Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

“This is embarrassing, Deku,” Katsuki said, kneeling to give his best disappointed look to the villain collapsed at his feet. “I mean it. It’s embarrassing for me and it’s embarrassing for you. But mostly you.”

Deku’s hands were cuffed, so Katsuki pulled out a tissue himself and applied pressure to the sides of his bloody nose, barely resisting the urge to slap him upside his head.

“Nob my fauld,” said Deku petulantly, “You dib this to me.” He tried to gesture at Katsuki’s shirtless, glistening upper body with his chin, but couldn’t quite manage to move his head.

“We were in the middle of a fight, then I took my shirt off and you walked into a wall. Fucking hell, Deku, you did this to yourself.”

Deku curled in on himself in shame. The torn fabric of his trousers shifted, revealing a cut on his upper thigh and the fabric right above it. He was wearing Ground Zero underwear. Katsuki stared for a long, incredulous moment, cursing every single choice he’d ever made that had led to this moment, starting with the horrible mistake of being born.

“Unbelievable. Really, Deku? This is why you’re not my fucking nemesis.”

Three weeks ago

By his own estimation, Katsuki Bakugou, top hero at Jeanist’s agency, valedictorian of his class at U.A. and all-around awesome guy, had only two real faults: hubris and schadenfreude.

The hubris he had mostly handled. Discovering on the first day of high school that he was not actually a perfect, godly being had been a reality check, but he’d learned from it. Got more training, hung out with brats at provisional license classes, went to a couple school-mandated anger management sessions. Now, as a much wiser twentysomething, he could acknowledge that he was in fact imperfect, though still pretty godly.

The schadenfreude? That was his downfall.

Katsuki was a good Hero. Sure, maybe he suffered a little in the popularity polls, and he didn’t have a famous mentor like Half’n’half or Lemillion, but he was on the fast track to number one. He was living his dreams. Everything would’ve been fine if Katsuki hadn’t decided that it would be funny to sit next to the sorry suckers on the Gentle Criminal case at work.

Around the office, everyone kind of knew that Gentle Criminal was a joke. Most of the sidekicks at Jeanist got to handle real work, like drug trafficking and underground Quirk fights and bank robberies. Katsuki himself was a goddamn action hero, rocketing out of the sky to slam villains onto the ground.

The guys who worked the Gentle case were essentially chained to their desks watching footage of that mustachioed fuck making speeches into the camera, but that wasn’t even the worst part. No, the reason that everyone at Jeanist dreaded that tacky pinstriped suit was the clues.

See, instead of just stealing shit and fencing it like a normal goddamn person, Gentle Criminal would leave a clue at the scene of every crime. That clue, once solved, would lead to another, and then another still, like the world’s shittiest scavenger hunt, until the Heroes who solved the puzzle found whatever rich-guy art piece Gentle Criminal stole in a completely different location, safe and sound.

Usually, it was all supposed to add up to make a point about society or whatever, but Katsuki always tuned out that part. The real fun was watching the poor fuckers working Gentle trying to figure out the riddles, aided and abetted by anyone with an internet connection and an urge to call the civilian tip line. Nothing made for a better meal break than watching Twinklefuck legitimately consider a 2ch theory that the latest Gentle clues were all a reference to some anime waifu’s birthday.

The day it all fell apart, Katsuki had been eating his bento while basking in the glow of his cheese-loving former classmate’s slow mental breakdown. Aoyama sparkled less and less with each new day he spent working on the Gentle Criminal case, and now he had dark bags under his eyes, muttering under his breath while staring at something Katsuki could only call a conspiracy board.

“The only date with the all-time great… Could it be? Non, non!”

Smirking to himself, Katsuki savored his spicy eggplant as Aoyama started crossing things out with glitter gel pen, misery in every line of his body. God, that guy was stupid. How the hell was he taking so long to solve one riddle?

That was when Katsuki made his fatal mistake.

“Cafe Ajisai, moron,” he said, his sudden interjection making Aoyama accidentally cross out half the page. “All-time great means All Might. When he was just starting out, he got assigned to a mission that had him faking a date with a city council candidate, the only time All Might was romantically linked to someone in public. It’s obvious.”

“Excuse you,” spat Aoyama, turning up his nose. “I’ve spent weeks poring over the details of Gentle Criminal’s messages. If the answer is so obvious, as you say, I would have already solved it. These puzzles require subtlety and thought! Not that you would know anything about that, you horrible brute.”

Katsuki had grown and changed over the years, which is why he didn’t explode Paris Syndrome where he stood. Instead, he picked him up by the scruff of his gaudy cape and started hauling him out of Jeanist’s office, mouth stretching outwards in a nasty grin.

“You fuckin’ doubting me, shithead? Well, let’s go on a little trip, hah? We’ll see who’s right then. I’ll show you subtlety, you pretentious, Brie-huffing, sonova...”

Sure enough, when Katsuki lined up the photos and crouched to look under the table where All Might had really sat all those years before, there was another clue taped to the wood. Aoyama had to eat his words, and Katsuki sat back with the satisfaction of proving his superiority yet again.

That was when he should’ve let it go and sauntered back to Jeanist’s office to lord his victory over Aoyama in all his following weeks of misery. Except… whatever was on that clue, Aoyama looked like he was about to cry, and Katsuki wanted to see him sob.

Aoyama stared mournfully at the pointillist drawing of a turtle in his hands, and turned it upside down like that was going to do anything. He looked over to Katsuki, batting his eyes like he thought he was someone who was actually attractive.

“Bakugou, my classmate, old friend— no, mon frère! Do you think you could…”

“Hell no.”

“Ahh,” sighed Aoyama, a single tear traveling down his cheek. “I suppose I should not have gotten my hopes up. Gentle Criminal has stumped ups both again. Of course, your earlier success must have been a fluke—”

“Give me the damn paper.”

The turtle drawing led them to the mosaic at Kijimi West Courthouse, which took them to the Hero character cafe that used to do Miruko carrot cakes, after which Katsuki spent a very frustrated half-hour at a nearby conbini, glaring at a deliberately unsolvable theorem. Finally, the trail ended with a set of coordinates for a storage unit on the outskirts of town, though Katsuki had the sinking feeling that all they’d find when they got there would be yet another stupid clue.

When they got to the storage unit, there was a villain there trying to fit a piano through the door.

“You,” said Aoyama. He stepped into the light, his costume glinting under the fluorescent glare.

“You’re not supposed to be here yet! Those riddles should’ve taken you weeks!” the villain said, a frantic, boyish strain to his voice. The lower half of his face was covered by a black bandana, but something about the glint in those wide, nervous eyes sent neurons firing at the back of Katsuki’s brain.

“Perhaps we are more intelligent than you thought,” said Aoyama, which really was rich coming from a guy who’d made Katsuki do the problem-solving all day. “But it matters not how we found you. What matters is that your reign of terror and confusion ends today, Deku!”

“Deku?” Katsuki said.

Though he couldn’t see the villain’s mouth, something about the way that bandana stretched gave the suggestion of a wide, wobbly smile.

“So that’s how you got here so quickly,” Deku said. His curls, darker than Katsuki remembered them, bobbed as he gently set down the piano. “Kacchan really is amazing after all.”

“Deku!”

Katsuki leapt forward, an explosion closing the gap between him and his erstwhile childhood acquaintance in less than a second. Deku ducked under his swinging fist, sliding past him somehow. A great cacophony of notes and twangs sounded as Katsuki collided with the piano.

“You really haven’t changed, Kacchan! You still always lead with a big right hook!”

“What the fuck, Deku! This is what you’re doing with your life now? What happened to— get a damn job, for fuck’s sake!”

Deku leapt on top of the piano and struck a pose, or at least he tried before Katsuki took the chance to almost grab his ankle. He scrambled away, slamming something down that exploded into colored smoke. Fortunately, Katsuki was used to working in low visibility. He dove for the murky figure at the edge of his vision, only just missing the trailing ends of Deku’s stupid tuxedo jacket.

“Surprised to see me here?” taunted Deku. His voice came from above. How the hell had he gotten up to the roof so quickly? Katsuki blasted his way after him.

“No,” Katsuki said. “I should’ve known. Only you’d be dorky enough to ruin a straightforward theft with stupid fucking puzzles.”

“Hey! The puzzles are important!” Deku dodged behind a chimney, narrowly escaping Katsuki’s AP shot. “There’s a point! Not everyone has a strong Quirk or physical strength, but if they solve our clues and help your investigation, then they can all be Heroes!”

Katsuki used another explosion to vault over Deku entirely, landing on the other side of the roof and blocking his path. Deku skidded to a stop and looked around, but Katsuki had blocked off the only exit: there was nowhere else to go but back towards Aoyama.

“That’s the stupidest shit I’ve ever heard,” Katsuki growled. “If your shitty fans want to be everyday Heroes, they can fuckin’ sign up for community service instead’a wasting their lives watching your crappy videos!”

Deku dove back down to ground level, and Katsuki followed. This was too easy. The second they got him hemmed in, Katsuki would unleash a flashbang and cuff the nerd before he could move. The case that Jeanist had been agonizing over for the past year was coming to an end. All he had to do was—

“Iiiiiiii can’t stop twinkling!”

Sparklefuck’s eye-searing laser beam made Katsuki blind and reeling, forcing him to freeze and shield his eyes before he walked off the edge of the roof. He couldn’t land safely without his eyesight, couldn’t gauge the distance between rooftop and ground.

“Are you fucking kidding me!” he yelled into the void. It took far too many furious seconds spent hunched over and useless until his vision cleared. When he finally opened his eyes, alleyway was empty except for Aoyama, grooves carved into the walls around him from his laser. Katsuki landed down in front of Twinkleteeth with an extra explosion for emphasis, grabbing him by the collar.

“Tell me you got Deku,” he snarled. “Tell me that you cuffed him around the corner, or he’s tied up in the car, or, fuck, you hid him in your fucking poofy sleeves—”

“Ahahaha…” Aoyama said weakly, avoiding eye contact.

Deku was gone.

“I fuckin’ had him,” Katsuki said, pacing back and forth in Jeanist’s office with restless energy. “I woulda cuffed him in two minutes, I had that bastard cornered, until this dipshit—”

He threw a contemptuous glance on Aoyama, sitting in the elegant Scandinavian chair next to him. The Edward Cullen wannabe pouted and hung his head in shame. Katsuki was gonna kill that guy the next chance he got.

“He’s right,” Sparklefuck said mournfully, “I was helpless against Deku.”

“You’ve been wasting your time for the past seventh months, is what you’ve been doing,” Katsuki spat. “How long have you been working on that All Might clue, three weeks? I solved that shit in three minutes. No wonder you were number eighteen in our class.”

“Correct again,” Aoyama said. “I would have been absolutely lost today without Bakugou. I may have struggled, but those riddles were no match for someone with such a superior and brilliant mind.”

“Damn right! That shit was easy for me,” said Katsuki. Okay, maybe Sparklefuck did deserve to live.

“Truly impressive,” Aoyama agreed, “I could not hope to compare. How did you do it?”

“You could say that again, pea-brain. What, you gonna get stumped by elementary-level shit? That second clue was literally just the Kijimi mosaic with a Photoshop filter. We both must’ve walked by that thing a billion times already. And the recipe for a Miruko carrot cake? Fuckin’ obvious, I didn’t even have to make it to know what that Gentle guy was talking about, that’s basic knowledge— ”

The shoulder of Katsuki’s tank top unraveled and slapped itself over his mouth, successfully stopping his words. Katsuki’s shitty joss (jean boss) stood from his minimalist reclaimed-wood desk, keeping the gag in place with an elegant twist of his hand.

“I’ve heard enough,” said Jeanist. “Aoyama, you’ve proven to be completely unqualified to deal with Gentle Criminal. I’m putting you on daily street patrol.”

“Hah,” Katsuki jeered, as much as he could through the fabric blocking his mouth. It came off as sort of a derisive grunt, which he supposed was good enough. Served that fuckface right. Street patrol was one of the worst details, the place Jeanist put you if all you were good for was being a warm body with a license.

“And Bakugou?”

“Hrrm?”

“You were third in your class at U.A., correct? You’re not a brainless thug like I once thought. You’re intelligent, a tactical fighter with a broad base of knowledge, and you’ve grown since I first took you on as an intern. We’ve been wasting you as a ground-level bruiser. You deserve to take point on your own operations.”

“Hrrrrm,” Katsuki said, pleased but wary. Sure, it was nice to hear shitty Jeanist finally acknowledge him like he deserved after many long years of unappreciated toil, but something didn’t feel quite right.

“It’s decided, then,” Jeanist said, sitting back down with a toss of his swooping hair. “Aoyama, you’re on Patrol Shift 3. Bakugou, you’re the new principal investigator on the Gentle Criminal case.”

“HRRRRRM!”

It was no use. Katsuki couldn’t get out a single word. Sparklefuck stood, bowed and left with his face pointed humbly towards the floor.

“I will endeavor to learn from my mistakes, sir,” he said, all meek and sugar-sweet. As he left, pretending not to notice Katsuki’s wrathful glare, Katsuki swore he could see the barest hint of Aoyama’s smile.

So, yeah. Okay. Maybe Katsuki didn’t have such a great handle on the hubris after all.

“You sure about this, bro?”

“I’m telling you, the plan’s fuckin’ flawless,” Katsuki said, shouldering past Kirishima onto the train. The extras around them tittered and whispered, probably because for some dumbass reason Kirishima had decided to come in costume and his stupid meaty pecs were on full display. Katsuki made sure the scowl on his face was extra intimidating to keep the brainless Red Riot fans away.

“We nab Deku, he gives up Gentle Criminal ‘cause he’s a little bitch, we arrest Gentle and then I get to go back to real Hero work,” he said, leaning moodily against the subway pole. “The easiest way to catch the ringleader is to get a subordinate to flip. If we’re lucky, his house’ll have enough information for us to find their hideout, and we won’t even have to talk to the nerd.”

“No, yeah, I get that part,” Kirishima said. “It’s just… Are you really sure this childhood fr— classmate of yours is Deku?”

“Wh— yeah!”

Startled, Katsuki almost slipped and fell, losing his balance with the rocking of the train. Kirishima caught him by the arm and Katsuki shrugged him off. Fuck, that was right in front of the extras, too. With the way his luck had turned these days, one of them had probably gotten it on camera.

“I recognized him,” Katsuki said. “Sure, I haven’t seem him since puberty, but the little shrimp hasn’t changed that much, anyway. Same hedge hair, same pitchy voice, same fuckin’ rambling… He used the nickname I gave him when we were five as his villain codename, that bastard. And he called me Kacchan! He always calls me Kacchan!”

“Yeah, but Deku’s just short for dekunobu, right? It’s a common word. Could’ve been another guy with a similar haircut. I mean… this Midoriya’s Quirkless, right? And I’ve watched those Gentle Criminal videos. Deku has a quirk.”

“In the videos. You can fake anything with the right kinda camera editing. Haven’t you ever seen an All Might movie?”

Kirishima sighed and rubbed at the back of his neck, shuffling awkwardly from foot to foot.

“Look, man, I don’t wanna be that guy, but. You said Deku went toe-to-toe with you and Aoyama. He survived a point-blank navel laser. You’re telling me a random Quirkless guy from your middle school managed to escape two trained Pros?”

“You don’t fuckin’ get it,” Katsuki hissed, grinding his teeth despite his dentist’s multiple warnings. “Deku’s a bug, but he’s a— he’s a fucking cockroach, is what I’m telling you.”

“Dude, what?”

“He’s always there,” Katsuki said, his compulsively curling fingers a poor substitute for actually getting to use his quirk. “Watching and waiting and learning shit about everything, all the damn time. He’s a snake—”

“—Bro, I thought he was a cockroach—”

“He’s both! Because he’ll take everything you throw at him, and then he’ll come back and he’ll take some more. You can’t drop your guard with Deku. If anyone could’ve figured out how to fake a Quirk and take on Pros, it’s him.”

The subway doors opened, and all of a sudden Katsuki realized that he had been pushing forward and practically frothing at the mouth, flecks of spittle invading the space between them, and Kirishima was leaning back and away.

“So, clearly you have some issues with the guy,” Kirishima said, wiping his cheek with the back of his hand. “And that might be coloring your take on the situation, maybe just a little bit? But, you know, I support you, bud!”

The Midoriya apartment was exactly the same as it had the last time Katsuki visited, at the age of eight. If he looked closely, Katsuki swore he could see the faded remains of a scorch mark on the door jamb. The living room still smelled like lemony cleaning fluid, simmering onions on the stove and the particular musty scent of nerd. Even Auntie Inko was the same: perhaps with a few more lines on her face than Katsuki remembered, but she had the same slightly shaky look Katsuki had seen on her his entire childhood, as if a single sudden noise could shock her into tears.

“Oh, no, my Izuku could never,” she said when they explained the situation. “You see, he’s…”

She lowered her voice, even though she was very clearly in her own apartment with no one but Katsuki and Shitty Hair around to overhear.

“Izuku is a hikikomori. He hasn’t left the house in a very long time. My poor baby, he’s always been such a sweet, sensitive child… especially after being bullied for years…”

At this she sent a dark, malevolent look at Katsuki, who couldn’t help but avert his eyes. A prickle of guilt wormed its way into his gut, but he tamped it down with the iron stomach of a man who had braved the back of Kaminari Denki’s fridge. Katsuki was here as a Hero. He couldn’t let personal feelings overtake his commitment to the job.

“Oh. He um... Oof. Really sorry to bother you, Midoriya-san, and for your son’s, um, difficulties,” said Kirishima, looking very much like he wanted to drag Katsuki out of the Midoriya family home by his ears.

“But we really do have to insist,” Katsuki interrupted. Kirishima visibly cringed, his hangdog look unsuited for a man who had been a Pro Hero for three years.

With another vicious glare, this time tinged with righteous disappointment, Auntie Inko led them deeper into the Midoriya apartment, stopping outside a door festooned with All Might decals. That also hadn’t changed since the third grade.

“Izuku?” Auntie called. “There are some… men here to see you. They have their Pro Hero licenses. Are you awake, honey?”

Katsuki edged past her and rammed his fist against the door.

“Of course he’s awake, it’s 2 PM! Oi, open up, nerd!”

A series of increasingly loud crashes sounded from behind the door, then a strangled squawk.

“K-kacchan? Heroes? No! They can’t come in!”

“It’s okay, Izuku,” Kirishima called. “Sorry about my partner, he’s a jerk. We’re not gonna hurt you, and you’re not in trouble. We just wanna ask a couple questions, okay? So if you could just open the door—”

“No!” yelled the voice behind the door, with a surprising amount of strength and volume. Then, quieter: “I mean, there’s no need! If you go and wait in the living room, I’ll come talk to you. Would you like some tea? Mom, we can get them some tea, right?”

Katsuki and Shitty Hair exchanged a look. Whatever his opinions were before, both of them were now on the same page. Getting into Deku’s bedroom had become priority number one. Katsuki’s blood sang in his veins. What was behind that door? Illegal weaponry? Stolen goods? If Deku still wrote everything down in his shitty little notebooks, they could have enough evidence to implicate both him and Gentle Criminal in a night.

“It won’t take that long,” Kirishima said, gentle and cajoling. “Is there a reason we can’t just talk here?”

“It’s… Not ready for guests? I mean, I haven’t cleaned up, and you two are Heroes, and—”

Katsuki blasted off the doorknob.

He barged inside, sparking hands at the ready in case Deku was waiting with a bludgeon, but what he saw inside made him stop in his tracks.

“Dude,” Kirishima said. His voice was faint and slightly horrified. Katsuki couldn’t help but agree.

Staring from posters and art prints all over Deku’s ceiling was Katsuki’s own face. The shitty nerd had every piece of merchandise he’d ever put out and then some, clearly fanmade knockoffs side by side with Ground Zero hand towels, a Ground Zero x Acer gamer chair, Ground Zero commemorative postcards from Katsuki’s first fansign… Lounging on the bed was a body pillow with a version of Katsuki’s costume that he could only describe as lewd, and what the hell was that expression on pillow-Katsuki’s face—

“So, uh. That’s a pretty good reason to not want us in here, yeah,” Kirishima said, trying to hustle Katsuki out of the apartment. “Sorry for the trouble, Midoriya-san and Midoriya-san, our agency will reimburse you for the lock on the door.”

Katsuki shook Kirishima’s hand off his shoulder, refusing to get dragged out of Deku’s bedroom. No. This wasn’t it, this couldn’t be, there had to be something more.

He sidestepped Kirishima’s attempt to get him into a headlock and towards the far corner of the bedroom, where Deku was trying to hide behind his wild mass of overgrown hair. It was his first proper look at Deku in years, and Katsuki’s heart beat faster with… adrenaline… as he took him in.

The eyes were the same. Even though Deku wouldn’t make eye contact, though he shrank from Katsuki’s gaze, there was no mistaking the shade of verdant green behind the nerd’s new coke-bottle glasses. No matter what Katsuki had done and no matter how much Deku tried to hide it, there was a spark in those eyes that wouldn’t be snuffed out. It had been there at the storage center, too.

Similar height as the Deku Katsuki had fought, too. Deku had grown apace with Katsuki, it seemed, though he was still just a few centimeters shy of Katsuki’s height, and even less when he slouched. His face flushed red as Katsuki observed him, but when Katsuki pushed his shoulders back they were surprisingly broad, and when Katsuki’s hands slid down towards his biceps he touched muscle—

“Kacchan! Haven’t you already seen enough?” Deku yelled, eyelashes wet with unshed tears. He darted behind the gamer chair, using it as a shield between them. “I get it! I’m a loser! Y-you don’t have to keep embarrassing me.”

Katsuki advanced forward. Deku looked away again, down and to the right. As he thought. Every time Deku avoided his gaze, his eyes darted in the same direction. Towards the same place.

“What’s in that drawer, Deeeeku?” Katsuki hissed. “What are you hiding from me?”

“Nothing!”

Deku dove in front of his dresser, but Katsuki was too quick for him. He yanked the drawer out entirely, spilling its contents all over the floor.

Paper fluttered onto the ground. Picking up the glossy printed pages, Katsuki was confronted with a 2D drawing of himself spreading his cheeks apart to reveal his puckered asshole. No. He dropped it in disgust and picked up the next, which was titled Ground Zero x Tentacles. No! Katsuki frantically searched through the scattered doujinshi, discarding each trashy hentai drawing of himself as soon as he saw the lingerie.

Where were the museum floor plans, the coded messages, the grappling gun blueprints? Where was the evidence that confirmed that Katsuki’s Deku was the Deku who had been aiding Gentle Criminal for years? Where the hell was his victory?

Katsuki stared unseeing at the cover of My Secret Night With Ground Zero And A Breeding Quirk, too lost to even register the big red R18 printed on the cover. Unfortunately, that frozen moment was all Kirishima needed to yank him up by the collar and drag him out the door, babbling even more apologies as he went.

“Bakugo, we’re leaving,” he said firmly, and Katsuki knew from long experience that nothing would budge Kirishima from his decision. “This was a wild goose chase. I told you, man, there’s nothing for us here.”

Eyes still fixed on the way Deku’s shadowed form stayed still and unmoving in the doorway as Katsuki was hauled away, the trembling that Katsuki remembered throughout his entire childhood smoothed over into a strange kind of poise, Katsuki couldn’t help but think that Kirishima was wrong.

Katsuki spent most of the next week going on a research deep dive into everything Gentle Criminal, though if he had to be perfectly honest, most of his waking and sleeping thoughts were occupied by Deku. It wasn’t his fault that the face of the operation was so boring and unphotogenic compared to Deku, but Bakugo Katsuki did not get where he was without discipline.

He slogged through video after video, starting from the first horrible, grainy attempts. They were poorly shot and Deku didn’t even appear, but Katsuki took notes anyway, trying to see if he could establish a pattern for Gentle Criminal’s behavior.

Around five years ago, what would have been Katsuki’s second year of high school, Gentle Criminal got a different cameraman. The videos prior to that were usually hasty affairs at awkward angles, a phone tilted against the wall or held out a meter away from Gentle Criminal’s face in selfie mode, but suddenly they expanded to full-body pans filmed with only a slightly shaky hand.

Around that time, his rants became more cohesive, too. While the first videos were full of disjointed ramblings as Gentle Criminal attacked a convenience store to protest the amount of air in potato chip bags or awkward attempts at recreating ancient memes, once the new cameraman (Shitty Deku , Katsuki thought, though to preserve some semblance of objectivity he wrote the name down as Suspect B) showed up, Gentle Criminal started talking about real issues.

Like mutant quirk accessibility for public spaces. Maternity leave policy that punishes working mothers. Discrimination against the Quirkless.

The targets Gentle chose post-Suspect B had meaning. He took a painting from the home of a politician known for espousing near-eugenicist views, a statue stolen from a Korean palace during the colonial era and never returned. Once, with cheeky flair, he stole the contents of a known sexual harasser’s underwear drawer and festooned it about a local shrine.

He started dropping little references to his Gentle assistant, who seemed to have done most of the actual research and work for their increasingly elaborate heists, and eventually, after way too many hours of footage, the moment Katsuki had been waiting for came: Deku’s onscreen.

The young man in the video, cheeky and confident, didn’t seem like Deku at all. Maybe a Deku clone who’d had his inhibitions surgically removed by the scientists who made him. He was the brains behind the operation. Katsuki could feel it in his bones. There was a laugh in his voice, a sparkle to his eyes, a tilt to his eyebrows that makes the audience feel like he was telling them the most amazing secret.

Deku minus stutter. Deku plus charm. Deku the goddamn criminal, in league with the very people he spent his whole childhood swearing to defeat. Behind those innocent eyes hid a dangerous mastermind, a virtuoso of trickery and deceit, and what the fuck did he do to his hair to make it look so bouncy—

“Bro, why is it so dark in here?”

Kirishima opened the door to what Katsuki called the Gentle Criminal Investigation Action Center and Jeanist called Storage Closet On The Second Floor, To Your Right. A cone of golden light shone in from the open doorway, illuminating Katsuki’s theory board. Kirishima stared at the corkboard, plastered with screenshots taken from video footage of Deku and Katsuki’s own scribbled thoughts, and slowly swung the door shut again.

“Uh, I guess you’re busy with… whatever that is,” he said, voice muffled by the wooden barrier between them. “But you should probably check Gentle Criminal’s social feeds? And maybe move out into the open office, where there are, like, windows and natural light? Just a thought.”

Katsuki did not. He curled up between two mops and a cardboard box full of last season’s black denim jorts trend and refreshed. A new video popped up with—

That was Katsuki’s fucking face in the thumbnail. All-caps letters below proclaimed: YOU’LL NEVER GUESS WHAT GROUND ZERO SAID NEXT!!!

Cradling the laptop to his chest like a baby, Katsuki eased open the door. Kirishima, ever loyal, was waiting for him outside.

“Have you watched it yet?” Katsuki demanded. Kirishima shook his head. The spikes of his hair, rather alarmingly, stayed in place even as his face moved from side to side. They relocated to an empty conference room (cleared very quickly of some junior sidekicks after a quick bit of explosive intimidation), hooked Katsuki’s laptop up to the wall monitor, and pressed play.

It was strange seeing himself from a criminal’s perspective. Deku had somehow gotten hold of security camera footage from the cafe, which showed very clearly how Katsuki had dragged Aoyama over to the right table by the scruff. Gentle Criminal’s face hovered in a little box to the bottom left, making unwanted little interjections and weird reaction faces. Katsuki wanted to cover it up with his hand so he could further focus on the real star of the video, himself.

Katsuki had to admit, he did look kind of cool striding off to the courthouse, all decisive and shit like a genius detective. He puffed out his chest a little, admiring how those security cameras caught the way the sun glinted off his gauntlets.

Then came a montage of Katsuki trying to figure out that math equation in the convenience store. The cameras had recorded every moment of Katsuki screaming, tearing up his scratch paper, breaking a pencil in his mouth from biting on it too hard, calling up Ectoplasm to curse him out for not teaching high school math better, then stress-eating an entire bag of wasabi peas and exploding the packaging afterwards.

Next to him, Kirishima’s shoulders shook in not-so-silent laughter.

“D-dude, they really got your true self on camera,” Shitty Hair wheezed. Katsuki grabbed the back of his head and slammed it into the conference table, which of course did nothing because Kirishima Hardened his face on impact. Then Kirishima got an elbow into his gut, so Katsuki had to use his superior reflexes to kick out his knees, and the subsequent wrestling match distracted them from the video until Deku’s voice blared out from the speakers.

It was almost Pavlovian, the way Katsuki froze when he heard that shitty nerd’s boyish voice. He kept Kirishima in an absent half-Nelson, swiveling around to glare at Deku’s face blown up on the big screen.

“So!” chirped Deku. “While we were fighting, Kacchan actually made a really good point! If all our Gentle fans come together to help the community, we really can make a difference! And I have the perfect place… Dagobah Beach. It could be so beautiful if it wasn’t for all the garbage people have dumped on there over the years.”

The view onscreen changes to one of the many shitholes in Katsuki’s childhood neighborhood, the kind of garbage heap his parents used to tell him to avoid as a kid. ‘Course, that just meant he deliberately played there to make a point, but he stopped going the day he learned about tetanus.

Personally, Katsuki thought that even if that beach did get cleaned up, it had been so contaminated by decades of pollutants that he wouldn’t want to go there, anyway.

“That’s why we’re making more villainous demands,” Deku continued with a dark little chuckle. It was obviously fake, but something about the timbre sent a little shiver of trepidation down Katsuki’s spine. “The Gentle Criminals won’t release our next clue until all of Dagobah Beach is clear! Thanks so much to Ground Zero for the inspiration!”

That rat bastard.

It was a beautiful morning, a fresh salt breeze coming off the ocean. The volunteers started off shy, like the typical net-obsessed losers they were, but they got comfortable far too quickly for Katsuki’s tastes. They laughed among themselves, chatting and exchanging numbers. None of them knew anything about Gentle Criminal or Deku.

Someone fired up the grill for yakitori and Western-style burgers, and another enterprising young businesswoman had hauled out a shaved ice machine for kakigori. She started a conversation with one of the quieter volunteers, and soon they were bonding over how much they loved Gentle Criminal’s videos. Young love was blooming before Katsuki’s very eyes. He hated it.

Katsuki was miserable. It was too hot. He couldn’t explode anything because “There are civilians, Bakubro” and “It’s not safe, Bakubro,” so he had to move the trash away by picking it up and touching it. With his hands. When a boom box started up with a pop song from ten years ago, he could hear everyone else on the beach cheer and start to sing along. They were out of tune.

“This is the best day of my life!” Kirishima cheered as he ran to join an impromptu game of beach volleyball. After wiping his hands with a rag, Katsuki angrily chomped down on his free kakigori, recoiling at the immediate brain freeze. He was going to kill shitty Deku for putting him through this hell.

If Katsuki wanted to kill Deku, he would have to catch him first. Everyone who had worked the Gentle Criminal case before had been willing to sit back and react to Deku’s next diabolical move, but Katsuki knew better. You couldn’t catch someone like Deku by passively waiting for him to slip up. No, Deku was too smart for that, too prepared. Katsuki would just have to be smarter.

He had known that bastard throughout their entire childhood. Even when he hated him, Katsuki had always been hyperaware of Deku’s every movement, the non-stop muttering that he could never tune out providing a vivid look into Deku’s psyche. Deku had spent most of his life studying Katsuki, but guess what, dumbass? That connection ran both ways. Starting tonight, Katsuki was gonna return every bit of stalkery attention Deku had ever given to him tenfold!

“Now, what would I do if I was a weirdo loser nerd…” Katsuki said. He breathed deeply, centered himself and tried to channel the energy of Deku. “Mumble, mumble. Kacchan’s amazing. Blah, blah, justice, kindness, everyone deserves a chance! Wah, wah, wah, boo hoo. All Might, All Might, Kacchan wait up, All Might…”

His eyes snapped open again. The clues that he’d found so far (All Might’s date with the city council candidate who ran on criminal justice reform, the courthouse mural, the formula that would always remain unequal) flashed through his mind. Every single one of them pointed towards a ham-handed metaphor about the inequity of the court system. And if Deku was talking about criminal justice, there was one place he couldn’t resist.

Katsuki landed near-silently on the rooftop overlooking the Patanaki Steps, the site of one of All Might’s lesser-known speeches, this one on recidivism and mercy. He knew the words by heart: “Justice shouldn’t be a punishment, it should be a chance. A chance for the wronged to find peace, a chance for the ones who have wronged them to change, and a chance for all of us, as a community, to reckon with our own mistakes and come together to protect the most vulnerable among us…”

Every sentence of that speech was Deku-bait. There was no way he’d pass up the chance to plant a clue here. And when he finally scuttled in, well, Katsuki would be waiting with the patience of the apex predator he was.

...Fuck, waiting sucked. Stakeouts were the worst. Katsuki texted Kirishima to come and switch off with him, but the only reply he received was Sorry bro I’m on a date! Also you said you emotionally communed with Deku and that sounds like kind of a stretch?? No hate bud I’m all love but I gotta be manly and speak my truth. Which is that you sound kind of out there. You taking enough breaks? Get some sleep man and maybe do a guided meditation!!

What a traitor. Katsuki jammed a single earbud into his ear and smashed play on the meditation podcast Shitty Hair had sent him.

“You are in a quiet forest. The soft sounds of leaves rustle above you. Breathe in, and feel the dappled pattern of sun against your skin. Breathe out, and let the gentle wind caress your body. Think about the person you want to see most, and imagine what you would say to them.”

Katsuki imagined it. Deku in that dorky pinstriped suit, somehow wrinkled even though it had clearly been tailored to his surprisingly built form. What did he want to say to Deku?

Fuck you. You’re ruining my life. You always ruin everything, I thought I was free after eight years— where the hell did you go? What happened to you? What the hell changed, you used to want to be a Hero, I used to think you’d always be trailing behind me, what the FUCK, Deku? I raced ahead, but when the hell did you stop wanting to follo—

And then there he was, the person Katsuki wanted to see the most. Deku.

Katsuki slowly advanced out of his hiding spot, hands poised for a flashbang. He knew that a sneak attack was most likely the best option, but seeing Deku absently stare at the grooves etched into the staircase, the way he didn’t even notice Katsuki was there… His mouth opened before he could think.

“I knew you couldn’t resist this place, you predictable fanboy,” he sneered. Then he remembered who exactly Deku was a fan of, aside from All Might, and the sort of merchandise he’d had lying around his room, and he flushed an uncontrollable red.

“You sure I’m the predictable one, Kacchan?” Deku replied, arching a high eyebrow. He gave a little scoff and started sauntering over, towards Katsuki, like he wasn’t even concerned about getting a point-blank explosion to his face…

Katsuki’s teeth clenched with fury. He set off the flashbang and dove at Deku, the full weight of his body primed to tackle him to the ground.

He surged forward, the same meteoric jolt forward he felt every time he used his quirk to up his speed, but his shoulder met with no resistance. Katsuki crashed against the ground.

“See, Kacchan,” said the Deku standing above him. “You knew that I’d want to come here, but I knew that you’d come to catch me.”

Deku’s legs ended partway through Katsuki’s stomach, his image flickering the slightest amount now that Katsuki was close enough to notice. He’d been so focused on confronting Deku that he hadn’t realized the man he attacked was a hologram.

Faster than Katsuki could react, thick plastic rope sprung out from all around him, trapping him to the ground in an impermeable net. Katsuki flared his hands red hot, but the material around him felt a little like Aizawa’s capture weapon. It’d take hours to burn through.

Bundled up like a mummy, Katsuki could do nothing but let out muffled, furious noises as the real Deku appeared from around the corner. He could see the difference between the person and the hologram now. While the hologram had this hip-swinging, sultry gait, this Deku walked slowly, as if approaching a wild animal. He got his hands around Katsuki’s shoulders and tilted him up off the floor, propping him up against the stairs.

“Do you ever think about what All Might was talking about, here?” Deku asked over Katsuki’s increasingly loud yells of rage. “Most people think that a Hero’s job ends at stopping the bad guy. But there’s so much more to it than that, isn’t there? You have to find some way to fix the damage. Make sure the victim’s spirit recovers, saving their whole self instead of just their physical body. And I think… the best Hero tries to save everybody, not just the people who deserve it.”

Deku got his hands around Katsuki’s shoulders and pulled him upwards, propping him against the stair behind him. His hands rubbed their way down Katsuki’s bound arms, testing the give of the restraints.

“Circulation is okay,” he muttered. Katsuki let out an especially loud roar, and Deku stepped back, hands held up placatingly even though Katsuki was the one tied up. “You’re probably thinking that I should shut the fuck up already and stop spouting fake-deep justifications, right? You know…”

He lowered his voice to a raspy growl, imitating Katsuki’s rough, rusty timbre.

“If you think the laws are so bad, then stop wasting your time, become Prime Minister and change them yourself!” he snarled, then giggled. “You’re so unreasonable sometimes, Kacchan! But I can’t really call you a hypocrite, ‘cause you’re just telling us exactly what you’d do in the same situation. Even though I’m probably the only one who’d vote for you.”

Katsuki braced for leverage and swung himself at Deku, aiming to headbutt him hard enough to put him on the ground. Deku danced out of the way with a yelp.

“Okay, okay! I got the message, Kacchan, I’m going already,” he said. “But just ‘cause you were nice enough to make your way over here for us…”

Deku leaned down, so close that if the curls of his hair were just a little longer, they would’ve brushed Katsuki’s forehead. Still bound like he was and smarting from his failed attempt at an attack, there was nothing Katsuki could do except tilt his chin up and wait. He tried to glare at Deku, but the proximity just made him cross-eyed. As close as they were, Katsuki could see each individual eyelash framing Deku’s wide eyes and the barest outline of Deku’s every pore.

Something hit his forehead. A sticky note, and Katsuki didn’t need a mirror to know it was probably All Might-themed.

“Here’s your next clue, Kacchan,” Deku said, and all Katsuki could do was watch as he walked away.

Bakugo Katsuki did not give up. One failure was nothing. If Katsuki wasn’t good enough now, he’d make himself better. He was going to tackle the problem of Deku the same way he faced everything: giving it his all until he saw victory.

The second he was free of those damn ropes, he was on the phone with Shitty Hair, ignoring the whisper-shouts of “Dude, I’m literally at their apartment right now” to bark out instructions to meet him at Jeanist’s early the next morning. He did a full forensic sweep of the park, even though he knew that he wasn’t going to find a thing.

Then when he got back to the agency, he moved the Deku Action Center to the fourth-floor break room, the billboard covered in Deku’s scrunched-up nerd face staring out between the electric lint remover and the French press. Katsuki leaned against the table and glared into Deku’s eyes.

“You’re done, shitty nerd,” he hissed. Behind him, an intern walked into the Action Center, took one look at the photos of Deku tacked all over the room, and walked out again. He was going to catch Deku. He wouldn’t allow himself to do anything else. Running his finger along the Deku photo’s neck, Katsuki made a promise: he was going to get that bastard, whatever it took.

Katsuki hadn’t graduated third in the class at U.A. for nothing. He found the wholesaler for the specific kind of fabric that Deku and Gentle Criminal used to make their suits (not a lot of factories in Japan specialized in fireproof pinstripes) and set up a sting operation within the week, but Deku showed up with a smoke bomb that sprayed special fire-extinguishing foam, rendering his explosions useless.

Katsuki shook down underworld gadget engineers until he found the woman who’d made Deku his rope trap, but she convinced Jeanist to let her snitch on a weapons smuggling ring instead of flipping on Deku. He chased Deku through the skyline after staking out different rooftops around the city for 72 hours straight. He spent a week analyzing bathroom tile grout patterns until he narrowed down the location of Deku’s hideout, but all he found when he arrived was a video recording of Gentle Criminal and Deku telling him “nice try.”

Solving the trail of shitty clues that led to Judge Ogawa’s stolen gavel was so easy that Katsuki couldn’t even count it as a victory. The riddles and the stolen goods were on Deku’s terms, a game that Deku had rigged to allow him to win. Over and over, he tasted defeat. Somehow, the shitty nerd was always one step in front of him.

Throughout the humiliation (the jokes his friends made, weird looks whenever someone walked by the Deku Action Center, all the footage of him getting caught by Deku’s cheap tricks in those goddamn videos), Katsuki would not be deterred. He was a lion on the hunt— no, a lioness, because lions were weak, lazy bastards. He would adapt and persevere.

The next time Deku set off that infuriating smoke bomb, Katsuki was ready. He hid his hands under his shirt, shielding them from the anti-explosive spray, then when the smoke cleared he whipped his shirt off and threw it behind him. He charged at Deku, sparking palms at the ready, and—

Deku walked into a wall. Katsuki paused, wary. Could this be yet another trick to get him captured and let Deku escape? No, when he poked at Deku with a foot, the low groan that escaped was entirely too realistic.

As he clipped Deku’s hands behind his back, Katsuki couldn’t help but feel a little cheated. What the hell? That was barely a fight. Katsuki hadn’t even done anything, so why would Deku…

Katsuki looked down at himself, then at Deku, who had, despite the concussion, managed to roll himself over so he could ogle Katsuki’s pecs. He remembered the Ground Zero posters all over Deku’s walls, the nature of the doujinshi he’d found in Deku’s cabinet.

Typical Deku. Still so easily affected, even after all these years, huh? Katsuki felt a manic smile tugging at the corner of his lips. He’d just found Deku’s weakness.

NOW:

“Is he looking?”

“Dude, do we really have to do this every time?”

Katsuki fixed the over-gelled dumbass next to him with a withering glare, imbuing every bit of scorn he possessed in his soul into one single, devastating scoff. Kirishima shuffled his feet a little, hand reaching upwards to check the spikes of his hair.

“It’s just… You know, I was gonna say that this is getting kinda weird, but it’s been weird. For like, a long time. And I gotta be real with you, I don’t know why you’re always asking me to check if Deku’s looking when like, we’re standing right next to each other? You could glance over, too.”

It ruined the effect if Deku knew that Katsuki knew he was there, but he didn’t expect Kirishima to get the depths of Katsuki’s strategy. No, you had to speak to Shitty Hair in a language he understood. The language of men.

“Kirishima,” Katsuki said, his voice carrying the harsh certainty of a thousand missions, tutoring sessions and prank wars. “Are you the mission lead on this case?”

“No, but…”

“Who is the mission lead on this case?”

Kirishima’s shoulders, which had reflexively straightened when Katsuki used his actual name, slumped once more. He muttered at the floor, eyes sheepish and downcast.

“You are.”

“Exactly. And you know why I tapped you to join me?”

“Because misery loves company?”

“No, dumbass,” Katsuki said, sending a friendly explosion into Kirishima’s chest. “It’s ‘cause all those other fuckers at Jeanist underestimate Deku. You think I don’t hear ‘em talking about my “obsession?” We’re up against a man who’s managed to escape police custody every single time we’ve caught him, and nobody listens when I say we gotta take him seriously.

“I need someone I can trust. Someone who has my back. Someone who’ll follow me into the fires of hell, ‘cause that’s where we gotta go if we’re gonna catch Deku.”

When Katsuki met Kirishima’s gaze, he was satisfied to see that Shitty Hair’s eyes had already filled with manly tears, his posture as perky and excitable as a puppy dog who’d just heard the word “walk.” Got him.

“That’s me!” Kirishima said. “I can be that guy! Bro, I’ll follow you off a cliff if you need me!”

“Good,” Katsuki said. They fist-bumped. “Now go over there and tell me if Deku’s looking at m— us.”

Kirishima struck up some extremely unconvincing whistling and stretched his neck, coincidentally glancing at the treeline of the Cabinet member’s estate they were guarding.

“Yeah, he’s looking right at us,” he confirmed.

Katsuki fought a smirk. The effect of his next play worked better if he was bored and casual, like he didn’t give a shit about anything or anyone. That was how all the most famous models in his parents’ catalogues did it, anyway, and Katsuki always aimed to be the best.

Walking over to the pack they’d stashed in the grass, Katsuki picked up a water bottle and subtly angled himself to give Deku’s hiding spot the best view of his sculpted six-pack. Then, muscles flexing with feline grace, Katsuki poured the bottle slowly over his head. Water splashed against his bare collarbones, pebbling his nipples with the cold, running in rivulets down his V-lines. From somewhere in the vicinity of the trees, Katsuki heard a whimper.

Meanwhile, Katsuki’s very own pet rock edged around to flank Deku, surprisingly light on his feet for such a typically graceless man. Deku watched, mesmerized, as Katsuki arched his back, letting his sagging pants slip even lower down his hips, and in an instant Kirishima had tackled him to the ground, pinning his arms behind his back.

Katsuki couldn’t help but let out a bark of victorious laughter. It had been the work of multiple days to lull Deku into the horny complacency that had enabled this most glorious moment. Days of strutting around in next to nothing, doing yoga on the lawn and practicing his splits. They hadn’t even been able to figure out Deku’s hiding spot until Katsuki had the bright idea of showing up in the agency wardrobe’s skinniest jeans and doing squats until Deku came over to get a closer look.

“You miscalculated, Deku,” Katsuki said., “You thought you were invincible. Betcha thought you were smarter than me. Well, look at you now.”

Katsuki let Kirishima haul Deku into a sitting position and leaned over him so he could gloat properly. Katsuki was still wet, hair plastered down against his head, but that did nothing to dampen his joy. A drop of water beaded on the end of his nipple and splashed onto Deku’s cheekbone, like a tear. Deku let out a violent exhale, tensing against his bonds.

“Problem is, you didn’t count on one thing, Deku,” Katsuki taunted, wiping the water away with his thumb. Deku shivered, and Kirishima broke into a set of uncomfortable, hacking coughs. Katsuki ignored them both. “I’m a master hunter. Like a warrior of the ancient savannah, always aware of my prey—”

“Using your own naked body as bait,” Deku muttered resentfully.

“That’s right! Using my own naked body…”

Katsuki frowned. Somehow, capturing Deku didn’t sound as awesome of a feat as it was when phrased that way. He’d gone off-topic.

“Anyway, I’m trying to make a point!” he said, yanking down Deku’s mask in a single motion. “See, Shitty Hair! I’ve been saying it this whole time! This is Deku’s face!”

“Uh, didn’t we know that already?” Kirishima asked, his head tilted slightly to the side.

“No, I mean my— I mean, Midoriya Izuku! That’s his face! See?”

“Oh, buddy, no,” Kirishima said, sounding a little like he was talking to a pet dog who’d just thrown up on his shoes, i.e. patronizing yet slightly sympathetic. “Bro, we’ve talked about this. Midoriya Izuku wears glasses. Deku does not wear glasses. Midoriya has bangs. Deku’s hair is in, like, a way different style. Midoriya’s Quirkless, and Deku has a quirk.”

“He does not!” Katsuki snapped, indignant.

“I do!” Deku chimed in, completely uninvited. “I’d show you right now, actually, except…”

He wiggled his fingers a little. Katsuki scoffed, incensed.

“Bullshit! That’s such a fucking cop-out,” he said, little sparks popping all over his palms. “Oh, no, you conveniently can’t demonstrate the quirk that you deeefinitely have, all ‘cause we captured you. Think you’re off scot-free, Deku? Think we’re so scared of you we gotta keep you locked up? Well—”

Katsuki freed Deku from the handcuffs with quick, savage motions, letting them click open and fall to the floor.

“I’m calling your bluff, shitty Deku! Demonstrate your shitty quirk, right here, right now!”

Deku took a little while to stand up, rubbing at his wrists as if he couldn’t quite believe what had just happened. Kirishima, too, had been stunned into silence. Katsuki braced himself with watchful patience as Deku reached into the front of his suit jacket, no doubt to pull out another one of his crappy gadgets and prove beyond a shadow of a doubt that he had been, in fact, Katsuki’s quirkless Deku all along.

Except what came out of the inside breast pocket of the suit wasn’t a gun, or a bomb, or even a weapon at all. It was a deck of cards. Katsuki raised his gaze slowly, and was met with the full force of Deku’s trembling smile.

“Pick a card, any card…”

For one long, indescribable moment, Katsuki completely blacked out. His brain, faced with the sheer amount of stupidity before him, simply refused to process what was happening. This couldn’t be reality. Close-up magic? What the fuck? This was what Deku had been using as his counterfeit quirk for years? It was so obviously fake, so indescribably stupid, there was no way anyone could ever fall for something so absolutely ludicrous—

“Whoa, that’s such a manly quirk! I can’t believe you made my card disappear!”

“Kirishima, you absolute, rocks-for-brains idiot!”

The point-blank AP shot delivered right to Kirishima’s face garnered no reaction. Kirishittyface seemed completely unbothered, and Katsuki was beginning to regret choosing his best friend as a partner instead of a more easily intimidated intern.

“That’s stage magic, you fool,” Katsuki said, a vein beginning to throb in his forehead, “As in pretend. As in the card is up his fucking sleeve , any idiot with at least one thumb could pull that shit off! Hell— Deku, give me that!”

Katsuki snatched the deck of cards from Deku’s hands and shoved them into Shitty Hair’s face.

“Pick a goddamn card!”

“Only if you calm down, man,” Kirishima said, halfway to Unbreakable in preparation for one of Katsuki's attacks. Katsuki closed his eyes, counted to ten, named three things he could see or head (green grass, green trees, green eyes), then thrust the cards towards Kirishima again.

“Fuckin’ pick one.”

“Okay, okay!”

Broom Head taped the Jack of Hearts, and Katsuki started the magic trick. Piece of cake. Some shuffling, a little misdirection, then he’d slip the card up his sleeve… Except Katsuki had forgotten one thing: he was shirtless. Kirshima’s card slipped from his hand, drifting slowly to the ground between them.

“Dude…” Kirishima said.

“Shut the fuck up!” Katsuki said, his face flaming red. “It’s just— that usually works, okay? It’s an easy goddamn trick. Ask Deku!”

But when they both turned to look at their prisoner, Deku was gone.

When they returned to the Genius Agency office, Katsuki was silent with rage and humiliation. Kirishima gave him a wide berth, as he’d learned to do whenever Katsuki tipped over into quiet, seething anger, but the two dumbasses who’d come to bother them on their lunch breaks were nowhere near that wise.

“Blasty and Kiri!”

“Is that King Explosion Murder standing next to an actually good hero?”

Kaminari and Ashido were in the middle of the Deku Action Center/Genius Agency break room, sitting on the table and grinning like fools. They were loud. They were cheerful. And the worst thing of all, they were both wearing pinstriped, branded Gentle Criminal merchandise.

Katsuki was across the room, a fist full of Kaminari’s Deku-logo crop top gathered in his hand, before he even knew it.

“The fuck is this?”

“Hey, watch the goods! This is limited edition!”

“This,” Katsuki said, yanking Dunce Face forward by his shirt. “Is branded merchandise for a fuckin’ villain. A criminal, Pikachu! The enemy!”

“Deku and Gentle aren’t like, villain villains,” Kaminari protested. “They’re more like activists, right? You know, spreading awareness…”

Katsuki snarled in incoherent rage. Ashido slapped her hand over Kaminari’s mouth, insinuating herself between Dunce Face and Katsuki and thereby saving Kaminari’s miserable life.

“Calm down, Bakugo! We’re not really supporting villains, jeez,” she said, rolling her eyes. Though he had the urge to get angrier out of sheer spite, Katsuki did feel a little less homicidal at her surprisingly reasonable words. That is, until she grinned, winked and followed that up with a “We’re just supporting you, ain’t that right, Kacchan?”

“Haaaaaah?”

“Oh, dope,” Kirishima said, pulling both idiots into a three-idiot group hug as Katsuki sputtered. “Thanks, guys!”

“Wh— how is that—”

“C’mon, you went up like twenty ranks now that you have a nemesis,” Ashido said. “Deku being popular means you’re popular! It’s a good thing.”

“It’s probably just ‘cause you always have your shirt off in those videos,” Electro said with a little smirk. He knew that Kirishima would protect him if Katsuki attacked, that conniving little shit.

“Hey, there’s nothing wrong with being a fanservice Hero!” Ashido snapped. “It’s Bakugo’s right to flaunt it if he’s got it, and you shouldn’t get judgy just ‘cause you don’t!”

“I’m not a fanservice Hero,” Katsuki said blankly. Ashido grimaced a little. Kaminari scoffed. Katsuki’s eyes sought out Kirishima, his best friend, his second, his only ally— only to see that Kirishima was averting his eyes as well. “I’m not! Tell them, Kirishima!”

“Well,” said Kirishima, with an awkward little leave me out of this shuffle out of blasting range. “You are always, uh. Taking your shirt off, and, you know, flexing, and showing off your, uh, everything…”

“But that’s not fanservice,” Katsuki protested, indignant. Those were mission-important strategic moves! How could he make them understand? “That was just for Deku!”

Too late, he realized how the dunce squad, love-obsessed as they were, would interpret his words.

“Oooh,” said Kaminari.

“Ooooooooh,” said Ashido. “That makes so much sense! The gentleman thief and his one sexy, sexy weakness... It’s like Lupin III and Fujiko Mine, isn’t it?”

“Shouldn’t it be Lupin and Zenigata?” asked Kirishima. “I mean, Bakubro’s not a fellow thief, he’s tryin’ to chase Deku down!”

“No, I got it!” was Kaminari’s shitty contribution. “Batman and Catwoman!”

“I’m not any of those things,” Katsuki said. “Stop your shitty imaginations! There’s nothing, I repeat, nothing, between me and Deku except for, for hatred, and justice—”

It was no use. The idiot squad was ignoring him completely.

“I’ve been texting Sero on the group chat, let me dial him in,” said Kaminari. Katsuki waited, hoping beyond hope for at least one voice of reason, one single member of his so-called friend group that didn’t immediately grande jeté his way over to the worst of conclusions. Kaminari’s phone beeped as Sero picked up. Then, a little bit staticky, came Tapeman’s familiar voice:

“Oooooooooooh.”

“Put me on the raid team for the weapons smuggling ring,” Katsuki demanded. “I’m the one who found the informant. And I’m fuckin’ wasted on the Gentle Criminal case, old man, you know that. I haven’t seen any real action in months.”

Worst Jeanist didn’t even look up from his laptop as Katsuki burst in to confront him, but at this he finally stopped typing, folding his hands together as elegantly as fancy restaurant towel swans as he met Katsuki’s glare with a quelling glance.

“Ah, yes, let’s talk about your performance on that particular mission, shall we? The one where you uncuffed a criminal in your custody so he could demonstrate his Quirk? And then that same criminal escaped, infiltrated the mansion you were supposed to be guarding, then stole a very important Cabinet minister’s address book while you… If I’m reading the mission report correctly, you were showing Red Riot a magic trick.”

Katsuki had no response to this. He couldn’t even meet the jasshole (jean asshole)’s eyes. It was like he was a first-year intern again, Jeanist’s comb in his hair, only then realizing how the most fundamental parts of his behavior would ruin him as a Hero and a person, and perhaps already had. Jeanist sighed, and used the fibers of Katsuki’s gloves to gently unclench his trembling fists.

“You’ve gotten closer to capturing Gentle Criminal and Deku than anyone else has,” he said. “I’m not unaware of that. If they hadn’t managed to escape police custody every time you’ve captured them, this case would’ve been over months ago. But I expect you to be better than the police, Bakugo. That’s why I chose you as mission lead, and why I’m giving you another chance.

“If— and that’s if— you manage to retrieve the Minister for the Environment’s address book before the Dreadnow Smuggers raid, I’ll let you join the offensive. Satisfied?”

“Fuckin’ ecstatic,” Katsuki said, a smile spreading across his face. He opened the door to Jeanist’s office and yelled, in a voice loud enough to carry all the way to the break room. “Oi! Red Roadkill! Quit playin’ around, we got some thieves to catch!”

“Don't disappoint me, Bakugo,” Jeanist said. Bakugo didn’t need to see the lower half of his face to know he was hiding a smirk.

“I don’t need to,” Katsuki replied, pausing in the doorway to toss one last parting shot over his shoulder. “Look at that shitty eyeliner, you tacky jastard. You’ve already disappointed yourself.”

Ohhh, yeah. Katsuki Bakugo was back. And this time? He was keeping his shirt on.

When Katsuki showed up at his hideout with his upper body fully clad, Deku first looked expectant, then disappointed, then finally shocked and betrayed.

Katsuki refused to feel guilty about it. It wasn’t like he’d promised to be half-naked. If Deku had formed the expectation of a striptease every time they fought, that was on him for being entitled.

Besides, Deku was fighting better now that he wasn’t distracted. Usually, he tended to dart around like a gnat, using one of his gadgets and then immediately running away, a highly annoying strategy that never failed to infuriate. Today, he faced Katsuki head-on, and that made Katsuki’s blood sing.

Deku was good. He’d clearly had some kinda martial arts training, and his stupid bag of tricks was enough to keep Katsuki from just blasting him down in one shot. Thing was, though, Katsuki was better. He had aerial maneuverability, more combat experience, a faster reaction speed. He was winning, and both of them knew it.

Then Deku dove into the path of Katsuki’s next grenade instead of away, and Katsuki’s whole world contracted. What kind of reckless piece of shit— He rocketed forward to shield Deku with his own body, pulling him out of harm’s way. Deku latched onto Katsuki’s arm, activated the taser built into his costume, then pivoted and twisted so he could slam Katsuki into the ground.

Another one of his fucking tricks, but how could Katsuki have possibly expected it? Where the fuck was that asshole’s sense of self-preservation? What kind of garbage battle plan relied on your opponent saving you from your own damn self?

So now Deku had him pinned, legs on either side of his hips. The smart move from there would be to neutralize his hands or use the chloroform handkerchiefs Katsuki knew Deku kept in one of the inner pockets of his suit. Deku did none of those things.

Instead, he slipped his fingertips under the hem of Katsuki’s tank top and dragged it upwards. Which made it incredibly easy for Katsuki to blast him off in a second and capture him just as quickly, but…

Deku’s hands were broad and hot even through his gloves, the buttery fabric whisper-soft against Katsuki’s skin. He looked like he was in a dazed trance, hyperfocused on each centimeter of Katsuki’s torso as it was revealed. Katsuki’s breath came in shallow pants, his eyes wide. He could see the way the muscles of his stomach tensed when Deku’s hands skimmed across his abdomen, the way Deku’s eyes darkened when his thumbs met the cleft between Katsuki’s pecs.

Katsuki lay there, just as mesmerized by Deku’s intense focus as Deku seemed to be by the very existence of his skin, any thought of escape completely gone from his mind. Then Deku lowered his hot mouth to Katsuki’s nipple, and Katsuki—

Katsuki made a noise .

The spell was gone. Bubble popped. For one frozen moment their eyes met, Deku’s mouth still latched onto Katsuki’s chest. They must have looked so stupid, staring at each other with both their mouths fixed into perfect Os.

Then Deku was scrambling backwards and babbling apologies, and Katsuki was sitting up and furiously tugging his shirt back down.

“Sorry,” said Deku. “Sorry sorry sorry oh my god, Kacchan I have no idea what came over me, I was j-just… I was… um. Sorry again. I should, um, leave?”

“Yeah,” Katsuki said with an awkward nod, his head still swimming. He barely even processed any of Deku’s words. It was only after Kirishima tramped back into view, reporting that his fight with Gentle Criminal hadn’t ended well either, that Katsuki realized that he had once again let Deku go.

Awareness had returned to Katsuki by the time he went to bed, and he wasn’t happy about it. He couldn’t fucking sleep, and it was already ten. Every time his head hit the pillow he was seized with a restless energy that had him getting up to go take a leak, or check his phone for updates on Deku. He’d spent so much time staring at his email that he even got to inbox zero.

The smugglers’ raid was the day after tomorrow, and Katsuki had nothing to show for himself. His entire confrontation with Deku had been derailed. The shitty nerd had made him lose his momentum, and even now he couldn’t stop thinking about— about—

Abandoning his latest attempt to go to sleep, Katsuki turned on the light and faced the floor-length mirror hanging against the bathroom door. He and Deku had unfinished business.

He grabbed his phone and typed in a number that he still knew by heart, even after all these years.

Bakugou K.

Oi.

Shitty nerd.

And then, his pulse pounding in his veins, Katsuki posed himself like he’d seen in the “thirst traps” Kaminari was always sending their groupchat (shirtless with his muscles flexed, hips tilted slightly towards the camera) and sent it to Deku.

He waited for a response. One second. Five seconds. Twenty seconds, fuck, why was it taking so long, he knew that shrub-haired bastard was glued to his phone!

Shitty Deku

omg

kacchan?

Bakugou K.

I’m sick of all this puzzle shit, so I got a deal for you. For every riddle you tell me the answer to, I’ll take another piece of clothing off.

Shitty Deku

oh god oh god oh god

is this the real kacchan

no way

it can’t be, right?? way too good to be true it has to be a catfish or something. haha very funny you thought i would fall for it. but im too smart for that.

okay fuck if it’s really kacchan then you have to prove it

Bakugou K.

WHO THE FUCK ELSE WOULD IT BE, YOU MORON? Take the deal or fuck off and quit wasting my time.

Shitty Deku

oh wow it is you

haha

hi kacchan

Bakugou K.

Don’t “hi kacchan” me, you piece of shit.

Shitty Deku

that’s not a lot of clothes though is it. like you’d only get through maximum four clues, assuming youre wearing socks which you don’t usually so that’s just two clues for your pants and your um underclothes. you wouldn’t really get that far if you’re trying to find minister konjou’s address book. unless you only need 2 clues since you figured all the rest out! if that’s the case then kacchan’s even more amazing than i expected

Bakugou K.

The hell do you mean? I’m gonna put a fucking parka on if you keep bitching.

Shitty Deku

not complaining!! i’m just suggesting like. maybe instead of just clothes i could uh

ask you to do things? like fan requests? and of course you don’t have to and we can change the things i’m asking for if it makes you uncomfortable and i promise it’ll only be nice things!

if you say yes i mean. i’m not assuming that you will. in fact i’m probably assuming that you’re using this phone conversation to distract me while you rappel down the side of my building to explode me through my window

Katsuki considered the proposition. The probability of Deku asking him to do something weird and embarrassing was extremely high, and the amount of consideration Deku was showing him pissed Katsuki off. On the other hand, Katsuki was nowhere near close to solving the scavenger hunt for Minister Konjou’s little black book, and if he had a chance to get all the answers he needed in one night, shouldn’t he take it?

Fuck it. No risk, no reward.

Bakugou K.

You better not ask for something stupid like my bank account information.

Shitty Deku

hahahahahaha nothing like that! just you know um

maybe if you could

touch your chest

a little

and send me a video

i could die a happy man hahahahaha

Bakugou K.

Die, then.

Shit, okay, whatever. Katsuki frowned at his phone screen, the tiny recording of his reflection poking at the broad expanse of his pectoral muscle, then the weird spongy part of his nipple. Wow. A part of his body, coming into contact with another part of his body. Groundbreaking. What part of this was shitty Deku so into?

Bakugou K.

It didn’t feel like earlier.

Shitty Deku

do you want it to?

Bakugou K.

I want you to tell me the damn clue already.

Shitty Deku

first one is the firuode oil main office bc the minister worked there before he got appointed as minister for the environment which i find incredibly concerning

bc when the person meant to regulate the fossil fuel and oil industries has close ties to them? that’s going to influence his policy. we’re trying to highlight his multiple conflicts of interest and how they’ve already damaged the country with this video, which is why i stole the address book— cause all his shady corporate contacts are in them, you know?

wait sorry that was off-topic. maybe we should just count the answers we’ve traded and i’ll tell you all of it at the end?

anyway

you didn’t answer my question

Bakugou K.

Fucking whatever. Guess I wouldn’t mind.

Shitty Deku

ok um. get your fingers wet with your mouth?

Bakugou K.

Gross, with my spit? Can’t I just go to the sink or something?

Shitty Deku

i actually havent tested that

but for personal reasons i still kind of want you to suck your fingers? if that’s ok? i’ll count it as 2 requests

get them wet, and stroke your nipple for me. lightly, with just the tip of your fingers

Katsuki’s face was red as he put two fingers in his mouth and hollowed his mouth around it. He couldn’t even look at himself in the mirror he was using to film. If he looked and saw himself blushing in splotches all the way down to his collarbone, or if he was making a weird face like all the girls in the adult videos Kaminari liked watching, he wouldn’t be able to bring himself to continue. And he had to keep going, wanted to meet every challenge Deku posed for him. Bakugou Katsuki didn’t back down.

There was a string of saliva still connecting his fingers to his lips when Katsuki pulled them out. He felt another wave of embarrassed heat rushing through his body. It felt dirty, slightly sordid.

He brought his hand to his chest. What was it that Deku had told him? A feather-light touch, barely stroking the surface…

Katsuki dropped his phone.

Cursing, he scrambled to pick it up, then pressed send on the video before he could lose his nerve. Oh, fuck, that felt good . Nothing like Deku’s mouth, which had been overwhelming enough to blank out his entire mind, but Katsuki hadn’t realized his chest could even feel like that, a shivery breath of pleasure Katsuki had never encountered before.

Shitty Deku

oh wow kacchan

keep going? with your other hand, too? can you prop your phone on a pillow or something? i kinda

kinda wanna see

Fucking Deku could see himself into the grave. How the hell did he know all this shit, anyway? Loser probably spent all his time (the time not stealing things and learning stage magic, anyway) holed up in his childhood bedroom, jerking off. That stupid bedroom with Katsuki’s face plastered all over the walls… Oh, fuck, Deku jacked off to him, every night, imagining that it was the real Katsuki in his bed instead of just a pillow.

Deku was… Deku was probably touching himself to Katsuki’s videos, right now. A sharp gasp escaped Katsuki’s lips, and he tried to pretend it was because of the way his own hands moved down his chest instead of how he’d just imagined Deku doing the same thing, writhing on the bed because of how good it felt, whispering Kacchan, Kacchan into the mattress.

Shitty Deku

kacchan you’re so beautiful

wait crap did i say beautiful sorry that was a typo you probably don’t want me to say something like that

i meant badass! kacchan’s so badass and tough. and cool. you’ve always been really cool

could you take off your pants for me?

Bakugou K.

I don’t give a shit what you call me. Dumbass.

Katsuki kicked off his sweatpants, and when he took another photo in the mirror he was horrified to find that the wet spot in front of his underwear was obvious, that Deku could see the bulge tenting his briefs. He looked debauched, his lower lip red from the way Katsuki had bitten it to stifle his moans, his nipples red and peaked, a pink flush spread all the way down past his collarbone.

Bakugou K.

So am I going to get naked now or what?

Shitty Deku

not yet

rub yourself through your underwear, kacchan. and keep touching your chest

Bakugou K.

What the hell? How much longer do I have to waste my time on bullshit foreplay?

Shitty Deku

until i tell you to stop

That bastard. Getting a little arrogant, was he? Treating Katsuki like— like his own personal plaything, as if Katsuki was just going to roll over and do whatever he said! Angrily, Katsuki, palmed his crotch, and hissed at the sudden, harsh contact. He was rougher with his chest, too, giving his nipple a harsh pinch, and oh fuck , that was good, too.

Katsuki’s breath sounded too loud in his ears. He was practically panting, and the entire front of his underwear was damp, his trapped dick aching to be freed. He felt hot all over, like he was melting into the bed. If Deku didn’t text him soon, then fuck the bargain, Katsuki was going to get off by himself whether Deku let him or not.

Shitty Deku

you can take off your briefs now

but slowly

and show me

“Slowly” was torturous, the waistband of his underwear dragging against Katsuki’s flushd, angry cock. Katsuki groaned when it finally bobbed into open air, his hand closing around his dick and stroking just for the relief. Whatever. Deku could have that one for free.

Shitty Deku

i guess i don’t have to tell you to touch yourself

how does it feel, kacchan?

Bakugou K.

How do u think it feels i’m jacking off

we have the SAME equipment shithead

feels fuckin amazing

Maybe there was something to that edging bullshit after all, because every touch of Katsuki’s hand to his dripping cock sent pleasure shooting down his spine. Better than what he usually did, which was angrily fist his dick in a death grip until he got off and got it over with. The pace Deku had set for him had him melting into the mattress— or maybe that was because he knew he had Deku’s full attention now, that Deku was watching him, thinking about him, even surrounded by his merchandise.

It was a kind of triumph. Deku cared about him the most, even more than whatever shitty social commentary bullshit he was trying to pull about the government’s handling of environmental policy. Deku had befuddled Katsuki enough to let him go twice, but now Katsuki was the one on top.

Bakugou K.

tell me wher the book is

fuckface

Shitty Deku

kacchan come on! no way, that’s skipping right to the end

Bakugou K.

tell me and i’ll say your name when i cum

Shitty Deku

3-2 dagobah 2-chome

fuck kacchan please

Katsuki pointed his phone camera right at his cock. It shook a little with the force of his heaving breaths, especially when his thumb flicked over the head. He closed his eyes and thought about the shitty nerd, his quick smile, his hot mouth, the way he always looked at Katsuki, like nothing else existed in the world.

“Deku, fuck, Deku, Deku, Deku…”

He came, his head thrown back, shaking with the sudden onslaught of pleasure. It took a minute for him to come back to himself, panting with the aftershocks. Katsuki blearily dragged his phone to his face and, before he sent the video, he managed to shoot the camera a victorious smirk.

“Hope it was worth it, you weirdo pervert,” he said, and let the phone drop from his hand as he yawned and settled into bed. It buzzed on his pillow, and buzzed again, an endless stream of Deku-praise arriving right to his inbox. Katsuki didn’t have to read any of the texts to know he deserved every word.

“Ah-HA! Choke on this, you old jart!”

Contrary to Katsuki’s expectations, Jeanist did not fall upon himself to promote Katsuki into command of all agency missions, anywhere. He didn’t even give him a nod of begrudging respect. Instead, he let out a strangled yell, rearing back in his seat as his collar extended upwards to cover his eyes.

“Augh! What are you showing me , Bakugo?”

Katsuki glanced at his phone. Sure enough, his text conversation with Deku was open to the end, giving Jeanist a preview of the, uh, personal photos he’d sent the nerd last night.

“Scroll up, you prude,” he scoffed, though he put his phone back in his pocket rather than bless his direct superior with more time looking at his glorious, unclothed body, “I negotiated with Deku and he told me where he hid the address book. I need to take a team out there today.”

Jeanist sighed, the denim half-mask traveling even further upward until it cocooned his entire face. It was a reaction that Katsuki had only seen a few times, mostly during his adolescence.

“So, to recap, you contacted the subject of this investigation directly and bartered for mission-critical information using…”

“Using pictures of my penis, yeah,” Katsuki said, flushing a little. He hadn’t been embarrassed earlier, but now the barest trickle of shame was beginning to infiltrate his psyche. All Might probably never sent saucy selfies to a villain in order to clear a mission. But then again, All Might had never faced Deku.

“Well, I did tell my shareholders that you were an unorthodox problem-solver,” said Jeanist, rubbing at what Katsuki assumed was his forehead through the thick fabric, “Though I didn’t precisely predict how out-of-the-box your solutions would be. You’re going to have a hell of a time explaining this in your mission report. You know that, right?”

“I stand by my goddamn choices,” Katsuki said, though by now his blush had spread all the way to the tips of his ears. Fuckin’ whatever. He’d had a good idea, he’d gotten what he wanted, and it had felt fucking incredible. “So? Do I get to join the smugglers’ raid or what?”

“Yes, Bakugou,” Jeanist sighed, “I suppose you do.”

See? No matter what Deku threw at him (riddles, merchandise, the distracting way he’d moved his tongue), Katsuki still always won.