting to his lightning speed with barely a hairbreadth between his fists and her flesh.

She leapt away from a blow he aimed at her knees, then kicked out, aiming for his stomach. He clamped both hands around the sole of her sneaker and shoved her backwards, but she hand-springed nimbly off the floor and rebounded off the ropes, spinning gracefully into another kick that pushed him back.

Space between them now, she swung a punch that was insanely fast; his eyes widened as her knuckle grazed his chin, then he blocked a second to his sternum and countered with one of his own that was knocked neatly aside with the flat of her forearm.

Fuck, she was good. Not that he was surprised; he felt only giddy excitement.

He attacked with renewed vigor, focused now on victory, and as he got into her personal space he thought he saw again that wide-eyed, flushed look cross her face, and in that instant he managed to hook his leg around hers and send her sprawling.

He was on her in a second, securing his win as he pinned her wrists to the floor beside her head. But despite his victorious grin, she didn’t seem much bothered; she wore the barest of smirks, eyes hazy beneath heavy lids. A single bead of sweat trickled down her brow and over the bridge of her nose.

“Oops,” she breathed. “Clumsy me.”

He narrowed his eyes. While he was by no means a beginner at mixed martial arts, Uraraka was an expert at Brazilian Jiu-Jitsu, Taekwondo and Muay Thai, and had a fierce reputation in the ring (and field); there was no way she’d gone down so easily.

Getting up crossly, he stalked to the other side of the ring without bothering to give her a hand up, then resumed an offensive stance. Anger flickered under his skin, aggravated by her careless grin.

She was fucking messing with him.

Uraraka sprung nimbly to her feet, that smile fixed on her face, then relaxed into a starting position.

This time he waited for her to move first. She came at him without hesitation, casting doubt on his suspicions, and hit him with a combo – punch, punch, kick, punch – that almost caught him by surprise on the last swing. He grabbed her wrist at the last minute and tried to twist it behind her back, but she disengaged with a clever maneuver he couldn’t quite follow.

They met blow for blow for seconds that felt much longer, until finally, he caught another opening. Again, this seemed deliberate somehow, but he reacted anyway, knocking her backwards and pinning her again, hands around her wrists, knees either side of her thighs.

With jarring horror, he realized she was the ad turned into reality. No fake sweat this time. She was hot underneath him, her parted lips feathering breath along his collarbone, her hair stuck to her flushed cheeks in sweaty ribbons.

And then she picked that moment to squirm underneath him.

Clamping down a spike of arousal under anger, he lowered his face until there was barely an inch between them.

“Quit playing games, Round Face.”

Her mouth snapped shut, eyes widening, the flush deepening along her cheekbones. “Aw, c’mon, don’t be like that. I was just gettin’ warmed up. I’ll be serious now, ‘kay?”

“You better."

They resumed their positions on opposites sides of the ring. Meeting her gaze, he was pleased to find her playful demeanor vanished in place of concentration; her stance seemed more intense than before, both feet planted wide on the floor, shoulders square.

He felt a flutter of excitement. Fuck, she was sexy when she looked like –

Suddenly, he was on his back.

When the stars hampering his vision cleared, Uraraka’s face was inches from his, her hands clamped around his wrists and thighs wrapped around his hips. Her eyes glittered with amusement.

“Better?” she whispered. “Or do you want me to be… gentler?”

She shifted slightly in his lap and he felt it all the way to his toes and back up to his…

Oh, fuck no he was not getting a hard on right now.

“Let me up,” he snarled.

Her smirk grew. “Say please.”

“No!”

“That’s not please.”

“Fuck you, get the fuck off me right now!”

She read the genuine anger (slashed with panic) in his eyes, then blew her bangs off her forehead and rolled off him. “Sore loser.”

“I’m not!” he yelled, jumping up and discreetly adjusting his pants. This was the first time a sparring partner had elicited that kind of response from him, and frankly he was pissed about it. He was acting like a damn kid again.

“Best out of five,” he snapped, resuming another stance.

She smiled cheerfully, falling back on her heels. “I’m looking forward to my ice cream sundae.”

“Keep dreaming, Round Face.

“Mint chocolate, caramel, fudge aaaaand… strawberry, please! Don’t forget the extra sprinkles!”

Barely an hour after Uraraka had planted his ass on the mat for the tenth time in a row, he handed the vendor in the ice cream parlor a 5000yen note and tried very hard not to look too pissed when he did it.

“Aren’t you getting anything?” she asked, positively beaming sunshine.

“No. I hate ice cream.”

“That is such a lie. Liar. Nobody hates ice cream. It’s impossible. It’s just like… cream and sugar. I’ve never met anyone who hates it.”

“Congratulations, I’m your first.”

“Oh my gosh, are you gonna sulk the whole time we’re here? You’re lowkey spoiling my victory.”

He dumped the sundae into her waiting hands. “Just eat your stupid ice cream.”

To be fair, he couldn’t be too mad considering she’d beaten him fair and square. He’d wanted her full focus and damn if he hadn’t gotten it; the egg-sized bruise under his eye was testament to that. Perhaps she’d known holding back would’ve incurred his genuine anger; ‘warming up’ or not, he couldn’t stand anything being half-assed, and she damn well knew that.

They sat at a table by the window overlooking a busy street in Eastern Tokyo, surrounded by screaming kids and loved up couples despite it being so late. It only occurred to him a second later that technically they were part of the latter, minus being ‘loved-up’. Which was weird to think about.

He slouched into his seat while Uraraka attacked the disgusting mountain of ice cream with victorious fervor, then said without thinking, “We should’ve done this years ago.”

She frowned, sucking on the spoon. “Get ice cream?”

“No, you dumbass. Spar.”

“Oh.” She shrugged. “I guess. I would’ve asked but…”

“What?”

“Kinda assumed you wouldn’t be interested.”

Katsuki narrowed his eyes. “Deku tell you that?”

“Eh? No, no, not at all! I think he would’ve died of happiness if we’d sparred together. He loves you to bits.“

“Shut the fuck up, I can’t stand that brat.”

Uraraka rolled her eyes above another spoonful of ice cream but decided not to comment on his opinion of Deku. “We can spar whenever you want. You got a long way to go before you can floor me, though.”

Confidence without arrogance. He liked that. He wished the public could see this side of her more. “You’ve come a long way since UA.”

“I darn well hope so,” she said. “Ya know I cried for, like, twenty minutes after our fight in first year.”

He vaguely recalled her puffy eyes and sniffling in the stands while he’d watched the other matches. “Good.”

“Ouch.”

“Meant you cared. Most people just shrug off their losses. You used it as a base to propel yourself higher.”

She smiled, looking pleased that he understood. Getting emotional wasn’t always a sign of weakness – something his therapist had been trying to drill into him for the past eight years.

“Ah, there they are.”

Uraraka gestured through the window where a couple of paps were snapping photos of them from across the street, trying to be discreet while being painfully obvious.

His initial flare of anger quickly died. This was what they were here for, right? To be seen in public. Maybe that’s why she’d wanted ice cream in the first place; it was typical first-date bullshit - the kind the public would lap up - in a place Ground Zero wouldn’t normally be caught dead in.

“I’m curious,” she said. “What would you have asked for if you’d won?”

He thought about this for a second, then shrugged. He genuinely hadn’t thought about it. Having a half-decent sparring partner was reward enough for him.

“Nothing?” she probed. “Really? Nothing?”

“Another round, I guess.”

“Gosh, that’s boring.”

“Why? What would you have given me?”

Her eyes twinkled mischievously over the spoon. “Whatever you wanted.”

Hot tingles swept through his insides at her suggestive undertones. He genuinely wasn’t sure if she was flirting with him or being a little ass, which left him off balance. Regardless, he wasn’t going to rise to it. He’d promised it wouldn’t get complicated.

He was about to shoot her down with a blunt retort when suddenly she turned an interesting shade of green.

“Urk, I think I’m gonna puke,” Uraraka said, pushing the half-finished bowl of ice cream away.

He stared at her for a second, then picked up the other spoon and shoveled three different flavors into his mouth at the same time.

“Thought you didn’t like ice cream?” she said, leaning back in her seat with a hand pressed over her stomach.

“I like wasting money even less.”

“I was totally going to eat it all.”

“I like watching you puke even less than I like wasting money.”

“Oh, c’mon. Just admit that you like ice cream.”

He swallowed another spoonful, gaze fixed on hers. “I don’t hate it.”

Chapter Text

All Might Approved

Anya appraised the bruise on his cheek with equal parts disgust and despair the day after their ‘date’, unimpressed by the way he was peacocking around the office and showing it off like a badge of honor. And to be fair, it was hard keeping the wolfish grin off his face every time someone asked about it while he made coffee in the office kitchen. After all, the list of names who could leave their mark on Ground Zero was very short.

“Can’t you just do something normal?” Anya implored. “Something that doesn’t involve one of you being subjected to bodily harm?”

“I bought her ice cream.”

“Is that before or after she gave you a black eye?”

“After.”

Anya rolled her eyes. “You heroes are a different breed, I swear.”

Katsuki didn’t care; he’d buy Uraraka as much ice cream as she wanted if it meant he could hone his skills. For him to be so easily bested was unheard of nowadays; he was intrigued and excited despite his feigned indifference. Perhaps he’d become too dependent on his quirk giving him the upper hand, or, more alarmingly, perhaps he was out of practice.

Over the next week, he saw her occasionally when she stopped by to use his shower (her landlord was a useless piece of shit and apparently her apartment needed a whole new set of pipes), but their conflicting schedules meant their interaction was limited to crossing paths as they left/entered his apartment, long enough for a greeting but short enough that Katsuki felt an unfamiliar frustration brewing in his chest that he decided to ignore.

Wasn’t like he wanted to talk to her or anything.

The day before their scheduled ‘date night’, Katsuki messaged Uraraka, eager for a good fight. Which was kind of lame considering he spent most of his days fighting, if those mostly one-sided scraps could be classed as such.

‘Spar again, tomorrow, 8pm.’

She didn’t respond until a few hours later, presumably busy with work. ‘Was that supposed to be an invitation? Or is the Lord demanding an audience?’

Sitting on the floor of the engineering room with his gauntlet dismantled around his feet, Katsuki frowned at his phone. Okay, fine, maybe he could have tacked a question mark on the end of his sentence. But whatever. Not like he wanted to do anything else, so it was that or nothing. ‘Do you want to or not?’

‘Can’t. I’m busy.’

‘Are you seriously pissed because I didn’t ask nicely?’

‘Nooo, ur busy too!’

‘What?’

‘We’re going to a charity gala tomorrow night!’

Katsuki screwed his face into a disgusted snarl. ‘Who the fuck decided that?’

‘I did!’

‘I’m not going.’

‘But it’s expected of us.’

‘Do not pull that couple bullshit on me. Normal couples aren’t co-dependent.’

‘How do u know? You’ve never had a girlfriend.’

Katsuki bristled. ‘Who told you that?’

‘Mina.’

‘Tell her I’m going to peel off her fucking skin.’

‘I will definitely do that. Anyway, the driver is gonna pick us up at 8 from ur place. Anya will send u the details later.’

Katsuki had half a mind to blast a hole through Anya’s office wall. ‘You asked Anya before me?’

‘Wanted 2 make sure ur schedule was clear.’

‘And that’s what normal couples do, is it?’

 ‘No. I’m just a ‘business arrangement’, if I recall correctly. Ur acting very unprofessional right now.’

‘You’re an annoying piece of shit, you know that?’

‘Moi? Never. Besides, Anya agreed it’ll reflect positively on ur brand. It’s all well & good making anonymous donations 2 charities, but once in a while u have 2 show support in person too.”

Katsuki ran a hand uncomfortably down the back of his neck. Of course Anya had told her about his donations. Was anything off record between these bloody women? ‘Feels vain making a public spectacle out of a donation.’

‘I know,’ she responded. ‘But at least they’re getting the money, one way or another. So you’ll go?’

‘I’ll show my face.’

‘Yay <3’

His phone was silent for barely ten minutes before Anya appeared in the engineering room wearing a look that could frighten the devil.

 “If you ignite so much as a sparkler at that gala I will personally circumcise you and pin your foreskin to your office door, understand?”

“No promises.”

“You’re allowed two drinks MAXIMUM and I’m going to deduct 10,000yen from your pay every time you swear in front of an official. Uraraka-san is going to be keeping a tally.”

“Leave me alone, woman.”

“And do not call her ‘Round Face’. I swear to god that girl goes through enough already without having to explain to the press why her asshole boyfriend calls her mean names.”

“I’m one second away from reporting you for workplace harassment.”

“And you have to wear a tie.”

Katsuki threw back his head and groaned.

When Anya sent him the details of the gala, Katsuki was deeply perturbed to discover that not only was the OFA Gala (founded my All Might some thirty years ago) one of the biggest annual events held in Japan, but was one attended by every hero of importance worth mentioning, including but not limited to All Might himself, plus numerous CEOs that held notable value in other sectors of the hero industry, such as Groundware Tech Inc. and Shield Designs and Mechanics.

In short: he had to be on his best behavior, otherwise the agency would come down on him like a ton of bricks. Although this was not technically work, being an ass to some of the more important businessmen might cost him sponsorships in the future. This was also his and Uraraka’s first official appearance as a ‘couple’, and he had no idea what to expect in that regard. But it probably involved being nice to her, which sucked.

With great reluctance, he bought a new suit for the occasion because his casual workwear wouldn’t cut it. Anya arranged to have the black two-piece hurriedly tailored in time for the gala, so now he stood in his apartment staring at his reflection while tying a deep orange tie around the collar of his black dress shirt. 

Fuck, why had he let Uraraka talk him into this? Even if her reasoning was logical, he still hated it. In fact, the only thing he hated more than parties were formal parties. Stick him in an arena with stands of booing observers and he’d thrive off the challenge. But there was no challenge in this; it was empty, banal interactions with people he spared no mind for save for when he passed them in the rankings. And really, it didn’t matter how much therapy he went through: Katsuki was bad at small talk and worst at first impressions, preceding reputation notwithstanding.

Shichimi glared at him from the doorway, annoyed because he wouldn’t let her rub ginger hair against his pants. She looked about as pissed as he felt, albeit for different reasons.

Uraraka buzzed up to his apartment at 7.45, and he brusquely let her in before stomping to the kitchen.

“Thought I’d use the door like a normie this time,” she greeted. “Don’t want you thinking I’m a complete degenerate.”

“Ten years too late for that,” he remarked. “Shocked you’re even on time.”

“Well, I wouldn’t want to keep you waiting. Some asshole left me standing in the rain for forty-five minutes the other day and I – oh wait, that was you.” She met his scowl with a sweet smile. “Anyway, do you like my dress? Bought it with you in mind.” 

Halfway through pouring himself a glass of water, Katsuki glanced sideways at Uraraka’s dress - and froze.

He’d been expecting her usual flamboyant style – all pink frills and puffy skirts – but no, the gods did not want to gift him that small mercy today. Or were they rewarding him? It was hard to tell when his brain and dick seemed so interchangeable nowadays.

The dress was black and velvet and clung to her curves like a second skin, so tight that it needed a slit up the side so she could walk. As she took a step forward it flashed a deep orange lining, matching her heels left in the genkan. Her hair was pinned to the side and fell in tousled waves over her left shoulder, and her eyes were smoked black with eyeliner.

Fuck, she looked hot.

“Bakugou, the water!”

He glanced down in time to catch it overflowing the top of the glass. Clearing his throat, he hurriedly turned off the faucet and downed half of it in a few, loud gulps.

Uraraka ran her hands over the skirt a tad self-consciously, then turned around to show off the low cut back crossed by intersecting orange straps.

“Too obvious?” she asked.

He cleared his throat again. “What is?”

“The colors.”

“What?”

“It’s a couple thing,” she explained. “Matching colors, coordinating outfits. All the cool kids are doing it nowadays. You know?”

“No.”

“Anya told me you were wearing an orange tie so…”

For fuck’s sake, did they have a private group chat just to discuss what he ate for fucking breakfast? “People might lose their shit about this.”

She pressed her hand over her stomach, looking self-conscious again. “What do you mean?”

“It’s not the Uravity they’re used to seeing.”

“Ah, well. That’s the point, right?” She seemed relieved that was his only issue. “I’m trying a new image, and if people don’t like it, they can suck it.”

He smirked. “Damn right.”

“I didn’t choose this dress for sex appeal, anyway,” she said. “Well, not entirely. I really wanted to show my scars. My old stylists always made me cover ‘em up to perpetuate that flawless, dolly image, because apparently nothing is more off-putting to my male audience than knowing I could kick their asses.”

“Cowards,” Katsuki said, and he meant it.

She matched his smirk, then took a small step closer to him, eyes trailing up the lines of his suit. “I’d kick your ass any day of the week.”

Suddenly the tension between them became thick as paste. His heart stuttered in his chest. Was she… was she hitting on him? Or kidding around?

The buzzer to his front door sounded, startling him out of his dilemma, and he slid past her to answer it.

“Driver’s here,” he said. “Let’s go.”

The gala was being hosted at the ANA InterContinental Venue in Minato, and as they pulled up outside the grey skyscraper Katsuki immediately noticed swarms of paparazzi waiting around its entrance. Although this was far from a red carpet event and they shouldn’t have been here at all, the event organizers had roped off a path to the main doors so he couldn’t avoid having his photo taken without making a scene.

Then again, being seen was kind of the point. Being seen with Uraraka was a bonus. It all contributed to the Big Plan. A plan Katsuki was fast regretting.

“C’mon, it ain’t that bad,” Uraraka chirped beside him, noticing how far he’d shrunk into his seat. “At least we don’t need to pose; we can just walk right past.”

He suffered a moment’s concern that he was somehow going to make Uraraka look bad, but shrugged that off. She knew how he was; him being antisocial hardly came as a surprise.

“People here only wanna stroke their egos under the guise of charity,” he said petulantly. “Just wanna show off how much money they can throw around.”

“Well, sure, but it’s great endorsement for the charities, too. Seeing heroes support a charity encourages smaller companies to support them too. Domino effect.”

“Narcissistic.”

“The people who need the money most are benefiting far more from this than we are.”

“Hmph.”

Uraraka sighed, then shifted across the seat until their thighs were touching. “Okay, Mr Cynical, you’re entitled to your opinion – just please keep it to yourself for the rest of the night, eh? Now do me a favor and stand in front of the door while I get out so the paps don’t get a shot up my skirt.”

That thought leaked anger into his expression as he opened the door to a deluge of flashing lights and raised voices, which was very poor timing. But fuck it. He was hardly known for smiling. He turned to help Uraraka out of the car – mainly to block the view of the perverts behind the cameras -  and to his surprise she kept her hand entwined with his after she shifted out of the seat as gracefully as a tight skirt and six-inch heels would allow.

It occurred to him a second later that he’d never actually held hands with anyone. Mainly because he’d never had a girlfriend to hold hands with, but also because the volatile nature of his sweat made the gesture a literal health and safety hazard. Uraraka knew that, but didn’t seem to care, even though he was producing enough nervous sweat to fill an entire gauntlet.

She somehow managed to keep pace with him, waving and smiling at flashing cameras, while he tried not to look like he was physically dragging her along the carpet. Which would not have been a good look for their first official public appearance. Anya definitely would’ve pinned his foreskin to his office door if that had been the case.

Inside the sanctuary of the hotel, they were quickly greeted by staff and escorted to the Prominence Ballroom where the event was being held. Katsuki pulled his hand out of hers as they trailed after the staff, then passed her the red kerchief he had tucked into his front pocket.

“Wipe the sweat off,” he explained shortly.

She blinked at it, then wiped her hands while staring sidelong at him. “You’re not that sweaty.”

He shrugged and shoved his hands in his pockets. It wasn’t that he sweated more than the average person, just that his sweat was heavier and oiler, so more noticeable.

“If I didn’t wipe it off and, like, smacked my hands together, would my hands explode?”

“Yep.”

Uraraka’s eyes widened. “Really?”

“No, dumbass. You think I’d still be here if that was the case? It’s not actually nitroglycerin. Just very similar. Might give you a headache though.”

“Does it give you headaches?”

“Sometimes.”

He was spared explaining the full list of drawbacks from sweating an explosive chemical as they entered the Prominence Ballroom. It was an expansive, pillarless room with walls draped in white hangings, lit by blue luminous fluorescents from the twenty-foot high ceiling. There must have been hundreds of guests here already, many of whom were heroes he recognized, milling around in suits and fancy dresses. The floor was crowned with a statue of All Might in his heyday, fifteen feet high and flexing, the OFA charity founder. Katsuki blinked up at the white statue, awash with nostalgia.

“Don’t think it’d fit in your apartment,” Uraraka mused as she followed his gaze. She grabbed two flutes of champagne from a passing waiter and handed him one. “Bet Deku’s already asked for it, anyway. Do you know how weird it is having sex with someone when there's, like, a million All Might figurines and posters staring at you?”

Katsuki scowled at her. “I did not need to know that.” Mostly because he did not like imagining her and Deku having sex.

“Kacchan!”

“Speak of the devil,” Uraraka said, peering around him.

Katsuki closed his eyes. He’d really hoped he’d imagined that shrill, familiar voice in his moment of disgust.

“Kacchan! Kaccchaaaan! Kaccchhhaaannnn!”

Maybe if he pretended not to hear him, he’d go away.

“Stop ignoring him,” Uraraka hissed, planting her elbow in his spleen.

Katsuki turned begrudgingly to Deku as he practically sprinted across the floor towards them, followed by a far more sedate Shouto.

“I didn’t know you were gonna be here too! It’s great to see you!”

“The feeling’s not mutual.”

Deku turned to Uraraka just as she wrapped her arms around his neck and planted a friendly kiss on his cheek.

“Hey, Deku!”

“Hey, Ochako!”

Something sour roiled in Katsuki’s gut, but he clamped it down before he could acknowledge what it was – because there was no fucking way he was jealous of that stupid fucking nerd and his boring relationship with Round Face.

“You look pretty,” Deku was saying. “Is that a Ground Zero themed dress?”

 “Sorta. Is it obvious?”

“Yes,” Shouto said, eyes trailing disinterestedly over Uraraka’s dress before moving onto Katsuki. “Hey.”

“Quit checking out my girlfriend,” Katsuki said.

“You wish.”

Deku chewed on a grin for a moment, then said, “Congrats on, uh, getting together! That was, um, unexpected. I guess. You two hooking up. Officially. Together. Legitimately. Naturally. As a couple –“

“You told him, didn’t you?” Katsuki said to Uraraka.

“N-no she didn’t!” Deku said, waving his hands. “I mean – told me what?”

Uraraka sighed.

Katsuki looked at Shouto. “Did she tell you?”

“Yes.”

“For fuck’s sake, Round Face!”

“You told Kirishima and Mina!”

“That’s different!”

“No it isn’t. Shouto is very discreet. You won’t tell anyone, right, Shouto-kun?”

Shouto looked up from where he’d been staring mindlessly at the bottom of his champagne glass. “Tell anyone what?”

Katsuki couldn’t tell if he was joking, so he leaned into Deku’s personal space and narrowed his eyes. “If anyone finds out I’ll know it was your useless ass that told and I will beat the living shit outta you, got it?”

Deku took a nervous step back. “I won’t! I won’t tell anyone, Kacchan, I promise!”

“You better fucking not.”

Uraraka elbowed him again and said out the corner of her mouth, “People are taking photos, Bakugou. Stop threatening Deku. Or at least smile while you’re doing it.”

Deku threw her a betrayed look, which she chose to ignore. When Katsuki glanced around, he indeed noticed a few invited members of the press taking photos of them, which was to be expected, he supposed, considering they were UA graduates and some kind of weird power-couple foursome.

 At least he and Uraraka were the cooler of the pair. Not that that was hard – Deku was literally wearing a bowtie, for fuck’s sake.

“You’re far more pliable nowadays, anyway,” Shouto remarked to Katsuki. “I don’t see why this fake stuff is necessary.”

“Yeah!” Deku added, then reached out to pat Katsuki’s’ arm. “We’re basically –“

“Touch me and I’ll break your fucking fingers.”

 “- best friends…” he finished as he snatched his hand out of reaching distance.

“You know what? I could really use a drink,” Uraraka said as she pushed Katsuki in the direction of the bar.

“What do I look like, a fucking waiter?”

“Vodka and cranberry. Make it a double.”

Katsuki tsked but decided anything was better than making small talk with the Nerd and Daddy-issues. He ambled his way to the bar, making a point to keep his eyes averted from anyone who might want to strike up conversation. It was stupid to think he could avoid interaction all night, but he could damn well try.

While he leaned against the bar watching the attendant mix his drinks, he sensed rather than saw the person beside him; he would have ignored them completely if not for the familiar, sultry notes in their greeting,

“Hey, handsome, what’cha doin’ in these parts?”

Katsuki glanced sideways at Camie, wondering how this night could get any more uncomfortable. “Get lost, Maboro.”

Camie pouted at him, elbows propped against the bar, back arched in a way that empathised her gi-fucking-gantic tits barely concealed under a plunging black dress. Her dusty-blond hair fell in waves between her shoulder blades and coiled against the bar top.

“I much prefer it when you call me by my name,” she said teasingly. “Or is that reserved for the bedroom?”

He and Camie had been what Kaminari would describe as ’fuck buddies’ since they were nineteen. She’d given him his first blowjob around the back of 7-Eleven while they’d been partnered under a hero apprenticeship, and then routinely fallen in and out of his bed until she’d gotten a boyfriend a few years back – some nobody hero whose quirk probably involved understanding her stupid slang. Not that Katsuki cared; Camie was smoking hot and a good lay, but that was about it; she bored him to tears otherwise, though he’d never be cruel enough to say it to her face.

“We’re in a professional setting,” he reminded her, eyes sliding back to his drink. “We shouldn’t call each other by name.”

She rolled her eyes. “Boooorring. You’re boring. Do you know that? Does your cutesy-wutesy girlfriend know that?”

“Don’t,” he said warningly, even though he knew she was just teasing. Despite being widely known as Tokyo’s Number One NSFW hero with her extremely lewd Onlyfans page and sex toy line (or so Kaminari told him – he’d never bothered to look it up considering he’d seen the real deal), she was a good person. Albeit a ditz, most of the time.

“Aw, does that mean I won’t get to suck your dick again?”

Katsuki cast his gaze around, hackles stirring. “Will you shut the fuck up?”

“Is that a yes or a no?”

“No, I’m taken. Go pester your boyfriend.”

She stuck her tongue between her teeth, eyes glinting mischievously. “Which one?”

It was Katsuki’s turn to roll his eyes, and she ribbed him with her elbow.

“I’m kidding. I’m single. Thought you might appreciate a free ride or whatevs. On the housey. For old time’s sake.”

“No.”

She leaned further back against the bar to catch his eye. “Gosh, are you, like, seriously into her? Thought she was just another fling or something, Mr I-Don’t-Do-Commitment.”

He stood straight from the bar, both his and Uraraka’s drink in hand, and thought back to their flings which had burned hot and fast like a match and spluttered out by the morning. Seeing her now somehow made his fake-relationship with Uraraka seem more… solid. If that was the word. Meaningful, maybe? Promising? He wasn’t sure. But he sure as hell wasn’t going to fall in and out of bed with Camie again any time soon.

“Hey, Maboromicami.”

Uraraka appeared at his side, her bubbly tone cutting though his pensiveness. She plucked her drink out of his hand and sipped it, then threaded her free arm through his. He was surprised to see something hard in her eyes as she studied Camie over the rim of the glass, their usual sparkle dulled to just a glint. It took him a hot second to recognize what it was, and when he did his eyebrows drew down in bafflement.

Jealousy?

“Uravity-chaaan!” Camie sang, cocking her hip against the bar and smiling widely. “You look gorgeous.”

“So do you,” Uraraka said brightly, no trace of jealousy in her voice. Maybe Katsuki had imagined it.

Camie redundantly pointed at them both while exclaiming, “Look at you! You’ll steal the sweethearts spotlight from Deku and Shouto-chan if ya not careful! You even match and I am l-o-v-i-n-g it! I’ve always wanted to do the matchy couple thingy but my exes were big ol’ sticks in the mud. In fact, everyone I’ve ever been with has been booooring, ya know? Not a shred of imagination between ‘em, like, no vision at all.”

“Says you, grain-brain,” Katsuki said with no real malice.

“Takes one to know one,” she countered.

“Wow, that’s a stinger. I’ll cry myself to sleep about it tonight.”

“I’m flattered you still think about me in bed.”

 Katsuki swore he felt Uraraka stiffen at his side. He should have felt more remorseful about that, but considering he’d just had endure seeing her and Deku together (as irrelevant and outdated as that was) he got a flare of very petty satisfaction from making her a bit jealous. Which probably wasn’t a very nice thing for a boyfriend to do. But then again, fake-girlfriends shouldn’t get jealous, anyway.

Camie straightened from the bar with her champagne in hand, then flicked her hair behind her shoulders. “Welp, it’s been great seein’ ya both. A real step back in time, ya know? But a girl’s gotta mingle. See ya, sweethearts!”

Katsuki’s eyes trailed after as she tottered away on devastatingly high heels, and when he looked down Uraraka was peering at him with that hard look in her eyes again, one eyebrow slightly raised.

“What?” he said.

She continued to stare at him.

“What?”

Staring.

He huffed. “Yes, we did. Happy?”

She clicked her fingers. “Knew it! Thought you said you’d never had a girlfriend?”

“I didn’t say that, Racoon-Eyes did, but no I haven’t. We were just…” Fuck buddies, he wanted to say, but it sounded too crude.

“Fuck buddies?” Uraraka supplied.

Katsuki shot her a look. “Casual.”

“Uh-huh.” Her eyes followed Camie as she disappeared into the crowd, then blew air through her nose in a business-like, dismissive fashion. “Welp, she’ll have to get her rocks off somewhere else now you’re taken.”

“Am I?” he said, quirking an eyebrow at her.

“Hey, if I’m not allowed to have sex with people during our contract then neither are you.”

“I know that. Fuck, I’d rather people find out that it’s fake than think I’m a cheater. My reputation is shit enough, already.”

She blinked at him, then pinched his cheek. “You’re too cute, sometimes.”

 “No I’m not!”

Giggling, she kept her hand threaded through his arm and tugged him away from the bar. “C’mon. I’m sure you can manage to hold a conversation with Deku-kun for a little longer before the gala starts in earnest.”

Katsuki tried very hard not to audibly groan as she dragged him across the floor. They didn’t make it far though; she got side-tracked halfway when she spotted Gunhead and his motley crew of sidekicks, whereupon she abandoned him with Deku and Shouto to join her old agent. Gunhead smacked a heavy hand on her shoulder when she bustled into their circle, like a proud father showing off his daughter.

“You make a great couple,” Deku commented.

Katsuki considered blasting him through the window. “Shut up.”

“I mean it, dead honest!” Deku gasped suddenly. “You should totally come on a double date with Shouto and I!”

Katsuki met his excited look unblinkingly. “I would rather kill you, kill your boyfriend, then kill myself before that happened.”

“Sounds like a disappointing end to a date,” Shouto deadpanned.

“You must be used to disappointing ends by now.”

“Very funny.”

Their attention was temporarily diverted by Uraraka’s lilting laugh. She was flexing her biceps for Gunhead, who was nodding proudly and claiming bragging rights to gawping onlookers.

“She always talked about you, you know,” Deku said distantly, no trace of resentment in his voice. “During school and after. She really admires you. She even confessed if she could be anyone for a day, she’d be you.”

Katsuki beat back a combination of discomfiture and amusement. “So, what, you nerds bonded over being unhealthily obsessed with people better than you?”

“We didn’t bond over that. But she’s always been a good judge of character.” He side eyed him. “She probably doesn’t believe it, but I’m always keeping an eye on those men that sniff around her sometimes. She deserves better. The best. I don’t like the idea of her getting hurt.”

“Well, she can’t do worse than you.”

Deku’s retort was cut off by All Might’s sudden appearance. Despite his age, he’d never quite shaken the habit of a dramatic entrance, and he slid into their little circle with the same flare as the All Might of Katsuki’s childhood.

“I am here!” he bellowed before dragging all three of them into a brutish bear hug like they weren’t all in their late twenties and collectively outweighed him by about two hundred pounds.

“Fuck – get the fuck off me, you dumb old man –“

“A-All Muh-Might my r-ribs, ack!”

“Ngh - Hello, All Might.”

He relinquished his grip then stepped back, surveying them with a proud grin. “My boys! Thank you for attending the gala! It’s so good to see you three in one place outside of battle.”

“Don’t get used to it,” Katsuki muttered. He was uncomfortably aware that the surrounding heroes were staring at them, entranced by the strange little connection they had with the former Number One.

“Are you coming to our wedding?” Deku asked, eyes shining excitedly over his clenched fists, looking exactly twelve years old again.

“He’s already confirmed three times,” Shouto said shortly.

All Might grinned. “Wouldn’t miss it for the world. Although we might be seeing another wedding soon, eh?”

Katsuki blinked as all eyes turned to him. Oh. Right. Him and Uraraka. “Not likely.”

“You’d be a fool to let a woman like her get away,” All Might said. “She’s always reminded me of my old mentor. Strong and fierce. Lights up a room, you know. You both do.”

“Bakugou sure knows how to light up a room,” Todoroki commented dryly.

“You’re one to talk, Scar-face.”

All Might cleared his throat before an argument broke out. “I must kick off the gala! I hope you three will be donating tonight.”

“Of course!” Deku said, practically spitting gold out of his ass.

“That’s my boys,” All Might said, and Katsuki stepped out of reaching distance before he could get dragged into another hug. “Enjoy the evening!”

“Kiss ass,” Katsuki spat at Deku as All Might walked away.

Deku shrugged carelessly, not bothering to deny it. “At least you’ve got the seal of approval from All Might.”

“About what?”

“You and Ochako!”

“We’re not even together,” Katsuki said.

Shouto peered at him over the rim of his drink. “Do you ever get bored of being emotionally stunted?”

“Do you ever get bored of being a dickhead?”

“Just seems very tiring, is all. She clearly likes you.”

“I will blast you through the fucking roof, you brainless fuck!”

Uraraka suddenly appeared at his side, wedging her hand in the crook of his elbow before he could grab Shouto by the collar. “Can’t I leave you alone for two minutes?”

“Aw, he wouldn’t have embarrassed you like that,” Deku said with a certainty that made Katsuki want to punch Shouto in the face just to spite him.

Thankfully, everyone was spared from that spectacle as All Might took to the stage and officially kicked off the event. There were raffles and performers and speeches, and a shit ton of food and booze, and endless, mindless small talk between attendees which Katsuki mostly let Uraraka handle.

She clung to him through most of the evening, her hand a comforting press against his arm. The physical contact was strange; intimate enough to convince others they were a couple but reserved enough not to trigger his reflex to shove her away. He hated being touched like this, but somehow she worked to anchor him in an environment that rubbed raw the edges of his anxiety, no matter how many drinks he knocked back.

It seemed like everyone wanted to talk to them – especially him – because he never showed his face at events like these. People were excited to see Ground Zero in person, staying in one place long enough to hold a conversation instead of barking out orders and blasting through a battlefield. Thankfully, Uraraka countered his terse and often offensive attempts at small talk with her far more palatable flavor of sociability, successfully diverting some potentially catastrophic interactions that might have cost him a sponsor or two.

Katsuki and Uraraka donated a cool 1.5 million yen between them to the Women’s Health Organisation and the Playground of Hope charity, both of which functioned under the OFA umbrella.

Looking at the vast array of heroes united in a room for a better cause, Katsuki wondered if anyone would ever shine as brightly as All Might. Even retired, he still seemed to tower over the rest of them with a kind of effortlessness Katsuki couldn’t dream of matching. All Might had been right all those years ago: he was far more similar to Endeavor.

Four hours in, Katsuki had a killer headache. If he had to listen to anymore small talk, he thought he might implode, but thankfully the evening seemed to be winding down, confirmed when Shouto  – hardly a social butterfly himself – used Deku’s increasingly drunken behavior to excuse himself.

“He’s trying to buy the All Might statue,” he stated. “We have to leave now before he starts bribing the staff.”

Katsuki couldn’t tell if he was being serious.

Uraraka snorted. “Good luck with that.”

“See you soon, Ochako.” He nodded at Katsuki. “Kacchan.”

“Go die.”

As Shouto left them to find his hyperactive fiancé, Uraraka suddenly latched onto Katsuki’s left arm and pressed herself flush against his side. Her cheek was warm through his shirt and he could feel her tits against his arm. He froze.

“What the fuck are you doing?”

“Hugging my boyfriend.”

“I’m not your boyfriend,” he spat.

“My business boyfriend.”

That stalled him. “You have more than one boyfriend?”

“Business boyfriends aren’t allowed to be jealous of casual boyfriends.”

He leaned back to catch her eye. “Are you serious?”

She grinned at him. “And what if I say yes?”

He didn’t know, but he was lowkey mad about it. “Then I’ll be going home with Maboro.”

 “Tch, of course I don’t. Where would I find the time for two boyfriends? Especially when my business boyfriend is such high maintenance.”

He was relieved, and that irritated him. This was going too far – or rather, he was getting emotion tangled where it had no business getting tangled. “Ge’off me.”

“Okay, okay.” She unhooked her arms and took a step back. “They got their shots anyways.”

“Who?” he asked, then glanced around. Oh. Right. The photographers. He scratched the back of his neck, feeling a niggle of anxiety, then pulled off his tie and shoved it in his pocket. “This gala sucks.”

 “I wouldn’t say that, but it’s definitely…”

“Preening?”

“Yeah. But at least it’s for a good cause.”

“Hn.”

“I just find it… frustrating,” she said. “This is what the public sees. The money, the fame, the glory. They don’t show the day to day stuff, and if they do it’s… it’s made palatable for commercial consumption. They edit out the scars, the days and nights spent in hospital beds, or by hospital beds, the therapy, the bodies…” Uraraka stared at a nearby group of celebrity heroes. “Have you ever seen what a person looks like when they’ve been crushed under a collapsed building?”

“Not up close…” Katsuki said slowly.

Uraraka’s eyes were glazed. “I have.”

“Uraraka, I –“

“Don’t tell me you’re sorry. I’m a rescue hero first and foremost. It comes with the territory. But it never gets easier.”

“You don’t want to be a hero anymore?”

“Oh – no, no, I do! Absolutely. It just frustrates me that the public think my life is so glamorous. That I just… fly around and look cute and attend fancy charity galas and model expensive clothes. I feel like it undermines what I do – what we all do. The important stuff. The gritty stuff. The stuff so graphic they can’t print it in the papers. That’s what made the League angry in the first place.”

“You feel… underappreciated?”

“Misunderstood.”

He got that. Gods, he got that all too well. But he didn’t want to make it about him, and he didn’t know what he could say to make her feel better, so he said the only thing he could think of. “Wanna get something to eat?”

She squinted at him. “Are you pity-buying me dinner?”

“Who said I was gonna pay?”

She chuckled. “Fine. But if I’m paying then we’re going to McDonalds.”

“No fucking way.”

“Subway?”

“No, woman.”

“Burger King?”

“Don’t make me retract my invitation.”

They settled on pizza. Katsuki ended up paying because he wanted the good shit from Savoy rather than Pizza Hut like Uraraka had initially pleaded for. She seemed happy with his choice anyway, sitting on a park bench lit by a single streetlamp with his jacket draped over her shoulders, sucking mozzarella off the top of a slice of pizza. It was disgusting, but the fact she didn’t care was kind of refreshing.

“You think you could get used to this?” she asked.

He realized he’d been staring at her and looked away. “At what?”

“Doing stuff as a couple.”

He shrugged, then folded his slice of pizza in half and devoured it in three bites.

“I quite like it,” she said.

“Don’t get used to it.” And he meant it, though he wasn’t sure who exactly his comment was aimed at.

“Thanks for going tonight. It would’ve sucked going by myself.”

“You would’ve had Deku and Half-and-half.”

“It’s not the same.” She glanced at him. “I could tell you hated it, so I’m… I’m sorry I put you through it. It’ll pay off though, in the long run. And you seem better now. In this moment.”

“Better?”

“Less anxious.”

“Mn.” Without thinking, he added, “I prefer it when it’s just us.”

Less people, he meant. Quieter, he meant. No shitty social pressures, he meant. But when he faced her to clarify this, she was staring at him with a weird look in her eye, all soft and hopeful and deliciously intense. Her gaze drifted to his lips and she leaned forward, but he caught her before she could finish that thought by pressing his thumb to her chin.

“What?” she whispered.

He wiped away a glob of mozzarella clinging to her lower lip then flicked it aside. “You’re gross.”

She blinked, then puffed out her cheeks and knitted her brows. “You’re mean.”

“You’d rather I let you walk around with cheese on your face?”

She stuffed the rest of the pizza slice in her mouth and turned moodily away.

He pretended not to hear her when she muttered with her mouth full, “Lick it off next time, asshole.”

Chapter Text

Bullets and Bubblegum

A few days after the gala, Katsuki was in his company mandated therapy session again and feeling more uncomfortable than usual. The leather couch was tacky through the back of his shirt, the smell of potpourri clogged his nose, and the June rain pattering on the window provided none of its usual comfort. All because Yamada was going to bring up Uraraka at some point, and he did not want to address the subject or, honestly, any subject pertaining to his mental health, but he’d face disciplinary action if he skipped a session so he had to deal with it.

If Yamada sensed his brewing discomfort and recognized its source, he clearly gave zero fucks and ploughed ahead anyway.

“How is your faux relationship going with Uraraka?”

She hadn’t messaged him since the gala nor shown up to his apartment to use his shower, and in the brief moments where his smothered vulnerability reared its ugly head, he wondered if he’d annoyed her by rejecting her kiss after the gala, and that concerned him.

Katsuki contemplated their business arrangement like a man might peer over the edge of a cliff to gauge the fall. There was a kind of vertigo associated with Uraraka, that peculiar urge to throw himself off the cliff and give himself over to gravity (no pun intended), but despite everything urging him forward, he resisted on account of stubbornness, the reluctance to complicate business matters and, well… fear. Because he was pretty sure once he threw himself off that cliff, he wouldn’t stop falling until he hit the ground with a painful crash.

“It’s not going,” he told Yamada. “It just is.”

Yamada smiled, eternally unfazed by Katsuki’s curt dismissals. “What does that mean?”

“It’s not going anywhere.”

“How does that make you feel?”

Katsuki shrugged.

Yamada jotted something onto his board. “How do you feel about Uraraka?”

Katsuki stifled a groan. He hated thinking too hard on his feelings. Hated it as much as he hated these stupid therapy sessions. Why couldn’t he just stomp down his emotions like every other man in Japan? It was much easier to feel nothing at all.

Reading his silence, Yamada probed, “Do you dislike her?”

“No…”

“Do you enjoy your time with her?”

“I guess.”

“What do you enjoy about it?”

Katsuki tapped his fingers against the lining of his pockets. “She’s… easy to be around.”

“What about her makes you feel at ease?”

“She just… has a way about her. Like Eijirou.” He thought about it a little harder. “She’s considerate. Tenacious, but not annoying. She’s like that with everyone.”

“Is she? How do you know?”

He shrugged. “She’s always been like that. Sticking her nose where it doesn’t belong. Giving annoying fucking insights that nobody asked for.”

(A memory surfaced of her sitting behind him in class with a worried look on her face - ‘It’s almost like you’re scared of Deku so you want to push him away’ - and how her words had chased him to sleep every night for months.)

“Give me an example of how she’s tenacious,” Yamada asked.

“She comes over to my apartment all the time and I don’t like it.”

“Why?”

“I don’t like having people in my space.”

“Do you like being alone?”

 “Sometimes.”

“So in the other times, would you like someone there?”

He drummed his fingers against his knee and peered out the window. “I don’t know.”

“Is it possible you don’t like her being in your apartment because you’re afraid you’ll become comfortable around her? Form a bond with her? We know you have an aversion to forming bonds — a compulsion to maintain the heroic persona you’ve built. Your reputation, so to speak. Are you afraid that if you became intimately involved, she might see beneath your tough exterior and think you’re weak?”

 “She isn’t like that.”

“No, but you consider forming bonds as a weakness, even though you consciously know better.”

Katsuki said nothing.

“Are you worried she won’t like your vulnerable side?”

Good question.

After picking through Katsuki’s inner mind – which took years and a lot of gentle persistence on his therapist’s behalf – Katsuki acknowledged that his reluctance to express his softer emotions stemmed from the belief that soft emotions were a weakness, and heroes should never, ever show weakness. He always had to be tough, menacing, the strongest, the best; a steadfast role model for those who would someday look up to him. Hadn’t All Might hidden his weakness for the sake of the public, for all those years?

But somewhere along the line that got twisted. He shunned anything and anyone that elicited those soft emotions in him, particularly Deku, who seemed in Katsuki’s mind to be the embodiment of everything he perceived as Weak. Here his values overlapped in a muddled way; he wanted to protect the Weak, yet simultaneously scorned their existence. Bullied them. Hurt them. Shoved them away for fear of catching their softness, their Weakness. People couldn’t see him like that, because that softness wasn’t heroic at all, and if he cried and connected and showed how he really felt then he was no better than Deku, who wore all that vulnerability on his sleeve like it was something to be proud of.

That’s how he used to think, but even after acknowledging Deku’s strength and realizing that he wanted to protect him, even after feeling remorse about the years he bullied him almost to suicide, he still didn’t understand how you could be both. How could someone be strong and soft at the same time? How, as a hero, could you balance both?

He’d always been jealous of the way Deku could be both and accept friendship so readily, but it had taken years to acknowledge that jealousy rather than suppressing it under bullying and resentment. Because bullying and resentment came easily to him, whereas affection and kindness did not.

And for years he’d thought maybe he was a bad person. Best Jeanist had told him his personality was like two sides of a coin, and just because Katsuki kept the good side face down in the dirt didn’t mean it wasn’t there. He just had to make a conscious effort to flip the coin until the two sides blurred together.

But, fuck, it was hard sometimes. Sure, he still heckled Deku and didn’t particularly like the little fuck, but there wasn’t any bite to it anymore. No simmering resentment. No genuine nastiness. And Deku didn’t care about his heckling because they were friends now, even though Katsuki would never, ever say it out loud. Old habits, and all that.

But when it came to Uraraka, he honestly wasn’t sure how he felt.

“Let me put it to you differently,” Yamada went on when he was silent. “Why wouldn’t you want Uraraka as a girlfriend?”

Katsuki thought about this. “She’d just be a distraction from getting to Number One.”

“In what way?”

“I dunno. I’d have to divide my thoughts and time between them.”

“You don’t think you can?”

“I… don’t know. You have to dedicate your entire existence to being Number One. It’s not a simple task. Look at All Might and Endeavor. One didn’t have a family, the other fucked up his family so bad his wife got committed and his son became one of history’s most notorious villains.”

Yamada jotted something down on his board. “Okay, so let’s say you decide to permanently part ways with Uraraka. You make it to the Number One spot in, say, five years' time. By then, Uraraka is thirty-two and married to someone else. You’re still alone, but you’ve reached your goal. How does that make you feel?”

Katsuki blinked several times, rattled by the thought. It was anger and despair and terror and jealousy all mixed together until he condensed it into a single feeling: emptiness.

What was the point of aiming for the top if he was going to be alone at the end of it? What comes after? Eternal loneliness? Eternal work? Money, work, money, work?

He swallowed thickly, choking on existential dread. 

Yamada continued, “What makes you think you need to do this alone?”

“All Might did it alone,” he tried lamely.

“And was he happy?”

“…I don’t know.”

“Would you be happy?”

He didn’t need to think about his answer very hard. “No.”

Yamada closed his board and smiled. “Regardless of the example set by your own heroes, you don’t have to choose between being happy and being Number One. I truly believe you can be both, if you allow it.”

He was off duty and asleep when an emergency call from the police woke him at 3.34am. Despite his initial grievances, the call pertained to the case he’d submitted notes for last week, so he yanked on his hero suit and was out the window in under five minutes,  no time for coffee or complaints.

The police directed him to a ground-floor flat near Ginza where he was greeted by armed and armored members of the drug-enforcement division from the National Police Agency, led by Chief Superintendent Hano. The guy had a second set of eyes on his cheekbones that could apparently detect heat signatures, giving him the nickname ‘Spider Chief’. Not particularly useful in combat but definitely useful for police work.

“Sorry to wake you,” he started, “but we think we’ve pinned down the ringleader of the quixadamine ring you’ve been following. We tracked a smuggled delivery to a takeout restaurant not far from here which we think they’re using as a distribution base. If our sources are correct, the head honcho will be checking the latest haul anytime now.”

“Want me to get him?” Katsuki asked.

“No. We want you to take care of the thugs he’ll send out as a distraction when he tries to escape. I’ve got thirty men waiting to cut him off, whichever way he flees.”

“Do you know what his quirk is?”

“No, but we have other heroes on standby if it presents as anything threatening.”

An entirely irrational and selfish part of him wanted the glory of bagging the head honcho, but it was the police’s call to make, not his, so he nodded moodily.

Reading his reluctance, Hano said, “If you can get him, then we won’t stop you, but incapacitating his men should be your priority. Even the most minor of quirks can become a severe threat under the influence of quix. You shouldn’t take them lightly.”

“I know,” Katsuki said. “So what do you want me to do, exactly?”

Hano smiled wanly. “Do what you do best, but try not to make a scene.”

Being an HRQ user meant Katsuki was allowed only the barest margin of error within his life, and it sucked. Many HRQs were not permitted to pursue hero work at all unless they demonstrated faultless control of their quirk – and they meant faultless . One slip up, one errant explosion, one accidental causality, and that was it for Katsuki’s career. On top of that, the protocols for him registering as a hero were far stricter than non-HRQ users; his application had to come with recommendations and was assessed by the National Public Safety Commission so they could decide if the benefits of having someone firing off explosions around the city outweighed the risks of having someone firing off explosions around the city. He might not have passed the requirements at all had he not been a U.A student and had All Might himself not written the recommendation.

Then there was the issue of getting hired by an agency. Straight A grades, a clean record and positive mental health assessment aside, agencies didn’t want the responsibility of employing someone who might accidentally level Tokyo. Bad for their reputation. And they knew as well as Katsuki did that a quirk that led to property damage impacted a hero’s ranking. People were generally accepting of the occasional fireworks display, knowing the collateral damage was worth the price of keeping the streets safe from more heinous threats, but that tolerance lasted only until it was their roof tiles getting blasted off, or their place of business with the windows shattered.

Agencies covered 40% of the cost to reimburse owners for their losses, while the government paid the rest. But where did the government funds come from? Taxpayers. And a lot of people resented that, and therefore resented the quirk users who caused damage in the first place.

Like Katsuki.

This put pressure on him to be perfect. All the time. Because if he kept letting criminals get away while destroying property, eventually the scale was going to tip out of his favor, and the bigwigs would decide he was costing the fine people of Tokyo more money than he was worth. If that happened, he could kiss his hero license goodbye.

With all this in mind, he hadn’t been able to really let loose with his quirk for years. If ever, honestly. One day he wanted to fly to the Nevada Desert and see how big a detonation he could really make, but until then, he kept a careful cap on his quirk.

That’s why Hano’s ‘make a scene’ comment got under his skin. Firstly, he created explosions; it was hard not to make a scene.  Secondly, he needed to make somewhat of a scene to keep things interesting – kids loved things that go boom, right? – otherwise he’d never climb the rankings. And he had to do it without actually hurting anyone or damaging anything or being too loud because commuters would not appreciate a Ground Zero wakeup call at 4am, all while trying to catch villains who did not, in fact, give two shits about making a scene.

Saying it was a delicate balance was an understatement.

So, he tried very hard to start small as he kicked open the locked door of Ito Sushi, sauntered over to the empty counter, rang the service bell, and yelled, “Oi, what’s a man gotta do to get some food around here?”

He counted forty seconds before a guy that almost matched Eijirou in height and build poked his head through the bead curtain separating the front of house from the kitchens. He had tusks sticking out of his bottom jaw and a buzz cut that unfortunately made his face look very square and brutish.

“Can’t you read the sign on the door?” he said. “We’re closed, dickwad. Now fuck off.”

“Alright then.” Katsuki bared his teeth in a feral sneer. “I’ll take it to go.”

“Wha – “ the guy began, and in the instant when his eyes widened with recognition, Katsuki blasted him backwards through the bead curtain.

All hell broke loose.

Katsuki ducked through the door just as the wall crumbled behind him. The building was older than he’d thought – made to withstand earthquakes but not point-blank explosions - and trapping himself in a dust-choked room full of villains might not have been the best idea. Also, said villains had access to an extraordinary amount of quixadamine, a quirk enhancing drug cut with cocaine that had been the source of many headaches for the NPA over the last year. It was stacked almost to the ceiling in boxes labelled ‘Kikkoman Soy Sauce’ – perhaps fifty-million Yen’s worth, by Katsuki calculations. Not that he was afforded time to dwell on that when there was – three, four, five – six dudes in this room alone. One was a long-haired man in an expensive suit and gold rings on each finger; Katsuki immediately pinned him as the head honcho.

He was granted roughly three seconds to make these observations before Head Honcho ordered, “Stop him!” and retreated through a back door.

Katsuki stilled his reflex to pursue him and focused instead on the five remaining guys who were pulling little plastic bags full of white powder out of their pockets.

Katsuki tsked. Cowards.

Spreading his feet, he blasted the closest two before they could take a hit of quix with twin explosions that shot them through the paper walls until their trajectories were cut short by brick walls. One of them knocked their head on a wardrobe before it exploded to splinters, definitely out for the count, while the other crumpled into a heap but wasn’t quite unconscious. Probably wouldn’t be a problem again but Katsuki didn’t like to underestimate someone who could stay awake after being blasted into a wall.

No time to linger on them though; he had bigger problems. The remaining three guys were now flying high on quix, and the best part was: Katsuki couldn’t guess their quirks until they actually used them.

Gods, he hated surprises.

In sticking with personal tradition, he made the first move and launched consecutive attacks at a guy with purple skin and black eyes. Each punch was trailed by a short-range blast funneled through his sleek, grey gauntlets meant for stunning.

The moment his fist met Purple-skin’s face, Katsuki’s gloves sizzled and pain lanced through his knuckles. At first he thought it was like Mina’s acid, but no – the guy was burning up like a BBQ grill, his skin literally bubbling and boiling, but he gave no indication of pain as he countered Katsuki’s assault with his own.

Ducking out of sloppy punches, Katsuki realized he was being backed into the other two, so he created space by spinning and exploding simultaneously, creating a pinwheel of fire that swept across the room –

-           and set fire to the quixadamine.

Shit.

Katsuki quickly yanked over his nose the black mask attached to his suit’s neckline to protect himself from the noxious fumes, then blasted a hole through the outer wall and leapt through it.

His boots barely touched concrete when one of the thugs launched a blue, disc-shaped forcefield at him that slammed him into the wall of the adjacent building. Dropping to his feet and gritting his teeth through the pain, he guessed this quirk involved hardening air. Useful, if it could withstand explosions.

Only one way to test it out.

He extended a hand behind him and jetted towards Forcefield-thug. Still airborne, he discharged an explosion from his other hand at point-blank range, but it glanced harmlessly off another forcefield. He tsked, planted his boots on the invisible surface, then used both hands to expel a blast so strong it shot Katsuki skywards and knocked the guy unconscious under his own forcefield.

Katsuki was about to drop out of the sky when a strip of spiked metal wrapped around his ankle and whipped him sideways into a building. The air whooshed out of his lungs and shards of metal tagged cuts across his limbs, the spikes around his ankle digging almost to the bone.

Dragging himself out of the debris, he severed the metal around his ankle with an explosion then spotted one of the thugs wreathed in undulating strips of barbed wire. They sprouted from his limbs like tentacles, yet despite the damage they were doing to his skin, the guy was grinning beneath eyes turned black from the quix.

Katsuki countered his grin with a sneer ten times more savage, charged an explosion in both hands, then used it to shoot himself down like an atomic bomb. Wire-guy’s grin dropped off his face a second before Katsuki exploded into him, knocking him unconscious not three yards from Forcefield-thug.

One more. Katsuki turned to confront BBQ-grill, then stopped. The purple-skinned thug was convulsing on the floor, his skin melting off his bones in grizzly sheets of fat and flesh, his eyeballs steaming in their sockets as he gasped on his last breath.

Katsuki grimaced. A result of overdosing on quix. Oftentimes it tipped the balance of control and ended up destroying those who couldn’t handle the amplified power of their quirk. What a way to go.

Barely two minutes had passed since he blasted through the wall in the restaurant. It was still on fire. Wearing his mouth covering, he re-entered the building through a back door and dragged out the semi-conscious thugs before dumping them beside their comrades. The police could handle the rest.

The sound of sirens kicked up a few blocks away – likely the fire department – and only then Katsuki realized it was far too quiet. The cops should have caught the other guy by now, so where were they?

He turned at the same time a bullet slammed into the wall mere inches from his head. He blasted himself up and onto an outcropping, clinging to the drainage pipe with one hand while he swept his gaze down the street.

The guy in the suit. His finger and thumb were pointed like a cocked gun aimed at Kasuki and his face was bloody.

“Let’s see how good you are at dodging bullets, Ground Zero,” he said.

Katsuki watched a chunk of rubble levitate off the ground, undulate like warm clay, then reform into a bullet shape. The ringleader jerked his finger up –

“Bang.”

 – and the bullet disappeared.

No, not disappeared. It had been shot like a regular bullet. Katsuki jerked sideways on reflex and the bullet embedded again in the wall by his head.

What a pain-in-ass quirk.

Katsuki sneered. “Let’s see how good your aim is, Toy-gun.”

“It’s Caliber, actually,” the man said, then levitated more rubble.

Katsuki didn’t wait for them to transmute this time; he tore down the street using small explosions to rapidly alter his course and dodge the bullets. Caliber quickly predicted his flight path and one not-bullet grazed Katsuki’s thigh, ripping open his suit and trailing fire across his skin, seconds before Katsuki blasted him backwards with an explosion large enough to rattle windows in their panes.

Caliber rolled to a stop on his front, smoking from impact, then propped himself up on shaking arms. Another villain that was all talk, Katsuki thought as he dropped to the sidewalk.

Too late he realized Caliber was hunched over to conceal the quix he’d retrieved from his pocket.

“Motherfucker!” Katsuki roared a second before he kicked Caliber across the road, but it was too late; Caliber had snorted a chunk of the powder off the back of his hand.

It wasn’t just rubble that floated this time; cars, trashcans, street signs and bicycles all hovered off the ground before they imploded inwards with a shriek of metal and reformed into bullet-shaped projectiles. Katsuki prayed the bullets could only be fired on a straight plane as he blasted himself upwards and missed the first round of gunfire. They hammered into the building behind him, shattering glass and exploding brickwork. It seemed Caliber couldn’t create more bullets and fire simultaneously, so all Katsuki had to do was be faster and wait for his ‘reload’ time to strike.

Caliber was careful when targeting and withheld his shots when Katsuki made obvious ducks for cover. Regardless, the bullets tore through anything flimsier than brick and were too fast to dodge. Katsuki could only hope to outmaneuver him. Or…

Launching again at Caliber, Katsuki blasted to dust the bullets shot his way with fast, perfectly timed explosions. The final bullet in Caliber’s arsenal was a car, and it shot at him as fast as all the others, only a blur and sharp crack to herald its flight path. Katsuki stalled his advance to use both hands to blast it to bits, then cracked a feral smirk knowing that was the last of Caliber’s ammunition.

The smirk lasted until a forcefield smacked him square in the face and sent him careening backwards. He crashed through a huge neon advertisement and a half-finished wall held aloft by scaffolding on a building site, then landed hard in a tangle of planks and steel bars.

Fucking Forcefield-thug had regained consciousness. Just what he needed.

He was about to furiously explode apart the debris pinning him to the floor when they levitated into the air. It took an embarrassingly long second for his brain to process what the fuck was happening until Uraraka leaned over him, grinning through her visor.

 “Hey, hot shot! Need a hand?”

“No,” he spat, “I got this.”

“Really?” She glanced at the debris floating above them. “Huh. Okay. Do you want me to, like, put this back on top of you or…?”

“Shut the fuck up, Round Face!” Katsuki leapt to his feet and flexed his fingers. His ribs hurt – probably broken a few of them. “You can help or stay the hell outta my way, I don’t care which!”

“Okie-dokie!” She jerked her head down the street. “Dibs on the one getting away.”

“Wha – “

But before he could respond, Uraraka tugged down a chunk of floating concrete until it was level with her, spun, then kicked it. It hurtled down the street with lightning speed, then she released it a second before it met its target and pinned Forcefield-thug to the ground.

“The asshole down there creates and shoots –“

“Bullets, I know.” Uraraka tapped her earpiece then cracked her knuckles and hopped onto the edge of the scaffolding. “But he’s gotta be touching the ground for it to activate. You get me?”

Katsuki grinned. “I get ya.”

In the time it had taken Katsuki to recover from his collision with the scaffolding, Caliber had created another swarm of projectiles out of rubble and brick. Katsuki launched himself off the scaffolding and shot towards Caliber while dodging projectiles. He destroyed another two – one of them as large as a fist – and despite a third tearing across his bicep, he finally smashed through Caliber’s defenses and landed a two-footed kick to his torso. The villain flew backwards but jumped to his feet and shot another two bullets at Katsuki at close range. Unable to dodge them, Katsuki blasted them to dust, and Caliber seized the opportunity to dash into an alleyway –

-  straight into Uraraka.

She floated him, then kicked him into Katsuki who promptly slapped a pair of anti-quirk handcuffs around his wrists. Only then did the police appear from where they’d been watching from a safe distance (no sane cop would get in the way of two seasoned pro-heroes) and took over the arrest.

Caliber met Katsuki’s gaze with one of fierce resentment as he was pushed into a cop car, but Katsuki didn’t care. He was used to that look by now.

Uraraka removed her helmet then raised a hand to high five him. “Nice work, partner!”

Katsuki looked distastefully at her hand, then turned to watch the police throw the rest of the unconscious (and dead) thugs into the back of a van. Behind them, firefighters wearing gas masks were wrestling to control the smoke still billowing out of the restaurant.

Katsuki tugged down his mouth cover. “I didn’t know you were the back up.”

“I wasn’t. Got called in once they discovered Caliber needed ground contact to activate his quirk.” She poked the bleeding wound on his arm. “Been a while since I’ve seen you in action so thought I’d watch, but turned out I didn’t fancy seeing you get shot.” 

He shook her off with a tsk, but her attention diverted down the street and she elbowed him with a grin.

“Paparazzi.”

He followed her gaze and spotted someone pointing an expensive looking camera at them. Even at 4am, the paps never failed to catch an opportunity, which was pretty unfortunate for Katsuki because they usually caught him causing property damage. Fantastic for his reputation.  

But Uraraka severed that train of thought when she pressed her knuckle against his jaw and tipped his face towards hers. “This is your last chance. You brush me off this time and that’s it. I mean it.”

He scowled at her -“What?” - but got his answer when she stood on her tiptoes and kissed him.

Shock hit him like a slap round the face and froze him to the spot. He went to pull back, but a perfectly timed flash of light from the paparazzi camera stopped him. Then Uraraka tilted her head and moved her lips carefully against his, probing for a response, but by the time he registered what the fuck was going on it was too late, and she leaned away wearing a puzzled frown.

He stared at her. She stared back. 

Everything went very quiet.

Then she said, “That was the worst kiss I’ve ever had.”

His mouth fell open, but nothing came out. No retort. No protest. Not even a curse. She’d knocked him speechless – a feat he’d previously thought impossible.

Studying his face for a reaction, she eventually gave up and shrugged. “Well, whatever. I gotta report back to my unit. See ya later.”

And then she flew off, leaving Katsuki gawping like an idiot until even the paparazzi lost interest and wandered off.

The drug lord and his thugs were taken to the station, the quixadamine was disposed of, and both Katsuki and Uraraka made the front page of nearly every paper in Tokyo, if not Japan. Katsuki knew this only because people would not shut up about it .  Mina had spammed the stupid photo in the Squad group chat since 6am the following morning, his mom had framed it in his old bedroom, and Deku was apparently responsible for #ZeroGravity trending on Twitter.

 On the opposite end of the spectrum, Katsuki couldn’t even think about what happened without cringing into the ninth dimension, so when Anya busted unannounced into his office the next day and slapped said article onto his desk, he was not best pleased.

“This is going to be great for publicity,” she gushed. “Not only did you aid the arrest of a wanted criminal, you did it alongside Uravity and got this killer shot to boot!”

Katsuki scowled at the photo dominating the front page. It was spectacularly dramatic; they stood atop a mound of rubble, backdropped by flames and neon lights, lips locked together in what looked to be a very passionate kiss thanks to the angle hiding Katsuki’s stunned expression.

Uraraka’s words played unprompted through his mind for perhaps the sixtieth time that morning.

(Worst kiss I’ve ever had)

“The timing couldn’t be better,” Anya went on. “Not only did this make you look like a badass –“

“I am a badass.”

“- but it made you look soft as well, which is exactly what you need. Everyone loves a power couple.”

“It was Uraraka’s idea.”

“She knows exactly how to milk the press.” Anya’s expression turned sly. “Either that or she wanted an excuse to kiss you.”

(Worst kiss I’ve ever had)

He tapped the photo. “We’re standing on rubble because I exploded a fucking building. That won’t go unnoticed by the public.”

“Oh, please, nobody will care. It isn’t even mentioned in the article. Everyone is way too absorbed with the romance to be concerned about one restaurant losing a wall. Congrats on catching him, by the way. I heard his quirk was a dangerous one.”

“Average.”

“Uh-huh. Well, you’re the talk of the town now and sales of GZA have shot up again. Who knew that almost dying and public kissing were the key to successful marketing?”

(Worst kiss I’ve ever had)

Anya pinned him with a narrow look. “What’s wrong with you today? I thought you’d be happier about all this.”

“It’s work. Nothing to be happy about.”

“Good lord, Bakugou, one smile won’t kill you. The police said in their statement they’d never have found him without your input, much less have caught him. Thanks to your hard work, another dangerous villain is off the streets along with a ton of quix. That’s what being a hero is about, right?”

(Worst kiss I’ve ever -)

Katsuki stood up. “I’m takin’ an early lunch.”

Anya glanced at her watch. “At ten?”

“Skipped breakfast.”

“Oookkaaay. Can I ask why?”

“No.”

She plucked the newspaper off the desk and tucked it under her arm. “Just be back before your meeting at 12, alright?”

“Fine.”

He briefly considered jumping out the window before deciding it wasn’t worth getting another quirk violation ticket, so took the normal way down instead. While riding the elevator to the ground floor, he pulled out his phone and fired Uraraka a message.

‘Where are you?’

He left the building by a side door to avoid any paparazzi loitering around the main entrance, then zigzagged down narrow backstreets until she answered him.

‘On duty.’

‘Where?’

‘Meguro. Why?’

‘Don’t give me a whole fucking ward, you dumbass. Where in Meguro?’

‘Nr the river. Dendokoshin St. Is something wrong?’

‘Wait there.’

‘I’m on duty!’

‘Bakugou?’

‘Hello!?’

Using normal transport would take way too long, so he cut the journey time in half by blasting between the high-rise flats and skyscrapers between his agency and Meguro River. The cops couldn’t flag him down from this high up and any on-duty heroes weren’t likely to stop him unless they were doing it to be annoying – like Shouto, for example. Half of his quirk violation tickets were courtesy of that asshole.

As it was, he was blasting over the river in under ten minutes and had just enough sweat to keep him airborne while he hopped from building to building, searching for Uraraka’s black and pink suit in the crowds.

“Here!”

Her voice carried across the rooftops, and he spotted her floating by a pachinko sign before she dropped into an alleyway, out of sight. He blasted over and looked down at her from the edge of the roof.

She crossed her arms and called up to him, “This better be important otherwise you’re gonna get me in trouble! Don’t know why you can’t just ring me like a normal person.”

(Worst kiss I’ve -)

He leapt down then prowled towards her with the kind of single-minded intensity reserved usually for fighting.

Caught off guard by his ferocity, she shrank against the wall, eyes widening. “Bakugou, what’s wro – ah!“

He yanked off her helmet and chucked it on the ground. She glanced at it, startled –

 “What the heck are you doing, that’s expensive, you -”

- before he swallowed the rest of her protest with a kiss.

Embarrassment about his previous failure injected anger into his movements. He propped one arm on the wall beside her head, pinning her to the brickwork, while the other slid up her throat and kept her in place while he kissed her like he meant it. Like he had something to prove. Which he did, to be fair.

She was stiff at first, hands clasped to her chest with her back pressed firmly against the wall, until he titled his head and pushed his tongue between her lips in search of her taste. Then she melted against him, hands feathering over the front of his shirt, mouth falling pliantly open. Their tongues met in the space between them, connected by a string of saliva that tasted like the bubblegum flavored anti-nausea tablets she sucked while on duty. Only then did he slow his kiss, the hand against her throat tugging lightly on her hair before sliding down to her waist and pulling her flush against him. She made a sound somewhere between a moan and trill when he sucked her bottom lip then bit it, and her hands glided up the back of his neck to keep him close as he kissed her deeper, harder.

But he didn’t stop. Not yet. He kept going even when their kiss turned sloppy and wet, even when her nails teased the back of his neck and her hips rolled needily against him as he pushed her harder against the wall. He kept going until –

There it was.

She wilted, unable to stand anymore, and had to cling to both him and the wall to stay upright. Only then he pulled away, and she followed his lips with a whine, eyes closed and lips swollen, gasping for breath.

His face split with a savage grin so he was all teeth when she finally opened her eyes. She closed her mouth, cheeks flushing dark, chest heaving as she leaned weakly against the wall.

Served her right.

“Loser,” he spat, then blasted onto the rooftop, still smirking his victory smirk because he had definitely won this round, even if he wasn’t sure what the end game was, exactly.

‘I take it back,’ she text him later.

‘Take back what?’

‘u know what’

He did.  ‘No idea.’

‘You’re not the worst.’

‘Not the worst at what?’

‘Kissing.’

‘Obviously’

‘bt I’m not 100% sure you’re the best.’

‘What?’

‘I need another kiss so I can be absolutely positive’

‘Keep dreaming, Round Face.’

‘I’d say ur on par with Deku’

Katsuki nearly exploded his phone, then took a calming breath.   ‘Nice try’

‘Aw, what happened 2 ur competitive spirit?’

‘Your shitty manipulation tactics won’t work on me.’

‘Hm now I’m thinking about it, Deku is definitely better than you’

Don’t rise to it don’t rise to it don’t rise to it. ‘Shut the fuck up. I’m not falling for that.’

‘Fine. What if I just ask nicely?’

‘No.’

‘Ur boring.’

‘You’re a pervert.’

‘Who told u that? Mina?’

‘What? What do you mean?’

‘Nvm. Guess u won’t find out anyway. As ur too much of a puss’

‘The fuck did you call me?’

‘puss’

‘Round Face, I will fucking demolish you.’

‘U wish’

‘Fuck you’re annoying.’

‘U love it’

‘No I don’t’

‘Stop messaging me then <3’

Katsuki ground his teeth and tossed his phone aside. He would not let her get under his skin and he would not kiss her again. 

He wouldn’t, dammit.

Chapter Text

Wingmen

“Why are you hiding from your mother?”

Katsuki crushed the paper cup in his hand and coffee splattered to the floor in a narrow miss with his suit. He jerked a glare at Anya, who had somehow snuck up on him, a feat few villains could achieve on the best of days.

“I’m not hiding,” he hissed.

She appraised him with pursed lips and a raised eyebrow. “Really? Why are you whispering then? And standing behind a plant?”

“I’m not whispering and I was minding my own fucking business until you came along and spilled my coffee!”

“Uh-huh. So you don’t mind if I call her over, then?” She raised a hand. “Mits-”

Katsuki grabbed Anya’s arm and yanked her behind the plant. “No! Look… she’s just… been extra fucking pushy lately.”

“About?”

“Uraraka.”

“Okay?”

Katsuki huffed, gaze trailing to where his mom was lurking by the elevators. “She wants her over for dinner.”

“That sounds nice.”

“Have you met my mother?”

“She’s not that bad.”

“She smashed seventeen wine glasses at my cousin’s birthday dinner last week.”

“Why do you have seventeen wine glasses?”

“Because she keeps smashing them!”

“And how many did you smash?”

Katsuki glared at the floor. “Nine.”

“See? If anything, you’re worse than your mother, so if Uraraka can handle you, she can definitely handle your mom. Anyway, Mitsuki-san loves her.” Anya’s eyes twinkled over her glasses. “Maybe you’re just scared your family will scare her off.”

“Shut the fuck up! I don’t care what she thinks about my family, I just don’t want -” to get attached to her , he almost said. “The old hag getting ideas.”

“Then maybe you should tell her the truth.”

Katsuki sucked the inside of his cheek as his mother gave up and entered the elevator alone.  He wasn’t worried that she’d gossip about their faux relationship; the truth was, he was embarrassed he’d resorted to cheap deception to break top ten. Would she be disappointed in him? Moreso, was he disappointed in himself?

As he and Anya entered the next elevator, she said, “Are the press still bothering you?”

“I can avoid ‘em.”

“Don’t avoid them too much. The point is being seen, especially in these weeks building up to the polls. Where are you taking Uraraka-san on your next date?”

“Sp –“

“If the next word that comes out of your mouth is ‘sparring’ I’m going to put green hair dye in your shampoo and call you Deku for a month.”

“You fucking dare, woman.”

“So where are you taking her?”

“McDonalds.”

“I hate you. Also I’ve booked you that modelling gig with Rolex; I’ll brief you once I have dates set in stone, but until then we can focus on designing next season’s gear for GZA. Your mother has booked a meeting with you at two today to go over the designs.”

“What!?”

“I know. You’re terrible. Imagine a mother having to book an appointment to see her own son.”

“For fuck’s sake.”

“Serves you right for avoiding her.”

Katsuki’s phone beeped as they crossed the open plan floor towards his office. It was Eijirou asking about ‘Squad night, and with some relief, Katsuki accepted. He felt like blowing off some steam.

“Are you okay?”

Katsuki glanced up from his phone as they entered his office. “Hn?”

Anya nodded at his hand. “You’re shaking.”

He tucked his phone in his pocket and shrugged. “Caffeine.”

“Mn.” Anya eyed him skeptically. “Tell me if you need time off. We don’t need another repeat of three years ago.”

Katsuki stiffened. “I know .”

“Good. Don’t forget about your meeting with your mom. Ciao!”

Alone now, Katsuki booted up his terminal and braced himself for a backlog of reports; admin’s help had worked up until he’d fallen behind again, mainly a result of the huge report he’d written for the Caliber case. It sucked. The first thing he was going to do when he became Number One was hire a secretary to deal with that shit for him. Then he never wanted to write another report for the rest of his life.

As he turned to plug his phone into the wall, he noticed someone had framed the newspaper article of him and Uraraka kissing and hung it behind his desk. She’d messaged him almost everyday since he’d reclaimed his title as best kisser - mainly mundane, annoying shit, but despite his sparse responses and zero free time to meet her between their clashing schedules, he found himself checking his phone more often than usual, and was quietly disappointed if his inbox was empty. 

He turned back around and put her out of his head - something that was becoming harder and harder to do with every passing day.

The meeting with his mom hung over him all morning, so by the time his calendar flashed a reminder over his reports, he was in a foul temper. He practically kicked down the door to the conference room and almost blew up the chair on the opposite side of the table when he yanked it backwards. It was so fucking unfair that he had to work with his parents. In his humble opinion, personal life and work life should never overlap, yet work was tangled so deeply into his life that he suspected there’d be nothing of him left but an empty cavity if he tried to uproot it. Which was fucking depressing.

“For gods’ sake, what is it now, Katsuki?” his mother snapped before he’d even opened his mouth.

It was just them in the conference room, which Katsuki was glad for because he didn’t need extras flinching through their interactions per usual, though he was a little disappointed his dad was absent; he was usually the one to throw water over  the more explosive members of the family before arguments turned violent.

“Nothing!” he roared, slouching into his seat. “I don’t care about the stupid designs. Get Anya to approve them.”

His mother’s expression soured. “Don’t be an ungrateful brat. Everyone’s working hard on this line. Your line. The least you can do is feign interest, especially when your father worked five hours overtime getting these prototypes finished for today.”

Katsuki felt a niggle of guilt at that and fixed his gaze on the plant in the corner.

“Do you want to continue with the sportswear or not?” his mother pushed.

“Yes!”

“Then stop sulking and come here. We’ve got half an hour before I have to be elsewhere.”

Dragging himself across the room, he flopped into the seat next to her and spent the next twenty minutes going over the new designs which were, admittedly, pretty cool. They’d snuck in more nods to Uraraka’s brand too, which his mother insisted was great for marketing.

“We’ll get her to model them again, of course,” she said. “Maybe take a break for a few months so we don’t bore the public with rehashed marketing tactics, then relaunch in the Spring.” 

Katsuki leaned back in his chair and spun a pen on the tabletop. “Won’t matter by then, anyway.”  

“Why?”

He sucked in a breath. “We’re not dating.”

His mother looked up from jotting down notes. “What?”

“You deaf? I said, we’re. Not. Dating.”

She put down her pen. “Katsuki, please do not tell me you’ve broken up with her already. It’s barely been a month!”

“We weren’t dating to begin with.” He swallowed and stared fixedly at the pen spinning in circles. “It’s just a marketing ploy to help us break top ten.”

His mother went quiet. Katsuki tried not to shrink into his seat.

“Just tell me you’re disappointed, already. I don’t fucking care.”

“Is that why you don’t want her over for dinner?”

“I guess.”

“Gods, Katsuki, you could’ve told me. Now I feel like an idiot.”

“…Sorry.”

His mother rolled her eyes. “Why do you have to do everything backwards? I’m not disappointed and I don’t care about these weird hero politics.”

“But I’m lying.”

“Only to yourself, dumbass.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Gods, Katsuki. You inherited your father’s cluelessness, I swear. I had to literally pin him to the bed before he got the idea –“

“Urgh - shut the fuck up, you gross old hag, nobody needs to fucking hear that!”

“Fine. But as soon as you make it official, you’re bringing her over for dinner. No arguments.” She suddenly leaned over and ruffled his hair. “Ya know I just wanna see you happy, kiddo. Whether that’s breaking top ten or being with her.” She withdrew her hand. “Now pick between these two designs so I can get back to work.”

Katsuki worked a few hours overtime to get the week’s reports finished, then ended the day by accidentally clicking on an article about his dating life before Uraraka. The press hadn’t been overly interested in his flings before, but now he was in the spotlight his personal life under a microscope for public scrutiny. They were especially intrigued by his on-off fling with Camie, but she’d kept her mouth shut despite their prying, so they had nothing to work with but speculation. For all her ditziness, she was good like that, and he appreciated it. He just hoped it didn’t reflect poorly on Uraraka.

He frightened off the paps on his way home with a few choice words, jumped in and out of the shower, ate an appropriately stomach-lining meal of rice, then headed to the usual izakaya to meet the ‘Squad with only five minutes to spare before they could rinse him for being late.

He could tell it was going to be one of those nights, because Kirishima had gelled his hair to perfection, Kaminari was wearing a shirt, Mina was in a skin-tight sparkly dress and Sero had pulled his hair into a lame man bun that Katsuki was definitely going to make fun of later.

He grunted a greeting then bought a round of beer from the bar before sliding onto the bench next to Kaminari. Of course, the ‘Squad didn’t give him time to adjust his social tolerances before Kaminari leaned into his personal space, sniffed, and said, “Oooh, have you just come from a whore house or something? You smell like strawberries.”

Eijirou frowned curiously over the top of his beer. “Brothels smell like strawberries?” 

“Naw, they smell like old-man cologne and stale jizz,” Mina said.

“How do you know that?”

“I am the knower of many things, my child.”

Sero leaned closer to Katsuki then dodged the first explosion of the night. “He’s sparkly, too!”

“Get into a fight at Bath and Bodyworks?” Eijirou asked around a grin.

“No. I’ve been using Round Face’s bodywash ‘cause the idiot replaced mine with girly, cheap shit from the drugstore. Haven’t gotten around to buying a different brand because unlike you degenerates, I’m busy with work.”

Mina’s focus narrowed on him like an arrow hitting a bullseye. “Hang on a hot, tap-dancing minute – why is Ochako using your shower?”

“The hot water in her apartment is broken.”

The ‘Squad collectively shared a look.

“What?” Katsuki said.

“Don’t you think that’s, um… circumspect?”

“The hot water breaking?”

“No, dummy, that she’s chosen to use your shower! She could ask anyone. She has, like, a million friends. And her parents. And the dorms at her agency. And me. Eijirou and I have a spare room if she needed to crash.”

“Probably doesn’t wanna hear you goin’ at it like a couple of monster-rabbits on viagra.”

 “Pfft, you don’t know Ochako at all.”

“What?”

“Point is, she could’ve asked anyone, but she picked you, and I’ll bet you 1000yen her hot water was fixed ages ago – if it was broken at all.”

“Why would she lie about that?”

 “Ba-ku-gou Ka-tsu-ki!” Mina punctuated each syllable by pounding her hand against the table. “How can you be so smart yet so dense!?”

“Mina,” Eijirou started in a chastising tone, but she ploughed ahead regardless.

“Fire up the two brain cells pinging around between your ears and listen up. I’ve been besties with Chako-chip for thirteen years. I know her inside and out. I’ve tolerated all her lame-o boyfriends and nursed her through a billion undeserved heartbreaks, and I’m an expert on dating tactics, so trust me when I tell ya: she is hardcore hitting on you!”

Kastuski drank his beer while he gathered his thoughts. “No she isn’t. She’s just being her normal bimbo self.”

“Um, first of all, she isn’t a bimbo. That’s mean. Secondly, she is definitely flirting, and I’ll prove it!”

Mina ominously whipped out her phone then skipped to the other side of the bar. Katsuki didn’t bother to watch her go; he was well versed by now with Mina’s relentless teasing. Not a day went by when he didn’t curse Eijirou’s shitty taste in women.

Kaminari leaned closer and stirred the air with his beer. “I for one have always liked Uraraka. Honestly? I would let her sit on my face all night long.”

Katsuki shoved him out of his personal space. “Shut the fuck up. That’s disgusting.”

“Disgustingly hot, you mean.” Kaminari grinned. “C’mon. You’re tellin’ me you haven’t had a single thought about her thighs wrapped around your face?”

“No!”

Eijirou chewed on a smirk while Sero and Kaminari leered at each other.

“What?” Katsuki snapped.

“You’re a bad liar, bro,” Eijirou said.

They were spared from Katsuki’s growing wrath when Mina returned. Looking exceptionally pleased with herself, she slid onto Eijirou’s lap and stole a swig of his beer, then said, “You know what one of your many, many, many problems is, Kacchan? You can’t do things by halves. You hyperfocus on what you want and everything outside of your tunnel vision ceases to exist. It’s either yours or it isn’t, and if it sits in some unknown grey area – let’s say, a not-girlfriend-friend-business-partner – your brain can’t handle it and implodes.”

Kaminari nodded sagely. “Kacchan can handle exactly one emotion at a time, and ninety-nine percent of the time that’s anger.”

“Especially around you assholes,” Katsuki snapped, flicking the top of Kaminari’s beer so it bubbled over.

“You’re just overthinking things,” Eijirou said while edging his phone away from the beer frothing over the table. “You should try talkin’ to her.”

“No.”

Mina pointed a finger at him. “See, that’s another one of your problems. You’re gonna get yourself worked up just ‘cause you can’t have a conversation. Internalizing emotion is unhealthy, ya know.”

“Like blue balls!” Kaminari said. “Right, Kacchan?”

“I do not have fucking blue–“

The bar’s front door slammed into the wall, shaking glasses on tables, and the patrons fell silent as all attention turned to the entrance.

Uraraka stood in the doorway dressed in her hero suit, breath fogging her visor, eyes darting around with obvious tension. 

“I’m here!” she announced. “Where’s the emergency?”

Silence.

Faced with a collection of confused looks and a perplexed shrug from the barkeeper, Uraraka hunted for Mina in the crowd and frowned when she spotted her. “Mina! You said there was an emergency!”

“Correction,” she replied, “I said there was a ‘sexy emergency’.”

Uraraka stomped over to their table as the bar’s patrons returned to their drinks. “I thought that was a typo! Gosh, Mina, you can get into so much trouble for making a fake call to a hero! I’m literally on duty!”

“Ummm, actually my phone says 10.01pm so technically you’re not on duty anymore. I know your work schedule. Which meaaaans…” She slid a beer across the table towards her. “Drink! Drink! Drink!”

“I’m in my hero suit!”

“Strip! Strip! Strip!”

“Oh my god.”

“While I’d never turn down a strip show,” Kaminari said, “you don’t need to change. Your suit is totally hot. I’ve always wanted to know, do you need to, like, lube up when you put it on? ‘Cause, damn, I bet you have to peel it off like a banana skin at the end of a shift -”

Katsuki shot an explosion across the table, severing that train of lechery.

Uraraka looked immensely displeased, but after noticing Katsuki hunkered in the corner, she took off her helmet and sighed. “Fiiiine. But if I get into trouble I will personally name drop every single one of you.”

As she disappeared to the bathroom to ‘freshen up’ with the help of Mina’s makeup and body spray, the ‘Squad fixed Katsuki with leery looks, and he rolled his eyes over the top of his beer. What was their fucking deal? He literally did not care if she was here or not. Not one bit.

She emerged a few minutes later with her hair loose around her shoulders and her suit stripped of its support mecha, which the owner let her store around the back of the bar without a fuss. Now dressed only in the suit and sneakers she wore under her boots, her outfit could pass for a sporty jumpsuit in the dark. And it gave Katsuki more than an ample look at her ass when she stood in front of their table with her arms crossed and expression thunderous.

“Happy now?” she said. “I haven’t showered and I feel gross.”

“Are your thighs sweaty?” Kaminari asked.

“Ew,” she said.

“I’m not hearing a no.”

“Funny you should bring that up,” Mina began, “’cause Kitty-Kat was just talking about your thighs.”

Katsuki slammed his beer onto the table hard enough to crack the glass. “No I fucking wasn’t! You were!”

“What’s wrong with my thighs?” Uraraka said self-consciously..

“They thicc, girl,” Mina said. “Juicy thicc. Come sit those squeezable buns on mommy’s lap.” She pulled Uraraka on top of her and the brunet giggled before wrestling into a position that wedged her between Mina and Sero.

“Okay but serious question,” Mina went on. “Who here has touched themselves to Chako’s billboard?”

“Mina!” Uraraka wailed, her cheeks going bright pink.

“I definitely have,” Kaminari said, though Katsuki was pretty sure he hadn’t.

“Samesies,” Mina declared. “Eijirou can testify to that.

Eijirou at least had the decency to sink into his seat with an embarrassed groan.

Sero said, “I thought about it but decided it wasn’t worth getting arrested for public indecency in the middle of Shibuya crossing.”

“You guys!” Uraraka wailed, covering her face.

“Oh, come on,” Mina said. “You’re a total dirt bag and we all know it. Don’t put on the prude act just ‘cause Katsu-curry’s here.”

“I-I’m not!” she bleated, astutely avoiding Katsuki’s eyes. “It makes me uncomfortable knowing there’s a bunch of randos jerking off to my photos – I don’t need to hear about it from you guys too!”

“Not even from Kacccchaaan?” Mina sang.

When Uraraka’s gaze hit him, he felt himself physically shrink into his seat. It took all his willpower to keep his expression blank as he opted for the only reasonable course of action: bailing the fuck out.

“I’m gettin’ another beer.”

“Oh. My. God,” Mina mocked whispered. “He totally has.”

“No I fucking haven’t!” he roared over his shoulder, hoping beyond all hope they couldn’t read him with his back turned like he was failing a lie detector.

He bought a shot for himself at the bar, knocked that back, then ordered another. The ‘Squad were going to be ten times more intolerable than usual with Uraraka here, especially because everyone was drinking tonight; usually either he or Eijirou was the designated driver, so he needed booze to ease his temper or there were going to be casualties before the night was done.

His thoughts were already pleasantly fuzzy around the edges by the time he mustered the fortitude to return to the table. He bought the ‘Squad a bottle of sake to distract them from poking fun at him, and a shochu and cranberry for Uraraka, as a sort of apology for his idiotic friends. Although, judging by the way she was already sprawled across Mina and Eijirou’s laps, he didn’t think she cared about their growing raucousness anyway. 

Everyone shuffled around the table so Katsuki could perch on the end of the bench next to Uraraka. He ignored her bright smile and drank in silence while the ‘Squad got louder and the bar got busier, until eventually a combination of alcohol and Eijirou’s perseverance lured him into joining their dumb drinking games, like Kiku no Hana and Takenoko Takenoko Nyoki Ki, most of which Kaminari lost and Katsuki won, but all of them were well over the line of drunk to take note of winners and losers.

Katsuki was hyperaware of Uraraka besides him. He wasn’t sure if she was leaning against him because she was drunk or because she was trying to avoid flailing arms and spilt drinks, but his mind wandered inexplicably back to their kiss while plotting if he could convince her there were paparazzi around so he’d have an excuse to do it again.

While Mina and Eijirou disappeared to the bar to buy more drinks, Kaminari leaned around Sero to talk to Uraraka.

“’Chhhakkoo, I’ll give ya 1000Yen if you let me stick my head between your thighs for one minute.”

Uraraka spluttered. “Excuse me? You think I’m some cheap sex worker that’d let you –“

“10,000Yen.”

“Okay.”

Katsuki practically bristled into another dimension as he snatched the note out of Kaminari’s hand. “I’ll kick your ass all the way to Okinawa, you fucking pervert!”

Uraraka blinked at the note in Katsuki’s hand, then grinned. “Money has been exchanged for a service, sir. You gotta let Kaminari stick his head between your thighs.”

“As much as I’d love to,” Kaminari said, “I like my hair not on fire. Also gimmie my money back, Captain Cockblock.”

Katsuki screwed the note into a ball and exploded it.

“Hey, man, not cool! Not all of us are filthy stinking rich.”

Uraraka plucked a note out of her purse and handed it to him. “Sorry, my pimp is very picky about my clientele.”

Kaminari took the money. “Nice. Does that you have to stick your head between my thighs now?”

“You’ve got three seconds to get out of my sight before I introduce your face to the floor, battery boy,” Katsuki snarled.

 “Okay, okay. Geez. Not my fault your girlfriend’s horny ‘cause you won’t put out –“

An explosion cut him off mid-sentence, and he scuttled to the bar with the tail ends of his shirt on fire. Uraraka and Sero clutched their sides and laughed.

“Why are you like this?” Katsuki muttered into his drink, annoyed that he’d gotten worked up so damn fast. 

Hiccupping on dregs of laughter, Uraraka side eyed him and grinned. “Because you won’t put out.”

Then she climbed over him – ass grazing his lap – before hopping over to Mina at the bar. He stared after her, completely baffled, then hurriedly finished his drink. Clearly he was going to need a lot more if he wanted to see the night through.

 The bar closed at 1.30am and by then the 'Squad were a mess. Katsuki's vision was spinning, nobody was walking straight, Kaminari was vomiting in the gutter, and Sero had somehow wrapped tape around Eijirou's ankles and gotten him stuck to a lamppost. Katsuki had lost track of Mina and Uraraka entirely until he heard enraged yelling, and spotted Uraraka holding onto a floating car like an oversized balloon.

"You crazy bitch!” the driver yelled out the window. “What the hell do you think you're doing!? I've almost paid off the credit on this car!"

Uraraka staggered and the car nearly went into the side of a building. 'Suh-sorry, I'll put it ruh-right back where it… where it was…"

"Disengage your quirk, dumbass,” Katsuki said as he grabbed the car’s bumper to stop it floating away.

Mina, who was laughing hard enough to split the seams of her dress, pushed Uraraka’s hands together and yelled, “Release!”

The car crashed back onto the road, miraculously on all four tires, and the owner leaned further out the window to shake a fist at them. "I should call the police for quirk violations, you assholes!" 

“Go fuck yourself,” Katsuki slurred, pulling Uraraka away. “Your car's a shit model anyway. Not worth the loan interest.”

"You little shit! Come back here and say that to my face!"

"Oh yeah, you got somethin’ t’ say t’ me, you little bitch?"

"Okay, that's enough," Uraraka said, switching their position so she was the one pulling Katsuki away. "Sorry about your car, sir! Hav’a nice evenin’!"

“Party pooper!” Mina hollered as the driver careened away.

Uraraka giggled then clutched Katsuki's arm to stop from falling over. “You guys are gonna get me into trouble.”

Katsuki’s feet immediately lifted off the sidewalk. “Oi, you're floating me, dipshit!”

“Chakochip needs her drunk mittens!” Mina sang, then inexplicably pulled a pair of gloves out of her purse. “Here ya go, bebe.” 

Katsuki's stomach took an unpleasant plunge as he floated higher, and suddenly he was very worried he was going to puke in front of Uraraka. Which would be pathetic. Worse than Kaminari. “Release me first, asshole!”

Uraraka released him then pulled on the gloves, swaying on the spot with a dozy grin on her face. Katsuki reckoned she didn't drink often.

“Let's go find another bar!” Mina said, then hopped towards Eijirou and Sero. They were still tangling with the tape because apparently Sero was so drunk he’d forgotten he could retract it. Katsuki was very careful to keep his hand in his pockets, because his drunken accidents ended far more nefariously than floating cars and bound limbs.

 Eventually, they got Eijirou free and Kaminari stopped puking, so they began their hunt for another bar. As they walked through the neon-slick city, brushing shoulders with groups of raucous twenty-somethings and suited businessmen, Uraraka pulled Katsuki’s arm around her shoulders, and he let her only to keep her upright.

“Can I ask you a question?” she said as they trailed behind the rest of the ‘Squad.

She was so drunk it took Katsuki a second to decipher what the hell she was saying, but when he did his answer was, “No.”

“Do you have to wear gloves when you jerk off?”

Katsuki tossed her an incredulous look. “Jesus christ, you’re wasted.”

 “I have to.”

“What?”

“Wear gloves when I touch myself. Otherwise I float when I cum.”

Katsuki’s disgust was banked beneath an arousal that rushed straight to his groin. He shifted uncomfortably, ignoring the twitching in his pants. “I did not need to know that.”

“Except these two fingers –“ she wriggled her middle and forefinger – “are uncovered.”

He blinked at her.

“TMI?” she asked around a filthy grin. “Okay, I told you my dirty secret, so now you gotta tell me yours.”

“I didn't agree to that!”

She swayed into him, almost losing her footing. “Aw, c’mon, I promise I won’t tell anyone.”

“Why do you even wanna know that? Fucking pervert.”

 “You got me pegged.” She giggled shamelessly. “C’mon tell meeee. Tell me, tell me, tell me!”

“No.”

“Tell meeeeee!”

“Shut up!”

“Tell me, tell me, tell me tell me tell me tellmetellmetellmetellme –“

“I jerk off in the shower!” he raged. “The water washes the sweat off! Happy now?”

She grinned at him as a blush crept across her cheeks. Gods, he’d never told anyone that – what the hell had gotten into him?

“That’s hot,” she said.

He spluttered. “Shut the fuck up! And I don’t have to all the time, anyway. In the shower, I mean.”

“Send me a pic next time.”

“Wha – no! The hell is wrong with you?”

“What are you two lovebirds talking about over here?” Mina called over her shoulder.

“Jerking off,” Uraraka said shamelessly, then pulled Mina into a drunken hug before Katsuki could blow her ass into orbit. “Can we get McDonalds? Pllleeaaassse? I want a Happy Meal with chicken nuggets!”

“You just want the toy.”

“Yeaaaah.”

Mina pointed a finger at Katsuki. “Y’hear that, Strawberry Sparkles? You’re buying the ‘Squad McDonalds!”

“What!? Why do I have to fucking pay?”

“Because it helps your brand.”

“I’m not changing my image for you fuckers!

Mina cupped her hands around her mouth and yelled over the top of Uraraka’s head, “Sparkles is buying us McDonalds!”

The ‘Squad cheered, and Katsuki gritted his teeth. “Fucking assholes.”

As they caught up with the boys, Kaminari staggered over to Uraraka and threw an arm around her shoulders. “Uravity-saaaan, d’ya wanna come home with me tonight? Since your boyfriend is such a loser.”

“Aw, Denki-kun, you’re sweet, but I think I’d break you.”

“Whaaaat!? I can totally handle it. I promise you won’t turn me gay like you did with Deku.”

“Oh my gods, I did not turn him gay, you butthole!” Uraraka shrieked, then punched his arm.

Kaminari collapsed onto the sidewalk like a sack of potatoes. “Holy fuck – fuck – she broke my fucking arm, she broke my arm, ah hhhh –“

“That’s what you get,” Katsuki spat.

“You think these guns are just for show?” Mina added, then squeezed Uraraka’s bicep; Uraraka squealed while Kirishima nodded approvingly.

“I can’t feel my fingers,” Kaminari wailed. “Ahhhh the tingling hurts, why does the tingling hurt!?”

 Mina skipped carelessly over Kaminari’s prone body.“I want a hamburger meal! And a chocolate milkshake with extra whipped cream!”

Katsuki kicked Kaminari on his way past while Eijirou and Sero pulled him to his feet, then they headed to the nearest 24hr McDonalds. Katsuki felt genuinely sorry for the server when the 'Squad bellowed at least sixteen different orders over the counter until Katsuki got them under control long enough to make sense of their slurring. Too prideful to order fast food, Katsuki picked at Eijirou’s fries and ate his gherkins instead, and Eijirou was too busy devouring his third Big Mac in a row to complain.

A few minutes later, Uraraka's elbow in Katsuki’s ribs cut off his drunken tirade about MSG in the fries, and she waved the plastic toy she’d gotten with her Happy Meal under his nose. "Want my All Might toy?"

"No." He did.

"I know ya doooo. What will you give me in exchange?"

Katsuki snatched Kaminari's milkshake off him and held it out to her. “This.”

 She hummed thoughtfully, then opened her mouth and teased the end of the straw with her lips while keeping eye contact with him. A glob of milkshake dripped off the end of the straw and landed on her outstretched tongue, helplessly drawing his gaze. The glob slid seductively down its centre and quivered on the tip, threatening to drip onto the table. Katsuki’s dick twitched.

Eijirou suddenly clapped him on the back, breaking his trance. "You've got my wrestling DVD, right?"

"What?”

"At yours?"

"What the fuck are you -”

"Did someone say after party at Kacchan's?" Sero asked around a shit-eating grin.

"No,” Katsuki said. "No one said that. You are not coming over -"

"After party at Kacccchannns!" Mina yelled.

Shouting and banging on the table drowned out Katsuki's objections, and by the time the McDonalds staff kicked them out for being too loud, Sero had already called an uber with directions to Katsuki's apartment.

"You fucking assholes!" Katsuki roared as they piled into the 7 seater. “Nobody is drinking on the couch and you are not sleeping in my bed again and if anyone eats my food you’re all fucking dead !”

Uraraka shuffled next to him on the back row of seats of the cab. There was no reason for her to sit in the middle seat when the other seat was free; Sero was in the front (very drunkenly) directing the driver, while Mina, Eijirou and Kaminari were in the middle row of seats debating whether Burger King’s fries were better than McDonalds’ fries. 

“Who sleeps in your bed?” Uraraka asked.

Katsuki buckled her seatbelt before buckling his. “All of them. Every fucking time.”

“‘Cause your bed is so comfy,” Mina said, kneeling with her arms crossed over the headrest to stare at them. “Right, ‘Chako?”

Katsuki stiffened. “Sit down, asshole!”

“Please sit down, miss, or I’ll have to pull over,” the driver said.

Eijirou pulled her down and buckled her belt while Mina demanded the radio be turned up. Katsuki sank further into his seat and wished he could go home alone in peace.

Uraraka slouched drunkenly against the seat and stared at him, face slashed with light that blurred past the windows in nauseating streaks. “I can’t believe you’re still this uptight even after a drink.” 

True, alcohol had never worked to calm him. It only made him louder and his tongue sharper, and increased his tolerance for poor sleep and shitty food.

It also made him horny, but he reckoned it did that to everyone.

Uraraka walked her gloved fingers along the back of the seat, up his neck and into his hair. He shivered while she hummed thoughtfully.

“What am I gonna do with you, huh?”

He grunted and looked away, not trusting himself to speak. Her hot breath feathered down the side of his neck, tucking away his rational thoughts.

“Don’t you want my All Might toy?” she asked, nudging his upper thigh with the figurine. “I’ll give it to you if you guess the answer to my question.”

He quirked an eyebrow at her, his breath prickling his lungs like hot needles. “What question?”

“Guess the color of my underwear.”

He rolled his eyes, his lack of interest thoroughly feigned. “No.”

“C’mooon. It’s easy. You only get one try, though.”

“Tch. I dunno.” He wanted to say pink, but a part of him knew, deep down, what the color was, but saying it out loud might break the last thread of his self restraint. Her fingers teasing the hem of his shirt didn’t help, either, and he swore he could hear his breathing above the ‘Squad singing along to the radio.

“Guess,” she said, dangling the toy in front of him, “or it goes out the window.”

“Orange.”

Her grin was dusky in the semi-dark.  “No.”

“What!?”

“Or maybe yes. I don’t remember.” She leaned forward, eyes tagged on his lips. “You’ll have to look for yourself.”

He leaned forward to meet her lips when a flash of light blinded him, ruining the moment. Blinking the stars out of his eyes, he found Kaminari leaning over the seat, grinning like an idiot with his phone in hand.

“Oooh, that’s a good photo. I’mma submit that to Hero Gossip dot com.”

“You motherfucker!” Katsuki roared before habitually throwing a fist full of sparks across Kaminari’s dumbass face. 

The driver promptly slammed on the breaks, then tapped a sign above the fee counter that said ‘No Quirks Inside Vehicle.’

“All of you out. Now.”

“Whhaaaa –“ Mina whined. “But my feet hurt in these heels!”

“We’re almost there,” Eijirou said, pulling her out of the door. “I’ll carry you piggyback style.”

“Yay!”

“Carry me too!” Kaminari said, then promptly face-planted on the sidewalk when Eijirou sidestepped his attempt to jump on his back.

Katsuki helped Uraraka out of the car then shoved his hands in his pockets with a tsk as the driver sped off. “Melodramatic asshole.”

“At least we’re nearby,” Uraraka said, and Katsuki decided not to tell her how severely and grotesquely she was overestimating the ‘Squad’s ability to do anything normally at the best of times, much less when they were this wasted.

The fifteen-minute walk to Katsuki’s apartment took forty-five minutes because Sero had to carry Kaminari on his back, Katsuki had to stop every few minutes because Uraraka kept collapsing on the sidewalk from laughing so hard, and because Mina raided 7-Eleven for snacks and, ominously, more beer. Katsuki ranted about the repercussions of spilling beer on his floor while they worked their way up to his apartment, then poorly tolerated the ‘Squad’s jokes about his sexual prowess when he missed inserting the key into the lock of his door five times in a row. Somehow he cajoled them all to the couch before either they wrought havoc on his kitchen or the people downstairs complained about their thundering footsteps at 3am, before Eijirou distracted them by playing his wrestling DVDs.

He was downing a second glass of water in the kitchen when Uraraka tugged on his sleeve, all bleary doe-eyes and flushed cheeks. “M’don’t fuh-el so good…”

“Yeah, no shit,” he snapped, then filled a glass of water for her and made her drink it. “If you puke on my couch I will fucking end you.”

She pressed her head against his chest and whined. “D’ya hav’a change’o clothes?”

Huffing, he gripped her arm and led her towards the bedroom, ignoring the Squad’s lewd commentary, then sat her on the edge of the bed while he rooted through his drawers for his smallest t-shirt and joggers. She giggled when he threw them over her head, then stood up on wobbly legs and turned around.

“Unzip me?”

Muttering angrily, he yanked the zip down to her waist so roughly that she squealed. He turned around to give her some privacy and listened to her squirming around on the floor while she tried to take off her suit. 

After a few minutes of frustrated grunting, she said, “Bakugou-kuuun, help meeeee. I caaaan’t.”

He glanced over his shoulder and found her sprawled on her back in her underwear  - orange and black, he couldn’t help but notice – with her suit tangled around her thighs. Alcohol set fire to a heady clash of annoyance and arousal, before he scrubbed his hands over his face and growled, “You idiot, someone could take advantage of you like this.”

“Mn, but you wouldn’t.”

“Luckily for you,” he muttered as he grabbed her suit and literally peeled it off her like a candy wrapper. She laughed again when it popped off her ankles and he staggered backwards, almost landing on his ass like a drunk idiot. 

 As she sat on her knees with her eyes closed and head drooping, he pulled the t-shirt over her head then made her stand so she could step into the joggers. Gods, this was not how Katsuki had imagined seeing her undressed for the first time going. 

He tried very hard not to notice when she tugged off her bra and flung it carelessly into a corner before he helped her under the covers, then pointedly dragged an empty trashcan to the bedside with the hope she’d throw up in that rather than in his bed. 

Snuggling into the pillows, her glossy lips parted with a sigh and her head lolled to the side, long lashes pressed against her cheeks. He brushed the bangs out of her face, not half as annoyed as he thought he’d be, then headed for the door.

 “Bakugou-kun.”

He paused. “What?”

 “C’mere, I gotta tell ya something.”

“What?”

“C’merreeee.”

Sighing, he returned to the bed and leaned over her. 

Her reflexes were surprisingly sharp as she grabbed the back of his neck and pulled him clumsily on top of her. He struggled for a second, then propped himself on his elbows to look at her, painfully aware of how warm and soft her body felt under his. 

“What?” he said irritably.

She pushed the hair out of his eyes, her gaze unfocused but upset. “I just wanted to say that I… I’m sorry if I’ve been manipulative. I didn’t mean to be but I think I’ve got you all tangled up and I’ve been so selfish and –“

“What the fuck are you talking about?”

“Remember that day our collab launched and I came to see you at your office? And you… you said you just wanted cut your check and forget this ever happened?”

He clenched his jaw. “Look, I’m an asshole. I shouldn’t have said –“

“I thought you wouldn’t wanna see me again. I’m not the kind of person you’re interested in, I know that, but I just wanted you to notice me like you did at the Sports Festival so I said that thing on TV about us dating and then I lied about my hot water breaking so I’d have an excuse to see you because I thought if I asked normally you’d say no and I –“

He placed a hand over her mouth to stop her talking. Suddenly he was glad for those last few shots of shochu, because they worked to lubricate words that otherwise would have stuck like thorny burrs in his throat.

“Uraraka, you’re an idiot. But I’m an idiot too. The biggest idiot. So if you hadn’t resorted to such dumb, obvious tactics to get my attention, I probably would’ve carried on ignoring you and been fucking sad forever.”

Her hand slid off his forehead and around the back of his neck as he uncovered her mouth. 

“You’re not mad at me?” she asked.

“No.” He scowled. “And when did you decide what kind of people I’m interested in, anyway?”

“It’s just –“

“Stop talking, dumbass.”

“Okay,” she said, then pulled him down and kissed him.

Alcohol worked to lower Katsuki’s inhibitions long enough for him to let someone in and out of his personal space and bed – he was only human after all, whatever people might say – so his body was already leaping ahead of his mind as he deepened the kiss and slid a hand under her shirt.  All his blood and sense rushed to his dick as he squeezed her breasts then rolled her nipple between his fingers. She moaned into his mouth, nails scraping down the back of his neck, and ground her hips against his until he spread her legs and pressed his erection along her core.

The room was spinning from arousal and booze when she sighed hungrily into his ear, “Nn, yes, that’s what I need.” Her hand trailed down his abdomen and he gasped when she gripped his dick through his pants. “I knew you wouldn’t disappoint me.”

He wanted to say something to clarify his intentions, but he was too drunk and horny so just settled on tugging off his shirt, then her joggers, before practically collapsing on top of her again. He gripped a breast then sucked her pert nipple through the t-shirt while she arched her back with a needy moan, her core grinding against his aching cock. Their breathing was loud and hot between kisses that burned with alcohol, and his hazy thoughts chased his hands along the outside of her thighs as she wrapped them around his waist. 

He wanted her so badly but everything felt distant and swimmy, his fingers a little too numb to stroke her properly through the thin lace of her panties, his thoughts catching up with his actions just a touch too slowly. They were way too drunk for this and he probably would have done something stupid…

If Kaminari hadn’t chosen that exact moment to kick down his bedroom door.

“Aeyoooo, where’s the party and why aren’t I invited?”

Katsuki rolled off Uraraka and crashed to the floor in a tangle of sheets. “FUCK! FUCK YOU - FUCKING DICKBAG!”

Entirely unperturbed, Kaminari climbed onto the edge of the bed and began fluffing a pillow. “Kacchan, you’re too loud. Oh, hey, Ochako. Forgot you were here. How do you feel about electro-play during sex?”

Uraraka discreetly pulled the covers up to her chin. “I, um, don’t think…”

“Did someone say electro-play?” Mina said as she bounced into the room, shedding clothes before she leapt under the covers. “I’m into that.”

Sero picked this time to stumble in. He rubbed his eyes then collapsed face first onto the end of the bed and mumbled into the sheets, “Mmm comfy.”

Mina wrapped her arms around Uraraka and pulled her into a hug, entirely heedless of the fact she was only in her panties and a thin t-shirt. “Right? I told ya, Sparkles’ bed is the comfiest.”

Katsuki’s blood was boiling so hot he could've detonated like an atom bomb. “GET OUT! NOW!”

Eijirou skidded into the room, looking flustered. “I leave you guys alone for two minutes while I go to the bathroom and…” His eyes settled on Katsuki half dressed on the floor and winced. “Shit, I’m sorry, man, I told ‘em to stay out but –“

“Room for one more!” Mina sang as she lifted the covers. “Wanna be sandwiched between me and Eij, Ochako? He gives the best cuddles.”

Uraraka wrapped her arms around Mina and sighed happily. “’Kay.”

Katsuki nearly hit the roof. “WHAT!? Don’t you fucking dare get into my bed, Shitty Hair, I swear I’ll fucking  - ARE YOU LISTENING TO ME!?”

Eijirou tripped over Ochako’s suit as he tugged off his jeans and shamelessly slid under the covers. He yawned and wrapped one giant arm around the girls. “It’s 4am, man, what d’ya want me to do?”

“GO HOME, YOU FUCKING ASSHOLE!”

“Looouuud,” Sero whined into the covers.

“Yeah, some people are trying to sleep,” Kaminari added. “Have some consideration, dude.”

Katsuki pressed his hands against his eyes – the only sure way to prevent him from reducing his room and everyone in it to rubble – then snarled and stomped away.

He was going to fucking murder them in the morning. Slowly and imaginatively. Prison couldn’t be that bad, right?

Somehow reduced to sleeping on his own couch, Katsuki angrily threw cushions around until it was relatively comfortable, then collapsed onto his back with his hand thrown over his eyes. Shichimi, likewise relegated to the couch, jumped onto his chest then curled into a gap between his limbs. It was already growing light outside, which pissed him off, and the beginning of a hangover teased the edges of his brain with a headache. The ‘Squad’s snores were the only sound besides the eternal hush of traffic outside.

He didn’t want to think about what happened between him and Uraraka. Not right now. He’d deal with the fallout when he woke up. Alone. On the couch. With his dick dry and his dignity intact.

So much for Eijirou being his fucking wingman.

Chapter Text

Despite being the last to go to sleep, Katsuki was the first to wake up and, boy, did he regret it. The light shredded his brain like cheese through a grater, and he groaned a long, rumbling note that woke Shichimi curled on his chest. The cat sat up, stretched, hopped down and made a pointed beeline for the kitchen, demanding breakfast heedless of Katsuki’s murderous hangover.

Groping for his phone, he yanked it from where it had slipped between the couch cushions and blinked at the screen. 1% battery and 12.03pm, Saturday. Fuck, he hadn’t slept so late since … well, he couldn’t remember.

Fighting off nausea, he propped his elbows on his knees and hung his head. Why… why did he drink so much when he fucking knew this was the result? Chaos, a shitty hangover and a one-night stand whose name he barely remembered.

Well, bar the lattermost. He hadn’t gotten laid, and he definitely remembered the girl in his bed today. Presuming she was still there.

He stood up and stretched around a string of curses, back and knees cracking in protest, then poked his head around his bedroom door. The end of last night was blurry, but he remembered most of Uraraka’s drunken confession and how good she’d tasted - as addictive as all the shit they put into McDonald’s fries, which were now congealed in the pit of his stomach, might he add. God damn, the least the ‘Squad could do was stop him from eating that garbage when he was drunk. Fucking cockblocking traitors.

Katsuki switched on the bedroom light and spied Uraraka tangled in the center of a ‘Squad body pile. Her hair was a bird’s nest over Eijirou’s bicep, Mina had her fucking hand on one of her tits, and somehow both Sero and Kaminari were hanging off her waist and legs like they’d tried to climb her and given up halfway.

All while he’d slept on the fucking couch with his cat.

He fired off an explosion that hurt him more than it hurt them; the mixture of alcohol and nitroglycerin in his sweat made for a potent blast that rocked the light fixtures, and it startled the ‘Squad awake in a hail of mournful curses and pleas.

 “Oi, assholes,” Katsuki snapped, “wake the fuck up and get the fuck out!”

“But mommy, I don’t wanna go to schooool,” Kaminari wailed into Uraraka’s stomach.

“Five more minuuuutes,” Mina pleaded.

Katsuki whipped the cover off them and threw it into the corner. Ignoring their whining, he stomped back into the kitchen to feed Shichimi and rustle up a big batch of Eijirou’s infamous hangover cure: tomato ketchup, orange juice, whey powder, crushed aspirin, an energy drink and four raw eggs, all dumped in a blender. It was disgusting, but oddly it always seemed to work. 

The roar of the blender rattled his brain inside his skull, but it was enough to relocate the hoard from his bedroom to the couch, all except Uraraka.

“Eggggs,” Sero groaned like a vegetarian zombie from somewhere between Kaminari’s armpit and Eijirou’s thigh. “Katsukkkiiii... eggggss.”

“You fuckers are lucky I went grocery shopping yesterday,” he snapped as he pulled two cartons out of the fridge. He’d lost track of how many breakfasts the ‘Squad owed him, but kept adopting the role of group mother anyway. Someone had to take care of the fuckers.

As Katsuki began his orders for breakfast – lunch, brunch, whatever – Uraraka appeared and sidled up to him like a child about to admit they’d misbehaved.

“I threw up,” she told him.

“Where?”

“In the toilet.”

“Fine.”

“M’don’t feel good…”

“Yeah, well. That’s what you get for drinking too much.”

“But you kept buyin’ ‘em for me!”

“What!? How’s it my fault that you’re a damn lightweight!?”

“You were hardly Mr Sober, yourself.”

Katsuki scoffed and turned his attention to the pan. “You want eggs?”

“Yes,” she said, pouting.

“How?”

“Sunnyside up with a ketchup smiley face drawn on the yolk.”

He broke the yolk of a half-cooked egg in the pan just to be an asshole, then expected her to retreat back to bed. Surprisingly, she pressed her hand against his back and rested her head on his bicep, watching as he cracked another egg one handed. It made for awkward cooking, but he couldn’t complain. Despite the makeup smudged under her bloodshot eyes and her bedhead hair, she looked pretty fucking adorable swamped in his t-shirt.

“I haven’t drunk that much since Shouto and Deku-kun’s engagement party,” she said. “Thinking about it, you weren’t there for that, were you?”

“I was working.”

“Tch. You work too much.”

“ You work too much,” he countered, entirely serious.

“We both work too much.” She played her fingers down his forearm. “Maybe we need better distractions outside of our work life.”

“I don’t want to be distracted.”

 “Not even by me?”

He cracked another egg into the pan. “Do you remember what happened last night?”

“I floated someone’s car,” she said miserably.

“After that.”

“Chicken nuggets?”

“ After that, dumbass.”

She chewed on her lip. “Not much. Do you?”

He pushed one of the eggs with the spatula before it stuck to the bottom. “Not as much as I’d like.”

“What do you mean?”

“We almost… Y’know.”

“Almost…?” The penny dropped. “Oh. Ooooh . Right.”

“I’m glad we didn’t.” She looked hurt, so he quickly clarified, “Because I want to remember it.”

Panic flared on the back of his verbalized confession, one he hadn’t made even to himself; last night he could’ve credited such ramblings to alcohol but now...

No coming back from that.

Her smile was both devious and bashful, then she wrapped her arms around his torso and squeezed. “M’too.”

“Morning cuddles!?” Kaminari appeared and squeezed them both with Uraraka sandwiched in between. “Mmmn, morning cuddles are the best cuddles!”

Katsuki fired off an explosion dangerously close to Kaminari’s locked hands. “Get the fuck off me right now before I stick this spatula up your ass and use you as a lightning rod!”

“Too loud,” Uraraka whined before disengaging and stumbling towards the couch. Kaminari was quick to follow after grabbing the carton of orange juice, and Katsuki practically flung a glass at him before that fucker dared to drink straight from the carton.

Eijirou bravely volunteered to cook rice, and by the time brunch was done everyone was ravenous for a way to get rid of the lingering aftertaste of Eijirou’s hangover cure. Uraraka shuffled along the couch to make room for Katsuki as he handed her a plate of eggs, and he wedged himself between her and the arm rest.

As Mina turned on the TV, Katsuki’s gaze wandered to Uraraka’s thighs poking under the hem of his shirt, and suddenly remembered her sprawled on the floor in her orange and black underwear with her suit crumpled around her ankles.

He cleared his throat and redirected his attention to demolishing eggs.

“Aeeyooo, look who it is!”

“Oh my god, no way .”

“That is hilarious .”

There was a photo of him and Uraraka on TV, walking along a neon-lit street with his arm slung casually around her shoulder. It was definitely from last night, and Katsuki screwed up his face.

“Those motherfuckers can’t let us walk two fucking feet without –“

“Shush up, I wanna hear!” Mina said while pumping up the volume.

The chat show hosts were joined in their speculation by a guest panel, and Katsuki was less than enthused about their opinions.

“ - still causing a stir on the hero dating scene,” the host was saying, “and the public remains divided about whether these two are a good match. Creati-san, what are your thoughts on Ground Zero and Uravity dating? You went to school together, didn’t you?”

The ‘Squad erupted into woops and wolf whistles as the camera pinged to the unexpected guest. Katsuki had a lot of respect for Yaoyorozu as a hero, bar her somewhat prudish public persona. She looked as flawless as ever in a black, tight fitted two-piece suit, and her long dark hair fell in waves to her waist. Not only was she a force to be reckoned with on the field, but her public image was pristine. 

“I’m surprised,” she started tactfully, “but I know their relationship is built on mutual respect, which is very important. I’m happy for them.”

Keeping her cards close to her chest, Katsuki noted. She was usually tactful anyway and never one to gossip, though he wondered if she suspected the underlying nature of their apparent dating, considering he and Uraraka never interacted.

The panel hummed in agreement, and the host said, “Uravity-san is an old friend of yours, do you worry Ground Zero is too rough for someone like her?”

“Asshole,” Katsuki muttered, and Uraraka elbowed him quiet.

Yaoyorozu smiled coyly, the kind of smile that commonly appeared on Uraraka’s friends whenever the subject of her cuteness was brought up by the unsuspecting public. “Not at all. He may be a little rough around the edges, but he has a very kind heart, and if anyone can handle him, it’s Uravity-san; she’ll put him in his place when needed.”

“I’m sure many fans will be reassured by your words, Creati-san,” the host said, then turned to a different subject.

“Oooh, she is so professional,” Mina said from her side of the couch. “And smoking hot. She’d give ya a run for your money, Ochako.”

“Big mommy vibes,” Uraraka agreed, and Katsuki almost spat out his eggs. “She’s the total package, I don’t know how she does it.”

Katsuki wanted to tell her that she was the total package, it’s just everyone else was too fucking dense to see it, but it wasn’t worth the godless ribbing he’d get from the ‘Squad for admitting it out loud. “Wish she’d kept her mouth shut about the dating thing.”

“Naw, this is good promo!” Uraraka said, sliding her empty plate on the coffee table. “Momo is Top Ten, remember? Everybody hangs off her every word. Having the Creati seal of approval will work wonders for our image. The other week she was spotted buying Anessa sunscreen, and their sales shot up by 30%.” Ponderously, she added, “You know, her starting rate for any kind of promotion is five million Yen.”

Sero’s eyes bugged out of his head as he leaned around Kaminari to gawp at her. “No kidding? Just for sayin’ a product is good?”

Uraraka nodded sagely. “I’ll have to ring her later to thank her for bein’ nice. She didn’t have to do that for us.”

“Aw, ya know she would,” Mina said. “She’s such a - WASHING UP NEEDS DOING, NOT IT!”

“NOT IT!”

“NOT IT!”

“NOT IT!”

Katsuki was naturally exempt from this brain-shrinking hangover routine, but Uraraka was baffled by the abrupt turnabout in conversation, and failed to save herself from the task at hand.

“Eeeh!? Wait, that’s not fair, I’m super hung over!”

“Sucks to be you,” Kirishima said, standing up and stretching his arms. “We gotta go anyways. Thanks for breakfast, man.”

Katsuki bumped Eijirou’s extended fist, swatted away Kaminari’s attempt, and ignored Sero and Mina entirely as they roused themselves and collected their things. Uraraka saw them off at the door like it was her damn apartment, and as soon as he heard the door click shut, his stomach flitted with nerves. 

No one around to cockblock him now. 

He skirted the edge of the kitchen and watched while Uraraka tackled the washing up. Maybe he was getting soft with age, but something about the scene made him nostalgic for simplicity - this mellow quiet and chinking of china in the afternoon sun - so he stayed still a while longer, feeling unwholly like himself but in a way that was untroubling. 

After stacking the last plate in the rack, she turned and jumped when she noticed him standing close by, staring like a weirdo.

“Hey,” she said. “Thought you were in the shower.”

He shook himself out of his weird trance and shrugged.

Drying her hands on a dishcloth, she took a step towards him, and her eyes shadowed with the same mischievous look he’d seen last night. “Can I use your shower?”

He let her walk into his personal space, and his body flushed through with anticipatory tingles. “I know yours isn’t broken.”

She flinched, perhaps having forgotten her admission. “Ha, yeah. Well. I like your shower. Better water pressure.”

“Uh huh.”

She stepped closer still and his mouth went dry.

 “I’ll let you watch…" she said, "if you want...”

“I - “

A beeping cut him off, and Uraraka’s face crumpled in disappointment. Tossing the dishrag onto the surface, she hopped into his bedroom and retrieved her phone from the pocket of her discarded hero suit. Sighing, she said, “I’m being called in.”

Katsuki leaned against the doorframe, all his anticipation fizzling out like a sparkler doused in water. “Emergency?”

“Naw, specific request for my quirk. Overturned truck on the highway.” She grabbed her suit, then jerked upright. “Oh my god, where’s my stuff!? My boots, my helmet - “

“At the izakaya. The owner’ll look after ‘em.”

“Oh, geez, if anything happens to them my agency will kill me.”

“I leave my stuff there all the time and it's fine.”

“Your gauntlets and grenades? Like, the ones filled with your explosive sweat? ”

“Yup.”

“Bakugou, that’s really irresponsible!”

He shrugged and grinned, then averted his gaze while she squeezed into her suit and discarded his shirt into the laundry hamper. “Want me to zip you up?”

She hopped into his line of vision, then pointedly used a strip of rubber attached to the zipper to close the suit herself. She stuck her tongue between her teeth and winked. “Wouldn’t be very well designed if I had to ask someone to help me dress every time I got called on duty.”

“But you made me unzip you last night?”

She rolled her eyes - “Get with it, Bakugou, honestly” - then pulled on her sneakers and headed to the window. “I better go.”

“I need a shower, anyway.”

“Gonna jerk off?”

Fuck, of course she’d remember that. “Shut up.”

“Don’t forget to send me a pic!”

“I’m not fucking doing that, I - uh, wait!”

She glanced over her shoulder, one foot on the ledge and hand propped on the frame. “Hm?”

“I’m not working today so I can pick your stuff up from the izakaya and bring it over to yours later…” He cleared his throat. “If you want.”

She blinked, then grinned. “Sure! See ya later, then. Oh, by the way, I left it on your bed. Bye!”

She was gone before he could ask what she meant by that, but when he turned to investigate, he found the stupid McDonald’s All Might figurine on his pillow. It was junk, but for whatever reason, he unlocked the glass cabinet in the corner of his room and put it in pride of place among his priceless collectibles.

Katsuki vegetated through his hangover on the couch with his shitty cat, finished his book and forced himself on a jog, and by the time he was ready to force human interaction again his headache and nausea was gone.

He wasn’t sure what to expect when he arrived at Uraraka’s apartment later that evening - or more to the point: what he wanted to happen. To be invited in was a start - so he was surprised when she took her gear and shoved them in the genkan before hopping outside to join him. He was close to being offended by her dismissal when he noticed her coat and heels and her unusually glossy lips.

“On your way out?” he asked.

“Yep!” She threaded her arm through his and steered him down the corridor. “With you.”

Very glad that he’d made a marginal effort with his clothes (only because his hoodies were in the laundry, he told himself earlier as he dabbed cologne onto his pulse points), he quirked a brow at her and magnanimously allowed the physical contact. “Where?”

“I dunno. Somewhere public, I guess, so we can be seen together.”

He groaned. “I hate public.”

“Public what?”

“In general.”

“This is Tokyo, ya know. Not much privacy.”

He wanted to point out there was plenty of privacy if they backtracked a few feet into her apartment, but thought that might be inappropriate. 

“Wanna go to Meguro?” she asked.

“No.”

“Ueno?”

“No.”

She glared at him as they rode the elevator down. “Why are you bein’ grumpy?”

“I’m not. ” At her insistent look, he added, “Just didn’t realize we were goin’ out.”

The quirk to her lips was mischievous. “Thought we were staying in?”

“I guess.”

“My apartment is nowhere near as nice as yours, though.”

“You think I give a shit about that kinda stuff? I lived in a fuckin’ box during my apprenticeship.”

“Also it’s a mess.”

“I’ll clean it for you.”

She scoffed playfully. “You wanna spend the evening cleaning my apartment? Who are you, my mother? Or are you that desperate to get in my pants?”

He turned his head so he couldn’t see the flush creeping over his face. “Let’s get a cab to Sumida. I don’t have a mask and don’t wanna be hassled on the subway.”

“You know you’re makin’ the big bucks when you’re gettin’ a cab around Tokyo,” Uraraka remarked as she opened the Uber app on her phone. 

He couldn’t deny that.

Katsuki was dismayed to find that a night market had taken over the better part of Sumida Park. Night markets meant crowds, and while he would’ve diverted from the park altogether, Uraraka excitedly pulled him into the throngs. The stalls colored the night with warm hues, and the indistinguishable babble of conversation mingled with the aroma from food vendors selling everything from yakitori to mochi. The night sky was surprisingly clear for the end of the raining season and promised the heat of summer, and so the crowds were particularly thick tonight.  Not a bad spot for a date, he reckoned, and Uraraka seemed to be enjoying herself. In fact, focusing on her sparkling eyes and smile lessened the niggling anxiety stirred by the compact crowds, and if she noticed him staring at her, she made no comment of it.

Not far into their aimless wandering, Uraraka squeaked and headed towards one of the vendors. He presumed it was food related, but as she dragged him over he realized it was one of those sellers of cheap, knock-off hero merch. Katsuki would never stoop so low as to buy unlicensed merch – all his All Might collectibles were limited edition official merch that he kept locked in a glass case like a total weeb – but apparently Uraraka didn’t share his snobbishness.

“Look what they have,” she whispered. “It’s us !”

She held a charm up to his face. Sharing a single chain were two PVC chibi figures of him and Uraraka in their hero get ups. When he cast his gaze back to the display rack, he realized there was a ton of off-license merch, including counterfeits of their sports gear, socks, keychains, more phone charms and phone cases.

“I’m gettin’ it,” she announced, pulling out her purse.

“What!? It’s cheap shit. And we don’t get royalties from this.”

“Oh, c’mon. We made more money this month than we have all year. I don’t think one street vendor is gonna cripple our income anytime soon.”

“It’s tacky.”

“You’re not the one getting it,” she snipped, then handed the vendor a 500Yen coin (the man blinked at Uraraka, then at Katsuki, then shook his head as if chasing off a fever dream and handed her back 200Yen change). Grinning happily, she threaded the charm onto the zipper of her purse then danced side to side to make them swing.

“Loser,” Katsuki said. “Your agency is gonna kill you when they see you being a walking advertisement for unlicensed merch.”

“Oh my gods, you’re such a killjoy,” she said, rolling her eyes. “I’ll replace ‘em when we get our own official charms, okay?” She peered around. “All this street food is makin’ me hungry. Wanna get okonomiyaki?”

He agreed so long as they went somewhere private, so they departed from the market to quieter backstreets, where Uraraka guided him by memory to a nearby restaurant she held in high esteem - or perhaps because it was cheap. Either way, Katsuki wasn’t complaining, especially after spending a bomb on booze the night previous. 

The server at the door definitely recognized them (he knew all too well the wide-eyed, startled look and stammer) but thankfully didn’t make a scene and took them to a quiet booth in the corner rucked against the window. Katsuki downed the glass of water they offered while watching the chefs and other servers none-too-subtly lean around the bar to catch a glimpse of them. 

“I’m gettin’ a cocktail,” Uraraka announced over the top of the menu.

“After last night?” he asked incredulously. “You literally threw up this morning.”

“Fine. A virgin cocktail. Happy?”

“I don’t care what you get. Just don’t want you puking in my bathroom again.”

“I won’t!” she said, scowling and turning pink before she buried her face in the menu. Even after all these years, puking still held a note of embarrassment for her.

He smirked. Despite being a badass, she was kinda cute sometimes. Sometimes. Maybe. If he squinted hard enough.

They ordered (pork okonomiyaki, an orange juice for Katsuki and something colorful and fruity for Uraraka), and she considered the sizzling pancake on the grill between them with eyes so round with child-like wonder he could’ve sworn she’d been starved for a week. 

“You’re enjoying this too much,” he stated, slouching into the high-back booth and sliding his hands into his pockets. “This is technically work.”

“Work? Oh, the dating thing. Right.” She happily slurped her mocktail through a straw, eyes roaming the menu. “Guess I like my job then! Plus it’s nice doin’ something that doesn’t involve actual work, like paperwork or patrolling or whatever.”

He grabbed a napkin and started tearing it into little squares under the table. “Don’t you hang out with frog-girl or Deku or something?”

“Oh, sure. But you know how it is bein’ an adult: everyone’s busy. Or tired from bein’ busy. And I’m the same. Twenty-seven is so young but sometimes I feel so old; I felt thirty by the time I was fifteen ‘cause I think we never got to be kids, ya know? Or teenagers, really. We didn’t get a chance to be because of the war. And that sucks, because sometimes I just wanna be carefree again, even though we were never truly carefree in the first place.” She glanced sharply up from the menu, catching herself. “Uh, sorry. I’m rambling.”

He shrugged. Usually he hated when people overshared their personal grievances, but he could relate. Everyone from Class A could. Hell, nearly all of them had looked death in the eye at some point before they’d turned seventeen, and that was a hell of a thing to carry into adulthood.

“I’ve always wanted to hang out with you anyway,” she went on, and maybe it was the heat from the grill but he swore her cheeks turned pinker. “But you and Kirishima-kun were too cool for me.”

“We still are.”

She kicked him under the table. “I was kinda jealous of how naturally Mina fit in with you guys. How she fits in with everyone, actually. But even if I’d found the courage to ask, it would’ve been awkward ‘cause of me and Deku…” She trailed off.

“You could’ve hung out. Nobody would’ve cared.”

“Really?”

Katsuki shrugged.

“But you have a squad.”

“They called it a squad, not me. And they like you.” Everybody likes you , he thought.

She appeared to mull this over for a second, then smiled. “Well, anyway, this beats sittin’ alone in my apartment. Don’t ya think?”

“It’s loud.”

“You’d rather sit in silence the whole time? Fine. I won’t talk. You talk.”

Katsuki’s stomach plunged into icy water. Shit. What the fuck did couples talk about on dates? Work? No, that was lame. She wouldn’t want to talk about work. Family? No, too deep. The weather? Fuck no. 

For the life of him he couldn’t think of a single thing other than work, because his life basically started and ended with it. There wasn’t any notable commentary he could make about his life, other than his dumb cat, and he was not going be fucking lame and talk about his cat like a middle-aged spinster.

She was staring at him expectantly, toying with the straw in her drink, and he felt himself flush under the collar. Jesus, why was he such a hopeless idiot sometimes?

He clamped down on the instinctive reflex to lash out  – quit staring at me, loser, I don’t wanna fucking talk to you – before diverting the talking point back to her. 

“How did your quirk manifest?”

Wow. Talk about scripted date questions. Might as well have asked her about her family.

Still, she didn’t seem put off, and thoughtfully cocked her head. 

“My quirk activated when I was six years old. I was walking to the sports center with my mom and I was mad ‘cause  she was taking me to a swimming lesson, I think, and I didn’t want to go. She was dragging me by my hand and I was crying, and suddenly there was a tingling in my fingers. Like pins and needles, I guess. And then she started floating. I still remember the look on her face, that open-mouthed shock. She didn’t scream or nothin’, just looked at the ground the same way she looked at her sudoku puzzles. Like if she thought about it long enough she’d be able to figure out an answer. 

“I was holdin’ onto her like the string of a balloon, and as she began to drift higher, a sort of coldness crept over me. ‘Cause I thought, the gods had felt my resentment towards my mom about the swimming and now they were taking her away. I panicked and thought, maybe if I let go of her hand then she’ll drop. So I let go. But she didn’t drop; she kept floating and floating, higher and higher, and then she started to scream. I’d never hear my mom scream before, not once. She's scared of heights, but I didn’t know that at the time. 

“At some point I started screaming too, because I knew she was going to float up and up and up. All I could think about was how my teacher had taught us that astronauts need special suits to go into space so they can breathe, and the kid sitting next to me in class – Ryu-something – leaned over and told me that if astronauts took their helmets off then their heads exploded. And that’s what I thought– that my mom’s head was gonna explode. 

“So I screamed, and I think people came running, maybe someone called the police, I don’t know. And by then my mom was real high up – at least, to a six-year-old – so I did the only thing I could think of.” She pushed her hands together. “I slapped my hands together and started praying. Praying that the gods would release my mom before her head exploded. And they did, or more, I released my quirk, and she dropped maybe thirty foot to the floor and broke her leg right in front of me.”

“Fucking christ,” Katsuki said.

“I still have nightmares about it,” Uraraka admitted. “Except in my nightmares I can’t release my quirk, so whoever I’ve floated keeps drifting up and up, forever, no matter how many times I press my fingertips together.” She chuckled – a nervous reflex without humor. “That’s… um, pretty messed up, huh? I don’t think I’ve ever told anyone that. I mean, all quirks have an element of danger, but mine is particularly dangerous, even if people don’t think so. ‘Cause it’s cute, right? How I float things? But it isn’t really. It comes with a lot of responsibility, and I had to learn a lot about physics real quick before I could use it on people again.”

Katsuki shoved his hands in his pocket, still stunned by the weight of her story. A silence unfolded between them and he realized she was uncomfortable, waiting for him to speak. Unable to think of anything constructive or nice to say without coming off condescending, he offered instead, “I nearly exploded my dick the first time I jerked off.”

Uraraka sprayed spit over the table as she burst out laughing. “R-really?”

 “The friction. I wasn’t thinkin’ at the time.”

“Did you have to go to the doctor?”

“Yeah, and I won’t ever forget that conversation with my parents. Or sitting in the back of the car holding a pack of frozen peas against my dick.” He grimaced. “The doctors tried to warn me about it when I was younger, in a roundabout way I guess, but it hadn’t clicked. Wish they’d told me outright what they’d meant, but quirks vary so much person to person how the fuck is anyone supposed to know what does what until it happens?”

“Or until it almost blows your dick off,” Uraraka said, giggling. “So that’s why you jerk off in the shower.”

“Shut up!”

“So nothin’ bad ever happened with your quirk? Other than that?”

“Other than blowin’ up furniture? Not really. Because it’s a HR quirk, I had to attend government classes on safety and responsibility as soon as it manifested, and I always instinctively knew it was dangerous so I…” He hesitated, struggling with the natural instinct to clamp down on his vulnerability – his weakness. “I’ve always been careful with my hands.”

She nodded sagely. “Me too. Not that I have a choice. Sometimes I miss, like, really holding stuff. Which sounds weird, but I can never have full hand-to-hand contact without a barrier. It’s like this physical disconnect, and it sounds so trivial, but sometimes I just wanna… wanna really grip something properly, ya know?

Something about the word ‘grip’ sent a delicious line of fire down his spine, and he coughed. “I guess.”

The server appeared and drizzled mayonnaise over their cooked okonomiyaki, and once they left, Katsuki broke the pancake in two with chopsticks and pushed half of it towards Uraraka. In between eating, she filled the silence with harmless chatter - that much hadn’t changed since school, he remembered, because her chattering always filled the background of even the dreariest of days - but it seemed less to fill the silence and more because she liked talking to him. At least, that’s how it seemed to Katsuki, and even though he normally hated small talk, he found himself listening. He couldn’t fathom a response beyond the occasional grunt, but she didn’t seem to care, and they ended up sitting at the booth for some time after they finished their meal until even he was volunteering conversation in a way that didn’t leave him nervously flushed under the collar.

He was getting comfortable around her, and that was… kinda weird.

Was this a real date? Or was it fake?

Did he want it to be real?

Fuck, he was getting confused.

“Hey, so I don’t want you to get the wrong idea,” she said suddenly, drawing his wandering attention, “but I have a crappy 3am shift later so I gotta get some sleep between then and now. Hope you don’t mind if I call it a night.”

“Sucks,” he said, then clarified, “That shift, I mean. So I understand.” Even though he couldn’t deny the fizzle of disappointment in his gut. Damn, there was no denying it now; he really did want to sleep with her, confusion notwithstanding. 

She stood up and smiled, like she knew what she was thinking, but whatever she was going to say next was interrupted by the staff. They nervously asked if they could autograph a menu for them to keep in the restaurant, and when Katsuki saw their signatures side by side (her swirly writing beside his chunky script in hilarious contrast), he felt again that low humming in the base of his chest - a sort of… satisfaction. 

He walked her as far as he could before they inevitably had to part ways, and as she turned to face him he felt again that uncertainty - that fucking confusion - and wasn’t sure how to end a date, even a fake one, without… well, sex. 

She leaned closer to him, almost standing on her tiptoes, her eyes shining with mischief. “They’re watching.”

“Who?”

“Paparazzi.”

And then she kissed him, and he was glad she made the first move because he probably would’ve chickened out like a big emotional mess. It was not particularly acceptable to kiss in public in Japan, but he didn’t give a fuck when she tasted so sweet and her tongue slid so naturally into his mouth. He carded his hand through her hair and lightly gripped the back of her neck, and the way she melted against him drove him wild. He kissed her like no one was watching while knowing that people were watching and taking photos, which kind of turned him on, honestly. She was soft and warm against him, her kiss just a fraction reserved; a tantalizing glimpse of what could be if they had more time, more privacy. 

She pulled away with a wet smack of her lips, smiling coyly and face flushed, and the space between them fizzled with tension and an unspoken reluctance to part ways.

“I can, um, see you Monday evening… if you want?” she asked.

“Fine,” he said hoarsely.

“‘Kay.” She stared at him, smiling. “You, uh, need to let go of me.”

Realizing his hand was still on the back of the neck, he stepped away and shoved his hands in his pockets with an embarrassed grunt, then turned on his heel. “Later.”

Gods, he felt like he was having an anxiety attack - heart racing, chest tight, hands clammy with sweat - except it felt good. Warm. Weird . He was pretty sure he was falling hard for her, and he didn’t know what the fuck to do about it.

In his fluster, he forgot to check whether there had been paparazzi watching at all.

Chapter Text

The trilling of Katsuki’s phone alarm woke him early Monday morning, except it wasn't his phone alarm - not quite - and it took his sleep-hazed brain more than a few attempts to process that someone was calling him.

Panic jerked him upright - had he overslept? Was Anya ringing him? - and lunged for his phone on the nightstand with the inelegance reserved for the half-asleep, knocking a glass of water off the side in the process. By some gift of the gods, it didn’t smash, but it sent Shichimi into a panicked flight off the bed and into the kitchen while he mashed ‘Accept Call’ without looking. 

“Fuck - shit! The fuck - hello?”

“Hey, hotshot!”

He scowled, thoroughly befuddled. “Uraraka?”

“Were you expecting someone else?”

“What? Who else… Why the fuck are you calling me?”

“I’m not allowed to call my boyfriend?”

Katsuki leaned against the pillows and scrubbed a hand over his face while the sleep-haze unpeeled layer by layer, leaving behind his usual pre-coffee grouchiness. “I told you to knock that shit off. What time is it?”

“5.30ish.”

“Why the fuck are you calling me at 5-fucking-30 AM?”

“I’m a morning person.”

“We both know that’s a lie. I have work in a few hours so make it quick. What do you want?”

She made a weird noise then, somewhere between a grunt and whine, yet it was… silkier, softer. Alluring . 

Katsuki stiffened. “Uraraka?”

“Mn, sorry, I’m doing my morning workout and I need some, uh… motivation .”

“...Okay?”

She made a little noise again, so quiet Katsuki might have missed it if he wasn’t suddenly very awake.

“Uraraka,” he said slowly, “what are you doing?”

She hummed. “Weights.”

“On the phone?”

“One handed.” Her breath hitched, and she sighed again. “Keep talking.”

Katsuki sank further into the pillows and closed his eyes, torn between arousal and disbelief. There was no way she was doing what he thought she was doing. No way . She had to be working out… right? 

“Bakugou-kun?”

She basically whined his name, sending a bolt of pleasure straight to his dick, and without thinking he snaked his hand under the waistband of his boxers and gripped his hardening length. “I’m here.”

“This rep - “ gasp, whimper - “is so hard… I just need that little… little push… to get to the end… y’know?”

The fuck ? He’d done a lot of kinky shit in his life but this - whatever the hell this was  - was something new entirely. “I dunno what you want me to say.”

“I just… un… just need some encouragement. These weights are so heavy .”

“You can handle it.” Katsuki pulled his cock out of his boxers, wary of the night sweat coating his palms. “I’ll bet you can handle anything.”

“You think I can keep up with one of your workouts?”

He snorted, eyes closed, and focused on her voice as he started to stroke himself. “I dunno. You want it fast or slow?”

“Slow,” she said breathlessly, and this time he was sure he could hear her moving. “Real slow, so I can adjust to your… level. And then you can do whatever you want. I can take it. I can keep up.”

“I know you can.” He swallowed thickly, trying hard to keep his voice steady as he quickened his pace as much as he dared. “What are you wearing?”

She giggled, a breathy sound that he felt all the way to his toes. “Workout gear… Your workout gear. The one from the campaign. Why d’ya wanna know?”

His breath rattled in his chest and a single spark chased down the outside of his dick like a warning shot. “Don’t want you wearin’ anything else while working out.”

“What are you doing?” she asked.

“Push ups.”

“Mnn.”

“One handed.”

She made a frustrated, needy noise. “Are you sweating?”

Weird question. “I’m always fuckin’ sweating.”

“I know… hah ... I like it.”

“Freak.” His voice cracked slightly, and when he cleared his throat it sounded embarrassingly like a grunt of pleasure. “Focus on your reps.”  

“How many reps… ha-have you done?”

His hand worked on automatic; the coil of pleasure in his gut was already tightening.  “Lost count. You?”

“Ngh… s-so many, I dunno…” She panted for a few seconds, and he imagined how that orange cross on her sports top would strain over her tits, how the booty shorts would cling to her sweat-slick ass. “Am I doin’ good?”

“Yeah…”

“Tell me I’m a good girl.”

His breath hitched in his throat as the heat from his palm sizzled against the precum leaking out the tip of his dick. “You’re so fucking good… so good…”

“Ah - Bakugou - I’m so close, so close to finishing please, I just need… Ngh, please.”

He hissed in a breath through his teeth. “Say my name again and I’ll let you finish.

“Mn, Bakugou-kun… Bakugou... aah…”

All hesitance vanished as her begging shunted him faster towards his end. “Fuck, Uraraka, you’re doin’ so good, keep going, show me what you're made of and I’ll push you harder, faster - I’ll fucking ruin you until you’re crying my name and so sore you won’t be able to walk for a fucking week - “

Uraraka’s pitched moan tangled with his name tipped him over the edge of his own orgasm, and he came seconds before he snatched his hand off his dick. A small explosion spontaneously crackled off his fingertips, not enough to detract from the delicious release unfolding in time with his twitching dick, but still annoying nonetheless.

He listened to Uraraka panting down the line as the otherworldly delirium of his orgasm receded. Eventually, there was only silence and a vague sense of awkwardness. 

Unable to think of anything else to say, he opted with, “Did you finish your reps?”

She burst out laughing, and he thought he heard the shuffling of sheets. “Yeah. Thanks. Like I said, I’m a morning person… you know? Well, an anytime person, really, but I have a lot of energy in the mornings.”

“Good time to work out,” he said.

“Did I hear an explosion?”

“No.”

“Mmmn, I’m pretty sure I did.”

“You imagined it.”

“Okay.” She made a noise like she was stretching her limbs. “I feel better now. Thanks. You should be like… a motivational speaker or something.” 

He looked down at the cum on his boxers, then tucked his dick away with a scowl. “Shut the fuck up.”

“I’m comin’ into your agency for a meeting later. Did Anya tell you?”

“She doesn’t tell me anything.”

“Are you excited to see me?”

“No.”

“Mean. Anyway, I’ll let you go. Guessing you need a shower after all those push-ups.”

“Fuck you,” he said, then hung up, and really really wished he could, in fact, fuck her.

“The fake dating was a bad idea.”

Two hours later, Katsuki was at Dr Yamada’s clinic for his Monday morning therapy session. Tokyo’s rush hour was fading but he could still hear traffic through the window; it was open just a crack, allowing an early summer breeze to rustle the vertical blinds.

Yamada watched him sedately from the chair opposite. “Why do you think that?”

“It’s confusing things between us.”

“In what way?”

“I don’t…” He hunted around for the words, frustrated. “I don’t know where she falls in my life, so I’d rather she not be in it at all.”

Yamada placed his pen onto the board. “You’re trying to compartmentalize your relationship with Uraraka. It overlaps into both your work and personal life so can’t be easily defined. Now you're coping with this stress by emotionally detaching yourself, the same as you did with Midoriya all those years ago, which we both know doesn’t work.”

“But I don’t want her to be part of both.”

“Why?”

“Because…” He thought about this for a moment. “I’m tired of everything being about work. I want the separation, I don’t give a fuck if I’m compartmentalizing or whatever.”

“That may be difficult considering your jobs.

“I know that.”

“If you terminated the contract and canceled any future work collaborations, you would consider asking her to be your girlfriend?”

“I dunno.”

“How would you describe your feelings towards Uraraka?”

“I don’t know!”

“Would you say your feelings for her are romantic?”

Anger poured swiftly out of him, hot and sharp and familiar, almost a relief in its clarity. “I don’t fucking know, alright!? I don’t give a fuck! I don’t fucking like her and I want her out of my life so I don’t need to think about her anymore! Are you fucking happy now? Is that what you wanted to hear? Well you got it! Got me fucking articulating emotion like a pathetic fuck! So fucking write that down and shove those notes up your ass for all I fucking care!”

Realizing he was leaning forward, hands white-knuckled on the edge of the couch, Katsuki slumped back and took a shaky breath. A brittle silence unrolled between them. Filled with sudden regret, Katsuki stared hard out the window, while Yamada, eternally unfazed, cocked his head and crossed his legs.

“Where did that outburst of anger come from?” he asked calmly. “Can you recognize its source?”

Katsuki swallowed another bubble of anger with some difficulty and closed his eyes. He knew where it came from. Fuck, so did Yamada. But the doctor was right: if he was going to progress in life, he needed to start acknowledging the feelings he worked hard to keep clamped down.

Slowly, he said, “I’m turning into my mom.”

Katsuki hated talking about his relationship with his mother more than anything in the world. He’d rather be in a time warp getting rescued by Deku from the sludge villain over and over and over if only it meant avoiding that subject. But his therapist insisted it was the primary reason he scorned physical contact and fell back on violence and anger as a coping mechanism, and so he was forced to confront it.

Unable to pinpoint any specific trauma that explained his abusive behavior cycles, Yamada chalked it up to emotional abandonment in his childhood. Dr Yamada had edged around the word abusive with caution because Katsuki was extremely prickly about his mother – seesawing between defending her and blaming her at the same time – but the word hung unspoken in the air between them like a ghost with a grudge.

He reckoned most of his anger was genetic, anyway – the whole of his mother’s side shared their quick temper – but maybe that was an easy way to shrug off poor parenting models and harmful cycles that nobody in the older generations bothered to break.  His mother was nice, sometimes, and she’d genuinely done what she thought was best for him, but the fact of the matter was: she hit him routinely. Always had done, for as long as he could remember. He often wondered if his grandparents had hit her too, but never bothered to ask.

Sometimes she’d express her love in a gentler manner, but it was too little too late; now he related any kind of physical touch to violence. Expressing himself through anger was a learned behaviour, one his father never bothered to correct because he was too much of a sap to stand up to his mom – or to him.

He started hitting her back at the age of about eight, and his only reprimand for that was more violence. He got into trouble a lot for it at school, but the system cared little about family issues, which were dealt with behind closed doors in Japan. U.A only taught him where to direct the violence rather than stemming it completely, aka. This person deserves to get hit, this person doesn’t.

As if it was ever that black and white. Because if that was the case, why had his mother hit him?

Combine all those fucked up issues with his dangerous quirk and that wary look people gave him when they saw the HRQ tick next to his name, and yeah. He was uncomfortable with being touched. Surprise, surprise. At best, he seized up or pushed the person away. At worst, he physically lashed out on reflex. Either way wasn’t healthy, but it was so fucking hard retraining his brain to relate physical touch to anything gentle, much less try to articulate to others the root of his violent behavior because – again; surprise, surprise – poor communication was kind of his thing.

He could fuck and he could fight. Everything in between was a minefield of unprocessed emotional neglect. But believe it or not, he was trying really fucking hard to break the toxic patterns she’d unwittingly taught him.

“In what ways do you think you're becoming your mother?” Yamada asked.

“I’m scared I’ll hurt her.”

"Uraraka?"

"Yes."

“In what way?”

Katsuki squirmed in the seat, eyes drawn to the window. “I’m scared I might hit her. Or if I have kids, I might hit them.” He’d never verbalized this fear to anyone.

“Have you thought about hitting her when she’s made you angry?”

“No!” Katsuki said fiercely. “Never! Not once. I would never…” He hesitated. “But I dunno how to be nice to her, either. And I think… what if she gets close to me and realizes I’m this big violent fuck up and can only express myself by hurting people? That’s what I was born for with a quirk like mine: hurting people.”

“That’s a cynical way of looking at it,” Yamada said, “and I don’t think you truly believe that, either. You’re protecting people who aren’t favored with a quirk to protect themselves. Using a quirk that could be used for wrongdoing for good.

“The fact you can reflect on your childhood through an objective, informed lens is a sign of positive change. You genuinely want to be better, which will provide a good wall if ever you feel yourself turning to reflexive violence.”

Katsuki ran his thumb over his knuckles. “I shouldn’t be dragging her into my shit.”

“You’re not as enigmatic as you think, Bakugou.” Yamada smiled wanly. “These insecurities stem from your fear of failure – of setting the bar ridiculously high only to live in fear of falling short. You’re afraid Uraraka might see you as a failure if you can’t live up to her expectations – or more truthfully, the expectations you set for yourself and project onto her.

“Uraraka is a smart woman. I’m sure she’s aware of these issues and where they stem from, if not the intricacies that fuel them. Clearly it doesn’t dissuade her from trying to connect with you.”

“She just doesn’t understand what a mess I am.”

Yamada crossed his legs. “First and foremost, you need to be kinder to yourself. I know you think you didn’t have a difficult childhood growing up rich and well educated, but you were also subjected to war, violence and kidnapping at a young age. Nearly died countless times before you turned eighteen. These aren’t normal experiences, and being thrown head first into hero work – more violence – meant you were never given the breathing space to process it, or to speak about it openly for fear of being perceived as weak.”

“So what the fuck am I supposed to do about it?”

“Don’t be angry about the healing process. You know these things take time. Just try to communicate your feelings to her to the best of your ability. I think she’ll understand more than what you credit her for.”

He was going to talk to her today. About everything. About that freaky phonecall - fuck it, the phone sex, might as well call it what it was - and about their strange courtship without appreciation for boundaries or professionalism. He’d already told her implicitly that he didn’t want to make things complicated, but he couldn’t blame her entirely despite her persistent flirting; he wanted her carnally and was likely falling for her emotionally too. He remembered vaguely her confession Saturday night, but she’d been drunk then; he wanted clear-cut answers to his clear-cut questions, and once they stripped back all the bullshit he could make a decision. 

Simple. 

Simple, until he found her waiting outside the elevator for him at the agency dressed in his hoodie. Immediately he felt a rush of arousal and smothered it with the only emotion he knew how to wield with ease.

"Oi, I fucking told you to give that back!"

She glanced up from her phone as he stalked towards her. "Hello to you too."

"You can't walk around wearing my clothes."

"Why not?"

"Because!" He wracked his brain for a reason before lamely settling on, "It's mine ."

Her look was unimpressed. "You’re spoiled."

"I'm not spoiled!" he spat, but the heat under his collar said otherwise. He had been spoiled as a kid and everyone knew it. "Whatever. Just give it back."

The elevator dinged, and she turned her nose up at him as she trotted inside. "Fine, but you know what? You're not very nice sometimes."

"Wow, shocker. What a character revelation. Any other zingers you wanna sling my way before we clock on, or are you just flexing an online psychology degree?"

He followed her inside, hit the button for the right floor, then stood opposite her as the door slid closed. She pulled out her phone again and ignored him, her mouth set in an unhappy line. 

They stood in awkward silence a few seconds longer before he blew a sharp breath through his nose, recalling what his therapist had told him barely fifteen minutes beforehand. 

Fuck.

"Look," he said, "I had a rough morning so I'm in a… a shit mood, okay?"

"Hm."

"Keep the hoodie."

"Don't want it."

"Round Face, don't be like that."

"Like what?"

Huffing, he grabbed her wrist and yanked her awkwardly against him in a weird half-hug. 

"Sorry," he mumbled.

She tilted her head, catching his gaze with her big brown eyes. “For being such a hothead?”

“Yeah.”

Her expression softened. “Sorry you had a bad morning. I can try to make it better, if you like?”

His eyes were glued to her lips, all thoughts of their imminent conversation forgotten. She smelt good, like that tacky sparkly body wash. "Oh yeah?"

"I gotta get changed."

"Hn."

She took a step back and drew his gaze downwards as she slowly unzipped the hoodie. The zipper swooped lower - and lower - and suddenly the top of her lacy bra peaked through the crack in the parting fabric.

Of course she wasn’t wearing clothes underneath.

He grabbed her hand to stop its descent. "What the fuck are you doing!? We're in a fucking elevator!"

"Oh, you're right," she said, then slammed the emergency Stop button. "Don't want people getting on."

His gaze darted rapidly between the stop sign and her hand still tugging the zipper. "Oi, the fuck do you think you’re doing!? You can't just-"

"Oh, don't be so prude. I'm just getting changed. What's wrong with that?"

"Get changed in a bathroom like a normal person, dumbass!"

"Hm, I could do…" The zipper pinged apart at the bottom, and the hoodie fell open. "But then I wouldn't have such an enrapt audience."

He was growing hot under the collar already, blood pounding in his ears. "I'm not."

"No?" She lifted a brow, then let the hoodie slip off her shoulders and crumple to the floor.

Katsuki swallowed. Her bra was made entirely of black lace, no padding, wires or cups, and the intricate swirls did little to hide the rosy flush of her nipples. The straps were cinnamon red and dug alluring into her flesh, suggesting she was softer than even the delicate lace straining over her breasts.

He wanted to tell her to cover up, because despite being stuck between floors, one side of the elevator was glass and overlooked the city, but all he could do was gawp open-mouthed at her tits like a damn teenager.

Keeping her eyes glued on him, Uraraka stepped out of her heels, unbuttoned her jeans, unzipped the fly, then pushed them slowly down her thighs. He tracked their descent until she stepped out of them, then his attention latched helplessly onto the matching panties, a scandalously tiny triangle of lace that provided glimpses of the pale flesh underneath. A green suspender belt wrapped around her little waist and from that dangled two clips that attached to sheer, black stockings.

He could feel the heat radiating off her, like the lure of an open flame against the chill night. It was shock alone that kept him frozen, and perhaps fear that if he moved even an inch he'd lose control and fuck her right there on the elevator floor, likely losing his job in the process.

"Fuck," he breathed, barely able to hear himself over the thunder in his ears. The thin material of his black suit pants did nothing to hide his boner.

"Sorry about that," she said, flicking her gaze to his erection, "but we’re gonna be late if we don't hurry. I don't wanna get a reputation for being unreliable. You know?"

He leaned against the wall and watched through hooded eyes as she pulled a neatly folded suit out of her bag and began to dress. She slid a skirt over her ass and zipped it all the way to the waist, then buttoned up a baby pink blouse until only her pert nipples straining against the silk reminded him of what was underneath. Lastly, she held out a soft grey jacket for him to take. With numb fingers he held it open for her, and she slowly slipped her arms into the sleeves.

Before she pulled away, he grabbed her hips and pulled her against him so she could clearly feel his boner pressed against her ass. She gasped, tipping her head sideways, and he pressed his lips against her neck.

"We need to talk," he murmured. "Later."

"About what?"

"Nothing bad," he said.

She hummed, then wriggled out of his grip. "'Kay. Better get this thing moving again."

While he hit the stop sign a second time to kick start the elevator, she picked up the hoodie and pressed it against his side. "Here. I only wore it today to give it back to you."

He glanced down at it, still hopelessly aroused. "Keep it. I got loads."

"Oh my god, you are sucha drama queen. What happened to ‘it’s mine’?"

"Can it, Round Face." He tsked and ran a hand through his hair as the doors slid open. “Fucking tease.”

They walked together to the conference room, where his team, Anya and a few members of Uraraka's team were waiting. He’d worried about his ability to focus after what happened in the elevator, but the moment Anya snapped, ‘You're three minutes late, Bakugou”, his dick practically shriveled into his body.

“I’m here now, ain’t I? This better be important, I have a shit ton of paperwork that needs doing today.”

“Quit acting like you’re the only one with work to do,” Anya said (much to the amusement of Uraraka's team) before she turned to Uraraka. “Welcome back, Uravity-san. I hear you’ve been working all morning so please help yourself to snacks.”

“Snacks!” Uraraka chimed before claiming a whole plate of chocolate Oreos and sitting in the chair next to Katsuki’s. “Thanks! And thank you again for letting me borrow some of Bakugou-kun’s old gauntlets.”

He jerked upright in his seat. “What!?”

“For a photoshoot,” Anya clarified, and before he could start venting she added, “The old models. The ones you don’t use anymore and are not full of explosive sweat.”

“You could’ve fucking asked,” he said. “They’re priceless.” And sentimental.

“You keep them in a box in the engineering room, Bakugou, and you didn’t even know they were missing. They'll be delivered back here later this afternoon.”

“They better be.” He pinged a look at Uraraka. “What did you want them for?”

“A photoshoot for Marie Claire magazine. I got to dress up as you, which was fun.”

“Weird,” he remarked, but the very slight twitch to his dick begged to differ. She probably looked hot. “When’s it comin’ out?”

“Next week, right before the Billboard polls. I’ll sign a copy for you and frame it above your bed.”

He pulled a face and she stuck her tongue out at him.

“Settle down, kids,” Anya said. “We've got a lot to get through today and not much time." Here she shot a none too discreet warning look at Katsuki, which he ignored. "We need to go over brand deals and merchandising, promotion and profit divide. We've secured the deal with Rolex, but there are various magazines bidding for an exclusive first interview with the pair of you - that includes you, Bakugou - and Bandai Namco have requested a limited run of figurines which need detailed photographs of you both in your hero costumes. Scheduling is important, which is why I thought it best we're all here to discuss the details."

Katsuki doubted normal celebrity couples had to go through this. Who wanted to market their damn relationship? It made their blooming connection feel transactional, a means to expand their brands with a partnership, reshaping their images, but nothing more. Which had been the point, but now it felt so… muddied. Did she feel this way? Or was all this part of the Big Plan and their sexual attraction was just a bonus? Benefits with benefits, so to speak. 

He supposed he should have been paying more attention to the meeting, but it was becoming more and more like a circus where he was a performer directed by various ringleaders; all he could do was sit back and let it play out.

 As the teams went back and forth between contract deals and schedules, Katsuki glanced sideways at Uraraka, wondering if she was paying more attention than he was. But no. She was basically making out with the cookies. Katsuki watched in absolute disgust as she pulled an oreo in half, licked off the cream, then put both untouched sides on the table before reaching for another. 

She caught him watching mid-lick, and innocently lowered the cookie.

“What?” she whispered.

“What do you mean, ‘what?’” he whispered back. “That’s fucking disgusting.”

“Um, excuse me, the cream’s the best bit! It tastes better this way. Trust me, I’m a cookie connoisseur.”

“You’re a freak.”

 “You’re not wrong.” She grinned at him, then pulled her tongue – slowly, ponderously – along the creamy underside of the cookie while making eye contact with him.

He blinked, clenching his jaw, then hurriedly looked away. Gods, did she even know what she was doing? They were in the middle of a fucking meeting! Why was she so fucking horny all the time?

"Hello!? Bakugou, I'm talking to you!"

Katsuki jerked his gaze to Anya and cleared his throat. "What?"

"How do you feel about the figurine wearing the collab gear instead of your hero suit?"

"That'd be weird," he said.

Uraraka frowned. "Eeh!? I think it would look cool! People see you in your hero suit all the time; I'm sure they'd embrace something different. This would be great for a limited edition collection."

"Fine, whatever. But it should at least have my support gear and mask, and Uraraka should have her helmet and boots. Makes it identifiable."

The teams noted down their ideas, looking pleased, then turned to discussing release dates for the figurines and potential meet and greets at stores on their launch. Uninterested, Katsuki grabbed a cookie and shoved it in his mouth, and was halfway through crunching it to bits when Uraraka snorted with laughter.

“What?” he snapped.

 “You just ate the one I licked the cream off of.”

He recoiled in disgust and at the sight of his mortified expression she fell into a fit of giggles.

Well, fine, two could play that game.

Instead of succumbing to the natural urge to spit it out, he held her gaze and chewed it slowly, taking his time, then swallowed and smirked at her.

Her giggling petered off and a blush crept over her cheeks. Eventually she said, “ You’re the freak.”

He licked his lips and smirked wider. He’d never liked Oreos anyway.

Uraraka was swept away by her team after the meeting so he couldn't get her alone to say goodbye, nor would Anya let him try; she basically hauled him by the collar into his office for a debrief, not sparing a minute of her precious time to let him grab a coffee first.

"I've sent you the key points of the meeting," she told him while tapping out an email on her phone, "as you were too busy making eyes at your girlfriend to listen properly."

"I wasn't making eyes at her!" he snapped. "And I’m more than fucking capable of doing two things at once!"

"Sooo… you were making eyes at her?"

"Have you got something to say or can I do my fucking work?"

Anya tucked her phone into the inside pocket of her jacket. "Polls are in two weeks, and I don't want to jinx anything, but it's looking promising."

Katsuki beat back a flutter of nervous excitement. "Okay?"

"You've got Creati-san to thank for another boost in the popularity polls. Anything that woman breathes on turns to gold, I swear. But also you two being seen in public has helped. Good job on that, by the way. It's almost like you're a normal person under the gremlin suit."

"Very funny."

"We've got to push hard over this next week before the billboard voting starts, but not so hard that it comes off as unnatural. Which is why I've arranged for you to do a magazine interview."

Katsuki threw back his head and groaned.

"I know, I know - you don't do interviews, but this one’s different. Frankly, I don't trust you to verbalize anything nice about Uraraka, so I said you'll submit your answers in a written format. Is that tolerable?"

Katsuki picked a thread from his pants. "I guess…"

"Which means you have no excuse for being an asshole, and you'll submit your answers to me first for review before I send them to the magazine. If I don't like what I read, I'll make you redo it over and over again until you pass as an emotionally functional human being."

"Do I have to have my photo taken?"

"Yes, Bakugou, you do."

"With Uraraka?"

"Unfortunately, no, but they'll be opportunity enough for that later."

Already losing interest (and choosing to ignore the dread of having to do anything related to promo) he flicked on his monitor and braced himself for reports. "When is it?"

"Tomorrow."

He almost blasted his keyboard. "WHAT!? For fuck’s sake, why don’t you ever give me more than a day's notice for anything-"

"You know why. I've sent the questions to you. Get them done tonight, then the photoshoot is early tomorrow before you're due to go on duty. I'll have admin pick up your paperwork so you don’t need to work overtime to get it done."

Katsuki slumped into his seat. "Sucks."

"Uraraka has done two photoshoots today already and has to go on duty later, so stop feeling sorry for yourself. Not like you have any plans."

"I'm seein' Round Face, actually."

She frowned. "Later?"

"Yes, later. Why?"

Anya lifted a brow. "I didn’t schedule that."

Katsuki cleared his throat and fixed his gaze on the monitor. "Yeah, well, you don't know everything, robot-freak." He glanced up when she remained silent. "What are you fucking smiling about?"

She stood up and smoothed down her skirt. "Oh, nothing. I can't hold your hand at the shoot tomorrow so you'll have to wear your big boy pants and go by yourself. Be nice and don't swear at the photographer, alright?"

“No promises.”

Chapter Text

Katsuki was not in the mood to do the stupid interview by the time he collapsed onto his couch next to Shichimi at 7.46pm, but Anya had already warned him three times to get it done off the back of various creative punishments, leaving him with little choice but to suck it up. Thank the gods it was in written format so he could actually think about his answers before he opened his stupid mouth.

With his dinner of spicy fried chicken balanced on one knee and his laptop on the other, Katsuki skim read the questions and found they were mostly nondescript, brushing over his recent hero work before asking when and how he and Uraraka had met, how they’d reconnected – didn’t people already know this shit? – with a few trickier ones tacked on the end.

 Fine. He could knock this out in fifteen before Uraraka arrived. No problem.

He blitzed through the first questions with ease while picking at his chicken, then set the plate aside so he could concentrate on the last. The ones that required connecting with his… feelings . Something he was not good at and had been avoiding altogether when it came to Uraraka. 

The fact of the matter was, he didn’t want to have feelings for Uraraka. Feelings made everything complicated and incited change; he would've happily coasted along in his boxed off, emotionally void state of singularity if she hadn’t wormed her way into his life like a damn parasite.

Okay, that wasn’t entirely true. He hadn’t been happy. And while any change was intimidating - especially emotional change - he welcomed the distraction from work. She’d shaken up his routine in a good way, splashed color on his monotone lifestyle, and she seemed to enjoy his company too, so that was… something.

He turned his wandering attention to the first on his list of Difficult Questions.

The news of you dating has drawn worldwide attention. How does being in the public eye affect your relationship?

He wanted to write ‘I don’t give a fuck what people think’ because that was the truth, but Anya would castrate him if he wrote that, so he flowered it up to her standard of melodrama.

We share a mutual understanding and respect for each other that transcends public opinion. Only her opinion matters to me, and if people don’t like us together, they can shove it. 

As someone with countless fans worldwide, what is it about Uravity that swayed you to leave behind your bachelor lifestyle?

Begrudgingly, he turned his thoughts inward again. 

He liked Uraraka a lot, he’d just never considered her that way before - never had the time or opportunity - and now she’d grown from that headstrong but sensitive kid in school into someone confident and strong and gorgeous. And he thought about her all time and wanted to be around her all the time, which was weird and new and made him feel sixteen again, fumbling with feelings that flared out of him in explosive bursts, no different from his quirk.

But if he could control explosions strong enough to level cities, he could fucking deal with his stupid-ass emotion. It wasn’t that hard, and he wasn’t sixteen anymore.

He wrote:

She’s selfless and strong and honest – stuff the world knows about her already – but she’s patient with me, too; she doesn’t want to change me but isn’t afraid to speak her mind. I don’t know what I can offer that can match her perseverance and understanding, but in our short period of time together, she’s changed my life for the better.

You’re both extremely busy – how do you find time for intimacy?

We don’t, he thought with no small amount of frustration, but wrote: 

It’s tough adjusting your priorities, but she’s my priority now, so everything else needs to wait its turn.

When did your feelings for Uravity turn from platonic to romantic? Was there a specific lightbulb moment, or did it grow organically?

A thousand instances flashed through Katsuki’s mind, dating as far back as the Sport’s Festival. The Shibuya Billboard had sparked a carnal desire, but that hadn’t been hard to ignite considering she was objectively hot.

Maybe it had been when she’d floored him for the fifth time in a row during their sparring session and stood triumphantly over him, grinning and flushed and sweating, before offering her hand and hauling him up. Or maybe it had been eating pizza in the light of the single street lamp outside the OFA Gala, entirely at ease in each other’s company.

 Maybe there wasn’t any specific point. After all, it was hard to be self aware of blossoming emotion when he so ruthlessly crushed them under denial and rage. Yet somehow she’d grown naturally through the vacant cracks in his soul he hadn’t previously known needed filling. More and more, he was feeling less hollow. Less mechanical. More… alive .

But he couldn’t write that down.

I’ve always liked Uraraka, it just needed the right time and place to turn into what we have now.

Where do you see yourself and Uravity five years from now?

He hesitated for a second over the keyboard, stung by the idea of a future without her when he’d barely spared her a thought mere weeks ago.

I don’t know. No one can know that. I hope she’ll still be with me. I wish I could write about my feelings for her, but I can’t, so she’ll do what she’s always done: read me and understand how I’m feeling and my inability to articulate it.

He was physically shaking when he forwarded his answers to Anya. The chicken had gone cold on the plate, half-eaten; he felt almost sick from his written confession, so many new  and terrifying emotions boiling under his skin. When the fuck had a simple business arrangement turned into this ? It was too much. He was too clumsy to hold such a fragile thing in the palm of his hand; he was made for violence and destruction, not nurturing, not kindness, not… not this . He’d fuck it up, for sure, and end up hurting her in the process. Because it wasn’t just his emotion he was holding; it was hers, too.

Couldn’t she see that?

He rammed his palms against his eyes with a frustrated groan. 

Stupid. This was a stupid idea.

“Tough assignment?”

Blinking stars out of his vision, Katsuki glanced sideways and found Uraraka leaning against his bedroom door frame. She was dressed in her hero suit, and her expression was both wry and affectionate. 

“Sorta,” he said, pushing the laptop across the coffee table before tossing his reading glasses next to them. “You need to start using the door like a normal person.”

“Every window’s a door when you can fly,” she remarked blithely. “Besides, you always leave it unlocked for me.”

He did. Not just because he liked having her around, but because he didn’t like the thought of her having nowhere to go or returning to her empty, quiet apartment like he did every night. He wanted her to know she always had a place here and she could depend on him for that, at the very least.

She cocked her head, still watching him from the shadowy doorway with her hero boots tucked under her arm. “You okay?”

“Y...yeah…” 

He wanted to say it. Out loud. But he couldn’t, and his ineptitude made him furious. 

She sighed, then forcibly brightened and hopped towards him. “Wanna see what your mom gave me today?”

“No.”

But she was already unzipping her hero suit, drawing his gaze down first to her cheeky grin, then to the fabric parting over her breasts. The dusky orange snagged his attention first, and by the time she’d wriggled out of her suit he already knew what he was getting into.

“Ta-dah!” she exclaimed, arms akimbo and twirling in place. “It’s the new sample for next season’s line! Whaddya think?”

His dick was telling him exactly what to think, even though that didn’t quite translate into words. 

The design was for the colder months so mimicked his winter hero suit. Sitting over her upper chest was a high necked, long sleeved piece, and beneath that was a black sports bra with orange straps that crossed over her waistline. The shorts were black with a slice of green down the front, scandalously tiny and tight over her thighs. 

“Shouldn’t they cover the legs,” he said thickly, “if it’s for the winter?”

Uraraka blinked at him, then turned around to show off her ass. “D’ya think? Well, they came with separate leggings but I was wearin’ my suit so I thought I’d take ‘em off.” She stared at him coyly over her shoulder. “Want me to put them on to show you?”

“No,” he said. “I’m gonna take a shower.”

She blinked. “Wha -”

“There’s chicken and rice in the kitchen,” he said, then stormed into the bathroom and slammed the door. He thought he heard her muttering crossly but wasn’t sure because he was stripping and turning the shower to a near-scalding setting.

He was mad. At her. At himself. At everyone.

She was just as bad at communicating as him. They needed to talk - seriously, talk - about what the fuck they were and what was going on but then she turned up at his apartment wearing that, knowing full fucking well it would reduce him to an unintelligible mess. She probably thought it was funny and would undoubtedly tease him for jumping straight in the shower the moment he clapped eyes on her. He was a highly-strung emotional disaster and she knew that. 

Having roughly scrubbed himself down, he jumped out of the shower and pulled on his joggers in a rage, determined to  talk at her whether she liked it or not. She’d listen or leave, and no amount of black and orange lycra would deter him. They were settling this, here and now.

He burst out of the bathroom still wet and raging, and opened his mouth to yell at her to sit down and shut up, only to find already sitting very quietly on the couch. She was a curious mirror of himself just fifteen minutes earlier, a plate of chicken on one knee and his laptop open on the table, staring at the screen he’d left open.

Open on the interview.

If icy horror hadn’t shot down his spine and kept him grounded, he might have exploded through the ceiling and kept fucking going until he hit orbit.

She turned slowly to face him, eyes watery and mouth a wobbly line.

"Ba...Bakugou-kun… is this… is this f-fake?"

Katsuki's blood thundered in his ears. His heart pounded so hard it hurt. He was buzzing, on fire, caught somewhere between hysteria and euphoria. When he tried to speak, he found his mouth dry.

Tell her.

"It's not."

Uraraka got up and moved towards him as though dragging herself through viscous mud; the tension was so thick he could barely breathe.

"What you said… Is it real?" Her eyes glittered with emotion, too complex to read. "Is that how you feel about me?"

He yanked his gaze from hers, pinning it on the floor. "I don't know…"

She was very close to him now, her hand raised in the gorge between them, one so vast and inscrutable yet one he could easily close if he found the courage.

"Bakugou-kun," she said, "tell me how you feel. I want to hear it. From you."

His gaze lifted to the ceiling. Anywhere but her. "If I said it was true… what then?"

Her hand broached the gap, trailing up his chest to his collarbone. "If it was true, then I'd tell you I feel… I feel the same. And that I've had a big stupid crush on you for a long time."

He snorted.

"And then I'd ask why you're holding back."

Finally he lowered his gaze to meet hers, and it took everything in him not to lash out or turn away - to fall back onto shitty behavior patterns to hide his vulnerability - and forge spikes around his deepest, intimate emotions, driving everyone away. Driving her away.

Her look was very open, very quiet. Patient. Demanding nothing of him despite her question. And somehow that hurt. She would probably tolerate all kinds of abuse just because it was him, because that's all he gave. Because his anger fucking defined him.

"I'm not good with… with this," he told her.

"This?"

"Feelings."

She ghosted her hand a little higher, the back of her fingers resting against the side of his neck. "Bakugou-kun, you don't have to put it into words for me to understand. But I… I want to know how you feel. Even if you just show me." She stood on her tiptoes and pressed her lips lightly against the corner of his mouth. "I want you to show me so bad." She caught his bottom lip between hers and his eyes slid half closed. "But only if you want me. I want you to want me. I guess I'm… greedy like that, huh?" 

He opened his mouth for her but she held back, her breath feathering his jaw. 

"You deserve someone better," he whispered. 

She scoffed, then placed both her hands on his cheeks and met his eyes with a dusky but petulant look. "Really? Because I kinda thought you were the best?" She licked her lips, distracted for a moment by his mouth, then tilted her head. "Was I wrong?"

His hands moved up her back and into her hair with a will of their own. "No.” 

"It's okay if you can't say it," she murmured. "I understand. So just show me instead. Show me until you find the words." She shifted her hips against him. "Can you do that? Can you show me how you're feeling?"

Longing pounded through him in a wave so fierce he thought he might explode and take the building with him. He clenched his fist, pulling her hair taut. Her head snapped back and her mouth fell open under half-lidded eyes. She bunched the fabric of his shirt, her chest heaving, cheeks turning pink; everything about her screamed desire and perfection in a way that suddenly made the room swim with vertigo. 

But as usual, he couldn't quite articulate those delicate emotions and said,

"I’m gonna fuck you senseless."

He kissed her and they fell in a tangle of limbs, possessed with passion, burning and furious, a kind he could only liken to battle. His elbows cracked on the hardwood floor and she yelped into his open mouth, but he didn’t care. One hand tangled in her hair while he ravaged her mouth, smothering her every time she tried to gasp for air between his hot, wet kisses. It was frightening letting the emotion consume him when he'd worked so hard to stomp it down; it was so wild, so fierce, a force that rushed through him as he crushed her against the floor and kissed her hard enough to draw blood. She eventually submitted, trembling on the floor beneath him; he broke the kiss only to sink his teeth into her neck, her jaw, her pulse - anywhere he could reach - while she gasped and squirmed and raked her fingers through his hair and down his neck. 

Likewise, his hands worked feverishly over her body, grabbing fistfuls of her tits, bunching lycra between his fingers. She gasped when he rolled her pebbled nipple between his knuckles, breaking their kiss, and he stole the opportunity to swoop lower and suck her nipple through the lycra. It tasted and smelled like plastic, but the hint of barely smothered body wash and arousal was enough to get him feverishly hard. Besides, it was worth it; she looked insanely hot in his gear. 

He worked further down her body then leaned back to appraise the orange straps digging into her waist, forcing the flesh between the elastic in bite-sized chunks. Sliding his fingers under one strap, he pulled it taut then let it ping back with a satisfying snap. Uraraka yelped, then cooed and slid her hands under the sports bra in an attempt to take it off. 

He grabbed her wrist and leaned closer, a smirk inching across his face. "Did I say you could take that off?"

She pouted. "But-"

"You can take it off when I tell you to take it off," he said, and snapped the elastic again hard enough to leave a bright red slash across her pale skin. "Which wont be anytime soon... because I'm gonna fuck you in it."

She frowned, confused, but then he dived between her legs and pinned her thighs open. Meeting her gaze, he snared the lycra between his teeth then peeled it away from her wet core. Her mouth formed a little 'o' as he smirked, then he let it snap back against her sensitive folds. 

She almost bucked out his grip. "A-ah! Bakugou, that - ngh- "

Her protest was cut off when he dragged his tongue over the lycra covering her slit, and her expression contorted into one of impatient lust. He could feel the heat radiating off her, taste the wetness that had soaked through the gym gear. It must've been a lot considering the material was meant to absorb moisture. 

He snorted. "Horny slut.”

She squirmed and bit her lip, wilting under his words.

"Like that?" he asked, grinning.

"Nnn…"

He lazily ran his thumb up and down her center while she propped herself on her elbows to watch. When he pressed his thumb against her clit, her toes curled against the floor and she whimpered.

His grin grew wider. "Something wrong?" 

"Puh-please take it off..."

He nipped her labia through the fabric, still sneering - "Don't think so" - then sat upright, grabbed the garment either side of the center seam and wrenched it apart; the shorts tore open up to the waistband, revealing her sex fully for her the first time. 

Of course she was perfect, silky and glistening in the low light of the lamp. He growled and sank back to the floor.

"Bakugou," she whined, squirming under him with her thighs still pliantly open. "That was the sample!"

He got comfortable between her legs, hot breath trailing her open core. "So?"

"How am I gonna explain a rip there ? To your mother ?"

"Not my problem," he mumbled, then shut her up by sliding his tongue from her ass to her clit.

She fell back onto the floor with a moan that was nothing short of pornographic. He liked that noise a lot, he decided, better than he liked her sweaty grunts during their sparring. He wanted to hear more. A lot more.

So he dug in, and he did it with enthusiasm . 

She practically levitated off the floor under his ministrations; he had to grip her hips to keep them from bucking into face while he alternated from running the flat of his tongue over her whole sex to flicking it against her clit to pulsing it into her entrance and slurping up her arousal until she was sobbing and taut as a rubber band - very close, and he'd been working her less than a minute. 

Horny little shit. 

Not that he was one to talk.

"Please, oh, please, yes , yes right there - ah!"

He let go of her legs and she immediately hooked them over his shoulders and thrust her hips into his face. When he pushed two fingers in her entrance her thighs tensed either side of his head, her fingers tangled in his hair, and for a moment all he could hear was the squelching of his fingers and her wailing.

Four deep thrusts and wetly lapping her clit was enough to undo her, and she collapsed underneath him, whimpering and breathless in the throes of her orgasm.

He couldn't keep the smirk off his face as he sat back on his knees to watch her comedown; her head lolled to the side, panting and limp against the floor while he wiped his mouth with the back of one hand and continued to finger her slowly with the other, easing her through the orgasm and keeping her stretched. Watching his fingers disappear into her tiny entrance had his body pounding with visceral desire; usually he’d need his partner to suck him hard before he fucked them, but he was so turned on and pent up he reckoned he’d blow his load if she so much as breathed on him right now. 

She was drawn from her stupor when he removed his fingers and kicked out of his joggers; her eyes - already glassy - turned molten as she eyed his thick, solid length. She bit her lip, legs still wide open for him, then he lowered himself on top of her so his cock was pressed between her folds.   Her arousal slicked him as he ground slowly against her, stimulating her swollen clit again.

“Please,” she mewled against his mouth, “I can’t wait a-anymore… I need you… inside me…”

"Mnn." He sucked on her neck, enjoying her frustration, until she bucked her hips and nearly impaled herself on him. "Tch. Impatient."

"Yes," she said shakily. "I am."

He propped himself on one elbow to watch her while he guided himself to her entrance and pressed the tip against her heat. It made him dizzy with want, his heart kicking violently in his chest, lungs on fire. 

"Look at me," he demanded.

Her hazy eyes met his as she rocked her hips upwards, panting and desperate. "Please."

He smirked, dragging his tip along her core. "Didn't catch that."

"Puh-please, please , oh, please, Bakugou, I c-can't, I can't stand it, please -" 

Still smirking, he watched her very intently as he pushed into her for the first time. There was some initial resistance until his head broke through her entrance with a satisfying pop, and Urarak's expression went slack as he pushed deeper into her wet core.

"Nnnngh… ah… Ba...ah!"

He eased into her to the hilt with a growl that he felt all the way to his bones. She gasped and scrambled for purchase against the back of his neck, eyes slammed shut against the intrusion.

He tsked. "Thought I told you to keep your eyes open."

"Nngh...I… can't, please…too much, I -"

He pulled out and pushed back in again, slowly, letting her adjust, and whatever she was going to say fell apart into mindless groans and broken vowels. She arched her back. Her nipples strained against the lycra. Sweat beaded her creased brow and trickled down her neck. He slid in and out, in and out, easily stretching her slick walls while entranced by her euphoric expression and igneous core. 

"Please," she gasped. "More, I need…more..."

He dropped his head into the crook of her neck, slid one hand under her hip to lift her up to meet him, then picked a faster pace. The way she sucked him in made his vision swim so suddenly he had to clamp his eyes shut. 

"Fuuuck."

She trilled in his ear in time with his measured thrusts, raking her nails down his back. Pleasure whipped through his veins like shrapnel, amplified by the mild pain from her scratching while she met his thrusts with her own and clung to him with her legs wrapped around his waist. It was good, but it wasn’t enough. He was hungry for more .

Instinctively he hauled her legs over his shoulders before sinking into her so deep he was sure he was bruising her cervix. She cried out, practically bent in half underneath him, but he leaned forward and smothered it with a sloppy kiss. Which was weird because he never kissed during sex, but it felt different with her. Intimate. Consuming. 

He wanted to fucking eat her.

She wailed when he thrust into her at a rapid tempo, stretched to her limit and in a position that was entirely at his mercy. The lycra squeaked and their limbs knocked against the sweat-splattered floor, the only sound besides the wet slapping of his balls against her pussy as he pistoned into her again and again.  He gauged her reaction  through half closed eyes, enraptured by her swollen lips and flushed face and his name written across the bands of his gym gear.

"You're mine,” he growled. “You're fucking mine ."

He didn't realize he'd said it out loud until her eyes cracked open and fixed him with a look so sultry he nearly shot his load there and then.

"Don't be...g-gentle with me…B-Bakugou-kun. I couldn't stand it. Not from you. Please…"

He swallowed thickly, wondering how much longer he could last. She was clenched so tight around his dick that every wet thrust shot pleasure though him like a firework, hinting towards his explosive end.

Slowing his tempo, he knelt upright, hooked her legs over his arms, and lifted her lower half off the floor while keeping her impaled on his dick. Her writhing body tightly bound within the torn lycra reduced his thoughts to carnal slush; this position gave him the perfect view of her pussy stretched around his thick length, embedded up to his balls. 

He growled, then began to pull her slowly on and off his cock like she was his personal sheath. 

“Harder,” she begged. "Please I want it harder, please, I want you to break me…"

Holding her still so he could drive it home with force, he drew back then snapped his hips forward, and one look at Uraraka's totaled expression when he speared her with another powerful thrust sent him over the edge of control.

Tears sprung to the corners of Uraraka’s eyes as he rammed into her with reckless abandon, his fingers digging hard into her lycra-clad hips as he yanked her on and off his dick. She clawed the wooden floor and wailed, hair fanned around her head, tits bouncing in time with every savage thrust, so close to her end. 

"That's it," he gasped out between pants. "Cum on my cock, you needy little slut."

And she did, almost lifting off the floor while sobbing his name loud enough to echo around the apartment. 

Everything flew apart as her pulsating walls flung him straight into his own orgasm like a punch to the gut; he pulled out of her with only seconds to spare and shot cum over the orange cross of his sample merch like it was a fucking bullseye.

"God, fuck… fuck… "

She was so light he managed to hold her up with one hand so he could stroke out the last of his orgasm, mindful of his sweat and hiccupping around broken grunts as his hero name written across the bands was blotted out by globules of cum. 

As his breathing leveled out and the aftershock of his orgasm began to recede, he realized there was something slightly off with Uraraka's ass clenched in his hand. He dragged his gaze away from her dripping, swollen pussy framed between torn lycra, and found her floating a few inches off the floor. Her eyes were closed and her expression was  a mask of slack-jawed bliss.

"Oi," he said. "You're floating."

She hummed, either unaware or unbothered. Maybe both. 

"Uraraka."

No response.

"Tch. Idiot."

Still naked, he swept her clumsily into his arms and carried her weightless form into the bedroom. It was very dark and very quiet, or maybe that was the aftermath of getting laid. Contentment made everything quieter, he supposed. 

When he tucked her under the covers she levitated like a ghost in a cheesy horror movie, and he snorted with amusement. 

"Oi, release your quirk or you'll be sleeping on the ceiling."

"Nnnm," she said, then sleepily pressed her fingers together and dropped harmlessly to the mattress. Her eyes cracked open, a smile teasing her lips, then she snuggled deeper into the covers and said around a yawn, "I need my sleep mittens."

"What?"

"Sleepy mittens."

"Wha… oh." He looked around the room then grabbed his hero gloves off the dresser. "Here."

She blinked at them for a second before recognition dawned and her expression turned wry. "You and your clothing kink."

"That's all I could find!" he yelled, climbing into bed next to her. "Don't wear 'em if it bothers you."

She wriggled against him under the covers and sighed against his bicep. "Wearing your sweaty gloves doesn’t bother me in the slightest when your cum is drying in my belly button."

"Gross."

"I like it."

"Freak."

" You're the freak." She rested her hand against his chest  and sighed. "But you're my freak now."

He scoffed, and stared at the ceiling. Was he? Well, he didn't intend to share her anytime soon, so maybe that did make him hers. And her his. 

Belatedly, he remembered Yamada’s advice on clear communication.

"Oi."

"Mn?"

He hesitated. "I want you to be my girlfriend."

"I already am."

"I mean my… my real girlfriend. Not that fake bullshit."

She shifted in the dark, lycra sliding against his hip. A knot of unease grew in her silence.

"Well?" he pressed.

"Oh, Bakugou. Do you really need to ask?"

"I don't -"

"I'm yours."

He swallowed, heart pounding, feeling all kinds of weird emotion squirming in his chest. A mixture of trepidation and relief and something deep and fluid like warm honey. 

"Okay?" she said.

"Yeah," he replied hoarsely.

"Okay." She snuggled back down beside him again. "You know… what you said before… about me deserving better. Only I get to decide what's best for me. And… well. I like you. You're mean and crass and arrogant and abrasive and loud -

“Alright, sheesh -”

“- but you have this energy about you, I don’t know. A gravitational pull. Even though you try to push people away, they can’t help but be drawn to you.”

“Is that why you’re here? A compulsion?”

“Maybe. Lots of other reasons too. But mainly because you’re cute.”

He spluttered in the dark. “I’m not fucking cute .”

“Mnnn.” She wriggled under the covers again. “Bakugou-kun?"

"Hn?"

"Can I take these clothes off now?"

Chapter Text

A change in the norm, albeit slight, was enough to wake Katsuki prematurely the next morning.  He was a fraction too hot, the mattress too heavy, the covers pulled taut over his limbs. The primitive layer of his brain sensed another. Nearby. While he slept .

Brief panic subsided when memories slotted into place. He turned and, for the first time in his 28 years (the 'squad notwithstanding), found someone else asleep in his bed.

Uraraka was nude under the sheets facing him, gloved hands tucked under her cheek and hair coiled over the pillow. Her face was free of expression, lips parted, lashes pressed against her rosy cheeks. Peaceful. Vulnerable. His. 

The instinct to keep her at a distance - his vulnerability - was still there, but quieter this time. Katsuki dragged his knuckles along her waistline, over her breast and up to her cheek, then brushed a strand of hair behind her ear before letting his hand fall limp between them.

What now? He didn't know what a relationship entailed or how to please someone he didn't consider a disposable fling. Relationships implied commitment and longevity and work and communication; where did he even start? There were a billion ways he could fuck this up, but if he was going to do this, he was going to approach it like everything else he did: aiming to be the best .

Screet-screet-screet

Katsuki jumped a mile at the sound of his alarm and smacked it into the closet door. It clattered to the floor and fell silent, but the moment was broken, and Uraraka stirred around a gentle yawn. Katsuki watched her, somewhat entranced, as her eyes fluttered open and fixed on him with bleary compression.

 "Hey," she said.

"Hi," he said lamely then coughed to clear his croaky throat.

"Mn, your morning voice is sexy,” she said, then rolled onto her back and gave him the perfect view of her breasts as she arched into a stretch. Fuck, she looked so good he was getting a hard on already.

Noting his roaming gaze, she rolled onto her side so they were almost eye to eye and smirked. Her hair trailed over her shoulders, revealing the mean hickey he'd left on her neck.

"I know what you wanna do for me," she said, "and I am definitely interested."

He lifted a brow and trailed his fingers over her breast. "Yeah?"

"Yeah.”

He edged forward to kiss her but she placed a hand over his mouth, eyes twinkling, and said, “Yeah, I would like pancakes."

He batted her hand away with a scowl. "What?"

"Six of them."

"No."

"With cream."

"Uraraka, I do not have time to make you fucking pancakes on a workday -"

"Oh really? 'Cause it seems like you were gonna make time for something else."

He knew she was teasing him, but wasn't sure if he should keep pushing his luck or submit to her weird breakfast request. What would a good boyfriend do?

Decision made, he sat up and swung his legs over the side of the bed. "Fine. I'll make your stupid pancakes."

"Eh!? Really!?"

"Yeah. Or have you changed your mind?"

She watched him dress through dusky eyes, one finger drawing circles on the bedsheets. Definitely considering her options. He hid his smirk by pulling on an old All Might shirt.

Eventually, she said, "Mmm, I'm still a little sore, so pancakes will have to do. For now."

He turned in time to find her pulling a dirty hoody out of the laundry hamper and sliding it over her head - no underwear, no pants - which was simultaneously sexy and gross.

"Get a clean one, idiot. That’s fucking disgusting."

"What? I like the smell of your sweat."

He visibly recoiled. "The fuck is wrong with you!?"

"You smell sweet." She hummed thoughtfully and cocked her head. "Ya know, I used to hate sitting near you at school. Or rather, I loved to hate it. You made me so hungry ."

"What?"

"Seriously. I didn't eat much back in school, and you smelt like candy. I always wondered what you'd taste like. Maybe gobstoppers, or strawberry shoelaces, or toffee. Just seein' you would make my mouth water sometimes."

Katsuki snorted, unable to process Uraraka trivia at 6.30am. "You were a weird fucking kid."

"And I grew into a weirder adult." Suddenly she took his hand, guided two fingers into her mouth, and sucked them hard enough to make her cheeks dip inwards. Once, twice, then she pulled them out with an audible pop and blinked contemplatively at the ceiling. "But you don't taste like anything. It's so disappointing."

Katsuki’s eye twitched; she was sampling his sweat like a fucking food critic and he had no idea what to make of that.

"You have a food kink or something?" he asked.

"Everything's my kink."

"Am I gonna have to put up with your bullshit everyday now?"

She giggled and wrapped her arms around his neck before planting a kiss on the corner of his mouth. Very pointedly, she rolled her hips against his semi. "Clearly you hate it."

He tsked, then pushed her gently away. "You want pancakes or not? I don't wanna be late for work."

"I do! Gonna jump in the shower first."

She skipped to the bathroom while he headed to the kitchen and started hunting for flour, eggs and oil. An indignant yowl and brushing around his legs reminded him of the other unwanted female occupant in his flat, and he added cat food to the clutter of ingredients on the counter.

“Where’d you sleep last night?” he muttered while tipping ambiguous meat into a bowl. “Too fucking good for my bed now, are you? Little shit.”

Shichimi growled when he tried to stroke her, so he just dumped the food under the counter and went back to making pancakes.

He was frying the fifth when Uraraka reappeared wearing only a towel and an expression far too bright eyed for so early in the morning. She leaned against him and hummed delightedly at the bubbling batter in the pan, and her strawberry bodywash briefly eclipsed the smell of cooking. Which wasn’t overly bad, but he couldn’t help but bristle at having her so carelessly in his personal space. This was still very new to him; he couldn’t imagine having someone in his apartment – in his life – on a semi-regular and possibly permanent basis. How was he supposed to act? How could he accept this as his new normal?

Uraraka was staring at him when he glanced sideways at her. Big, insightful eyes boring into him. Then she took a step back, creating space, and leaned against the counter to watch him pour the last of the batter into the pan. If she’d read and reacted to his mood, she certainly didn’t seem bothered by it. 

Shichimi curled between her legs, breakfast eaten, and Uraraka scooped her into her arms and tousled her ears. “Can I ask you a question?” she asked.

“I guess.”

“What were you thinking when I was… y’know… trying my luck?”

“Whaddya mean?”

“Well, I wasn’t being subtle. Which wasn’t exactly my idea, but he told me you wouldn’t get a clue if I wasn’t forthright.”

“Wait, who told you what -”

“I thought either I wasn’t being obvious enough or you just… didn’t like me. But every time I was about to give up, you’d give me more mixed signals so…”

He scratched the back of his neck and focused on flipping the last pancake. “Yeah, well, I’ve never had someone hit on me before.”

“That is such a lie,” she exclaimed, and Shichimi jumped out of her arms. “You must have girls hit on you all the time! What about Camie?”

“That’s different. That’s sex, not the same as being…” He fished around for the word. “ Romantically pursued. Besides, you dropped outta nowhere one day – Deku’s ex-girlfriend from school I hadn’t spoken to for years - then decided to flirt with me , of all people, with no explanation. What the hell was I supposed to think?”

She chewed her lip. “Sorry.”

“I’m not mad about it. I’m just sayin’ it was outta the blue.” He leered at her. “Or have you secretly been stalking me?”

To his surprise, she flushed bright crimson. “N-no! I mean… I wouldn’t say stalked. But I’ve been… aware of you. Because of Deku.”

“For fuck’s sake -”

“He’s obsessed with you, you know that. We hang out all the time and y’know he has this big folder full of newspaper clippings and collectibles-”

“I don’t wanna know what that fucking nerd does in his spare time!”

“And then the stars just aligned!” She smiled and shrugged. “I just like being around you, so I thought I’d try my luck. Even though I didn’t think I’d…” She trailed off shyly.

“What?”

“Like you this much.”

He tsked and looked away, “Yeah, well,” then remembered something important. “Meant to ask, you on birth control?"

"Yep! I got the implant. My schedule is all over the place so I'd never remember to take a pill everyday."

He grunted. "Sorry. For last night. Not using anything. Not like me."

"I did wonder. Didn’t think it was like you to take those kinds of risks."

"I don’t," he said quickly. "Not with just anyone. But…" He cherry picked his words carefully. "It felt different with you. Or maybe I got carried away."

She ghosted her hand up the back of his shirt and grinned. "I'd never let just anybody go in without protection. I would’ve stopped you if I didn’t have the implant. But you're not just anybody, right? You're my boyfriend ."

He felt a flush of something at that. "S'ppose so."

"Although… I hope you know I'm not gonna just lay there and take it like that again."

He glanced sideways, alarmed. 'I thought you liked it?"

"Oh, I did. But I only play the vanilla sub once in a blue moon, if you're very well behaved."

Vaguely he recalled Mina's gossip about Uraraka's sex life vs public expectation and felt a thrill go down his spine. But before he could push her for more answers, she leaned over the pancake and pointedly asked, “How are they lookin’?”

"They’re done. Go sit down."

“Yay!”

She slid onto the stool at the breakfast counter while he placed the frankly obscene stack of pancakes in front of her along with syrup and sugar. He glanced at the clock hanging by the bedroom door.

“I’m gonna be fucking late if I don’t –“

"I asked for cream.”

He scowled at her. She was pouting . "What are you, five years old? Just eat the fucking pancakes.”

“But I gotta have cream with ‘em!”

“I don’t have cream, woman.”

"You sure?"

"Go look for yourself if you don’t believe me!"

Her hand crept up his thigh to his groin then squeezed him through his pants. "You sure ?"

By the time he processed what she was implying, he was already half hard and she was pulling him out of his boxers. With her free hand, she untucked the towel and let it crumple around her feet, fully exposing her naked body. 

And just like that, all his uncertain, angry thoughts dissolved into slush.

She locked eyes with him and planted an affectionate kiss on his swelling tip -"Be nice, otherwise I'll tie your hands behind your back"  - then she licked a stripe from his base to the tip and it took all of his willpower to suppress a moan. He didn’t fucking moan - she wouldn’t make him - so he bit his the inside of his cheek instead.

Her hand feathered up and down his length – pinky finger raised but fuck did her fingerpads feel good – while she licked his slit, ghosted wet trails along his vein, rubbed his head against the flat of tongue. All while keeping molten eye contact. She would not take him in her mouth, not even when he gripped the counter and took a long, shuddery breath.

Smiling, she pressed his tip against the side of her mouth. "Something wrong?"

"Gonna be late for work at this rate," he gasped out.

"Tough luck,” she said, “’cause I wanna take my time."

And then she wrapped her lips around his head and sucked so hard he bucked into her mouth. 

She saw it coming and leaned back before he could choke her, then sent him a warning look. A look that only made him hotter. 

He buried his hand in her hair, restraint splintering apart. "God, you're so fucking hot, I wanna fuck your pretty face."

She blinked up at him, then dipped down until her lips met her hand wrapped around the middle of his dick. When she pulled back, she stroked her hand in the opposite direction down to his base, then met it again in the middle. His grip in her hair intensified.

"Touch yourself," he commanded.

Still sucking and stroking, her left hand crept up her stomach and squeezed her left breast. The deep note she groaned resonated along his cock and all the way to his balls, and he pushed a little deeper into her mouth until she spluttered.

"There’s my obedient little cocksucker.” He sneered. “Still got your gag reflex, huh?"

She glared at him, then sank deeper onto his length - lower and lower - until her nose grazed his groin and her throat bulged outward. When she tried to pull back, he fisted her hair and kept her impaled.

"You stay right there until I tell you to move," he said. "Keep touching yourself with my cock stuffed down your throat. I know you like it. Gonna use you as my personal cum dumpster."

Her brow furrowed and tears sprung to the corner of her eyes while she held him inches deep in her throat. Her fingers still nimbly worked her nipple. Spit dripped out the corner of her mouth. A single tear pooled on her lower lid. Then finally he let her move again. She pulled off him, stuffed his head into her cheek, then let it spring out the corner of her mouth with a satisfying pop.

"Thought I told you to be good," she gasped.

He grinned wolfishly at her. "Never agreed to that."

"Then I'll have to tie you up later," she said petulantly, and resumed her firm, slow strokes. "But right now, I want to finish you off before my pancakes get cold."

And then she plunged back onto his dick with enough vigor to make him snarl with pleasure. She squeezed his balls with one hand while jerking him with the other, and her mouth - her hot, wet, little mouth - sucked him so hard and fast he thought he might lose his soul in the process. Every time she ducked down and pulled back, she’d twist her head a little and it drove him fucking insane . Sweat dripped down his back. His toes curled on the floor. The hand on the counter was white knuckled and her hair was pulled taut in his other.

"Fuck, fuck, that's so good, you're so fucking good, shit ."

Her hollowed cheeks and dusky eye contact sent him over the edge, and he was thrusting into her mouth before he could help himself, buzzing with his imminent end and driven on by her sloppy sucking and choking. Propping his foot on the edge of the stool, he held her head in place while she let him fuck her throat until he reached his end. 

His orgasm fizzled through his veins as the first rope of cum hit the back of her throat, but before he could shoot the rest, she popped him out her mouth and pumped the last of it -

Right onto her pancakes.

"The fuck are you doing?" he huffed.

Uraraka brushed him aside like he was a waiter who'd served his purpose. She wiped spit from her chin, wrapped herself in the towel again, then picked up a fork and dug into the cum covered pancakes.

Katsuki collapsed onto the stool next to hers, completely zapped of energy but still equal parts horrified and disgusted.

 And very, very turned on.

"You," he said, "are a total freak."

"What?" she said around a mouthful. "I told you I wanted cream."

He tried to think of some snarky comeback but failed, and ran his hand up and down her thigh instead, transfixed by her swollen, pink lips, wet hair, and the disgustingly sexy sight of her shoveling down three pancakes splattered with cum and sugar.

"You're fucking gorgeous," he told her.

She rolled her eyes. "That's just post-blowjob talk."

He plucked the fork out of her hand, sawed off a section of pancake, wiped up some cum, then held it out to her. She batted her lashes and let him feed her.

"Better eat it all," he said, smirking, "or I'll make you swallow it next time."

She smiled as he fed her another piece, then drawled around the mouthful, “Oh no, what a terrible punishment. I definitely won’t enjoy that at all.”

He snorted and shook his head. Maybe having her in his personal space wasn’t so bad after all; he felt more relaxed than he had done in years. Or maybe she was right and this was just post-blowjob talk.

Curiously, he asked, "When did you… why are you…"

"Hm?"

"Like... this?"

She giggled around mouthful. "Whaddya mean? I just like sex! And I like you. Is that so weird?"

"I just thought you’d be more…"

"Cutesy?" she supplied. "Vanilla? Coy? Shy?" She scoffed. "You and everyone else."

"I'm not disappointed," he clarified, then fed her another piece after she gestured to her open mouth. "Just surprised. Pleasantly surprised."

"I bet you're the same, huh?" she said, feathering her foot up the back of his calf. "Scared you’ll get in trouble if you’re too rough with someone who might spread rumors. Worried they can’t handle you."

"I'm not that bad."

"Okay, Mr 'Use You As My Personal Cum Dumpster.'"

Heat flushed up the back of his neck hearing his words spoken back to him, but she batted his arm and laughed.

 "You don’t need to worry about that with me. I like it. A lot. You have no idea how sexy your voice is."

"Mn."

She pushed the last forkful of pancake out to him. "Now say 'aah'..."

He almost blasted the counter across the room to get away from her. "No fucking way, I'm not eating my own fucking cum! Get dressed and go the fuck to work, weirdo."

"Oh come oooon. Just one mouthful?”

"No, dammit! Get away from me!"

She giggled and popped the last piece in her mouth. "To be fair, I'm probably gonna get in trouble for being late. Worth it for the pancakes, though. They were amazing. Sweet and salty."

"You’re disgusting."

What with the morning’s culinary adventure, Katsuki almost forgot to send his interview answers to Anya for ‘reviewing’, and about his photoshoot, which was probably for the best. Photoshoots were his personal worst nightmare, and likely his PRs team’s worst nightmare, too. But he hoped Uraraka’s advice from last time was applicable across the board and he’d get it over with quickly, just in time for his patrol shift at eleven.

Riding the elevator up to the independent studio in Asakusa, Katsuki realized he was sweating more than usual and his chest kind of hurt. Thoughts started playing in strange circles, torn half between the uncertainty of the photoshoot with a bunch of strangers and matters more complex. These thoughts came to him in sporadic bursts, flitting into sight before disappearing behind another like a deck of cards being shuffled.

He was in a relationship with a girl from school that he was probably going to fuck up at some point. Would he get to Number One before or after he fucked it up? Did it matter? Would everyone hate him after that? His friends? His parents? The public? Did he care – or would being Number One fill all those empty little cavities in his soul? Cavities that had been empty for a long time but he was only now realizing that they were empty, and that he wanted to fill them, but he didn’t know how or what with, except maybe it involved someone else, letting someone in, letting them learn and understand and decide what those cavities needed filling with. But what if they learned and understood and didn’t want to? Realized all he did was selfishly pursue one goal after another to better himself? And then they left him and he’d be more hollow and terrible than before, so wasn’t it better just to be alone, to keep people out, away, distanced –

Suddenly everything was too close. His vision was swimmy around the edges. He couldn’t breathe; the air was stuck in his throat and his mouth was dry.

The elevator doors dinged open and without thinking he barged past the people entering and into the corridor beyond. The building was unfamiliar but he followed the signs to the nearest bathroom which was, thank the gods, empty. His legs felt weak and his surroundings were distant, abstract, unreal. Darkening. He staggered into a stall, locked the door then leaned against the wall and closed his eyes.

His breathing was coming hard and fast now, choking him, sludge in his lungs, cold metal over his mouth, black fire exploding through his chest. Tiny explosions crackled over his palms, and he clamped them together to combat the spontaneous activation of his quirk. 

Deep breath in.

One.

Two.

Three.

Four.

Deep breath out.

His thoughts were still racing, chased by anger this time, because fuck no this was not happening again. Not again. He was not getting signed off like three years ago, he was not going back on fucking meds, not now, not at this pivotal point in his career – in his life.

One.

Two.

Three.

Four.

He was in control.

In. Fucking. Control.

It was fine.

Everything was fine.

He was fine.

One

Two

Three

Four

If Deku could handle having One For All as a teen and if All Might could handle being Number One for years and cope just fine without outside interference then he could do it, too. He wasn’t going to be weak and pathetic. He wasn’t going to let all these weird changes in his life derail what he had perfectly under control.

He was fine .

One

Two

Three

Four

Slowly, his breathing went back to normal until he could open his eyes again. He counted the tiles on the back wall, then eased his palms apart and inspected the damage. A few more tiny burns to add to the collection, although the rest were mostly pale scars now, noticeable only if someone were to look hard – and nobody was stupid enough to get near his hands, his weapons.

Near him .

His therapist would tell him not to be so hard on himself, but damn was he pissed. That was the first panic attack he’d had in over three years. Why couldn’t he process his trauma like a normal person and move the fuck on?

Why was he so weak ?

Briefly he considered cancelling the stupid photoshoot – likely the trigger of the attack among other underlying issues – but knew that would only make his anxiety worse in the long run. Once he started not showing up, cancelling, being unreliable, that was a slippery slope into a state far worse than he was currently in. He knew that from experience.

So he left the stall, splashed water on his pale face, and made for the studios. He even bowed to a tiniest degree to apologize for being fifteen minutes late, though thankfully the team didn’t seem to care and set to work making him presentable.

He was about to go on set when his phone went off, and he swiped it open to find a message from Uraraka.

Good luck with the shoot! Just think about us kicking ass together and you’ll nail it <3

He put his phone away. He was not going to fuck this up. He couldn’t afford to.

A few hours later, Katsuki started his patrol in Akihabara, the nerd capital of the country. He knew it was the nerd capital because he’d begged his parents to take him there as a kid approximately sixty billion times a year for All Might merch, and Deku would always have to tag along because Deku’s mom couldn’t afford to make the trip and Katsuki had to ‘play nice’ with quirkless, freckly kid in his class. They’d get 1000Yen each and would spend it on second hand collectibles and gatcha, and Deku would always get the same stuff as him, like the unoriginal copycat little twerp he was.

The familiar store fronts and signs climbing the sides of neon, garish towers washed Katsuki in nostalgia. Damn, he almost missed the dumb nerd.

Being that Akihabara was a booming hotspot for tourists and hero-related merch, Katsuki had to dress in civis to stop the weebs from harassing him on duty. He didn’t need his gauntlets much nowadays – not for the kind of trouble that went down in the nerd district, anyway – so he’d opted for black cargo pants, a white tee, a baseball cap and a pair of dark sunglasses as he stalked the streets looking for trouble. And maybe – maybe – some vintage All Might collectibles to add to his collection.

The merch scene was so different now. Different and weird. Personal . Especially when he walked past the Mandarake store and the ten foot tall billboard of Half-and-Half over its entrance. Katsuki knew there was a whole section dedicated to Ground Zero and Deku collectibles on the second floor, because even after all this time they still wanted to lump them together. 

Guess saving the world becomes a brand after a while.  

There was a store selling Jirou’s headphones line (she’d given Katsuki a custom pair and admittedly they were pretty decent), countless billboards of Yaoyorozu’s advertising cosmetics (always a waste, in his opinion, considering how damn smart she was), Iida’s sneaker line, Sato’s baked goods, Mina’s pink hair dye – the list went on and on and on until he came to a store tucked innocuously at the end of a quiet street. His gaze lifted to the second floor windows to where an advertisement featuring a scantily clad Camie peered back. He knew about this particular store because the first floor sold a good collection of boxed figurines, though he’d never bothered to go past the 18+ rope on the stairs to see his previous fuck-buddy’s weird sex toys and whatever other shit they had –

He froze in place on the sidewalk, eyes glued to the window of the second floor, not believing what he was seeing.

Lifesize body pillow. Of Uraraka.

Naked.

He would’ve been a lot more weirded out seeing her side by side with Camie like that if he hadn’t felt a rush of pure, unadulterated rage tear through him.

Someone was going to die for this. Painfully. Slowly. Inventively.

Katsuki barreled through the doors without a second thought and headed to the checkout with a tunnel vision usually reserved for the heat of battle. He slammed his hand onto the counter, lips peeled back in a furious snarl, and roared, “Who the fuck makes those perverted pillows?”

The podgy man behind the checkout looked up from ticketing sale stickers onto boxes and blinked at him in bafflement. “Wha -who? What pillows?”

“The Uravity pillows,” Katsuki gritted out, temper spitting in his lungs like a firework about to blow.

“Oh, her.”

“Yeah,” Katsuki said. “ Her .”

“That’s one of our best sellers,” the man supplied brightly. “If you want one, I can –“

“Who makes them?”

“Uh… We do? I mean, we outsource the printing to China but –“

“You’re gonna stop makin’ them. Effective immediately.”

The server frowned. “What? Who do you think you are? They’re one of our best sellers, we don't –“

Katsuki whipped off his sunglasses and fixed the man with a look like he wanted him to spontaneously combust on command. It took the shopkeeper a few seconds to recognise him, and when he did, he audibly gulped and staggered back until he was pressed against the back wall.

“L-look, this is standard stuff in the industry, okay? She’s in high demand at the moment! A-and it’s not technically her body… just her face photoshopped onto a porn stars’ -”

“Shut the fuck up or I will turn this place to fucking rubble and make it look like an accident!” Katsuki’s rage frothed like boiling water in a pan, and he took a breath before he genuinely did start blowing shit up. “Clear your fucking ears out, dickwad, ‘cause you’re gonna listen to me, and you’re gonna listen good. Yes?”

“I –“

“I don’t wanna hear a word outta your mouth unless it’s a ‘yes’, you understand?”

The man squeaked.

“You’re going to stop making those disgusting cushions,” Katsuki growled, “and I’m buying every single one you have, right now. Do you understand?”

“B-but we have hundreds –“

“I don’t give a fuck if you have six hundred warehouses full of ‘em! I’m buyin’ them all. Every. Single. One. And if I see you sellin’ this shit again, I’m gonna come back, and I’m gonna be angrier.” He leaned forward so the clerk could see every one of his teeth. “ Much angrier.”

“You c-can’t threaten me,” the man stammered. “I’ll – I’ll report you to your agency for misconduct –“

Temper breaking, Katsuki leaned across the counter and snatched the guy by the collar before dragging him closer. “Listen to me, you piece of shit! You report me, and I’ll have Uravity’s lawyers sue the fuck out of you for using her likeness without consent. You want it to go that far?”

“N-no.”

“Good.” He shoved him away and pulled out his credit card. “Every. Last. One.”

While the store keeper began ramming numbers into the checkout, Katsuki pulled out his phone and speed dialed Eijirou.

“Yo. I need a favor.”

Not many people in Tokyo owned cars - Katsuki included - but Eijirou did because he needed to go back and forth from Osaka so often. And because Katsuki did not want to carry all two-hundred and sixty-one lewd cushions of Uraraka through the subway, Eijirou had to bear the brunt of his outrage. And of course, Mina was there too.

“Don’t say a fucking word,” Katsuki spat at her as he shoved one of the many rolls of plastic-wrapped cushions from the sidewalk outside the sex shop into the backseat of Eijirou’s car because the trunk was already full. “You fucking laugh, Shitty Hair, and I will slash your tires everyday for a week .”

Eijirou wisely dropped the hand smothering his mouth, revealing a wobbly smile. “Sorry, man, it’s just… you gotta admit, it is pretty funny.”

“Hilarious,” Mina said.

Katsuki grabbed another three rolls from the sidewalk and crammed them through the door. “Yeah, real fucking funny knowing some greasy, blue-balled weebs are pillow humping a photoshopped cushion of my fucking girlfriend.”

“Oooh, now she’s your girlfriend now, huh?” Mina said with a shit-eating grin that absolutely suggested Uraraka had already told her. One day, Katsuki hoped he would be free from this network of gossiping, shit-stirring women.

“Shut the fuck up and help me! I shouldn’t even be doin’ this on duty!” He did not want any lingering paps getting a shot of what he was hauling en masse into Red Riot and Pinky’s car, even if he wasn’t technically in uniform.

Eijirou and Mina helped him pack the rest away, obscuring the windows in a way that probably wasn’t legal. Mina volunteered to sit in the backseat to spare Katsuki the trauma of being squished next to all those fucking cushions, and he ranted all the way back to his apartment and during the entire nine trips back and forth from the car to his spare bedroom, until even Mina got fed up with him.

“Bb, you need to get over it,” she told him as she dropped the last stack of cushions onto the floor beside the bed. “This sorta stuff is the norm in the hero market; people have been making weird merch of Ochako for years.”

“That’s even fucking weirder!” he yelled, recalling her despondent recollection of being sexualized as a teen.

“Eh, she’s right, man,” Eijirou pitched in. “Kinda comes with the territory.”

“What!? How can you agree with this!?”

“I don’t, I’m just sayin’ -”

“What if it was Raccoon Eyes, huh!?”

Eijirou’s gaze lifted awkwardly to the ceiling while Mina giggled.

“Oh, there are cushions of me - I collect ‘em all! It’s kinda hot doin’ stuff to myself.”

Katsuki threw up his hands with a snarl of disgust and stomped into the kitchen to pour himself a glass of water. The summer heat was fast approaching, and he was sweating buckets.

Mina hopped out of the bedroom with a pillow under her arm, then tugged off the plastic to appraise the not-Uraraka’s body. “Camie had the right idea licensing her sex work. I mean, it’s gonna happen, anyway, right? B’aaaw, they edited out her scars and made her thinner! Boo. Still hot, though. Can I keep this one?”

“No you fucking can’t!” Katsuki roared.

Eijirou poured himself a glass of water too, frowning worriedly at the cushion in Mina’s arms. “What the hell are you gonna do with ‘em all?”

“I’m gonna have to fucking apply to have them disposed,” he grumbled. “Pain in the ass.”

“You can’t go around buying all the Uravity-themed sex items, ya know,” Mina said.

“Fucking watch me.”

“Or maybe you could try, y’know, talking to Uraraka about it first?” Eijirou suggested, then caught Katsuki’s glare and waved his hands. “Or just buy it all. That’s cool, too. Not my credit card.”

Mina squeezed the cushion. “Can I pleeeaaaase have this one?”

“I swear to god I will shoot you out the fucking window -”

“I just wanna sit on her face one time.”

“I will literally dismember you –“

“Oh, hey, meant to ask,” Eijirou smoothly impeded. “Mina and I are goin’ on a road trip in a few weeks before the summer rush. You and Uraraka wanna come with?”

Mina bounced over, cushion forgotten. “Oh yeah! ‘Chako already said no, so it’s your job to convince her!”

Katsuki frowned. A road trip sounded like the kinda dumb shit she’d love. “She said no? Why?”

“She says she can’t get the time off work, but Kat, she’s always working. Like, always working.”

“It’s called being an adult, dumbass. You should try it sometime.”

“Both of you are capitalist slaves and it makes me sick,” Mina said imperiously, then softened. “Seriously, I’m worried about her. She hasn’t taken a proper vacation in years. I’m beginning to suspect her agency won’t let her take extended time off, and the thing about Ochako is, she’s really really good at hiding her issues and pretending she’s okay for everyone else’s sake. Now more than ever she needs some downtime, so it’s your responsibility as her boyfriend to make sure she’s getting the rest she needs -”

“What!? How’s that my responsibility? I’m not gonna baby her over vacation leave.”

Mina planted her hands on her hips, looking genuinely cross. “Bakugou Katsuki! Being in a relationship means you gotta look out for one another! Just because you’re happy to work yourself into the ground doesn’t mean you should let Ochako do it, too!”

Katsuki glanced at Eijirou, who shrugged in agreement. “You probably need some time off too, bro. No pressure to come on the road trip, though.”

“Wrong!” Mina objected. “All the pressure! 100% pressure! Skull crushing pressure! I want one on one time with my Chako-chip and I’m relying on you to make it happen, Sparkles!”

Katsuki placed his empty glass in the sink. “Doubt I’ll get time off, but I’ll mention it to her, which means you don’t get to fucking harass me about it every second of the day.”

Whatever Mina was going to say was cut off by an alert beeping in his earpiece. He picked up the call, then headed for the window. He’d almost forgotten that he was supposed to be on duty.

“Let yourselves out,” he said over his shoulder, then pinned a look on Mina. “And don’t even think about taking that fucking cushion, Racoon Eyes.”

He had to go straight back to the office to finish up some paperwork after his patrol shift, but poked his head into Anya’s office on the way and ignored her when she tried to wave him away.

“Oi. I need a favor,” he said.

‘I’m in a zoom meeting,’ she mouthed.

“Then you better mute yourself ‘cause I ain’t done talking. Can you get one of the assistants to -”

Anya hit a button on her keyboard and glared at him over the terminal. “My god, Bakugou, can’t you wait five minutes?”

“No.”

“I’m in a meeting with the Board of Directors about integrating a single system between agencies to improve -”

“Wow, that’s so interesting,” Katsuki drawled. “Can you get one of the assistants to apply for a Sodai Gomi on my behalf?”

She blinked at him. “You want one of the assistants to sort out your trash collection?”

“S’what they’re for, ain’t it?”

“No, Bakugou, that is not what the assistants are for. You’re getting confused with Personal Assistants, of which you once had but no longer do because you made her cry every single day for a week until we had to move her to a different department, and now nobody will apply for the position.”

Katsuki genuinely didn’t remember. “Okay? So can you do it? I don’t have time and I need that stuff gone.”

Anya stared narrowly at him. “Is it a dead body?”

“What!? No, it –“

“ Multiple dead bodies?”

“No, you fucking psycho! It’s trash. Lots of trash.”

Sighing, Anya grabbed a sticky note and a pen. “What is it, specifically?”

Katsuki paused long enough that her gaze pinned back on him with evident suspicion.

“Miscellaneous,” he said.

“I swear, if it’s a dead body you better tell me now -”

“ Household miscellaneous.”

Anya rolled her eyes in defeat. “Fine. I’ll have one of the assistants email you for details later. I can’t believe you interrupted my meeting with the Board of Directors so you can have me organize taking out your trash -”

Katsuki closed the door on her. At least that was one less thing to worry about, even though it didn’t make his to-do list notably shorter.

He headed to his office, then just to add to his good-day-turned-shit, his mother burst into his office unannounced before he had a chance to turn on his terminal.

“Katsuki,” Mitsuki started with an expression that suggested he was going to get shouted at.

“What?”

“I need the sample I lent to Uraraka returned. Today .”

Momentary confusion gave way to gut-churning realization, and his gaze dropped to the computer monitor like a lead ball. “Okay?"

“But when I messaged Uraraka about it -”

“Why the fuck do you have her number?”

“- she said to ask you. We're trialing a new type of lycra and she was supposed to test its durability.” She looked impatiently around his office. “Well? Do you have it?”

He did. Beside his bed. Still covered in cum. “No.”

“So she has it?”

“...No.”

"Then where the hell is it!?"

"How should I know!? Drop it, already!"

Mitsuki scowled. “The samples can’t leak beyond our team, Katsuki, I’ve told you before; we can’t risk knock offs being made before the launch. I only gave it to Uraraka with the explicit understanding that it wouldn’t be shown in public.”

“She didn’t show it to anyone!” He paused. “Publicly.”

Mitsuki’s temper was starting to spark like a dodgy fuse. “Where is it, then?”

“At mine.”

“So you do have it?”

“Not here.”

“I need it by the end of the day, Katsuki. Samples aren’t cheap to make and your father spent weeks patterning and constructing that -”

“Then why did you give it to her?”

“To test it, I just told you that.” She narrowed her eyes at him. “Why do you have it?”

Katsuki stared fixedly at his terminal, hand on the mouse. The screen was blank.  “Sparring.”

“Okay? I still need it back.”

He finally turned on his screen. “It ripped.”

His mother leaned back with a stricken expression. “What!? There’s no way it ripped! Your father made it himself. Our stuff isn’t some cheap factory shit that rips from just -”

“Well, it did, alright? Fucking drop it!”

“This is a production issue, Katsuki, I’m not going to drop it! You can tell me where it ripped, for a start, or give it back so I can inspect the seams myself. There shouldn’t be any issue with the stretching unless the lycra isn’t cut out for… strenuous... excer……….cise...”

Katsuki swore he heard the cogs click into place in Mitsuki’s brain and withered about six inches into his seat.

She scrubbed a hand over her face and sighed. “For fuck’s sake, Katsuki.”

“Shut up!” he roared, turning approximately sixty shades redder.

“That is the last time I let a sample leave this building! Why couldn’t you tear apart one of the mass manufactured pieces that can be replaced or -”

“I am not having this discussion with you! Leave!”

She threw up her hands. “Fine! Don’t know what the fuck I’m going to tell the production team in our feedback meeting later. ‘My son has the restraint of a hormonal teenager’ probably won’t cut it -”

“Get out!”

YOU MADE ME HAVE THAT CONVERSATION WITH MY MOTHER

What convo?

YOU FUCKING KNOW WHICH ONE

No?

ABOUT THE SAMPLE

ha ha yeah

I DIDN’T KNOW YOU HAD TO GIVE IT BACK YOU BITCH

U were the one that ripped it!

I was pinned to the floor

At the mercy of a rabid animal

Helpless

Ravaged

How was I meant to say that 2 ur mom?

I’M FUCKING PISSED

U could’ve taken them off

Like a normal person

Take responsibility for your kink!

NO

This is why u don’t get nice things

FUCK YOU

U already did <3

Chapter Text

Summer had a funny effect on crime rates in Tokyo. While the stifling heat meant villains who functioned outside of organized gang structure were less inclined to commit crimes, the kids were off school, which meant a rise in minor infractions like unlicensed quirk use and underaged drinking in parks, or irritated businessmen sweating through their suits committing petty assault at train stations. 

This lull in serious crime was kind of a shame considering that Katsuki’s quirk was strongest during the hot months, but it meant the paparazzi were less inclined to trail him, which was a bonus. Still, he kept an eye open for them as he walked under an avenue of trees through Yoyogi Park. He was supposed to be looking for offenders partaking in aforementioned drinking and troublemaking, but he doubted he’d find much when it was hot enough to melt plastic to the sidewalk. Plus, Katsuki didn’t like policing kids. Heroes marketed themselves primarily to a younger audience; he didn’t want a reputation for spoiling fun.

So it was boredom alone that prompted Katsuki to accept Izuku’s offer of lunch during his fifteen minute break. Only because they were conveniently in the same neighborhood. And because he was bored. And hungry. Not because he missed him or anything. Because obviously he didn’t. At all.

A forty foot tall torii gate marked the entrance to Yoyogi Park, and it was here that Katsuki blasted up to meet Izuku on top of this looming structure in the shade. The sun had darkened the freckles on his face and the humidity made his hair extra curly; he looked fifteen again, which gave Katsuki a bittersweet, nostalgic pang. 

Ignoring Izuku’s excited greeting, Katsuki gestured to the two bread rolls wrapped in greaseproof paper at Izuku’s side. 

“Crab,” Izuku said, holding one out. “No mayo, extra chili and tabasco.”

“Nice.” Katsuki sat down beside him, dangling his legs over the lip of the torii, then took Izuku’s lunch too. He unwrapped it and transferred the gherkins over to his sandwich before handing it back. Izuku didn’t like them, anyway. “Boring shift?”

“A kid used his quirk to divert water from a public fountain onto some plastic sheets to make water slides.” Izuku located a rogue gherkin wedged between the bread and dropped it onto Katsuki’s roll. “The cops told me to stop them and get the kid’s address so I could send a fine to his mother but like… that really sucks.”

Katsuki grunted around a mouthful of crab meat. 

“So I didn’t. I told them to use buckets of water or the river instead, away from public property.” Izuku bit into his roll and stared thoughtfully at the trees. “They were upset about it, but what could I do?”

“Sucks.”

“Yeah.”

They fell into comfortable silence while they ate, listening to the drone of cicadas and children’s laughter. A gaggle of tourists stopped to take photos of them from the ground until Katsuki crudely waved them away, while locals glanced up but continued on without causing a fuss. They knew better than to harass heroes, most of the time. 

Katsuki asked without preamble, “Did you know they sell sex pillows of Uraraka in Akihabara?” 

Izuku choked on bread and sent him a flustered glance. “Wha - uh - n-no? Of-of Ochako ? Since when?”

“Dunno.” Katsuki devoured the rest of his sandwich in the four large bites and wiped his hands on his pants. “Not anymore, though.”

Izuku looked like he wanted to say something, but changed his mind and carried on eating.

Katsuki pulled the plastic lid off his soda, fished out the ice, then crunched them between his teeth. At length, he asked, “Did you see Uraraka much when you were dating?”

Izuku eyed him curiously. “What do you mean?”

“Did you see her? Spend time with her?”

“Um… I dunno. I guess? We were both busy so maybe not as much as a normal couple, but then again, I don’t know how much time normal couples spend together, either. Shoto and I live together and I swear I only see him a few times a week.” He idly played with his straw, ice clacking together, cola fizzing. “Why?”

Katsuki mulled over how much to say. He hated talking about this sort of shit, but if anyone could lend some insight, it was Izuku. 

“I’ve hardly seen her,” he admitted. “I dunno if that’s normal.”

“How often have you seen her?”

“We’ve been dating for a month and I’ve seen her maybe three times.”

“Three times!?” Izuku repeated incredulously. “I’d say that probably isn’t normal. Have you tried, y’know, asking her out?”

“Yes I’ve tried, you dumbass,” Katsuki snapped. “But our work schedules fucking suck. We’re both pulling extra shifts and our days off don’t coincide, so what the fuck am I supposed to do?”

“I haven’t seen her much lately, either,” Izuku mused. “I figured she was with you.”

“Well, she ain’t.”

“She gets like this, sometimes. Very work focused, you know? Gets pulled in too many directions with charity work, appearances, heroics, modeling, whatever. I wish I’d paid more attention when she…” He trailed off.

Katsuki glanced sideways at him. “When she what?”

He sighed. “You gotta be the weight to slow her down. Which might be difficult considering that you’re so… uh…” Izuku slurped his drink. 

“I’m so what?”

“Busy?” Izuku squeaked

Katsuki glared at him, then tossed his trash into the paper bag and angrily gulped down his drink. He stood up and stared between the trees at the jumble of wires and towers.

“She’s not in trouble, is she?” he asked.

Izuku stared at his profile. “I don't think so.”

Katsuki grunted, thought about telling Izuku that he had mayo smeared on his chin, then shook excess sweat off his palms so he could brace his fall with an explosion without accidentally turning the pathway into rubble. “Thanks for the lunch, nerd.”

After a long, sweaty, boring shift, Katsuki wanted nothing more than to go home and shower, but his agency had scheduled a monthly health check. These were more for the benefit of his agency, so they could publicly justify the ungodly hours they contracted heroes to work when the regime inevitably fell under criticism once or twice a year. Although Katsuki privately thought the public cared little for the wellbeing of heroes, so as they got the job done and their image aligned with public expectation. 

So he gave it little thought as they took blood samples, weighed him, took his blood pressure, measured his breathing, his resting and non-resting heart rate, and on and on, until the doctor handed him the results slip. 

“We’ll have to flag this up, I’m afraid,” she said.

Katsuki eyed the numbers with a tight-lipped expression. “Okay?”

“It’s likely nothing to worry about,” she went on, “and the agency will decide the right course of action for you.”

Katsuki snorted and stuffed the slip into his pocket. The agency only cared when it affected their income.

“Until then, I’ll start you on a low dose of these.” The doctor signed the bottom of a printed prescription and handed it to him. “Once a day, in the evening. And I’ll prescribe you these, too, as and when needed. You know how to take them.”

Katsuki stared disdainfully at the two prescriptions. He didn’t want either of them, but he was contractually obliged to heed the doctor’s advice, otherwise the agency could cut his hours, or his pay. 

With the two bottles of pills feeling like iron weights in his pocket, he headed home and played through the inevitable conversations he’d have to have with Anya and Dr Yamada before the week was through. Why did this have to happen right before the polls? 

Or maybe it was because of the polls, which was kind of a pain. 

Katsuki’s thoughts were so distracted while he mechanically went about his evening chores that he didn’t notice he was making extra rice and vegetables for Uraraka until he was stacking the container in the fridge. He paused, frowning, wondering when that had happened. The ‘just in case’ extras. Just in case she swung by after work and was hungry. Which she did. Sometimes. But she hadn’t for - what -  a week? So he kept eating them for lunch without thinking about it, but now he wondered if it was normal to see your supposed girlfriend so little, and more importantly, if Uraraka was finding time to eat at all. 

A quiet, uneasy voice in the back of Katsuki’s mind - the place where he shoved all his darkest insecurities - suggested that maybe she didn’t want to come over. Maybe being around him was exhausting, so she’d rather be by herself. After all, how did she go from harassing him seemingly every few minutes for his attention, only to vanish now he had - and boy did he hate this word - committed to her. Now she had him, didn’t she want him anymore? Was she one of those types of people? Who only wanted what she couldn’t have?

No. That wasn’t like Uraraka at all. He was overthinking things.

He put his empty dinner bowl by the pills on the table and grabbed his phone. The last message Uraraka sent him had been innocuous enough - just asking about his day plus a photo of a fancy new upgrade to her suit - but she’d been uncharacteristically quiet since. 

Frowning again, he caught an unfamiliar ache in his chest and defined it with jarring certainty.

He missed her. 

Actually missed her.

Gods, how the hell had he become attached to her so damn quickly? 

He thought about what to write before settling on being direct, no preamble or niceties, because they were past that now, right? 

‘Come over tonight’

He’d already told her that she could let herself in through the window, but maybe she needed a proper invitation. Or direction. Or encouragement. Whatever. 

After fifteen minutes of glancing back and forth from his book to his very silent phone, Katsuki focused on reading by the light of the floor lamp, his head against the couch arm and feet propped on the other. Shichimi curled up in the comfortable recess between his legs and the cushions. Eventually, the whirr of the aircon and the eternal drone of Tokyo’s traffic quieted the uneasy ticking of his thoughts.

He was startled out of a doze an indeterminate time later. He clamped his hands down on the side of the couch to cushion the miniature explosions that crackled reflexively to his palms (a habit he’d never managed to kick despite the unfortunate end to multiple articles of furniture) and blinked at the pair of dusky eyes peering at him from his waist.

“Sorry,” Uraraka said around a grin. “Didn’t mean to wake you.”

Katsuki cleared his throat and glanced at the clock above the bedroom door. 1.15am. “You’re lucky I didn’t blow your head off, idiot. Don’t wake me like that.”

“I was tryin’ to be gentle,” she said while carefully putting aside his book. “You fell asleep reading on the couch like an old man.”

Katsuki spluttered. “I was trying to wait up for you, dumbass.”

Uraraka sat up, straddling his hips, and he got a good look at her in the light of the lamp. She’d stripped down to her underwear, just a sports bra and dark panties, and her suit was crumpled on the floor by the couch. Her hair hung loose around her shoulders, drawing his attention first to the bruises on her collarbone and chin, and then to a bandaged wound on her right arm. He skirted the edge of the latter with his thumb and tsked. 

“Not as bad as it looks,” she said, noting his concern. “Shrapnel cut through my suit.”

“And the bruises?”

“Scrappin’.”

“Must’ve been tough to get one past you.”

“Thanks,” she said brightly, missing his concern, then traced a finger along his jaw. “You don’t look so hot yourself, ya know. You sleepin’ okay?”

“M’fine.” His gaze travelled down her body. The heat of her crotch warmed his dick through his sweats, but his wandering attention snagged on the subtle shadows pooling in the dips of her figure. Were her ribs always so visible, or was it a trick of the light?

“You eat today?” he asked.

To his surprise, she stiffened and ran a hand over her stomach. “Why?”

“I made extra, if you’re hungry.”

“I’m not hungry,” she said in a snappish tone that caught him off guard, but she softened before he could remark on it. “I’ll eat later. I want something else right now... If you’re not too tired, that is.”

With movements more deft than he could follow, she unhooked her bra and tossed it carelessly over the back of the couch, then slid her panties down her legs and kicked them off her left ankle. When she settled back onto him, naked and touched by the soft pall of amber light, he was already half hard in his sweats and his hands were exploring the groves in her hips. 

Definitely not tired anymore.

“You can’t live off a diet of cum,” he said thickly.

She rolled her hips against his growing hard-on and hummed. “It’s part of a balanced diet, thank you very much.”

He went to take off his reading glasses but she stopped him. 

“Keep ‘em on. They’re sexy.”

He smirked. “Oh yeah?”

“Makes you look like your dad.”

Katsuki almost choked on his own spit then tossed his glasses aside . “Shut the fuck up, you weirdo.”

“What? He’s hot! Although your mom is waaaay hotter -”

“You annoying little shit,” Katsuki spat, then sat up and kissed her.

He reintroduced himself to the taut muscle under soft curves, squeezing her thighs, her ass, and teased her pebbled nipples until she pulled out of their kiss with a moan, spine arching in a way that let him sink his teeth into her exposed neck. Her moan turned into a gasp as she ground against his erection, and Katsuki’s longing rushed through him with tidal force. 

He had missed her. Missed her warmth, her scent, her voice, her everything. And if that made him a sappy fuck, then so be it. 

He laid back onto the couch and pulled her higher until her tits were in his face  - exactly where they should be, in his opinion - then sucked one of her taut nipples. His other hand glided between her legs and stroked and swirled until her breaths became jagged hiccups and her arms went weak either side of his head. He caught her other nipple in his mouth and slid two fingers into her, stretching her even though she was already wet for him.

She was close, but not quite there, so he gripped her waist and urged her higher until her thighs were either side of his head and her core was over his face. Then he yanked her down, starving for her in more ways than one, and she cried out as he ran his tongue up her center and over her clit, back and forth, tasting the subtle tang of her arousal. His dick was so hard it hurt, but he didn’t have to wait long before she came, crying out something intelligible while her thighs quaked and her whole body shook.  

When she worked her way back down his body, her eyes were hooded and her playful smile gone in the wake of her come down, and she kissed him so hard and deep and desperate that he thought he might melt into the couch. Under his rumpled shirt, her fingertips grazed his torso and slid lower and lower before creeping between the folds of his sweats and pulling him free. He hissed out a breath when she dragged her hand up from his base to his tip, squeezed, then slid down again, pinky raised. Her fingerpads were curious, pleasant points of pressure along his sensitive underside, and her breath was hot against the side of his mouth. He gulped in a breath around her kiss as she pumped him harder, applied more pressure. His toes curled against the couch, balls tightening, breath hitching in his chest. 

It was the subtle twist of her wrist near his tip that almost drove him over the edge, and he grabbed her arm before an embarrassingly premature finish.

Giggling softly, she shifted to straddle him again, the shadowy look about her eyes replaced by one of pure longing that skewered him to the couch. She guided him in line with her entrance then lowered herself onto him, inch by inch. He barely heard his moan when he was so fixated on the way her eyes fluttered shut, the way her bowed lips parted with a sigh when he was embedded to the hilt. Only when she started moving - pensive, broad strokes that sucked him right into her core - did he get back at least some of his senses.

He pushed into her every time her hips plunged low, clamping his hands in the juncture of her thighs, his attention divided between her bouncing tits, their point of connection, and the blissful expression on her face. 

She rode him faster and harder, and her moans became louder, more singsong, ringing through his apartment and beckoning him closer to his end.

“So good, gods, you feel so good , please - please , ah! Yes - uh - Yes! There, ah - oh - I… please -”

Every nerve in his body was singing, his blood rivers of glittery ecstasy. The bead of sweat trickling between Uraraka’s bouncing tits sent him over the edge, and he sat up, gripping her tight against him as he shoved roughly up into her with a week’s worth of pent up lust and longing and frustration until his release burst out of him. 

She cooed and rocked onto him a few more times, her arms looped around his neck, her sweat-slick back molten under his hands. Only when she finally eased off him and readjusted herself in his lap did his expression turn mildly unhappy.

“Fucking came in you again, for fuck’s sake,” he panted.

Uraraka pushed him back onto the couch and wedged against his side with a dozy grin. “It’s fine, I told you I’m on birth control.”

Katsuki ran a hand down his chest while the other crept around her shoulders. His whole body pounded from the aftermath, and he sighed in half frustration and half contentment. “Just outta practice, is all.”

Uraraka giggled. “Is that so? I’ll send you some pics so you can jerk off more often, then. Increase your stamina.”

“Or you could just come over more.”

She propped herself onto one elbow and peered down at him. The shadows softened her features and highlighted the sheen of sweat along her hairline. 

“I’m sorry,” she said. “I just can’t find the time and when I do I’m just so tired -”

“You don’t need to apologize,” Katsuki said quickly. “I just… want to see you more.”

She grinned. “You want to have sex more, you mean.”

“No - well, yeah - but I, y'know…I just… sometimes I… ” Say it, you idiot, it’s not fucking hard, it’s not a fucking declaration -

“Miss me?” she supplied.

He shrugged, turning his gaze sideways. “I guess.”

She hummed in a pleased way, then nestled beside him again. “Wanna move to the bed? I don't wanna leak cum onto your couch.”

Katsuki grunted and halfheartedly contemplated moving rooms, but his limbs felt leaden and his body screamed against movement of any kind and the air con felt so good here, so he dragged the blanket from the back of the couch over their bodies and made a mental note to clean the couch cushions in the morning. “Do you get lunch breaks?”

She went stiff again. “Yes, Bakugou, I eat, you don’t need to keep -”

“I’m not nagging you, I’m sayin’ maybe if we took lunch breaks at the same time we could meet up. Or whatever. If we’re in the same area.” And then I can make sure you eat something.

“Sounds nice.” Uraraka beamed a smile at him. “Maybe you could ask Anya to sync our schedules. She knows my assistant.”

“She knows everyone,” Katsuki muttered. He drummed his fingers against his chest, staring at the ceiling. “We should probably take time off.”

“Together?”

“If you want.”

She wriggled against him and her hair fell over her face. “I dunno if I’ll be able to.”

“Ask.”

“I mean I do, but they say…”

Katsuki bristled. “Say what?”

“I have a busy schedule,” she said evasively. 

“They can’t make you work without a break. You’ve worked three weekends in a row.”

“So have you!”

“I get a day off in the week to make up for it.”

“Oh.” She drew circles on his sternum. “I’ll ask, okay?”

Katsuki grunted, already drifting off. “Good. Get some sleep.”

“ You get some sleep,” she countered playfully, and the last thing he felt before he drifted off was a soft kiss against his temple.

Katsuki’s next awakening wasn’t nearly as pleasant as the first. The shrill beeping of his emergency pager cut into his dreams under the guise of a fire alarm which was, inexplicably, going off in the middle of fields of rice paddies. They stretched into the distance in all directions with no hint to where they ended, and Katsuki waded through them without any great care for where he was headed, until  a single fire broke out in the water and triggered an alarm suspended above it from a pole. 

He jerked awake before his dream-self could put out the fire, limbs flailing and on his feet before he was fully awake in a knee-jerk reaction that sent another small explosion crackling up the inside of his arm. His pager beeped from the kitchen countertop, and as the hefty mantle of sleep departed, he remembered Uraraka then registered a second obnoxious beeping nearby. He swung his attention to the armchair by the sofa and found Uraraka perched among the cushions with her laptop balanced on her knees. She was likewise groping for her pager.

“Shit,” Katsuki said, looking at his pager. “A 646.”

“Of course it is,” Uraraka grumbled, already shoving aside her laptop and pulling on her suit. “What else would it be at 3 in the morning?”

Katsuki grabbed his emergency gear from the bedroom cupboard. Here he was legally permitted to store smaller versions of his gauntlets and grenades for emergency use. Like in the event of a 646, for example - an A-Rank villain attack causing structural damage and civilian casualties. 

“Forgot I was on call,” Katsuki said as he emerged fully dressed and wide awake. He headed for the window and yanked it open before glancing over his shoulder at Uraraka, who was securing the straps of her boots behind him. “You get any sleep?”

“Naw, had to file reports.”

“At 1am?”

“I was behind!” She caught his look and frowned. “I don’t sleep well when I’m on call anyway. I can’t relax. I’ll catch up on my sleep between shifts tomorrow.”

Both Mina and Izuku’s words stirred uneasily in the back of his mind as he eyed the dark circles under her eyes and the pasty pallor of her skin. 

They were going to have a talk about this later. 

Uraraka made Katsuki’s flight easier by floating him; he didn't have to worry about falling and used his explosions only to steer his trajectory. Uraraka followed close by, likewise using her boots and gloves to alter her path. They tuned in their earpieces and followed the directions to Chiyoda nearby. Heroes had GPS trackers on their pagers, and when an active-duty hero hit the emergency call, it automatically alerted off-duty heroes within a three mile radius to respond, regardless of their agency or rank.

Katsuki was surprised to hear Shoto’s voice down the line. If Half-and-Half was having problems, the villain must’ve been a pain.

“Good morning everyone,” he said humorlessly. “Asunder’s floored half the Metro building on Southside. Likely a distraction tactic while his lackeys are looting. Can’t focus on civi protection while subduing villain. Requesting backup”

Great. Fucking Asunder. Another pain in the ass anti-hero villain who had evaded capture for months and preached the old League of Villains gospel. It’d only been a matter of time before he made a grand reappearance in the name of overruling Hero Society.

Katsuki tapped his earpiece. “Coming to you.”

“I’ll tackle the collapse,” Uraraka responded, “but call me for backup if you need it.”

“I never need back up,” Katsuki responded imperiously.

“I meant Shoto-kun,” Uraraka said with a cheeky grin, but before he could reply, a chunk of metal careened between them like a fighter jet, missing them by scant inches and throwing off their trajectory. 

Uraraka whirled away and Katsuki dropped a few feet before he turned his attention towards the street. The road was crisscrossed with scars of ice, Shoto’s calling card, and the collapsed metro building was shrouded in dust and smoke. A helicopter circled the scene dangerously close, the swump-swump-swump of it’s blades an eerie backdrop to sirens and wailing. 

Uraraka released her quirk without needing to be prompted, and Katsuki used his quirk to slow his drop to the streets. He only needed to run through a few alleys before finding Shoto and Asunder, engaged in battle. 

The villain was a brute of a man, leaning towards seven foot and built like a warhorse. His shirt was burned away by Shoto, leaving grisly wounds across his chest, but the metal mask over his face was untouched besides its design - a simple crack across the eyes, similar to the mask of a metal welder.

Katsuki assumed natural formation beside Shoto, having trained together for years. Panting and bleeding, Shoto fell back a few feet, letting Katsuki take the lead while he recovered.

Adrenalin smeared a grin across Katsuki’s face while explosions snapped above his palms, his eyes fixed on Asunder’s mask. “Better have a good reason for waking me up, asshole!”

The larger man was panting, but his cool demeanor betrayed nothing close to concern. It was the delusion of being untouchable - a flavor of arrogance common to the cult of the League. 

“The people will soon acknowledge your redundancy,” he said. “They don’t need you anymore.”

“Way to make your point,” Katsuki spat. “If fuckheads like you didn’t keep crawlin’ outta the gutter maybe I could take a fucking vacation.”

“Allow me to make it a permanent vacation,” Asunder said, then slammed his ungloved hands onto the ground.

Katsuki and Shoto jumped away from the crack that snaked along the concrete like a fissure made by an earthquake. Water from a broken pipeline shot through the crack, and in the split second before Shoto froze it solid, Asunder leapt towards Katsuki. Despite his size, he was damn fast, and Katsuki felt the air whoosh past his cheekbone, knucklebone almost grazing his skin.

Wake up, idiot!

The explosion he shot at Asunder blasted him backwards down the street, creating much needed space. If the guy got a hand on Katsuki, he was finished; Asunder might not be able to crack water or air, but solid matter would be split apart in a heartbeat. Including skin and bone.

Katsuki careened forward on the back of an explosion, and while keeping a safe distance between Asunder’s open-palmed hand to hand combat, he pummeled him with a flurry of short blasts. Shoto couldn’t freeze his legs or hands because Asunder could crack them easily - they needed to knock this guy out cold while keeping out of range.

Noting their tactic, Asunder slammed his hands against the environment, sending lampposts crashing to the ground, creating landslides from cracked walls, turning the roads into a nightmare of looming fissures. With every distraction made, Asunder went in for the kill, trying to get through Katsuki’s defense while he hopped over cracks and blasted falling walls to rubble and trusted Shoto to have his back while watching his.

 Damn, Uraraka’s hand to hand combat and quirk would’ve come in useful about now.

“You fucking crackhead!” Katsuki snarled. “Keep still !”

Temper fraying, Katsuki aimed a wicked explosion at Asunder’s head. The man veered sideways - straight onto the line of ice Shoto had shot across the sidewalk. He skidded, off balance, and in that split second of vulnerability, Katsuki hit him with a charged explosion fueled by weeks of pent up rage.

Asunder rocketed backwards and smashed into a wall at the end of the street. Shoto and Katsuki closed the gap, Katsuki with one hand raised at Asunder’s head while Shoto drew a gun loaded with quirk-nullification blanks - a weapon used when it was too dangerous to handcuff a villain.

“It’s over,” Katsuki spat. “Move and I’ll blow your fucking head off.”

Katsuki’s blast had broken off the top half of Asunder’s mask, and the villain’s dark eyes were disdainful. “No you won’t. You can’t. You’re constrained by the same laws I am, hero .”

Beside him, Shoto cocked the gun, and at the same time as he fired, Asunder slammed his hand into the building. 

Katsuki cursed and knocked him unconscious with a blast. Asunder dropped to the floor, but in his wake a fissure snaked up the side of the building, splintering into a network of spiderweb cracks, higher and higher, slithering in a way that seemed almost sentient. Katsuki helplessly watched it spread to the roof, and then he heard the groaning of shifting metal and realized just how fucked they were. 

The building was a block of flats perhaps six floors high, and one of the walls was about to sluice away from the building like rotten flesh off bone. If he blasted it, he’d risk injuring those inside or further destabilizing the structure; his quirk was useless here.

He quickly grabbed Asunder and began dragging him out of harm’s way while yelling at Shoto. “Seal it up with ice!”

Shoto readied himself for an ice blast that would likely drain the rest of his energy, but suddenly lowered his arms. “Shit. The civis.”

The occupants of the building were fleeing out the exits and windows while the brickwork started to crumble and the front began to lean ominously forward. Shoto’s ice wall would trap them at best, kill them at worst. 

“Outta the way!” Katsuki hollered while sprinting away from Asunder’s body towards the building, but the panicked citizens continued to pour out the doors and his yelling went unheard. Shoto tugged his arm.

“We gotta move!”

“I’ll have to blast it!” Katsuki yelled.

“You’ll take the whole damn building with you!”

“I don’t have a choice!”

Another hand on his arm, smaller this time. “I got it.”

Katsuki caught the mildest whiff of orange blossom perfume as Uraraka breezed past him, but before he could say anything she was blasting towards the wall, arms outstretched, the pale pink light of her quirk illuminating the brickwork. 

There was a terrible moment where he doubted her - convinced she couldn’t do it - couldn’t float the entire front of a building. What did it weigh? One hundred tons? There was no way. 

He took a step forward, charging a blast, but then he saw her grab a pipe fixed to the front of the wall and lift . She floated, and the section of broken wall floated with her as easily as a paper plate. The grinding of metal against metal stood in stark contrast to Uraraka’s easy stance midair as she hovered higher, pulling the concrete wall with her so it could be safely lowered to the ground. All the crumbling debris that would have otherwise fallen to the sidewalk hovered midair like meteorites caught in an unseen web. 

Katsuki shook himself out of his trance and glanced around. The civilians were similarly staring in awe at Uraraka. “We gotta make room for her,” he said to Shoto. “I’ll get the civis moving. You take Asunder to the cops before he wakes up.”

Shoto nodded and jogged away, while Katsuki jumped onto the roof of a car and turned to face the crowd. “GET MOVING! NOW! CLEAR OUT! THIS IS A DISASTER ZONE AND CRIME SCENE! ANY CIVILIANS CAUGHT LOITERING WILL BE -”

“Look!” 

The cry came from a child of no more than six, held in the arms of a mother dressed in blue pajamas and slippers. The child was pointing at the building.

Katsuki turned.

Uraraka was limp and falling, and the tons of concrete she’d kept afloat glowed with the sudden release of her quirk.

The child and the mother screamed.

The world around Katsuki slowed to a crawl. Everything went quiet. He heard very clearly his heart beat - once, twice, slowed to a lumberish punch against his ribs like the kicking legs of a dying animal - but he didn’t recognise it. His thoughts funneled and unraveled before him into two crystalline paths.

Two choices: do or don’t.

The falling wall. 

The crowd.

Uraraka.

Do or don’t.

He remembered the feeling well from throwing himself in front of Deku, back when they were kids. Like then, his head was empty, his heart and limbs already tugged along the crystalline path that he, instinctively, knew was right. 

The path of a hero.

The split second that had slowed to a lifetime sped up again. 

And Katsuki pulled out the pin of one of his gauntlets. 

The gargantuan explosion slammed into the wall of concrete and Uraraka and consumed them in a vicious cyclone of light. The boom reverberated through his bones, his teeth, his blood.  Fire singed his hair, his clothes. His ears popped and shrapnel cut his bare arms with ribbon precision. Agony whipped through his limbs from overuse of his quirk, and he fell backwards onto the sidewalk..

Flaming chunks of concrete rained from the sky. One glanced off his shoulder.  Another hit a car, denting the roof and exploding the windows outwards. The shockwave set off a cacophony of car alarms. The crowd screamed and fled in all directions as they were pelted by comparatively harmless chunks of rubble. A small gas explosion from further up the building rattled windows in their frames, and the building leered through the smoke, a faceless husk of foundations and brickwork that exposed the apartments inside, like the broken teeth and empty sockets of a skull.

Katsuki leapt to his feet, fighting off dizziness and injury, a coil of dread in his stomach. He braced himself for the worst, eyes frantically picking through the rubble, looking for blood, searching for the smell of burned flesh. Searching but not wanting to see. Someone else could find her. It didn’t have to be him. But it had to be. Because he did this. This was his choice. His fault -

“Katsuki.”

He barely heard the voice above the ringing in his ears. He swung his gaze sideways and there she was, in Shoto’s arms. Unharmed, but tinged blue with ice and unconscious. 

“I encased her in ice the moment I saw her drop,” Shoto said. “Barely made it in time.”

Katsuki’s legs gave out from underneath him with relief. The coil of dread erupted, and the words he tried to form came out as a shaky moan. The reality of what had happened, what he’d almost done, what he'd somehow been spared from, crashed into him like the building had fallen after all. 

Shoto bent down and handed her to him. “Can you stand?”

Katsuki swallowed a lump in his throat as he peered down at her dirt-streaked face. Even with her boots and mecha, she was devastatingly light. But alive. Very much alive. No thanks to him. “Yeah.”

“Get her to the hospital, I’ll clean this up. Izuku will be here soon.”

Katsuki’s legs felt leaden as he stood. “Shoto, I…”

“You don’t have to say anything.” He looked as tired as Katsuki felt. “I’m sorry you had to make that choice. But for what it’s worth, I would have done the same. Even if it had been Izuku. This is what being a hero means.”

Sweat dripped off the ends of Katsuki’s hair as he lowered his head, gaze fixed on Uraraka. The emotions swirling in his gut were too numerous to pinpoint, much less name. He swallowed again but couldn’t find the words. He felt dead. Hollow. 

This is what being a hero means

“Get her to the hospital,” Shoto repeated softly. “I’ll be in touch.”

And then he blasted off in a plume of ice, giving Katsuki no further excuse to mull on his success as a hero, and failure as a partner.

Chapter Text

Katsuki hated hospitals. Fucking hated them. Even before he became a hero - even before he entered UA - something about them rubbed him the wrong way; the unwavering hum of the overheads, the sterile uniforms and masked faces, bleach layered over sickness and withering flowers. They were just white washed canvases constructed to distract from the true nature of the building, and he hated it.

Maybe he was being masochistic, but Katsuki would rather die on the field than in a hospital any day. His granddad had died of cancer when he was six, and he remembered feeling like the hospital was sucking the life out of him, how the bed was just a glorified coffin, and how the last goodbye had felt like lines spoken in a play. Fuck the final farewells and comfort of a bed. He’d rather die in battle, and if that made him selfish… well, whatever. Anything was better than a fucking hospital.

Which was why he was outside in an alley tucked between two buildings, squatting in a slice of shadow out of the early morning heat. For whatever reason, the paparazzi gathered near the entrance hadn’t thought to look for him around the side of the building, and here he couldn’t smell the hospital’s sickly tang over car fumes.

Katsuki leaned his head back against the brick wall and stared up at the uniform rows of windows opposite. He was getting dizzy again, a headache pressing behind his eyes, and he hadn’t stopped shaking since last night. But he’d left his pills at home, so he’d have to deal with it until she woke up.

“Ground Zero?”

Katsuki shifted his gaze sideways without moving his head, tired to the bone. Thank fuck his brand didn’t involve smiling because there was no way he could muster one, even on pain of death.

A kid edged nervously towards him down the alley, his mother close behind with an encouraging hand on the kid’s shoulder. Katsuki’s gaze flitted first to his GZA shirt (a green grenade against a yellow and red explosion with the word ‘BOOOM’ splashed in cartoonish font above it) then to the GZA keychain dangling from his mother’s purse. He wondered if it was legit or one of the rip offs from the night market. 

The kid shuffled a little closer, then bowed. “Th… thank you for saving us last night, Ground Zero.”

Katsuki blinked at them until his memory sluggishly placed their faces. It was the mom and her kid from last night. They both looked tired and the mother had a bandaid on her cheek.

“You alright?” he asked her.

She smiled wanly, “Thanks to you I am,” and bowed so low she almost dropped her purse. “I know heroes do so much for us every day, but I’ve never been in direct danger before. If it wasn’t for you, we… my son would…”

Katsuki waved a hand. “Forget about it.”

“I mean it!” she said. “What you did. It couldn’t have been easy. I wish there was some way we could repay you but -”

“S’fine,” Katsuki said uncomfortably. 

The kid shuffled closer. “Mr Ground Zero?”

“Yeah?”

He smiled the kind of smile that reminded Katsuki of himself as a kid, watching reruns of All Might’s heroics on TV. “You’re my hero!” 

Katsuki bit down a snort. Had All Might felt this hollow, too? How many people had he sacrificed, how many had he left behind, all for nameless strangers and a kid’s smile?

Seeing Katsuki’s expression, the mother began herding her son down the alley. “C’mon, sweetie, Ground Zero must be tired.”

“Aww - but -”

“No buts, let’s go -”

“Hey, kid,” Katsuki called after them, earning their attention again. “Grow up strong and protect your mom, okay?”

The boy’s face split with a bright grin again, then waved just as they rounded the corner out of sight.

Katsuki wondered if the kid would enroll in UA because of what happened, determined to be just like his hero Ground Zero, but that train of butterfly effect was too much to ponder right now, so he got to his feet, cracked his spine, put on a mask, and headed back into the hospital.

Uraraka was in a private room at the end of a wing reserved for heroes - an extra expense covered by the agency. Katsuki kept his head down as he followed the signs through the labyrinth of changeless corridors. Even with a mask, he was instantly recognizable because of his costume, and he didn’t want to talk to anyone. Not when Uraraka was unconscious. How was he supposed to explain himself? What could he possibly say that would justify sparing strangers over her? 

He didn’t deserve forgiveness. And there was nothing he could say or do that would ever make up for almost killing her.

Katsuki caught his shoulder on a corner. Fuck, it was getting hard to breathe.

The white of the walls, floor and ceiling melded together, disorientating, hurting his eyes. A blinding tunnel of light and bleach. Masked nurses hurried by, their heels clicking on the polished floor. He counted the doors as he passed them, urging his heart rate to drop. 

Suddenly the corridor loomed sideways and he staggered against the wall, breath crackling through his lungs. His chest hurt. Sweat dripped down the side of his face. He clamped his eyes shut, willing the rising panic to stop before -

“You look terrible.”

A firm press against his arm. He looked down to find Anya holding a bottle of pills out to him. It was his prescription. Wordlessly, he shook one out and swallowed it dry, then tucked the bottle in his pocket. She didn’t say anything for a while, but watched him expressionlessly while he got his breathing back under control.

“I suppose there’s no point asking if you’re okay,” she said. “Do you need to sit down? They’re strong, but it will take a few more minutes before they kick in properly.”

He said nothing and stared ahead at the corridor.

She sighed. “Fine. Let’s walk and talk.”

He peeled himself off the wall and followed her a step behind, hands in his pockets. “You should’ve done something useful with your quirk.”

She chuckled. “Like what? It’s useless most of the time. Mostly intuition. Just because I can read someone’s mood by the color of their aura doesn’t mean I know what they need in the moment.”

“You always know with me.”

“That’s because you’re a simpleton.”

“Fuck off.”

“Most men are, frankly. They’re either horny or tired or angry. From there I can guess at the source and try to resolve it, but it’s not useful in the heroic sense, and most of the time people just find it invasive.” 

“Could work for the police. You’d make a good lie detector.” 

“Maybe, although emotion is a fickle thing and various other factors can taint the color, obscuring the lie. No, I’ll stick to coasting along in middle management, thanks very much.”

Katsuki glanced sideways at her. “What color is my…” The word got stuck in his throat. “Y’know.”

“Anxiety?” Anya supplied easily. “Somewhere between moss and crocodile green.”

“Oddly specific.”

“But I know it’s bad when it edges more towards olive.” She glanced at him over her shoulder. “Feeling better?”

“You tell me, moodring freak.”

She smiled wryly. “That’s one better than coffee-slut, so I’ll take that as a yes.”

As they rounded the last corner, Katsuki spotted a man in a black suit hovering outside Uraraka’s closed room door. His tie was loose and he was ringing his hands, clearly debating whether he should go inside or not. Their eyes met suddenly and Katsuki recognized him as Uraraka’s manager.

“You!” the man said. “This is all your fault!”

Katsuki thought he should feel angry about the accusation - he hadn’t fucking wanted to hurt her - but he felt nothing. Either the pill was kicking in or he simply did not care what people thought about him anymore. Because it was his fault. So he merely shrugged. 

“Do you know what an inconvenience this is to us?” the man went on. “I’ve had to cancel two of her bookings today - two ! I’ve spent the last four hours having to call clients to rearrange gigs that have been booked for months. Do you know how embarrassing that is? How unprofessional? We’ve lost hundreds of thousands of yen because of you -”

Katsuki’s indifference abruptly shifted to cold, dangerous rage. It cut through his chest like a rabid animal and spurred him across the space with barely a thought between seconds. He bunched the man’s shirt in his fist and hauled him closer, words spitting between clenched teeth.

“ Yen? She almost died last night and all you care about is money!? Y-you fucking piece of shit, I’ll fucking kill you!”

The man scrabbled in his grip. “Get your hands off me! You can’t just - Let go! We-we’re going to sue your agency for this! They’ve got cameras - th-this is assault - you --”

“Bakugou.” Anya placed a hand on his arm. “Let him go.”

“Give me one good reason,” Katsuki seethed. “One good fucking reason -”

“You’re a psychopath !” the man spat. “You’re a damn liability and we won’t allow Uravity to associate with someone that would tarnish her brand -”

Sparks ignited spontaneously between Katsuki’s fingers as he drew the man closer until Anya dug her nails into Katsuki’s arm. 

“Enough! We all need to calm down before someone calls hospital security. Let’s stop acting like children and talk things through like adults. We’ve all had a long night, Uraraka-san more than anyone. The least we can do is give her some rest.”

Dammit.

Pounding with rage, Katsuki tsked and shoved the man away then tucked his hands under his armpits to stop him from spontaneously combusting half the damn hospital. 

Money. Of course all those fuckheads cared about was money .

“Tanaka-san,” Anya said, “let’s talk somewhere privately.”

“Uravity is working this afternoon, I won’t let her cancel or lose us more money than she already has with her carelessness -”

Anya slapped a hand over Katsuki’s arm again, impeding his step forward. “I understand. Let’s go to the cafeteria to discuss our joint statement to the press.” She cocked a look at Katsuki. “Everyone needs to take a breath and consider the bigger picture, here.”

Katsuki exhaled sharply through his nose and looked away.

Tanaka straightened his tie. “Fine. But there will be fallout for this.”

Katsuki watched them walk away, then took a deep breath. I’ll fucking show you fallout, you piece of shit.

Anger was a familiar comfort amongst more fickle emotions, a well worn sweater that fit him to perfection, but all it seemed to do was smother his better senses when he needed them most. Like now. Because admittedly, threatening Uraraka’s manager probably wasn’t a great decision. 

That’s why he had Anya, he supposed.

He took another breath, then entered Uraraka’s room.

The walls were white and and the window was open, letting in a breeze that stirred the curtains. The sun’s glare was filtered to a snow-like glow on the bed sheets, and the only splash of color was a painted picture of a mountainscape hanging on the wall. Katsuki’s gaze tagged on that with a pang of wistfulness for a second, before shifting to the room’s only occupant.

Uraraka was in bed hooked up to an IV and vitals monitor. The beeping was worse than a ticking clock. It should have been a reassurance - a tangible projection of her being alive - but grated on Katsuki’s already frayed nerves. Still, it could be worse. It could be silent.

He collapsed in the chair next to her, leaning against the arm, and propped his chin on his fist. Uraraka’s normal pink pallor had returned thanks to the drip, and the doctors reckoned she’d wake at any time. They’d diagnosed her with fatigue. She had a low iron count and glucose levels alongside mild dehydration, but otherwise was fine. She just needed rest, they’d said.

Which was easier said than done. After all, it was easy to diagnose fatigue, but far harder to tackle the cause of it. And if Uraraka was anything like him, she wouldn’t allow herself to rest for a long while. 

Katsuki rubbed his eyes. He’d known she was tired. He’d known it. But how was he supposed to stop her from working? What could he do, as her boyfriend? Maybe if he’d insisted or at least talked to her about it, last night might never have happened.

There was a knock at the door. Katsuki called out an affirmative, and to his surprise, Izuku poked his head inside. His eyes lit up when he saw Katsuki, then quickly dulled again when he saw Uraraka on the hospital bed. Katsuki turned back around, unable to face his pained expression without feeling guilty.

“She’ll be fine,” Katsuki told him.

Izuku closed the door and crossed the room, then leaned over Uraraka and lightly touched her forehead. He was in full uniform and looked exhausted, like he’d come straight from his shift. “I sure miss Recovery Girl, sometimes.”

Katsuki snorted in amusement, then pulled a chair beside him and gestured for Izuku to sit down. He did, and slid into an uncharacteristic slouch. 

“Forgot to bring flowers,” he muttered, then sighed bitterly. “Nothing new there, though. I always forgot to bring flowers. Or I never thought about it, I don’t know. Guess the gesture becomes sorta meaningless when we’re in and out of the hospital so much.”

The thought hadn’t crossed Katsuki’s mind. Offering flowers as an apology for almost killing her sounded like a punchline to a piss poor joke. 

“She’s always been like this,” Izuku continued quietly. “UA trained us to be this way, right? To put everyone else before yourself. But Ochako - she put the heroes before herself. Even the villains . I knew this would happen eventually but I never looked out for her the way I should…” He trailed off. “I’m just glad she has you now.”

Katsuki clenched his jaw. “Fuck all good that does.”

“Kacchan -”

“I almost killed her.”

Izuku straightened in his seat. “You did the right thing, Kacchan. Even if doing the right thing doesn’t feel like the right thing, sometimes.”

Katsuki paused, eyes still glued on Uraraka. “What would you have done… Izuku? If it was her. If it was Shouto.”

Izuku leaned back in his seat and swallowed loudly. “I don’t know. Gods, I don’t know. I wish I could say I would have been as strong as you but…” He reached out and gently touched Uraraka’s hand. “Let’s say you chose to save her instead. Let’s say you let that wall crush those people - crush you . Who do you think would have had to help shift the debris after? Who do you think would have found those kids? Those families? You ?”

He suddenly remembered Uraraka’s distant look under gaudy lights, her voice monotone, detached, as she softly said, Have you ever seen what a person looks like when they’ve been crushed under a collapsed building?

Katsuki slunk further into his seat, biting back the hotness around his eyes. Izuku simply gripped his shoulder.

“She’ll forgive you for this,” he said, “whether you like it or not. But I don’t know if she could have forgiven you if you'd chosen the alternative. That’s why you -”

Suddenly, a man and a woman entered the room without knocking. Katsuki swiveled furiously in his seat to fix a death glare on whoever the fuck had the audacity to bust into a hospital room without asking first. The woman was carrying a 7Eleven bag full of food, a blanket covered in rocket ships, and a ‘Get Well Soon’ balloon. The man behind her was so tall he had to duck under the doorframe. He was wearing a pale pink Uravity shirt that strained around his broad shoulders and thick torso; the sleeves were too short and cut off just below his elbows, revealing forearms hard with muscle and large hands that had obviously seen a lifetime of manual labor. 

Obviously a fucking fanboy.

“Wrong room, assholes,” Katsuki spat at them. “This isn’t a fucking meet and greet. Get the fuck out!”

Izuku squeaked and shot out of his chair like someone had shoved an electrode up his ass, then hastily bowed to the intruders. “U-um, hello Mr and Mrs Uraraka. It’s nice to see you again.”

Katsuki closed his eyes and attempted to manifest the hospital into a black hole. Being crushed by an eternal void sounded real swell compared to this.

Uraraka’s parents – good gods it was so fucking obvious now, she looked just like her mom – fixed Katsuki with unimpressed frowns before turning to Izuku.

“Hello, darling,” her mom said affectionately. “It’s nice to see you again, too. You’re looking well. Have you just finished work?”

“Yes, ma’am,” Izuku said, oozing reluctance while edging away from Katsuki like he was about to detonate. “Well, actually, no. I should be working. I just swung by on my break so, um…”

“Very thoughtful of you,” Mrs Uraraka said. “Do send my love to Inko, won’t you?”

Katsuki resisted the urge to grab him by the collar. Do not leave me with them, you fucking traitor -

“I sure will.” Izuku shuffled to the door with his hand tucked apologetically behind his head. Thanks to years of experience he could likely sense Katsuki’s murderous intent zeroed on his direction. “Say hi to Ochako for me when she wakes up.”

“We will, love.”

And then Izuku slipped out the door and shut it hurriedly behind him, leaving Katsuki alone with Uraraka’s parents.

Fuck .

They turned to stare at him expectantly. Uraraka’s dad looked like he was considering bashing Katsuki’s skull against the wall - and honestly looking at him, Katsuki suspected he’d be more than capable.

“I, uh… wasn’t expecting to meet like this,” Katsuki said thickly. 

“That’s putting it lightly,” her mother said, then sighed, releasing the tension from her shoulders. She placed the bag of food down on the side table, then covered Uraraka with the blanket. “You’d think I’d get used to seeing my little girl beat up after so many years, but it never gets easier. Not a day goes by where I don’t worry about her.”

Katsuki stepped aside to let Mr Uraraka lean over Uraraka and push her bangs out of her face. The gesture seemed pointed - territorial , somehow. He stared at the blinking vitals on the machine and after an unhappy silence, he said, “We never wanted her to sign up to UA, you know. She would have excelled in the construction business, what with her quirk, but we never expressed our concerns to her - not when we saw how passionate she was about pursuing heroics. After all, we just want her to be happy, the same way she wants others to be happy.” 

He straightened, looming over Katsuki by a full head. Katsuki tried very hard not to take an uneasy step back when meeting Mr Uraraka’s long, hard look. 

“Why did you become a hero, boy ?”

Katsuki swallowed. “Back then, I -”

“Because I’ll bet it wasn’t to help people, was it?” Mr Uraraka squinted down at him, his thick jaw ticking. “Maybe it is now, but back then? I’ll bet I know exactly why you joined UA.” He leaned closer. “Do you know what it was like hearing my little girl sob down the phone after losing to you at the festival? Do you know what it was like having to watch that on national television? I should break your pretty boy face for making my little angel cry.”

“Leave him be, honey,” Mrs Uraraka said, not looking up from tucking the blanket around her daughter’s arms. “He’s clearly had a long night.”

Katsuki said nothing. Tension crackled between them, then Mr Uraraka took a deep breath. “I should’ve seen this comin’. She wouldn’t shut up about you for weeks after that god damn festival. I s’ppose I have to leave it to you to make her happy.” He stared hard at him. “You think you can do that, kid?”

Katsuki was painfully aware of his blood-crusted hero gear and the strong scent of nitroglycerin permeating the space around him. Great first impression. Or second impression, if the Sports Festival counted, which he quietly hoped it didn’t. “I, uh -”

Mrs Uraraka held out a carton of apple juice to him. “Have you eaten?” she asked.

He took it, swallowing thickly. “No.”

“Or slept?”

“...No.”

“Then that’s no good,” she said primly. “How can we entrust our little girl to you if you can’t look after yourself first?”

Katsuki stared at the apple juice, heart pounding against his ribs. Swallowing his pride, he turned to them both then bowed lower than he’d ever done in his life. “I’m… I’m sorry. For not being able to protect her. I know what I did, and I know I’ll never be able to make up for it, and I don’t deserve her forgiveness or yours but -”

A heavy hand on his shoulder stalled him, and he straightened to look up at Mr Uraraka. His eyes were different now. Soft. Like Uraraka’s.

“Thank you,” he said, “for your work as a hero. You did the right thing, last night. She’s always kept her struggles private so it wouldn’t burden others, until things like this happen. We know she can look after herself, but still. It’s reassuring to know there’s someone strong supporting her from the sidelines.”

“And the frontlines,” her mother added with a smile.

Katsuki’s heart twisted. “I… I know how I am. How I come across. But...I’ll always look out for her, no matter what happens. You have my word on it.”

As her father took a step back, her mother reached across the bed and pinched Katsuki’s cheek with a grin that was the exact mirror of Uraraka’s. “I can see why she’s always liked you so much.”

Her father pulled her away with a grimace, then turned back to Katsuki. “We have to get back to work but tell Ochako we stopped by, won’t you?”

“Have her call us when she’s feeling up to it,” her mother added. “And make sure she eats. And not just sweets, make sure she eats the vegetables too. A-and make sure she drinks plenty of water and doesn’t use her quirk too soon and make sure she doesn’t water down the medicine because she –“

“He knows, love,” her father said, steering her towards the door. He cast another look over his shoulder at Katsuki. “I hope next time we’ll meet under more favorable circumstances, Bakugou.”

Katsuki hastily bowed as they exited, because the fact he’d called them assholes would haunt him on his deathbed. Alone again, he collapsed into the chair and deflated like a burst balloon. Holy fuck, he needed a year to recover from that. What an absolute shit show.

He stared at the carton of juice in his hand, then tore off the straw with his teeth, stabbed it through the foil, and slurped it down in a few, large gulps.

The mountains spread before him in dappled shades of purple and green, the only splash of colour against a sky so blindingly blue it was almost white. Behind him was the sea, though he couldn’t see it, and below him was the familiar architecture of UA, somehow muddled with areas of Tokyo. He heard the snapping of fabric tugged by a wind and found himself wrapped in a cape - All Might’s cape, from his Red Era, and he was suspended hundreds of feet in the air. There was an alarm sounding below - like a siren, but shriller, constant beeping - and his hands were sparking. Combusting spontaneously. 

Panicking, he slammed them onto his chest to stop the explosions from leaking out, but they only ignited brighter, faster, tracking through him so fast and furiously he could see his veins burning into black hollows across his arms. His flesh was peeling away and blackening at the edges, revealing strips of roiling fire under his skin. The sirens wailed on and off, louder, then stopped - and the explosion burst out of him like -

Katsuki jerked awake with a gasp and slammed his hand on the chair’s arm to stop from tumbling sideways. A spark ignited between his fingers, almost singeing the plastic, and as he blinked away the dream he saw a hand hastily withdraw from his arm.

Uraraka was sitting on the edge of the bed having unhooked her IV, and was peering at with a worried expression. “Were you having a nightmare?”

Reality hit him and he jerked upright, blinking away the haze of his brief doze. Her concern bled into a gentle smile, and his heart lurched against his ribs.

She was fine. 

She was alive.

“Yeah,” he said. “But it’s fine now.”

They stared at each other for a moment, then she held out her arms to him, wordlessly asking to be held. Katsuki looked at the floor, his admission tangled like barbed wire in his throat.

“Uraraka, I… Last night. When the wall dropped. I had to choose. There wasn’t any other way - it was falling and you were falling right above it and nobody was moving and even if the were they wouldn’t have made it away in time so I…”

“You don’t have to say it,” she blurted. 

“I do,” he said. “You have to know -”

“Bakugou-kun, please -”

“I almost killed you,” he spat. “I would have… if Shouto hadn’t… You’d be dead, critical at best, but I swear I… if there had been an alternative -”

“There was no alternative! The moment I felt my quirk weakening, I knew what would have to happen. But I wasn’t afraid. Because I knew you’d make the right choice.”

Katsuki felt despair rush through his chest. “It didn’t fucking feel like the right choice.”

Her smile dissolved. Her bottom lip trembled and her eyes glittered with tears. The words bubbled out of her like water boiling over a pan. “I’m… I’m so suh-sorry, B-Bakugou, I’m so sorry I did that you. To everyone. I…It’s all my fault. I wasn’t st-strong enough. I kn-knew I cuh-couldn’t float that much but I did it a-anyway and puh-put you in that terrible position a-and n-now everyone’s angry and people could have died and it’s - it’s all my fault, it’s all my fault because I’m so weak -” She covered her mouth with a shaking hand. Fat tears slid down her cheeks and pooled under her palm, her whole body wracked with the effort of keeping in her sobs.

Katsuki hadn’t realized he’d stood up until his arms were around her. “Just cry,” he said. 

And she locked her arms around his waist and sobbed into his abdomen. Sobbed so hard he thought she’d shake apart. Sobbed until his shirt was sodden with tears and her voice was raw. He didn’t know what to say, so he just pressed his hands against the back of her neck and held her while blinking at the painting on the wall. He wondered how long she’d kept this in for.

Eventually, her muffled sobs turned to sniffles and her grip around his waist eased. He stroked her hair and peered down at her. “Don’t even think about blowing your nose on my shirt, Round Face.”

She coughed out a laugh, then blinked up at him with puffy, tired eyes. He swiped a tear off her cheek, but couldn’t quite conjure a smile. 

“We’re a mess,” he said. 

“Yeah,” she said. 

He unhooked her arms then perched on the bed next to her. The meds had taken the edge off now, so he was able to sort through his thoughts without the sharp edges of his anxiety trimming away the more delicate feelings. ‘Sorry’ seemed so hollow under the weight of what he’d chosen to do, but he couldn’t find a better substitute, so he said it.

“Sorry.”

She squeezed his hand. It looked so tiny in his, but her voice was vehement. “I don’t blame you for it at all. Not one bit. You have to know that. Do you understand? You did the right thing.”

He stared at her fingertips. “How can you say that? If Shouto hadn’t -”

“It doesn’t matter! But I know…” She hesitated. “I know that my words alone won’t make you feel better. Not entirely. But that’s how I feel: I don’t resent you for it at all. I understand, truly.”

Her reassurance felt hollow, but he couldn’t articulate that; it did nothing to erase his guilt. “Your agency sucks.”

She chuckled listlessly. “Yeah. but I should probably learn to say no more.”

“It’s not your -”

“It is. To a degree. I’ve always been like that. I just want to make people smile, you know? Even if… even if it means saying yes when I should say no. I just feel so guilty otherwise. And I know my agency knows that, but they don’t care so long as they’re making money, right?” She fiddled with the hem of her hospital gown. “And I… when I work too much - when I get tired - I lose control of my quirk and I start throwing up again, like I used to do when I was kid. And it… and it makes me feel so ashamed. So weak . And even though I know it’s dangerous, I have to keep working - keep using my quirk - and to help manage the nausea I know it’s… it’s easier not to eat. But that’s somehow got muddled in my mind so now I see eating as this weakness - it’s like I’m punishing myself by not eating. Punishing myself for my weakness. Like if I’m starving I’ll get stronger, even though I know deep down that’s stupid. And if I can’t keep it down in the first place then I don’t deserve to enjoy myself or rest or spend my money or eat or -”

Katsuki pulled her into him. His chest was tight and his throat burned and he didn’t realize he was blinking away tears until the hospital room blurred into white paste. He swallowed down his emotion and held her tight until she nuzzled into his neck and relaxed. 

“I’m not gonna let you feel this way anymore,” he said hoarsely. 

Her arms tightened around him. “I don’t want to endanger anyone. I ju-just want to be strong. Like you.”

“You are strong!” He leaned back to glare at her. “I don’t want to hear you say that, y’hear? You’ve never been a weak a day in your fucking life and if anyone says you are, I will burn them into the ground. Starting with your fucking manager, because you’re taking a break whether they like it or not.”

She blinked at him. “I can’t. My agency -”

“Fuck your stupid agency! You’re taking a break!”

“You know it’s not that simple -”

“I’ll fucking make them. I won’t give them a choice. You need a break. You deserve a fucking break.”

She cocked her head and opened and closed her mouth a few times, like she was unsure whether to say something. He stared at her until she did. 

“I, um… I saw the pills on your table the other night,” she said. “You… you never said anything, so I didn’t know whether to bring it up or not.”

Katsuki looked away, heart thudding. He didn’t want to talk about it - but that was part of the problem, wasn't it? He never wanted to talk about anything. And that seemed unfair considering her easy forgiveness and vulnerability. He owed her an explanation, at the very least. 

He shifted around and let his elbows drop to his thighs, hands hanging between his knees. “Midodrine,” he said. “Combats hypotension.”

“Hypo? Not… hyper?”

He snorted. “You’d think so, all things considered, but no. It’s a side effect of the nitroglycerin. My body produces too much if I overwork or get too stressed, and it gets into my bloodstream. Causes low blood pressure. Not a big deal.”

Uraraka looked like she wanted to argue, but thought better of it. “And the lorazepam?”

He couldn’t meet her eye. “Panic attacks.”

She was silent for a moment, then she sighed and looped her fingers through his. “You know, I always thought you were the most confident person in the whole world. So unabashedly yourself. Like you didn’t care what anyone else thought of you. I remember how they booed you from the stands. At the Sport’s Festival. How you just didn’t care . How you still didn’t hold back. Until that day, I’d always felt like I was walking in shadows, damned to stare at people’s backs forever, but you were the first person to really look me in the eye. To consider me from a level playing field.” She shyly ran her thumb over his knuckle. “I’ve had you on this pedestal in my brain for - for a long time. And I tried to smother all my flaws to be more like you without thinking that maybe you had flaws too.” She pressed her cheek against his shoulder. “But that’s fine. I want to help you too, Bakugou-kun. We can work through this together. That’s what couples do, right?”

Her words should have weighed him down - that extra responsibility, the expectation, the fear of failing - but somehow… it didn't. It felt manageable. Like a relief that he didn’t need to put on the same face he did for the public.

“By the way,” he said. “I, um… called your parents assholes.”

Uraraka shot upright. “ What !?”

“I didn’t know it was them!” he clarified. “Thought they were a couple of fans or somethin’.”

“I wondered why I was wrapped in my old blanket.” Uraraka shut her eyes. “Oh gods, please tell me you didn’t call my dad an asshole.”

“I apologized!”

“Did he hurt you?”

“Uh - no?”

“Gods, he already thinks you’re…” She trailed off.

“I’m what?” Katsuki said.

She looked away. “Doesn’t matter.”

“No, it does,” he said, something unpleasant thrashing in his chest. “What do they think of me? That I'm an asshole? That I treat you like shit?”

Uraraka sighed. “Can you blame them? Your reputation isn’t exactly… stellar.”

Katsuki shifted moodily on the bed. No, he supposed he couldn’t. But it still pissed him off.

She gently touched his cheek. “But I know you’re not like that. You’d never hurt me. Not in a million years.”

He remembered her dad’s stern, dark eyes, and the wall falling towards him, and hoped she was right. 

Someone knocked on the door. After Katsuki called out, Anya stepped inside looking annoyed in a professional, tolerant sort of way. She pushed up her glasses and cocked her hip.

“Glad to see you’re awake, Uraraka-san,” she said, then turned her attention to Katsuki. “You’re taking a week off. Effective immediately.”

He reared back. “ What!? A week!? I can’t take a week off -”

“You are. It’s cleared with upper management. Your shifts are covered and your paperwork has been passed on to admin. You’re welcome.” Her stern gaze fell on Uraraka. “And so are you.”

Uraraka would have leapt off the bed if Katsuki hadn’t stopped her. “WHAT!? There’s no way! Anya-san, I appreciate the offer but there’s no way my agency will allow it -”

“They don’t have a choice.” Anya plucked her phone from the top pocket of her suit jacket and idly tapped in her password. “Both our agencies are facing huge backlash for this. And for once, I’m grateful the responsibility has fallen onto our shoulders instead of yours. There’s been dissent among the public about unhealthy work hours for a while now - not just within hero society, but within general corporate companies, too. What happened last night worked as a visual demonstration of Japan’s current workforce laws buckling under human error caused by exhaustion - of people having to choose work over family. Dying because of work. Plus, someone leaked Uravity’s work hours over the past six months and, well, let’s just say if the company refused your paid holiday again, it would do far more damage than good.”

Uraraka visibly shrank into the bed. “They’re gonna be so mad with me.”

“Fuck ‘em!” Katsuki barked. “They say so much as word to you about this and I will fucking level your agency building.”

Anya cleared her throat warningly. “If anything, your agency is going to be groveling to keep you, Uraraka-san. They’ve been passing the blame onto heroes for a long time for accidents on the field, but after that information leaked this morning, they’ve lost their scapegoat.” She sighed. “I feel for the PR team today.”

“I don’t,” Katsuki snapped, then ran his tongue nervously over his teeth. “You sure I can take time off? The polls are happenin’ in a few weeks.”

“Can you take time off? Probably not. Should you take time off? Definitely.” Anya crossed her arms and sighed. “Besides, this has had a surprisingly good impact on your reputation. You put the people first last night. Both of you did. You sacrificed everything to keep saving lives.”

Uraraka said nothing. Katsuki stared at the floor. The memory of the little boy in his mother’s arms peering with open-mouthed terror at the falling wall shuttered before his eyes. His bright smile above a GZA shirt, his mother’s hand on his shoulder.

You’re my hero

“For goodness’ sake, don’t look too happy about taking vacation together, will you?” Anya said. “Not like I’ve avoided a lawsuit and secured you time off in the space of a morning.”

“N-no, I’m grateful, really,” Uraraka said, slipping out of Katsuki’s hand to stand up. “It’s just been a long night. Thank you for your help, Anya-san.” She bowed, then shot a look at Katsuki as she sat back down again.

He thumbed his nose and looked sideways. “Thanks.”

“It’s as much of a vacation for me as it is for you,” Anya snipped at Katsuki. “A whole week free from cleaning up your messes. Amazing, truly.” She turned on her heel and was halfway out the door when she added, “And far be it from me to tell you what to do with your vacation leave, but you have a therapy appointment scheduled tomorrow. I suggest you go to it. Ciao!”

Sitting side by side on the bed like a pair of scolded children, they blinked at the door in silence until Uraraka hummed in appreciation. “Your manager sure is something, Bakugou-kun.”

Katsuki felt a wave of relief wash over him. The anxiety wasn’t gone completely, but knowing she was here, alive and well beside him, was enough to clear his thoughts for a bit. He looked down at his hero gear, noting again the blood and dirt caked into the creases. 

“Fuck, I need a shower.” 

“I need a change of clothes,” she said, looking at her hero suit folded over the back of a chair. “I better talk to my manager about making a press statement first. God, I do not want to face the paps looking like this, much less answer their questions.” She closed her eyes and threw back her head with a groan. “Ugh, don’t wannnnaaa.”

“Then don’t,” he said simply. “Come with me.”

She stared miserably at him. “I’ll get in trouble.”

“You’re on vacation, who fucking cares?”

“I can’t, seriously I -”

“Fine,” Katsuki said, then bent over and scooped her into his arms, bridal style.

“A-ah - Bakugou - what are you doing, I have to be discharged by a doctor!”

Katsuki stomped over to the window. “Don’t care.”

She flailed like a bug for a second before settling in his arms with her hands looped around his neck. “You cannot be serious.”

“I’m always serious.” He propped one foot on the windowsill. “Don’t even think about using your quirk. Don’t want you vomiting on me.”

“Oh my god, that’s so mean -”

“Hold on tight.”

“Wa-wait, Ba-Bakugou - AH!”

He leapt out the window and they plummeted into freefall. The hospital was only nine stories high so the sidewalk littered with paparazzi loomed much faster than he was used to. He quickly let go of Uraraka - ignoring her shriek and the way her legs clamped around his waist - then fired off twin explosions that boomed across the parking lot and shook windows in frames. The paparazzi barely had time to turn their cameras before the pair shot skyward in a plume of crackling flame, up and up, higher and higher, until Tokyo was a slate patchwork unrolling toward the horizon.

He kept them mostly upright and elevated with the occasional spluttered explosion, and took a deep breath. The air was thin and cold, but fresh. So fresh. Quiet. He closed his eyes, feeling the sun on his face and his anxiety slide away like oil across a pan.

He thought of the mountain painting above the hospital bed.

Uraraka’s cool hand pressed to his cheek, and when he looked down, her expression was caught between exasperation and adoration.

“What?” he said.

“Paparazzi,” she replied, then kissed him so hard he almost forgot to keep them afloat. 

Chapter Text

During their time together in UA, Katsuki had seen the inside of Uraraka’s dorm room only once, and had been quietly surprised by its plainness. He knew she’d been poor so hadn’t said a word about it - and neither had anyone else - but looking around her apartment for the first time and noting what was perhaps the exact same dresser she’d had back in school, he couldn’t tell if she was stingy or just lacked good taste.

And he said so out loud.

“Shut up!” came her response from the bathroom. “I’m hardly home - why do I need to make it fancy?”

Although she’d seemed a little shy about her flat when they’d arrived. She’d gestured towards the kitchen, apologized for having nothing to offer but tap water, then left him standing by the genkan so she could run a bath. Not that Katsuki cared. He would likely be in a similar apartment if his parents hadn’t loaned him the money for a mortgage.

Over the sound of running water, Uraraka said, “Anyway, it’s nice bein’ in a place where I can actually see the walls and surfaces. Living with Deku was a nightmare, sometimes; his All Might memorabilia could’ve filled a warehouse. Luckily Shouto-kun can afford to dedicate an entire room in their apartment to that stuff.”

Katsuki snorted but said nothing. Most of his own hoard of All Might memorabilia was still at his parent’s house in his old room under strict instructions to never be touched. Ever . Not that he’d tell Uraraka that anytime soon.

After pouring himself a glass of water, Katsuki appraised the living area of her one bed flat, with its sagging, threadbare couch and a TV that looked twenty years out of date above a VHS player. It was clean, at least, and the simplicity spoke a lot about her values. Which wasn't bad, by any means.

His roaming eye tagged on the only ornamentation in the room - a dresser dotted with framed photos; her parents wearing luau on a beach, the graduation photo from UA (he had the same copy hanging on his wall), her and Gunhead after her apprenticeship. The nerd squad on her twenty-first birthday. Her, Deku and Shouto at their engagement party. 

And one of her and Katsuki, snapped at the gala by a pap, hand in hand. 

He picked it up, heart squeezing

(You’re my hero)

then put it back down again and closed his eyes.

He just wanted to forget about his failure. For one week. Fuck, one day . But maybe he didn’t deserve that. He had to face it sometime, after all. 

“ -with me or not?”

Katsuki jerked out of his reverie and looked towards the bathroom door. “Hah?”

“Are you gonna bathe with me or not?”

“Didn’t know the offer was on the table,” he said, then pulled off his shirt. It was stiff with dirt. Disgusting. “Don’t think this is gonna be a sexy shower. I seriously need to wash.”

Uraraka’s bathroom was overdue for an upgrade about ten years ago, but Katsuki wasn’t exactly studying the tiles when Uraraka was submerged to her shoulders in the tub and wreathed in tendrils of steam. She lifted a leg out above the surface when he entered, letting the water trickle deliciously down her calf, and fixed him with a long, sultry look that he felt all the way to his toes.

“I mean it,” he mumbled. “I need to shower.”

She smiled coyly. “Nobody’s stoppin’ you, hotshot.”

He kicked out of the last of his gear, thumbed on the shower head in the wet area next to the tub, and almost let out a groan when the hot water hit his skin. Stale nitroglycerin and dirt ran off his limbs in dark streaks and pooled around their feet. The mess might have disgusted him if it didn’t feel so damn good. 

“You’re a tease.”

He blinked down at Uraraka. She had her arms crossed over the lip of the tub, shamelessly watching him shower. 

“Oh yeah?” he said.

“Yeah.” She patted the tub. “You're clean enough. Come soak with me.”

Katsuki snorted while lathering soap on his arms, then paused. “For fuck’s sake, is this the sparkly stuff again?”

“It smells good!”

“It smells cheap .”

“Are you saying I smell cheap?”

“Yeah. Cheap with no taste.”

“I think that says more about you than it does me.” She patted the side of the tub again. “C’mon.”

“I can’t fit in there with you, Round Face.”

“Sure you can.”

“No.”

“Pleaaasse?”

“No!”

“C’mooooooon.”

Katsuki slammed the bottle of soap onto the side with entirely feigned annoyance. Of course he was getting in. “Fine! Shit, woman.” 

He turned off the shower head then eased himself into the tub opposite her. The sides squeaked as he slid further underwater, wedging his legs on either side of Uraraka, who looked irritatingly pleased with herself. He’d barely made himself comfortable before she climbed on top of him, her smooth flesh sliding over his between tangled limbs, and rested her cheek against the crook of his neck. 

Holy shit, she felt good. He never had this, not with anyone. Not unless it was fighting or sex. Never these quiet moments of skin to skin contact. He closed his eyes, sinking deeper, and ran his hands over her bare back. The methodical dripping of water from the showerhead and the dim light pooling through the crack in the door was enough to lull him into a stupor. He could feel her heart beating close to his and smell the soap on her skin. She felt like a dose of lorazepam but without the mind fog, smothering his anxiety beneath layers of contentment .

Uraraka’s hand roamed up his chest and into his hair, down his arms, over his fingers, back up his torso, all while she feathered kisses along his jaw. Her finger pads were rough points of pressure, coaxing goosebumps across his skin despite the hot water, and when she started to work the knots out of his shoulders and neck, he couldn’t bite down a groan.

“Bakugou-kun,” she whispered. “You’re fallin’ asleep.”

He grunted. Maybe he was.

She drew circles on his sternum with her finger. “No bath sex?”

He huffed out a laugh. “You’re insatiable, you know that?”

“Is that a no?”

“You’re gonna eat first.”

She stiffened until he pulled her closer, wrapping his arms around her back and breathing into her hair. 

“S’okay,” he mumbled.

“I don’t have any food...”

Knowing she’d been coming home to an empty fridge everyday hurt his soul. He was not going to let this happen again. “I’m orderin’ Uber eats. Whatever you want. And then I’m not leavin’ the bed for the rest of the day. And neither are you.”

She shifted to grin down at him, water dripping off the ends of her hair and onto his chest. “Is that a promise?”

He smirked back. “Yeah.” 

“If I order pancakes will you -”

“No.”

“Boring,” she said, then grazed her tongue against the corner of his mouth. He tilted his head, letting her slide between his teeth, then returned her kiss slowly, hungrily, savoring her closeness.

 He’d almost changed his mind about the bath sex when she suddenly climbed out of the tub, leaving him a little colder and with a semi. 

“I’m gonna order katsudon,” she told him.

He watched her wrap herself in a towel and rummage through his discarded pants on the floor. “For breakfast?”

She pulled out his phone then handed it to him to unlock. “Brunch, technically. What do you want?”

“Whatever you’re happy with me eatin’ in bed.” He opened the Uber app and handed it back to her.

“You weren’t kidding about stayin’ in bed all day?”

“Nope.” Reluctantly, he dragged himself out of the bath, toweled himself dry, then pulled on his boxers. “You still got my hoodie?”

“By the bed.”

He peered curiously at her while she squatted by the bath and scrolled through the app. “You sleep in it?”

She glanced at him sheepishly. “Sometimes. Among… other things.”

He tsked, feeling pleased despite himself. What a freak. “And you accused me of having a clothing kink.”

“And I told you : everything’s my kink!”

A claim he intended to test the limits of repeatedly and thoroughly over the next week.  

Her bedroom was as nondescript as the rest of her apartment, entirely barren of ornamentation besides what he presumed were a few sentimental trinkets and photos. There was a vanity desk opposite her bed with a stool and a built-in wardrobe off to the side. The curtains were partly drawn across a small window, letting through the barest sliver of sunshine. 

He located his hoodie crumpled beside her bed and pulled it on - 

- only to freeze when his eyes hit the ceiling.

There was a lifesize poster hung over her bed. Of him. In his hero costume. 

“Uh, you weren’t meant to see that,” Uraraka said from the doorway.

He stared at her open mouthed for a second, then fought down a bubble of laughter. “I fucking knew it. You are a fangirl!”

Her cheeks bloomed red. “I wasn’t! I-I’m not!”

“Oh my fucking gods, Deku turned you into an otaku .”

“Shut up, no he didn’t! A-and anyway, it was originally his; he gave it to me as a gift!”

Katsuki’s dick shrank to the size of a peanut at that thought. “Why the fuck does he - you know what? I don’t wanna fucking know.” He sneered at her. “Want me to sign it for you, fangirl? Huh? What other nerd-collectibles have you got?” He opened her closet. “Got a shrine in here for me?”

“No!” she shrieked, slamming the door shut. “Don’t go through my stuff!”

“Holy shit, you do , don’t you?” He easily yanked open the closet again while jostling her away. “What is it - collectible postcards? Figurines?”

“I-it’s nothing - s-stop, Bakugou !”

But he spotted it before she could impede him, sitting on the bottom shelf of the closet. Eight inches long and as thick as his forearm, coloured bright orange and black with fucking grenade shaped balls. 

He didn’t know whether to be flattered or mortified.

Uraraka crossed her arms and scowled. “Happy now?”

“That -” He cocked a finger at the Ground Zero themed dildo - “is not licensed merch.”

“I know that! Mina gave it to me as a joke so -”

“For fuck’s sake, of course she did. And why is everyone giving you GZ merch, huh? That screams fangirl to me.”

“Fine!” she said, throwing her hands in the air. “I’m a fangirl . Your number one fangirl. Satisfied?”

He gave her a long look, then reached into the cupboard and picked up the dildo with a devious grin. “Prove it.”

Her arms dropped to her sides. “Wha - are you… are you serious?” 

He pushed the dildo into her hands, then pulled out the vanity stool at the foot of the bed, sat down, and laced his hands over his stomach. “Dead serious.”

She pouted by the wardrobe door for a second, and he got a flash of satisfaction being in control; she'd teased him for so long she deserved to feel a bit flustered. So he propped his elbows on the vanity, spread his legs, and waited. 

She saw the challenge in his eyes and took the bait. 

Of course she did.

The towel didn't shift when she climbed onto the bed - she'd tucked it in tight - but he got a great view of her ass as she crawled towards the bedside dresser and rummaged through the drawer. She pulled out a bottle of lube - much to Katsuki’s complete unsurprise - and squirted the thick liquid down the dildo. Their eyes met while she stroked the lube up and down the length, pinky raised, expression coy, all embarrassment gone. He simply smirked, dick twitching, but just when he thought she was ready, she rooted through the drawer once more and slipped on a pair of tight, silky gloves with the pointer and index fingers missing.

Katsuki shifted on the stool, refusing to show how fucking aroused he was.

"How do you want me?" she asked, gloved hand never pausing its long, ponderous stroking of the dildo.

"I want you looking at that poster," he said. "That's what you usually do, right? Pretend it's the real thing?"

She glared moodily at him, then lay back on the pillows and shifted her gaze to the poster. He wondered how many times she’d done this and felt giddy with power.

"Open your legs, fangirl."

She obeyed immediately, revealing her splayed sex, soft and wet from the bath, and it sent a fiery jolt straight to his dick. He dragged the moment out, enjoying her vulnerability and heavy breathing.

"There's a good fangirl,” he purred. “Now touch yourself… and don't use that fake dick until I tell you to. Understand?"

Uraraka sighed and ran her ungloved fingers down her slit. 

"Answer me," he said.

"Yes, Ground Zero."

Oh. Oh fuck . He'd meant to be teasing her but damn - she sure knew how to turn the tables. 

While her gaze remained fixed on the poster, his was glued to her fingers nimbly working her clit. Her breath hitched in her chest, back arching, while she switched between slow and fast tempos to edge herself. 

"Stretch yourself for me, fangirl. One finger."

"Yes, Ground Zero."

Her other hand crept under her clit and teased her entrance. He could see the glint of her arousal mixing with the lube, then she sank her index finger inside up to the knuckle and it took all of a Katsuki’s self-control not to moan. 

Her circling was languid now, matching the pace of her finger as it dipped in and out of her entrance. She was breathing faster, head lolling to the side.

"Don't you look away from that poster, fangirl. You don't wanna disappoint me, do you?"

"No, Ground Zero."

"Add a second finger."

She did, and moaned so sensually it made Katsuki's toes curl with longing. Her breath was hitching between hiccups now. She was close. 

 "Stop touching your clit."

She gasped. "Ngh, no, please, I wanna -"

"Do as you’re told,” he growled. 

Whimpering, her right hand stopped while her left kept moving, plunging eagerly in and out of her wet little hole. Katsuki finally gripped his dick through his boxers, other arm still propped on the dresser. 

"You want more, fangirl?"

"Yes," she gasped out, eyes never leaving the poster. "Please, oh yes please -"

"Then take that toy, put it in your mouth and suck it."

Uraraka made a sound that was somewhere between disappointment and desire, then gripped the dildo and lifted it to her lips. Eyeing his poster petulantly, she licked a stripe up its side and over the tip before trailing it in slow, sensual circles over her outstretched tongue. Katsuki bit down a snort of laughter. 

“Disobedient little slut,” he said. "I told you to put it in your mouth. Swallow it down, fangirl. I know you can."

Fingers still working her pussy, Uraraka eased the dildo into her mouth. Just the tip at first, but after adjusting her head on the pillows, she sank it deeper - and deeper - until her throat bulged and -

Oh fuck .

Katsuki squeezed himself, unable to smother his growl of arousal. It was taking all his self restraint not to jump her, but this was fucking fantastic too.

"Good girl," he purred. "Such an obedient little cocksucker. Gotta practice for the real thing, huh?"

Eyes still fixed on his poster, Uraraka sucked hard on the dildo a few times before pulling it out of her mouth with a satisfied smack of her lips. "Please, Ground Zero, I need you inside me. Please ."

Katsuki smirk widened, attention tugged between her slick entrance and the dildo in her gloved hand. "You waited so patiently for me, huh?"

"Y-yes. Yes I- I've been good. Please?"

Katsuki let the silence draw out a while longer, then sighed like a god bestowing mercy on an unruly follower. 

"Fuck yourself, fangirl."

Uraraka lowered the dildo, spread her legs further, then pushed it slowly into her entrance with a moan that was nothing short of pornographic. The towel slid off her body, giving Katsuki the most incredible view of her damp tits heaving in time with her husky breaths.

It was official. He was going to lose his fucking mind before he came.

Unable to restrain himself any further, Katsuki pulled himself out of his boxers and hissed as he finally stroked himself.  His hand moved rapidly up and down his dick, spurred by the view of her pussy stretching around the dildo’s thick base; it was maybe one of the best things he'd ever seen. Why hadn't he thought of this sooner? 

"Faster, fangirl,” he said. “Touch your clit."

And she did so with perfect obedience. Her hands worked in harmony as she moaned and writhed on the sheets, never breaking her eye contact with the poster. “I’m close, Ground Zero, please, I’m so close -”

"Don't you dare fucking cum," he panted. "Not until I tell you to."

"But I-"

"Fangirls don't argue!" 

But fuck he was close too, so fucking close. And she was squirming now, sobbing, fucking herself so hard and fast the squelching of the dildo plunging into her pussy was more obscene than him jerking off. 

Unable to hold back any longer, Katsuki crossed the room and knelt beside her face. The mattress squeaked under his weight but he barely heard it over the thunder in his ears. He gripped her cheeks with his free hand and wrenched her face towards him while jerking himself with the other, yet her eyes never left the poster. 

Not so disobedient after all, then. He almost laughed. 

"Look at me, fangirl."

And she did, her eyes muddied with lust. 

Katsuki sucked in a breath. " Cum .”

And she did, her whole body shaking with a violent orgasm, his hero name tumbling in fragments from her open mouth. At the same moment, Katsuki hunched forward and shot cum over her face, holding her gaze the entire time, every curse word he'd ever learned spilling off his tongue like he was a man possessed.

Fuck.

Holy fuck .

They stared at each other in blissed out satisfaction for a long moment, the room thick with their panting and the smell of sex, until Uraraka's face split with a cheeky grin. Like she'd fucking won, somehow.

Katsuki was about to retort when his phone buzzed. He let go of her cum-splattered face, gulping air, and snatched it off the dresser. 

"Food’s here," he panted. "Wanna go get it looking like that?"

Uraraka rolled her eyes, and a bead of cum dripped down her cheek. "Is that a kink of yours too?"

He smeared his cum into the corner of her mouth with his thumb. "Only one way to find out."

"Don't even pretend you want anyone else seeing me like this. Pervert."

He grunted. She wasn't wrong. "Don’t move.”

After begrudgingly pulling on his dirt-crusted black pants again, he headed down the apartment stairwell to grab the food from the delivery guy. His stomach growled as he leapt the stairs back up, two at a time. When was the last time he’d eaten? Or had a proper night’s sleep for that matter?

When he got back, the dildo was on the bedside dresser and Uraraka was sprawled on the pillows wearing an oversized t-shirt, having wiped herself clean with the towel. 

“God, that was good.” She sighed around a sly grin. “Not as good as the real thing, though.”

He grunted in agreement then kicked off his pants again and sat on the edge of the bed to organize whatever she'd ordered. He handed her one of the black plastic tubs and a pair of chopsticks, then watched her peel off the lid and snap her chopsticks apart. 

She paused and stared at the steaming pile of rice and fried chicken.

Katsuki knew her hesitation to eat stemmed from the concern of throwing it back up during work, but it ran deeper than that, twisted into a form of self loathing and punishment that he couldn't phantom. It was such a hefty subject to unpack that he worried he’d do more damage than good if he tried, so he simply reached out with his chopsticks, scooped up some rice, and held it to her lips.

“You can always eat with me,” he mumbled. “And you can always talk to me. About anything. Anytime. I’m here for you… Uraraka.”

Tears welled up in her eyes before she leaned forward and ate the rice off the chopsticks. She chewed and swallowed thickly, then started eating by herself with trembling hands while hiccuping around unshed tears.

Against his better senses, Katsuki ended up scrolling through news articles as he rode the subway to his therapy session the next morning. He and Uraraka had slept through most of the day and had sex through most of the night, then he’d left her asleep in bed half an hour ago to run home, change his clothes and feed his angry cat. 

On his way to the subway - now dressed in civis, a face mask and a cap - he’d passed through squares that played blurry footage of Uraraka falling and him blowing up the building on giant television billboards. It was bizarre seeing it play out from a different perspective - like it was a movie or someone else’s dream - when his trauma was so fresh and painful. 

So he couldn’t help himself, standing on the subway and half listening to the station announcements, when he pulled out his phone and started scrolling through news sites. 

‘Ground Zero Puts the People First’
‘Should Heroes Be Banned From Dating?’
‘Ground Zero Sacrifices Uravity to Save Crowd
‘Pro Hero Shouto Saves Uravity from Untimely End’
‘Ground Zero and Uravity: A Match Made in Hell?’
‘Uravity’s Near Miss With Death: Who’s To Blame?’
‘Uravity’s Agency Downplay her Condition after Near-death Miss’
‘Hero Union Investigate claims of Dangerous Work Hours’
‘Ground Zero: Heartless or Hero?’

It was a fucking mess of a situation - right before polls, too - but he hoped PR would be able to steer the blame more towards Uraraka’s agency. Besides criticism of his character - something he was entirely used to - only a few diehard Uravity fans were out for his blood. Had he chosen to sacrifice the civilians, he reckoned his chances of breaking Top Ten would have been crushed for good.

For what little comfort that offered.

Katsuki got off the subway at Chiyoda then headed for the office block where his therapist practiced from. One too many times he found himself dragging his feet, hunting for excuses not to attend the session, even stopping to buy takeout coffee because if he showed up too late Yamada would cancel his appointment. But he persevered until he was knocking unhappily on the doctor’s door, coffee still hot in his hand, because not going would only make things worse in the long run. He knew that. It just didn’t make it any easier.

“Come in.”

Katsuki shuffled inside and over to the couch, avoiding Yamada’s eye as he grunted a greeting. Yamada was unfazed as ever, already seated on the armchair opposite with his notepad ready, smiling and dressed in a brown suit.

“I’ve extended your session today,” Yamada told him, “because I thought you’d show up late. You always do, when you’re most troubled.”

Katsuki glared guilty at the window and said nothing.

“You’re not the only one, though,” Yamada went on. “It’s quite common, actually. When times are tough, people close up and revert to old behaviors, especially those who have difficulty expressing their feelings in the first place.”

Katsuki toyed with the plastic lid of his coffee. “Guess you’ve seen the news.”

“I have,” Yamada said gently. “But I’d like to hear it from your perspective.”

So Katsuki told him his perspective, start to finish, and mentioned having sex with Uraraka beforehand, as well as her tiredness and deflection surrounding her issues, and her admission afterwards. 

“Let’s put aside Uraraka’s issues for now,” Yamada said when Katauki had finished. “I want to focus on you. How did you feel when you saw the wall falling towards you?”

“Nothing,” Katsuki said. “The decision wasn't based on emotion. It was… pragmatic.”

“And afterwards?”

Katsuki swallowed. “Terror. Guilt. Pain. Disbelief. Rage. At myself - not at Uraraka. I felt… weak.”

“But you understand that what you did - that decision - wasn't a weakness. The opposite, in fact.”

“But maybe I could have done something else. Maybe I could have…” Katsuki stared at his free hand and clenched it into a fist. “Saved them both somehow. Angled the blast away from her but still caught the wall. Knocked her aside with a smaller initial blast. Maybe I shouldn’t have used my gauntlet. If I’d just thought a little longer, been a little faster... I could have avoided the most destructive route.”

Yamada squinted behind his spectacles. “You’re creating scenarios in your head that weren’t available at the time, which is a dangerous slope to fall down,” he stated. “For a start, you need to let go of what happened. It’s done, so there’s no point in dwelling on what could have been different. We have to focus on the guilt this event has created, and how to let that go.”

Katsuki finished his coffee and placed it on the table between them, then sank into his seat. The old misery was creeping up on him again, and almost subconsciously he went to grope for the bottle of pills inside his jacket pocket.

“Did they tell you about the meds?” Katsuki asked.

Yamada nodded. “How do you feel about going on meds again?”

“Like a failure.” He gulped down a shaky breath. “I’m just like how I was three years when… when all that shit happened. I haven’t changed at all.”

Yamada leaned forward and poured both himself and Katsuki a glass of water from a jug. He chuckled softly. “Bakugou, when you came in here all those years ago, you were one of the most challenging patients I’ve had in regards to opening up. Now you speak freely to me of your emotions. You connect with them. And you’ve taken huge steps to let Uraraka in. That’s more than you would have done eight years ago - even three years ago! Lapses are nothing to be ashamed of. Everybody gets them at some point, especially during times of stress and change, and make no mistake, Uraraka is a big change in your life. The most important thing now is to acknowledge how she unintentionally triggers your issues and overcome that, a step at a time. If you need meds to help, then there’s no shame in that either.”

Yamada’s words barely rattled the iron restraints of Katsuki’s disappointment in himself. “Maybe this is why Pro Heroes don’t have families. Maybe I’m better off alone. Like All Might.”

“We’ve talked about this. Is All Might really alone?”

“Not anymore,” Katsuki admitted. “But he was. For years.”

“Is that what you want?”

“No, I… Of course not. But now that I have her, I can’t stand the thought of losing her. Or failing her.”

“So it’s better to not love her at all?”

Unexpected heat flushed up Katsuki’s neck. “I… no… I don’t, anyway. That. You know.”

Did he?

While Katsuki frowned at nothing, Yamada jotted something down on his notepad.

“Regarding what happened two nights ago, there is no right or wrong, no matter what people might tell you. Actions always lead to consequences, and the fallout of those consequences is always subjective. People would have been hurt, either way. People would have rejoiced either way. But your perception of the consequences is muddied by your duty to protect the people above all else, personal feelings aside.”

“I don’t want to have to choose between protecting civilians and the people I care about,” Katsuki said. “I want to do both .”

“Like you did with Midoriya?”

“Yes.”

Yamada nodded slowly. “We know a lot of your anxiety stems from shame of your past actions. Your guilt makes you want to be better for the sake of others, but it’s made it hard for you to create authentic connections when you’re so afraid of failing to meet expectations. You’re shifting the blame of the event last night entirely onto yourself, when that’s not true. What happened was an accumulation of events that led up to a single point, one you became unfortunately entangled in. The way Uraraka’s agency distributes her hours is not your fault. Uraraka’s eating disorder and exhaustion is not your fault. The villain attack, the crumbling building, the position of the civilians - none of that was within your control.” Yamada spread his hands. “Ultimately, you cannot control external events, only how you react to them. You did not make a mistake - you reacted according to your training, in a way that you knew, deep down, was the right decision, even if the consequences might not feel that way to you. Everyone who works from a position of power like you must sometimes forsake personal feelings for duty.”

Katsuki gnawed on a bubble of frustration. “But what about my duty to her ? To my girlfriend? 

“Has she forgiven you?”

“Yes, of course she has.”

“And your friends? Her parents? Have they forgiven you also?”

“...Yes.”

“Then all you need to do is forgive yourself. Which is easier said than done, I know.” He jotted something down on his notepad. “This week’s break will be a good start for that. You won’t be distracted by work and you’ll be able to spend time not only with your thoughts, but with Uraraka, too. More than ever now, you need to keep her close and resist severing that connection for fear of failing the expectations you’ve created for yourself as her boyfriend - ones she likely does not share. This isn’t about forgetting what happened for a week, this is about confronting and accepting it, then moving on. It happened, and thanks to your efforts and those around you, everybody was saved.”

Katsuki took a sip of water, mulling over his feelings. “I just… I just don’t know how to stop feeling this way. This… this guilty. It’s not like it was with Izuku.”

“The guilt you’re feeling shows the depth of your feelings for her. You know that already from your relationship with Midoriya, which as you say, was very different. Far more complex, in some ways. You have to try to turn your guilt into a tool that serves a useful purpose.”

“How?”

“Start by balancing out the negative thoughts surrounding this guilt. While you did not make a mistake, there’s still much you can learn from the situation; the choice you made allowed Uraraka to address her own issues and the issues of overworking within corporate companies. It deepened your connection with Uraraka, highlighted your feelings for her, and saved countless civilians from death. By balancing your thoughts, you can work on letting go of your guilt.”

“But what if it happens again,” Katsuki pressed. “What if it happens again and I make the wrong choice. What if she dies . I can’t betray her again. I couldn’t live with myself.” He sucked in a shaky breath. “I have to choose her. Even if it means lettin’ others die. And that… that’s why I should be alone. When it comes to Uraraka, I’m selfish. And heroes can’t be selfish.”

Yamada looked at him with an expression both stern and empathetic. “Heroes are human, too, Bakugou. Denying yourself connection for fear of loss and failure will only lead to a life of emptiness. Anyone can die at any moment. You of all people know this.”

“Then what the fuck am I supposed to do?”

“Acknowledge that despite any hard decisions, any guilt, any past mistakes, you are worthy of friendship and love. Already you have people that love you, and you deserve to be loved, Bakugou. It’s okay to let them in.”

It was one thing being physically drained, but emotionally drained? That was another ordeal entirely. Therapy was a necessary evil, but it still sucked balls, so when Katsuki finally left the session he felt like he was being sucked into the sidewalk. Yamada was helpful, of course, and he felt better, but it wasn’t an instant fix. It was never an instant fix. Yamada merely set him down the right path and it was up to Katsuki to walk it. 

Crunching half a lorezpam between his teeth, Katsuki headed back to Uraraka’s apartment with the intention to crawl into bed and stay there for the next week.

As soon as he crossed the threshold of Uraraka's apartment, his wish was cruelly crushed.

"The fuck are you doing here, Racoon-eyes?"

"Well, well, well, if it isn't my favorite Pomeranian," Mina said with a leery grin. She was leaning on Uraraka's door frame dressed in a wide brimmed sun hat and a yellow sundress. "Welcome home! We were just talking about you."

Katsuki kicked off his shoes in the genkan and slunk towards her. "Answer my question, jackass."

Uraraka's disembodied voice called from the bedroom, "Is this cute or nah?"

"Cute," Mina said, ignoring Katsuki's question. "10 out of 10, babe."

"Okay, I'll pack it."

Katsuki scowled around Mina and spotted Uraraka rifling through her closet. Eijirou was perched on the edge of her bed and tossed Katsuki a watery smile.

"'Sup."

"Why are you here?" Katsuki snapped at him, then spotted a familiar black and orange box at his feet. He he had to blink several times before processing what the fuck he was seeing. "Is that my suitcase?"

Eijirou scratched the back of his head. "Ha ha. Yeaaaah."

"How the fuck did you -"

"Spare key," Mina said, dangling a set of keys under his nose.

"That's for emergencies only!" Katsuki spat. "You better have turned off the lights when you left. Why the fuck have you packed a…" Realization hit Katsuki like a bucket of icy water. "No. No . No fucking way. We are not going with you on that stupid fucking road trip. You’re both leaving and then I’m going back to bed for the rest of the week."

"But we've already packed your bags, man," Eijirou said, then slyly added, "Ochako says it's fine. Right, Ochako?"

Uraraka poked her around the open closet door then held up the tiniest red bikini Katsuki had ever seen. "Is this cute?"

Holy fuck Katsuki needed to see her in that now. Like, right now.

Mina elbowed him. "Is it cute, Kacchan?"

He coughed. "The fuck should I know? Don't I get a say on how I spend my week off?"

Uraraka lowered the bikini. "You don't wanna go?"

Katsuki’s gaze ping-ponged between the bikini and her huge, staring eyes. "I didn't say that."

Eijirou grinned. "Told ya he'd be cool with it."

"But my cat -"

"Hanta’s taking care of her!"

Katsuki recoiled. "Soy Sauce Face? Did you leave him a list? She only eats chicken and tuna and won't drink unless it’s from a running tap, and she has to have hypoallergenic cat litter and sleep on the -"

"Oh my god, your little princess will be fine," Mina droned.

" She's not my little princess! She's another unwanted, demanding piece of shit that forced herself into my life like every other fucking woman -

"Okay, I'm packed!" Uraraka interrupted. "Oh my gosh, I've never been on a road trip before, I'm so excited! Can we get snacks? Oh my gosh, I gotta bring a book so I can collect goshuin!"

"We can do whatever you want, baby cakes," Mina said. "Right, Sparkles?"

Uraraka fixed Katsuki with a smile so blinding and wholesome he thought his insides might turn to slush. He thumbed his nose and looked sideways. "Yeah, whatever."

Eijirou stood up and easily tucked both his and Katsuki's suitcases under his beefy arms. "Nice. I'll go load up the car."

“Traitor,” Katsuki hissed as he walked by. 

“Did ya get to see ‘Chako’s GZ collection?” Mina said with a grin that suggested she already knew full well he had. “It’s pretty big, huh?”

“It’s not that big,” Uraraka said grumpily.

“It’s eight inches,” Mina said.

Uraraka smacked her arm. “I meant the collection!”

“You’re such a fucking pervert,” Katsuki spat at Mina. “Why can’t you mind your damn business?”

“She left it on the bedside table!” Mina said unapologetically. “And I’m not the one with two hundred and fifty Uravity sex pillows in my apartment.”

Uraraka laughed, then stopped when she noticed Mina’s grin and Katsuki’s disgruntled expression.

 “Wait,” she said, “are you bein’ serious!? Why do you -”

“I don’t!” Katsuki roared, stomping to the kitchen. “...Anymore.”

“Wait, wait, wait, you can’t start a conversation like that and - “

“We’re leaving!” Katsuki hollered at them. “Right now! No more questions!”

And to her credit, Uraraka shut right up as Mina shoved both suitcases towards her to make them weightless. 

“Can’t believe I’m gonna be stuck in a car with you three idiots,” Katsuki grumbled as he followed Eijirou down the apartment stairwell with his hands shoved in his pockets. “We are not listening to kpop the whole way and I‘m in charge of the map, got it?”

“Nobody uses maps anymore, dude,” Eijirou said. “And I promised Mina and Ochako they’d get to choose the playlist on the way there. We get it on the way back.”

“ What!? ”

“It’s called compromising, man.” He glanced over his shoulder. “This is as much for Ochako as it is for you. We got it all planned out; you got nothin’ to worry about. Trust me.”

Katsuki followed him to his red Toyota Harrier and opened the trunk so he could dump the suitcases. “I hope we’re not… intruding on your vacation or whatever.”

“We wouldn’t have invited you if we felt that way,” Eijirou said. “Ya know we love you guys. And after everything that happened…” He cleared his throat. “I saw the news. Thought we could talk about it in person.”

Katsuki looked away, and Eijirou clapped him on the shoulder.

“Whenever you’re ready, man.”

“...Yeah.”

Mina sprung up behind them like a wind-up doll on steroids. “I call shotgun!”

Katsuki pushed her back with a sparkler sized explosion. “Not on your life, Racoon-eyes.”

“You snooze ya lose,” Uraraka said as she slid between them and into the front seat.

“That is a blatant infraction of the law of Calling Shotgun,” Mina bleated. “I’m gonna write you up!”

“I’m not sittin’ in the back with that harpy for hours,” Katsuki said.

“Look, we can swap around through the journey,” Eijirou compromised, then had the audacity to manhandle Katsuki into the backseat, the beefy fucker. “It’s two hours until our first stop. You’ll live.”

“I know I will,” he snapped. “You should be worried about your girlfriend .”

Uraraka leaned around the seat. “Behave or I’ll take away your snack privileges.”

“I’m not hungry!”

“ I’m the snack.”

He flipped her off while she blew him a kiss, and Eijirou adjusted the rearview mirror with a sigh identical to the one Katsuki's dad used to make during their family vacations. 

“Buckle up, kids. We’re headin’ out.”

Chapter Text

After several hours of driving, the behemothic concrete sprawl of Tokyo transitioned into countryside, unbroken save for highways and villages tucked between paddy fields. Staring out the window at mist-wreathed forests, Katsuki could vividly imagine pine needles crunching underfoot, the smell of air untainted by traffic, the rustle of deer prancing through the brush.

Katsuki had grown up in the shadow of Japan’s capital, but the cities fit him like a uniform several sizes too small. He felt, in his heart, that his soul belonged to the countryside, but like so many others in Japan, he was forced to realign himself to fit where the work was.

Privately, Katsuki wondered if quirks were manifestations of their past lives; a new form of reincarnation. If that was the case, his spirit had probably belonged to a volcano at some point, which explained his affinity to mountains. And explosions. But explosions didn’t belong among crowds, and he was no exception.

Katsuki dragged his gaze away from the window and fixed it on the side of Uraraka’s face. Her spirit had come from the fragment of a fallen star, he was sure of it. There was no way she’d come from something mundane, like a bird or whatever. 

An elbow rammed into his rib cage. “Starin’ at ya girlfriend?”

Mina had definitely been reborn from a tanuki. Something annoying and pest-like. He blew out his cheeks and looked sharply away. “No.”

Katsuki felt her rolling her eyes; a special talent he’d honed over years from being within unfortunate close proximity to her. 

“Okay so as you’re totally not staring at your girlfriend,” she said. “Wanna get your ass beat in Smash?”

“Don’t overwrite my score,” Eijirou warned. 

“You haven’t beaten him, anyways.”

“I’m close.”

“You wish,” Katsuki said, then took his Switch from Mina’s handbag. Out of the corner of his eye, he noted Uraraka making her way steadily through a bag of chips and a bottle of water wedged into the coffee holder. “We stoppin’ soon?”

“There’s a michi-no-eki in ten miles - wanna stop there?” Eijirou said.

“Sounds good.”

Katsuki had left early for therapy while Uraraka been sleeping, so he wasn’t entirely sure she’d eaten breakfast; she hadn’t shut up for the first two hours of driving, alternating between singing along to the mainstream pop music on the radio and jabbering excitedly about everything they drove past, but her energy seemed to be dipping now. 

Thinking about it, he hadn’t eaten lunch, either. 

Katsuki eyed the marker for the michi-no-eki on the built-in sat nav and frowned. There was no set destination or arrival time. “Where are we going?”

Eijirou glanced at him in the rear view mirror. He looked absurdly huge in the driver’s seat, and his mane of red hair obscured fifty percent of the front window. “Dunno,” he said.

Katsuki stared at him in the mirror for a long moment. “‘Dunno’?”

“Well, we’re heading to the michi-no-eki now.”

“...And after that?”

“Haven’t thought that far ahead.”

Katsuki swung a furious look at Mina. “You haven't planned anything!?”

She didn’t look up from the switch. “Nooope.”

“You dragged me out here on this road trip and neither of you know where we’re going!?”

“Nobody dragged you,” Uraraka said primly. 

“You literally packed my suitcase for me and fostered out my cat!”

“You said you wanted a break!”