#bakudeku secret santa 2017 | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

manako-no-yami · 7 years ago

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when i say go, hold my hand

Read on AO3 Written for the @bkdksecretsanta exchange (I'm so sorry for the delay, I didn't realize it would end up being this big or long...), for @calcidekudine! based off of her vigilante!deku fic, the hare. I hope you like it!!!

Fandom: BNHA Ship: Bakugou Katsuki/Midoriya Izuku Rating: T Wordcount: 9556 Summary:

“I’m sorry, what?” “You poor thing,” Earphone Jack says, smacking him hard on the back, “Do you feel obligated to defend his honor? Don’t worry, we all went to school with the bastard. That kind of already ruined the illusion. Now spill. I want to know everything.” “We’re uh, we’re pretty normal? Haha, no stories to tell. Nothing. Just. Just signi–uh. Boyfriends. Haha. Normal. Normal boyfriends. Yup.” Both women turn to look at him at the same time. The effect is startlingly close to facing down a pack of hungry lions while armed with a broken toothpick. Kacchan’s gonna kill me. How the hell was he supposed to know that the details of their fake boyfriends cover story had to be planned down to their imaginary sex habits?

“Hold still,” Kacchan mutters, tugging harder.

“Stop yanking,” Deku replies, “You’re gonna knock the recorder loose!”

“That’s why we should’ve gone with the button one, not this stupid glasses shit, makes you look even stupider than you already do.”

“I told you, the button mike’s audio isn’t clean enough, we run a risk of not even being able to use any of it, and since Mr. Wanna-be Number One Hero over here is ‘too busy’ to clean audio, which is utter bull shit by the way, that means it’ll be my problem and since I’m the one using it and handling the clean-up it only makes sense that I get to choose what recording gadget we use, so w–”

“Jesus fucking Christ, Deku. Shut up. I’ve heard this argument five times already. Besides, maybe this wouldn’t be such a problem if you would just,” He gives one final yank, tucks the tie in, and straightens the lapels of the suit jacket, “learn how to tie a tie , hmm?”

Deku’s face burns bright red and he huffs, hands reaching up to fidget with his collar before Kacchan slaps his hands away, hissing like an affronted cat.

Don’t you dare, his eyes read, and Deku rolls his eyes in return, settling for adjusting his glasses–his fake glasses, with a small recording device installed in the corner of the frame–higher up on his nose.

“Okay, let’s go over the plan one more time. First,” he’s interrupted by Kacchan’s exasperated groan.

“ God, not this again. Deku, we’ve been over it a million times, and neither of us are fucking amateurs.”

“ First, we locate the CEO of MightyTV.You're in charge of introducing me, and I, posing as your..." his voice gets lower. "Your. Y- Significant? Significant. O-oth--”

“Significant? Significant significant?” Kacchan mocks. “Boyfriend. Just say boyfriend. Are you sure I’m the one that needs to be debriefed again? How the hell are we supposed to pull this off if you can’t even handle saying that much, huh Deku?”

“– boyfriend, shut up Kacchan I’m trying to review the plan here–”

“Oh, so you admit that you’re the one that needs to review it, and not me? Better start cramming, since we agreed that you can’t bring the plans with you.”

“ And I, posing as your boyfriend,” Deku continues, “will begin talking to his assistant, who usually accompanies him, luring them in with the possibility of a story about Ground Zero’s civilian boyfriend, while you fetch us all drinks. Got it so far?”

Kacchan narrows his eyes, suspicious.

“No. The plan was to separate the two until you can subdue the assistant and give her the truth serum, not to leave you and your awkward ass alone with both of them.”

“What? Kacchan, no, we ended up making that plan B, this is why we need to go over it again! I thought you said you were a professional! See, look–” his hand reaches inside his jacket. Too late, his eyes widen in realization, and Kacchan tackles him to the ground before he can react, yanking at his tie and fighting to pull his suit jacket off along with it.

“I knew it! You did bring the plans with you! We– fuck , that HURT you little bitch–We talked about this Deku, it’s too much of a security risk to keep them on hand like that! Give them here!”

“No! Ge– oof, fuck. You. Kacchan. Get off of me!”

The doorbell rings.

“Not a chance in hell, give them to me right now , Deku, so help me God, before I rip all your clothes off for you!”

Deku shoves hard at his shoulder and rolls, landing on top, wrestling still with Kacchan’s hands.

“No! This suit was expensive , you’re gonna tear it! You should know, you bought it! And no quirk use in the house!”

Kacchan, that cheater, grins triumphantly, pressing his forearm into Deku’s sternum, demon smile inches from Deku’s glaring face.

The doorbell rings a second time.

“Ha! Only because your fashion sense is just as bad as the rest of you! And if you don’t want me to rip it off of you, then just be a good boy–”

The doorknob jiggles, then turns.

“–And strip for me, eh Deku?”

“ Fuck you.” Deku snaps, baring his teeth in return.

“You wish!”

When the door opens, both of them freeze, and look towards the entryway. Pro-hero Pinky, also known as Ashido Mina, stands there, eyebrows raised, hands on her hips and fingers tapping.

“Busy?”

A thick silence settles over them. The heat from Deku’s blush is enough to fog up his fake glasses slightly, and with a grunt he pushes Kacchan off of him before scrambling to fix his glasses and straighten his shirt. Kacchan simply lies back, glaring at their intruder with a sneer.

“No! We were just… just uh–”

“Yes.” Kacchan cuts in. “Yes we are. Busy. As you can see. Now get out and wait. You’re interrupting, and we’re not ready yet.”

Her eyebrows lift higher.

“And how much longer, exactly, will we be waiting for you two to get ready ?”

“However long it takes, Black-eyes. Which isn’t long at all, for your information.” He smirks.

“Kacchan!” He can’t help but feel scandalized, but he can’t deny the implications because, damn him, that would blow their cover. “Kacchan, that’s rude! It’s fine, ah… Ashido-san, you can wait in the living room instead of outside. Because some of us aren’t heathens.” He emphasizes the last bit with a glare in Kacchan’s direction, while he sneers back at him.

Pinky looks between the both of them for a moment before breaking out into full-bodied laughter.

“Aw, look at you. Don’t worry about it, all of us here are used to that fart gremlin,” both of them ignore Kacchan as he gives out a sound of offended protest, “so it’s fine. I’ll just tell the driver to keep the heater on. Don’t take too long with your Kacchan , though, we wouldn’t want to be late!” She winks before closing the door with a cheeky wave.

Kacchan groans and kicks at Deku, who dodges it with a frown.

“Fuck. Now they’re never gonna let that go... I told you not to call me that...”

Deku picks up the tie, which had been torn off during their scuffle, looking forlorn as he inspects the damage.

“It just. Feels weird. Calling you anything else.”

“Yeah, yeah. Whatever. Now hand those plans over, Deku. Did you think a simple distraction like that would make me forget that stunt you just pulled?”

After they finally make their way out of the apartment building, shoving at each other the entire way down, Deku is minus a set of notebooks, wearing a different tie (“Now we don’t match anymore…” “Who cares, Deku. Red suits you better anyway.” “But it makes us even less believable than we already are!”)…and they’re both twenty-five minutes late.

How late is fashionably late, again? Deku wonders.

When they clamber into the limo, he’s greeted by faces at once strange and familiar. Chargebolt, Red Riot, Pinky, and Cellophane are all faces that he recognizes, and he’d be lying if seeing so many of them in real life while unmasked didn’t psych him out a little. As he follows Kacchan in, Chargebolt lets out a low whistle, elbowing Red Riot and Cellophane. There’s a noticeable flush to his cheeks.

“Drunk already?” Kacchan doesn’t seem surprised.

“Nah, he’s just a bit tipsy. Gotta get past the press at the front door first. Can’t let you hog all the fun,” Cellophane quips, wiggling his eyebrows as Kacchan shoots a glare in Pinky’s direction.

“Aren’t you gonna introduce us?”

“No.”

Deku, by now, having grown, acquired a quirk, and dedicated years of his life to training and self-improvement, is no longer the shy, awkward kid he had been in childhood and his early teens. It feels almost too natural, sitting here, brushing shoulders with Kacchan, ears tickled by his spiky hair whenever they lean close as the car makes a turn. As he looks around at familiar strangers, he is struck with the thought that this was it. The thing he had longed for as a child. Sitting in the back of a limo with its own mini-bar, surrounded by pro-heroes. While his goal had never been the wealthy lifestyle, but he had always admired Kacchan’s drive for success. And here it is. Here they are.

“Hey, buddy!” Red Riot throws a friendly, albeit heavy arm around his shoulders, leaning in close, eyes squinted in happiness. He’s close enough for Deku to see the faint crinkles at the corner of his eyes. His entire being is bursting with vitality, an effusive warmth. This is a hero, he thinks to himself. “So how’d you and Bakugou meet?”

“Oh! We’ve actually known each other for quite awhile,” he says, continuing with the script they had decided on (the truth, in case someone ever tried to do a background check), “Something like childhood friends? We recently got back in touch and things…just kinda happened, haha.” Not strictly a lie, but by implication not truthful, either.

Doubt seeps in. When he glances over at Kacchan, his face looks impassive, if not mildly annoyed. Your everyday Kacchan.

Does he resent it? The plan? The goal? The endgame result that would tear all of this down, pull the career he’s worked to build down into the dirt?

“Hey, Midoriya, was it? I just wanted to say,” Red Riot’s conspiratory whisper isn’t very conspiratory. Kacchan’s eyes slide over to the right, clearly listening in, “Thanks for putting up with this guy. He won’t let us do anything about it if he can help it, but we worry sometimes, y’know? It’s nice to see him with someone else, so…take care of him, all right?”

Deku feels Kacchan’s shoulders tense as he looks away, feigning indifference.

If this plan goes through, if the entire thing goes through, this plan and the next, and the next, and the series of things they have planned and will have to plan in the future, Red Riot may be out of a job. Kacchan might be out of a job. A lot of people might be out of a job. The reigning market tied to heroes, civil service, the government, news, entertainment, marketing–everything will be overthrown into chaos. A necessary evil, he reminds himself, but the thought is grim.

When he became Kousagi he had lost something, too. He grew up with a love for heroes, too. In a lot of ways that’s what fuels him forward, drives him to fix the problem, to restore heroism to what he had believed it to be. It will hurt, tearing it all down, exposing the ugliness that hid behind the shining smiles of the brave. It will leave a scar. How could something like that not hurt?

But was it worth it?

“Midoriya?”

“Huh? Wha–yeah, yeah of course. Yes. I’ll make sure to watch out for him.” And after a moment of consideration, “You’re a good friend…Kirishima-san, was it?”

“No need to be so formal!” He laughs, giving him a good shake. “Dude, you’re solid. We should work out together sometime. I wanna know how you got these ,” he pumps his fist lightly against Deku’s bicep for emphasis.

“Yeah, yeah!” Pinky cheers, giving him a wink. “I bet ‘splodey-boy over here likes them at least as much as I do.”

“All right, that’s enough, all of you shut up and leave him alone.”

“Aw, look, see he cares!”

“Nah, he’s just embarrassed. Or jealous.”

“Yeah, you gotta watch out for that one, Midoriya. I hear possessive boyfriends can be a pain in the ass…but I guess that isn’t much different from his usual self, eh?”

"Fuck you," he says, swivelling towards Pinky, "and the rest of you idiots too."

Deku laughs. It’s easy. He doesn’t even need to fake it.

When they arrive, it’s all taken straight from the silver screen. Flashing lights, red carpet. Glinting teeth, sparkles, photoshopped perfection but in real life. When it’s their turn to step out, Deku hesitates, fingers gripping the posh leather upholstery of the dimmed car interior, eyes wandering out over the muted crowd waiting outside, faded by the tint of the windows.

“Are you sure about this?” Kacchan asked. “You’ll be right in the center of attention. And you’re not the number one most wanted vigilante for nothing, Deku.”

Kousagi made his reputation by striking fast and hard, right where it hurt. He didn’t operate in the limelight, he operated in the shadows of heroes, casted by the limelight.

“No better place to hide than in plain sight, right Kacchan?”

But this had to happen at some point. He could go on saving people, taking out the villains that were connected in the spindly, invisible web of influence, making a burden of himself upon the shadow masters of society; but to get to the heart of it all he had to brave the light of a sun powered by lies.

That’s what they’d agreed upon. That’s what he’d said. But was he ready? Right now? To stick his head into the lion’s mouth, wrap himself up in the snake’s tongue?

Kacchan turns back to look at him, and holds out his hand. Deku’s own feels weak as he lifts it.

Color, light, sounds. Life rushes back into him, through him, over him, flooding him; saturating his veins with sensation. He can smell the leather, hear the clamor of voices, the clicking of camera shutters. The warmth of Kacchan’s rough hands. Life, all of it--funneled through that single point of contact. He finds Kacchan’s gaze again, electrified, and not in the least, terrified.

And yet.

He exhales, steeling himself. Holds tight.

He’s ready. He has to be.

Mission start.

And he steps out into the line of fire.

Two minutes later, and Deku is not ready.

“Oh my God! You’re soooooo cute!” Uraraka Ochako, aka Uravity, is a beast. He’s held off a three pronged attack from both villains and multiple hero agencies simultaneously for less than that before, and gotten away unscathed. And yet, he’s been trying to escape Uravity’s clutches for the past five minutes with no success.

“Tell Katsuki to watch out, ‘cause I’m gonna steal you from right under his nose! How in the hell did he get so lucky?” She gasps dramatically. “Was he mean to you? Don’t worry, I’ll save youuuuuuuuuuuuu!”

He grips onto her back in panic as she throws her arms around him, trying his best to ignore the way her wandering hands squeeze at him appreciatively.

“Oh? What do we have here?”

Oh no, he thinks to himself as yet another well-known hero from Kacchan's class saunters up to him, twirling the earphone jacks that are her namesake around one finger. Are they all like this?

“Is this the unlucky dude we’ve all been hearing about?”

Just how many people did Kacchan pitch our story to??

He’d expected to be accosted by reporters. He’d been ready to evade questions, smile apologetically at a camera, to deny invasions to his and Kacchan’s privacy with modesty. He’d made flashcards.

Earphone Jack pats Uravity on the back and throws an arm around his shoulders, leaning close, her plugs lifting to tickle his ear, her voice dipped in the kind of easy camaraderie that reminded him of what made the most slippery of villains dangerous. He gulps.

And here it comes…

“So are you an asshole, too? Is that how it works? I bet you top. Do you top?”

...Wait, what?

“Izuku.” Deku is startled by Uravity’s suddenly serious tone. “Do you hate me?”

“…No…?”

“So you don’t want me to lose fifty bucks?”

“…I uh… Don’t quite understand the context of this…conversation…?”

“That lucky bastard, ” Earphone Jack huffs, “So you’re not an asshole and you top? What a princess.”

“I haven’t even said anything yet!” What the hell is going on?

“Oh, you poor thing. It’s written all over your face.”

“And your booty,” Uravity pitches in, giggling. Deku flushes as her hands wander a bit further.

What does that even mean???

“Pay up, Uraraka. I told you.”

“That’s like, sooo unfair! Izukuuuuu I thought you said you liked me!”

Well technically, I just said I didn’t hate you…

But truth is, he did like her. Uravity did a lot of rescue work, and her agency was set close to a low-income neighborhood. She was friendly, genuine, and a hard worker. She came from a humble background and worked hard to make her way towards the top, proving her worth the entire way. Reminds me of someone else I know… He’d been pretty excited to meet her, really. He liked to think that if he’d gone to UA like Kacchan did, like he’d wanted to, they could’ve been friends.

“Ugh, does it matter anyway? Everyone knows Katsuki’s actually prude.”

Deku chokes.

“I’m sorry, what?”

“You poor thing,” Earphone Jack says, smacking him hard on the back, “Do you feel obligated to defend his honor? Don’t worry, we all went to school with the bastard. That kind of already ruined the illusion. Now spill. I want to know everything. ”

“We’re uh, we’re pretty normal? Haha, no stories to tell. Nothing. Just. Just signi–uh. Boyfriends. Haha. Normal. Normal boyfriends. Yup.”

Both women turn to look at him at the same time. The effect is startlingly close to facing down a pack of hungry lions while armed with a broken toothpick.

Kacchan’s gonna kill me.

How the hell was he supposed to know that the details of their fake boyfriends cover story had to be planned down to their imaginary sex habits?

“Deku!”

“Gotta go, the boyfriend’s calling me! Have a nice night!”

“Deku, what’s going o–”

His heart’s a large-footed rabbit, thumping a frantic beat as it jumps in his chest.

What is going on? What the hell is he doing?

His hands are sweatier than Kacchan’s. Their faces are close, their chests brushing with each awkward sway.

“Getting away from your friends.”

Without thinking, he’d grabbed his hand and tugged them both onto the dance floor. He should be searching for their target, letting the camera and mike in his glasses capture their surroundings and the faces of the people around them, but he can’t look away from Kacchan’s chest, his jawline, the small hairs at his nape.

Damn him. Deku might have wound up beefier, but Kacchan had always been taller. He’s hyper-aware of the sweat on his scalp, of how his nose is a breath away from bumping Kacchan’s chin, of how Kacchan’s lips are just below eye-level. Of a haphazardly placed hand, resting barely-there on Kacchan’s narrow waist. Afraid to touch, to feel–a drop of water on a stovetop pan, dust on a pressure-sensitive bomb.

Damn him, he thinks again.

“They’re not my friends,” Kacchan retorts, a quick-fire rebuttal, and laughter squeezes its way up past his constricting ribs, his rebelling diaphragm, the unforgiving clamp of nervousness in his throat. Why was he laughing? That’s not that funny. It isn’t.

A quick two, three steps, and they’re beneath the glittering chandelier, turning slowly under layers of dappled, crystalline light.

“Sure they aren’t.”

“You know, one of these days I’m gonna get tired of your sass and drop your ass. What’re you gonna do then?”

“Oh, I don’t know…maybe ask for help from one of my other friends –oops, sorry, is that a sore point? Since you apparently don’t have any?”

“Dropping your ass. Right now. I’m gonna do it, I’m really gonna do it, any second now…”

“I’d like to see you try .”

All it takes is a light shove, and a misplaced foot. Kacchan topples, the hand on his shoulder tightening reflexively, and Deku swoops him down into an elegant dip. Footwork had been one of the foundations of his training (and Deku isn’t one to forget his training). He grunts a little, ( Shit, he’s heavy) and Kacchan elbows him hard, right in the gut–but Deku expected that, and flexes to compensate. He allows himself a small smirk.

“Bitch.”

“Who’s dropping whose ass?”

“ You’re an ass.”

“Why thank you, that’s truly an accomplishment, coming from you.”

When did they get so close?

He’s falling, falling, falling. Spiralling. When he places Kacchan back on his feet, their faces jerk closer, and he can’t help but tilt his face upwards a bit, chin lifting. His clothes are too tight, especially around the chest, did Kacchan buy the right fit? Everything is constricting, itchy, prickles racing up and down his arms, like when he’s readying for a fight; all of it a swirl of color around them even though he knows that they’ve barely moved, simply swaying from side to side. Is that sound his heart, or Kacchan’s? They’re so close.

Kacchan gulps, and Deku’s eyes flicker down to watch before flickering up again to observe. Kacchan tenses, just a little, and looks away. Something in him seizes, adrenaline rushing cold fire through his veins, no, no, don’t look away, stay here. He seizes the moment, tugs it back.

“How about we give them all a real show?”

“What?”

Deku glances to the side, where a small crowd has gathered, whispering and pointing. Pinky looks extra excited, gesticulating wildly, not even trying to be subtle in her attention towards the pair.

“Something to corroborate our story with.”

He’s already leaning in, in anticipation. If Kacchan just lowered his head, just a bit…

Kacchan glances down at him, brow smooth, eyes serious, an unusual calm and severity falling over him. Rocks in an ocean, the two of them, steadfast and rough amidst salty froth breaks; standing still in the middle of a ballroom dance floor. He shifts his hands to hold both of Deku’s shoulders. Anchors. They’re no longer moving.

“Okay.”

Okay.

His cheek is soft under his fingers. It surprises him, just a little, that anything about Bakugou Katsuki could be so soft. When they lean in close–is he imagining it? The way Kacchan’s eyelashes flutter just a bit, the way he meets his eyes and then looks away quickly, as though his attention were grabbed by something else. He wouldn’t have thought Bakugou Katsuki could be shy, either.

Deku parts his lips in anticipation. What will he taste like? Feel like? How did he always manage to stay one step ahead, stealing his breath before their lips can even touch?

Closer now.

Closer.

Closer…

He squeezes his eyes shut.

“I’m gonna spin you now.”

And snaps them open.

“What?”

Kacchan’s arms wrap around him in a faux embrace, lips by his ear. Swivel, stop. Pointing him in the right direction.

“The back corner, by the water dispenser. There he is. Our target. You see him?”

“Yeah,” Deku whispers, hushed, eyes bright and trained on the man in question, “Yeah, I see him.”

“Good. That’s where we’re headed.”

They pull back and look into each other’s eyes. Focused. Then they clasp hands and dance, slowly inching their way across the floor, weaving between people in time with the music, in one direction.

He allows himself a moment to mourn a missed opportunity, then focuses on the task at hand.

They have a job to do.

The CEO of MightyTV is portly, with sharp stubble like thick, purple rose thorns along the sides of his face and on his chin. His quirk is electronic multitasking–not flashy, but extremely useful. Deku is slightly jealous–with a quirk like that, who knows what he could have done.

“You would’ve still aimed for heroics, like an idiot, anyway.”

Shit. He really needs to cut down on the muttering habit–Kacchan’s right, it can pose a serious security risk at times.

“Yeah, you do. What the hell did you even do without me around to get you to shut up?”

I worked alone, mainly. Talking out loud helped a bit, though. Sometimes.

“Wait, I said that last part out loud too?”

“No, you didn’t, but you’re an idiot so it was easy to tell what you’re thinking.”

“You mean I’m logical. You just followed the logical train of thought to guess what I was thinking.”

“Yeah, well, don’t get your hopes up, that’s still barely a baseline expectation for someone I’m partnering up with.”

“But I pass the rest of your expectations?”

“Don’t remind me of how far my standards have dropped.”

Deku rolls his eyes at that, to cover up the smile.

He lets go of Kacchan’s hand, leaving one arm around his waist as they walk towards the water dispenser, the casual motion belying the tension he feels inside.

You don’t need to write a script on what to say to them. Let them come to you. That’s how the paps work, Kacchan had said.

And sure enough, like clockwork, the young woman by the CEO’s side turns towards them as they part, eyes widening with recognition and then curiosity as she notices the placement of Deku’s arm.

“Ground Zero!” The CEO says, walking over. Kacchan grunts. There’s an awkward, tense pause.

Right. Ground Zero is notorious for his dislike of the press. That leaves it up to him then.

Lovely.

“Ah, hello,” Deku says with a small smile. “How are you?”

“Good, good,” the man says, smiling and running his fingers lightly over his thorned chin, “You’re a new face.”

Kacchan growls a little, “He’s with me. And we don’t like questions.”

...Why. Why is it that for Kacchan, remaining in character means being actively counter-productive?

“It’s okay, Kacchan,” ha, in your face, “ A few questions wouldn’t hurt, right?” He puts a soothing hand on his chest ( Kacchan bristles under his touch ) , a cheeky winner’s smile on his face.

Fuck you, Kacchan’s eyes read.

Now, now, pay attention, he sends back. Oh, well. He can deal with the backlash and complaints later.

“Not worth it. Babe.”

Deku chokes.

Babe? Really? Babe??

“You okay there, babe ?” Kacchan repeats, with emphasis and with almost no effort to conceal his delight at Deku’s reaction.

...He did not. Just.

Deep breaths. Don’t blow your cover. If you do he’ll never let you forget about it, and we wouldn’t want that, would we?

“Yes, I’m fine,” he swats at the (condescending) hand patting his back, “Stop that!”

“You sure, b–”

“You’re so sweet, Kacchan , but really, everything is perfectly fine. Just got something stuck in the back of my throat, is all.”

Kacchan reaches for a water cup. Deku stops him, and leans up to kiss Kacchan’s cheek. “Grab me a drink instead? From the bar?”

“Hurry,” he breathes, lips brushing Kacchan’s jaw.

They’re standing right by them now. Kacchan squeezes his elbow.

“Drink some water while you wait. I’ll be back soon. Don’t choke and die.”

Don’t choke, or I’ll kill you, is what he really means.

And then they let go, and Kacchan disappears into the crowd without another glance back.

You’re not a kid anymore, Deku reminds himself.

He’s gone undercover before. He knows what kind of smile to use to lower people’s guards, he knows he can do this. But watching Kacchan walk away from him, showing him his back, reminds him of middle school. Nervousness claws up his throat, social awkwardness weighing down on his tongue like sticky candy that’s too strong, staining the back of this throat. He’s thirteen again. Unpopular, uncool, and no one will listen to a word he says.

Now that Kacchan is gone, the pair only seems mildly interested in him. The small talk is polite and dry, meant for a courteous good-bye-see-you-later-it-was-nice-to-meet-you.

(It’s been awhile since Deku had been in an environment like this, where everyone assumed they were better than him.)

“So, what’s your quirk, if I may ask?”

Dully, he realizes he’s actually somewhat surprised. Not by the question, but the slight sting it still manages to deliver. He forces himself to relax, following the lines of their script.

“Ah, it’s nothing special. Attraction of objects, got it from my mother’s side of the family.”

“Ah, of the telekinetic kind?”

“Not quite. Mine works a bit differently. The attractive force is more…additive, than telekinetic. And it’s pretty weak, so it only works briefly on contact. The end result is basically unusually strong grip strength and the ability to hit things a little harder too, sometimes enough to counteract the inertia of an object, if I time it right.”

Complicated, dry, technical. Enough of an explanation to explain any mild displays of super strength, if he ever needs to use it in public as his civilian identity, but not interesting enough for people to take note of it. Especially not here, surrounded by the flashiest quirks of the industry. As long as he doesn’t go overboard with it, as long as he doesn’t push so far that Kousagi’s trademark lightning is shown in public alongside his civilian identity, he should be safe.

“Interesting,” it’s obvious he doesn’t actually think so, “How’d you meet Ground Zero?”

“We grew up together. Nothing special, really, just ran into each other again while visiting home and started talking again.”

“I see.”

The standard questions having been used up, the conversation trickles to a stop.

Get it together, Deku. Bring it back. Stay on track. Kacchan’s voice comes unbidden into his head.

But how does he capture their attention long enough to keep them here without engaging them so much they take special note of him?

The assistant’s fingers twitch towards her cellphone, or some other electronic distraction. She’s bored. Keep them occupied.

“Well, it was nice to mee–”

“I heard that you were going to do a new program, about quirk categorization and practical career applications! On your Tuesday 2pm talk show?”

“Yes, that is correct.”

“I was wondering what your targeted audience is? It’s a topic that I think many people would be interested in. I can’t help but think the currently weekly schedule doesn’t give it an opportunity to reach its best audience.”

“Well, we wanted to test it out on a smaller scale, first, to see how it fares.”

You mean you’re afraid of the possible political backlash from the way the program seems to suggest that people should only pursue careers that suit their quirks, rather than their interests and personalities. An entire industry of specialized quirk accommodation gear would lose about 75% of their individualized commissions.

“And what do you think?” He turns towards the assistant, and she stiffens a bit, milky eyes studying his features. It’s a justifiable question, and one that hits a bit close to home. Something subtle that will hopefully snag her attention. The assistant in question has a quirk that interferes with electronics. She takes medication every three hours to balance out her body chemistry, just so she can touch a phone screen. Incidentally, she also lied about this on her job application.

“I think the program has an interesting line-up of guest speakers. Many people will like it.”

A neutral response, but a bit defensive in tone. Careful, careful.

“My quirk is pretty versatile in theory,” he continues, “But I don’t use it much for my current job.”

Not my current day-job, at least.

“Quirk-defined career paths also calls for a change in education, right? Segregation by quirk category?”

“I wouldn’t call it segregation,” the CEO quickly interjects, “It’s a practical approach that provides an accelerated route that would propel much of Japan’s youth towards success.”

“Ah, yes. Of course.” Of course. “Some quirks would simply go to waste, if not utilized correctly. Society would benefit more if people followed careers that fit their strengths. And some people just don’t know how to choose correctly.”

The words are sour on his tongue.

I’m sorry, Izuku, his mother’s voice echoes in his head, still. I’m sorry.

The assistant keeps quiet, glancing down at her phone. Taps it, as though checking for a message. Is she bored? Or feigning disinterest in order to hide the relevance the topic at hand holds towards her own life?

“Like Ground Zero, for example,” the CEO continues, unaware. “What if he had decided he didn’t want to become a hero? Lives would have been lost, potential wasted. The future of the Japanese people lies in efficiency. Efficiency is best brought by the logical use of talent.”

And talent is inborn, just like quirks. If facts were simply ideas agreed upon by the majority, then this is a fact that Deku had been battling since he was four. He fights to keep his jaw from clenching.

Right around now, Kacchan should be ordering. Just a bit longer.

“Of course. Though… I may be a bit biased, but I think Kacchan would’ve been a great hero, no matter what quirk he got.”

It’s hard to keep the steel from his voice, to keep playing the part of nice, doting boyfriend. He’s treading on dangerous territory with that statement. But the assistant straightens a bit, looking up, milky unblinking eyes fixating upon him.

“You two must be very close.” She says, lightly. “Maybe you can convince him to stop by for a real interview? We’re dying to know more about him.”

She crosses her arms, phone angled to the side.

“You’d have to ask him about it. Or his manager, though frankly they have a lot on their plate already.” They all share a chuckle, and he flashes her a charming smile. Tie her down.

She straightens, pulling at her blazer, bringing her phone in front of her again as though she were about to get ready to jot something down.

“But you could put in a good word for us, right? Or perhaps…come in for an interview yourself? You seem to have some interesting thoughts.”

Another laugh. He hates the way his mind races with millions of different ways his words could be interpreted, thousands of different hypotheses on the thoughts the other two could be having. In this way, it really is a lot like middle school.

“That would be a very short interview. Kacchan’s where the story’s at, really, and don’t deny it.”

If Kacchan were here he could keep their attention without saying anything at all . But maybe he only believes that because Kacchan had always been able to demand attention without any effort from the start. From the very, very beginning.

“But you’ll consider it? What about a joint interview, talking about your relationship? We’ll even let you do most of the talking. Pre-recorded, not live.”

God, how did he do it? What was it? Was it the eyes? The stand-offish manner? The obvious confidence lining his frame, steeled in his shoulders? There had always been an inexplicable draw to Bakugou Katsuki. It’s woven in him, his bones steeped in it, saturated with it, brimming with barely contained light and ambition. It’s impossible to look away.

“I don’t know…Kacchan’s really stubborn. Really stubborn. But that’s what I,” stop, stop, stop. No. Not here, not now. Clears his throat.

(Or perhaps that fact had simply always been overwhelmingly evident, for him. Perhaps there is another reason why Deku had wound up as Kousagi, fleeing the light. It’s too bad that Kacchan, Kacchan and the sight of his back, had always been his center of gravity, an inimitable pull that is so natural it doesn’t even occur to him that it could be any other way, nevertheless that it might be possible he resist.)

“But that’s what I think makes him so charming,” he finishes. Their eyes stare at him, piercing him from behind a protective armor of benign curiosity.

What are they thinking? What do they know?

The assistant pulls out a notebook, “Perhaps we can pencil in a date for that interview?” The notebook must be a conversion memory pad, old-fashioned tech that converts handwriting to typed notes and automatically saves a back-up file in the cloud real time. Deku wonders if the CEO’s quirk extends even to nearly-obsolete electronics like these.

“Now you’re just putting me on the spot.”

“All in the job description, my friend.” She places the notebook back in her pocket, pulling out her phone, which has the same strange sheen on it. Like a layer of thin silk. The CEO glances over, and the screen brightens as she taps on it, settling into her hip as she leans towards him, as though responding to his gaze.

“Well, it was nice meeting you,” the CEO says, with a short nod of acknowledgement. Abrupt. Annoyed.

“Wait!” He steps forward, closer, insistent, “Kacchan is getting us drinks. When he gets here, maybe we could talk about that interview? I think I can sway him. Cement the date. Write it in ink.”

“You’ll have to pass along our apologies for his trouble, but that is really not necessary.” Deku glances to the side, and spots familiar blonde hair making its way towards them.

Just a bit longer.

The assistant taps on her phone again, screen blinking.

“How about Friday afternoon?” Deku presses. Just a bit longer.

“I’ll look into it. You can contact my secretary, the info is on our website.”

Why the change? When they were so insistent on snagging that interview just a second ago?

The CEO walks closer to his assistant, wrapping his arm around her shoulder as though to lead her away. She glances down. The shiny film atop the phone screen ripples, as though responding to something. The CEO’s expression is blank, still, as though he were staring at something straight ahead but only a few inches from his nose.

Electronic multitasking. He can split his attention and absorb information from up to five different electronic sources and apply that information to separate mental tasks simultaneously.

The assistant shifts again, tugging at her sleeves. The phone screen, angled away from him, winks, screen flashing at him.

He pulls off the glasses, pretending to clean them on the corner of his shirt.

“Deku!” How much time do they have? He doesn’t know. Not enough. “Deku, c’mon,” he’s close enough to grab now, “Help me with these dri–”

And so he does. Snags his sleeve, tugs him towards him in what would look like an affectionate greeting, drinks wobbling, colorful liquid catching on the rim, ice cubes clinking--

(Footwork had been one of the foundations of his training. And Deku isn’t one to forget his training.)

--Slip one toe forward, wedge under shoe. Yank back. Tilt off balance, pinwheeling arms barely missing the assistant’s face; she steps back, startled, but steadies the phone, keeps it as still as possible, the crutch, the objective --

The drinks shattering on the ground, seeping into the front of his shirt. Kacchan’s hand fisted in his collar, eyes narrowed ( Kacchan has always been quick on the uptake), in them his own apprehension reflected back at him--

Pause.

Click. Click.

Click.

He’s balanced, just barely, on his heels. Kacchan’s hand in his shirt is the only thing preventing him from stumbling backwards. His outstretched hand still holds the glasses, positioned just so, so that the camera lens can catch a glimpse of the phone screen.

“Careful, dumbass.” And he’s tugged back onto his feet.

Play.

He whirls around, messily shoving his glasses back on his face, hands in front of him, palms up, frantic waving motions accentuating the edge of panic he puts in his voice.

“Oh my gosh! I’m so sorry! Are you okay? Nothing spilled on your clothes, at least that I can see, I’m such a klutz, honestly, something like this always seems to happen whenever I take my glasses off, and now the drinks are gone too, I’m so sorry--”

“Deku, shut up. It’s fine.” Kacchan doesn’t even look at the other two. “Let’s go get you cleaned up.”

Fill me in.

Deku nods, itching to speak to him in private, and to get a closer look at the pictures he had just taken of the assistant’s phone.

If he’s right about this...well, then there will have to be a change in plans.

Kousagi leans back against the wall, taking deep, calming breaths.

bunbun 21:18

u ready?

boomboom 21:20

r u

bunbun 21:20

yea

bunbun 21:20 lmk if u need me to buy more time

boomboom 21:24

cant believe im letting u have all the fun

bunbun 21:24

just get it done kacchan

boomboom 21:24

ever think it might be better for the HERO to detain the villain?

bunbun 21:24

no longer replying to u

A hand shoots out, clamping down hard over the victim’s eyes, another snaking around to cover their mouth.

“Shhh.”

They open their mouth to scream, and that’s when he slips the pill inside.

He skirts around the building, lying low. All right, so maybe exchanging the notebooks for squeezing Kousagi’s costume underneath the suit was a good choice.

“Here’s how it’s gonna go. You make all the plans. I plan for when all your plans go to shit.”

Sometimes, he’s amazed when Kacchan is right. Other times he’s just annoyed. Begrudgingly, he has to admit, this time he’s pretty grateful.

I can’t believe I’m doing this, he thinks for the umpteenth time.

His victim whimpers, sound muffled by the duct tape, blindfolded and shaking in their chair.

“Okay. Here’s how it’s gonna go. I’m gonna take the tape off, and you’re gonna tell me everything you know about tonight’s attack and who else helped you plan it.”

He reaches forward and rips off the tape.

“Please,” they sob, “Please don’t kill me.”

He rolls his eyes.

Seriously. Can’t believe I’m doing this.

The clock hits twenty-five and the villain emerges from the shadows, skirting around the edge of the building. A morphological quirk with two parts--for the visible part,unusually large shoulders and unusually long arms and unusually big hands. Unusually heavy and dense muscle mass, for the watch-out-that-might-actually-really-fuckin’-hurt part.

Deku figures this job must be this one’s last run. Said “villain” (commissioned performer? Career hero-fighter?) has already made two comebacks after brief stints in jail, both sentences unusually light. The first time, the papers described him as having a morphological quirk that granted him “clubbed hands”. The second time, he used cheap metal coverings, making it possible to describe it as “specialized metal manipulation”. Third, “select body enlargement”. He wonders how they would describe it this time, or if they would settle for referring back to one of the first three stories they’d cooked up. Just another villain that was let back into society only to proceed with wreaking havoc yet again.

The guy looks around furtively before darting across the corner of the open lot.

Almost there.

He curses, fiddling with the headphones.

All right. So maybe Deku was right about needing better recording equipment. Audio cleaning sucks. He doesn’t have time right now, though, anyway, so what they have will just have to do.

Below, the crowd slowly starts to congregate towards the small stage set at one end of the room. The speaker clears his throat and taps the mike.

“Tonight, ladies and gentlemen, we celebrate a year of hardships, and a year of accomplishments. We look back on what has happened, review our successes, and learn from our mistakes.”

Staged. Faked. Shadow plays, strangling puppets with shadow strings. Come one, come all, to see the shitshow. Ticket prices start at voluntary incarceration, the corruption of justice, collective ignorance and one, big web of lies.

Kousagi gets ready for his cue, pulling his mask down over his face. One last glance at his lock screen, a silent text notification illuminating it briefly before it fades.

“C’mon, c’mon,” he grits his teeth so hard he’s sure they’re sparking. “God damn it!”

Slams a fist down onto the table. Looks around the room. In the corner, there is what looks like a metal cabinet. He swings the door open to find rows of switches.

Main. Overhead. Spotlight, the labels read.

All right, he grouses, all right, fine. I can work with this.

boomboom 21:26

u better make this worth my time, deku

“I come to you today, amidst all of the festivities, with a gift. A pledge. Something to end an era, and to spark a new one in its ashes. What I’m proposing, esteemed guests, is a world where villainy can be measured. Quantified. Eliminated. What I’m proposing, is peace. Just imagine it, folks! Pre-emptive action. The ability to right wrongs before they can be done.”

The crowd stirs, the murmuring like a fast-moving infection sweeping over them.

The man’s eyes are wide, the whites glistening with muted flashes of flickering, electric green. The forearm digging into his throat presses in harder. The wall shudders with the force of his flailing arms, struggling to buck off his captor.

“Be quiet,” he hisses, “and maybe I’ll let you go.”

Yeah, for like two seconds. Still. It’s the thought that counts, right?

“This isn’t just improvement. This isn’t just ideal. This is natural. There are things in this world that we’ve allowed to be just because they are. We’ve allowed it to grow alongside us, thrive alongside us, even as it threatens our livelihood. I’m not talking about education reform. I’m not talking about rehabilitation programs, or strategic population relocation. No, the problem goes further than that. I’m talking about rewriting humanity’s future. With this new project, the brightest of today’s scientific minds have brought us a solution that would allow us to have a hand in humanity’s evolution. Ladies and gentlemen–”

He’s cut off, and the room goes dark.

There’s a slight crackle, a static-y hiss, and a voice floods in over the intercom.

He backs off a little, stretching the bit of carbon-reinforced rope between his hands. The other sucks in a deep breath, and prepares to dash to the right.

“You sure about that, buddy? You wanna try me?”

But he doesn’t listen, throwing a hasty punch and dashing towards escape.

Kousagi sighs.

“Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

“–planned the attack, villain fights are actually the best source of publicity–”

“But what about the risk? The casualties?”

“Inconsequential. Or rather, beneficial. Martyrs sell headlines.”

“The projection booth! They have to be there! Stop the recording!”

The rope snags his ankle and he pulls back, hard enough to knock him off-balance. The clumsiness of his large arms make it so that regaining his balance takes just a second too long. Kousagi leaps forward, looping the rope around his wrists and tucking it back through the loose circle, jerking to bring them together before he can react.

“Okay, we’re up next,” he says, addressing the squirming bundle lying at his feet as he continues to bind him. “I hope you’re ready.”

“Why? Why all the fuss?”

The crowd begins to wake, people pushing at each other and trying to feel their way through the dark with only the light of their phones to guide them.

“What’s this about?” Someone calls out. “Is this real?”

“They need something to pressure the board of ethics into letting the project through.”

“It’s not real! It’s just another villain attack! Don’t listen to it.”

“You do realize that what you’re proposing is essentially genocide, right?”

“What the fu--”

“IT’S FAKE!”

“It’s not genocide if it’s just speeding along what would’ve happened anyway.”

“--Everybody, please remain calm. The heroes are already trying to address this matter--”

“What do you mean?”

“--We are trained professionals, please do not worry--”

“We’re eliminating the unnecessary, the unfit. Evolution, but streamlined.”

A loud crash, drywall and brick flying into the room as Kousagi bursts in, blowing a hole straight through the wall. He’s carrying the villain like a sack of potatoes over his shoulder. He’s a streak of fluorescent green, landing in the middle of the stage. The spotlight turns on, right above him, and he’s at the center of attention.

Nice, he thinks, before tossing the villain to the ground and looking out over the crowd.

“Merry Christmas, heroes.”

There are small points of light visible in the darkness of the room, faint green and red dots. That’s what happens, when the press is present, no matter the chaos, no matter the event.

Perfect. The cameras are out and rolling.

“I only have so much time before one of you decides to attack me. But first, let me just say this--to all of you that act out of personal interest and turn a blind eye on the good of the public--I’m onto you. To all of you that arrogantly believe that the entirety of a person’s worth is a consequence of birth--I’m onto you. When you decide to take the easy route, when you decide to underestimate the very people you fear, don’t forget. Never, ever forget--there is always someone watching.”

This is it. This is the declaration of war.

“Remember: for I am here. ”

That’s your cue, Kacchan.

“KOUSAGI!”

He vaults himself overhead, explosions blinding, like mini fireworks in the darkened room.

“I’ve got a score to settle with you, fucker!”

Keep it simple, Kacchan had said, over-detailed plans lead to more mistakes.

So he’d kept their plan simple.

Intercept the villain. Capture the villain. Cause a scene.

But it’s never really that simple. He can see it in his eyes, in the unbridled joy and excitement, in the way he can feel his own rising in his chest.

Ground Zero intercepts Kousagi but Kousagi gets away.

Deceptively simple, if they were anyone other than Midoriya “Deku” Izuku and Bakugou “Kacchan” Katsuki.

Kacchan never loses, except when he’s handed the win. And if there’s only one thing that can said to be true, it’s that Bakugou Katsuki fights for victory.

That means this fight is for real, and the only way for this plan to succeed is to beat him fair and square.

...Without getting captured, or putting his identity at risk.

“You better make this worth my time, Deku.”

...While they’re in a room filled with other top-ranked heroes.

What the hell, Kousagi thinks to himself . Then he’s dashing forward, aiming below Ground Zero’s guard.

“Miss me?” A small wave of hot air blows past his face, the aftermath of a concentrated explosion.

“Yeah, definitely a miss. Maybe you should--”

Duck. Swipe with left foot.

“--’ve waited for your eyes to adjust?”

“Why is it that you always seem to,” Ground Zero drops into a half-crouch, digging his toes in, immovable against the shoulder ram and defending against the uppercut aimed at his ribs, “want to talk so damn much?” He grunts a little, annoyed when Kousagi ducks out of what would’ve been a headlock.

Right jab, followed by right kick. Blocked and grabbed, dodged.

He rears back. Smashes his forehead into his nose, once. Ground Zero howls, blinking rapidly against the pain, blood gushing and dripping over the bottom half of his face, but doesn’t let go.

Twice.

Thrice.

He kicks at his shin, pummeling his gut with the other fist, then rips himself free.

“What a shame,” his voice drops into a secret, just between the two of them. “You have such a pretty face.”

Even while disoriented, Ground Zero has the reflexes to dodge the kick aimed at his face. The miss throws Kousagi off balance, but the momentum from the movement is repurposed, added into his wind-up. Then he’s twisting, digging his feet into the ground, and shooting off to escape.

“I HAVE A BOYFRIEND!” Ground Zero screams in response, voice gone slightly nasally, before taking off after him.

Kousagi has the gall to laugh.

“GET BACK HERE, DEKU!”

“Shhh, not so loud!”

They’re far enough away now, lucky in that both of them having versatile quirks suited for mobility. But still, they don’t have much time. He nearly rips a hole through his shirt, trying to stick his arm through the sleeve. Kacchan tugs on his belt loops to pull his pants up as he hops up and down while trying to work the shirt buttons through their respective holes.

“Shoes, shoes, where are my shoes?”

“I don’t know, where’d you put them?”

“By the bins--and hide my equipment belt while you’re at it!”

Pants on. Shirt buttoned. Vest on. Jacket on. Cufflinks on. That just leaves--

“Deku, what the fuck is that?”

“Just--help me!”

“You are a grown man, how the fuck do you manage to fuck up your tie this badly?”

He tugs roughly at the cloth, only succeeding in tightening the tangled knot.

“Shit, shit, shit, Kacchan the glasses! I think I dropped them, I forgot!”

“Where?”

“I don’t know?”

“You fucking idiot! ”

There are voices calling out now, just around the corner. Kacchan grabs him and tugs him roughly down the hall, trying to stall, trying to run.

“Kacchan, there’s no time. You need to go, now, so they don’t suspect you too.”

They had been so close . So close to pulling this off.

“Shut up, Deku.”

At the very least, he can’t drag Kacchan down with him.

“I said, shut up.”

And then the taste of iron is in his mouth. Deku freezes, teeth aching from the force of the mouth pressed against his.

Oh yeah, he thinks, hazily, as he registers the taste as blood, I broke his nose.

“Bakugou? Bakug--oh.”

Kirishima is the first to find them, probably one of a small group of heroes sent after them while the rest stayed behind to keep the civilians who had attended the party safe. He skids to a stop at the end of the hallway, gaping at the two of them as they remain liplocked, just far enough to miss their exchange.

Kacchan pulls away, chest heaving against his, arm resting on the wall by his head to successfully shield him, his horrendous tie, and his lack of glasses from view. Deku stares back up at him, wide-eyed. And then Kacchan blushes.

“It was the only thing I could think of.”

“...So Ground Zero’s official reason for not staying in pursuit of Kousagi is that he wanted to make out with his boyfriend?”

“...Shut up.”

Deku lets out an incredulous laugh, as Kacchan stares. Kirishima approaches them cautiously, looking slightly uncomfortable.

“Dude, what happened? Where’s Kousagi?”

Kacchan growls, baring his teeth.

“He--”

Deku fists the front of his shirt pushes, flipping their positions before mashing his lips against Kacchan’s, this time in the lead.

We’re busy, is the clear message being sent here.

“...Okay, well the others have spread out searching...I guess you can turn in your report...later? Dude,” he repeats, sounding suspicious, cautious. “Dude this isn’t like you.”

Kacchan has to wrench his mouth free before turning to sneer at him. The ugly sneer, the one he uses when he’s annoyed, or panicked, or when he has something to hide.

Or, really it should be ugly. Except it isn’t, because his nose wrinkles a little when he does that, and honestly, it’s actually kind of cute.

There’s a moment of silence, and they both turn to stare at him.

Oh. Oops. Did he say that out loud?

Kirishima’s face twitches weirdly, before he wheezes, laughing.

“Oh-oh my God… Okay, I guess I can rule out ‘didn’t realize he was dating his rival’ from my list of reasons for why you decided not to chase Kousagi to hell and back, then?”

Kacchan glares at him, then looks away in what looks like shame, but is actually an attempt to hide an embarrassed scowl.

“There--there was. A hostage. Situation. I...let him go.” He says, quiet. He curls tighter around him, the muscles in his arms tensing.

Deku pretends to relax, nuzzling his neck. Like two lovers reunited, clasped in an emotional embrace. Except for the fact that he’s actually trying to hide his snicker at Kacchan’s struggle to mask the irritation he feels at having to pretend he’d let a target go. (And for the fact that he isn’t really relaxed all.)

(Inside, his heart thumps a fast, hard beat.)

“...Oh. Okay.” Kirishima’s voice is grave, but steady. “Don’t worry, I’ll deal with the press. You two can...continue reassuring each other.” He backs away, slowly.

“I’m glad to see you two are okay, though.”

Kacchan responds with a stiff nod of acknowledgement, and Deku peeks over his shoulder to offer a shaky smile.

“Don’t take too long,” he calls out, already beginning to jog away, “You’re gonna have to face the rest of them in a few minutes. I’ll help stall, though.” And then he’s gone.

...Now where were we?

“Are you sure,” Deku turns back around, whispering tauntingly into the hollow of Kacchan’s neck, “that that’s the reason? Maybe Ground Zero’s boyfriend stopped him from chasing after Kousagi because he was worried.”

Inhale. The scent of nitroglycerin, smoke. A splash of cologne, still lingering.

“Maybe Ground Zero just couldn’t resist.” His fingertips trail, up and down, lightly, along Kacchan’s side. Itchy.

Way to go, Deku. Fake dating cover succeeded, mission cleared. And now you decide to flirt with him? He’s right, you’re a fucking idiot.

Kacchan’s hand slips around his waist, gripping him tightly. His other hand wanders up the back of his neck, into his hair.

Oh, he thinks, feeling faint.

“Yeah,” Kacchan responds.

And this time, they meet each other halfway.

#clod not lefting but #bakudeku secret santa 2017 #fanfic #bakudeku #bnha #vigilante!deku #fake dating

109 notes · View notes

hecamity · 7 years ago

Text

paper ornaments

a/n: bkdk secret santa fic for @amajikies! happy holidays, friend! i used some elements from my current college au bc i don’t know how to break away from it hfjdks. nonetheless, i hope you enjoy! (word count: 4456)

read it on ao3 here.

summary: katsuki forgoes going home for winter break, planning to spend the holidays alone locked in his dorm room in peaceful solitude. izuku, his fellow residence hall neighbor though, won’t stand for it. college au.

“Are you really not going home for winter break?” Kirishima asked Katsuki for the thousandth time that evening, turning around to face him after managing to zip up his overstuffed suitcase.

Katsuki rolled his eyes, not bothering to look up at him, gaze focused on a panel from a weird, gory, but oddly addicting zombie manga he’d stolen from Kaminari’s shelf earlier that day. “I already told you I’m not going anywhere. Fuck off.”

“Your mom will be disappointed.”

“She sees me almost every weekend—she’ll live.”

Kaminari, who’d been sitting at his desk submitting some final assignments, reached over to shut his laptop and spun around to face Katsuki with an incredulous expression. “You’re willing to stay on campus for the next two weeks instead of going home?”

Katsuki turned a page with a snort. “Fuck yeah. I’ll finally get some rest without you assholes around.”

It wasn’t as if winter break was anything special to Katsuki, anyway.

The last three winter breaks, he’d gone home and he never did much. His days consisted of him lounging around his house until his mother chased him with a broomstick in order to get him to help clean or Kirishima and Kaminari blasted his phone with persistent text messages to spend the day out.

Christmas day itself was also nothing special; his mother usually made a light dinner for him and his father and then they’d have some store brought cake for dessert. Later on, his friends would come around in the late evening and pressure him into a night of karaoke.

This year he was a senior and as an art major, he was expected to create one final masterpiece for his Capstone the upcoming semester.

His inspiration though, had been running low lately, and he planned to use the next two weeks on the empty campus to focus on planning for his Capstone without any distractions.

Kirishima only sighed at his friend before giving him a toothy grin. The redhead grabbed at the handle of his suitcase and with loud bang, the suitcase stood in front of him. “I hope you’re not too lonely without us.”

This time Katsuki lowered the manga volume to give Kirishima a smirk. “Not likely. Now get the hell out of here before you miss your train.”

Kirishima picked up his jacket from his bed and started towards the door, towing his suitcase behind him. Kaminari followed suit, his duffle bag already over his shoulder.

“Remember, we’re only a twenty minute train ride away when you can’t take the agonizing silence of this soon to be cold, lonely dorm room—”

Kirishima was silenced by the third volume of Zombies in Tokyo hitting his head with a mighty thunk.

A few hours after his roommates left, Katsuki found himself lounging in his floor’s common room. His legs were hitched onto the coffee table in front of him and he was using one of the couch’s cushions as leverage, a sketchbook in front of him.

In the background, he could faintly hear the All Might anime re-run he’d turned on, half paying attention to the action on screen.

“DETROIT SMASH!!!!!” the muscular superhero cried as he extended a fist toward a sludge monster who roared in response.

Typically he avoided the area, as it was usually loud and swarmed with the people he shared his floor with, except for late nights when he couldn’t sleep and he could relax in the silence.

This was one of those rare moments in which Katsuki could find himself there without running into anyone or sharing control of the one television, most of the campus having already been abandoned by students going back home for the next two weeks.

“Is that All Might?!” an excited voice squeaked from the entrance to the common room.

The sudden noise caused him to flinch and lose control of the hand that had been sketching. Gritting his teeth in irritation, he narrowed his red eyes at the now uneven line on the page before him. With a loud sigh he shifted them to turn his glare towards the voice that had broken his concentration.

He was met with a familiar face: freckled rosy cheeks, shining emerald eyes, a beaming smile, and a head of messy, green curls.

Katsuki immediately recognized him; he’d occasionally seen him around the residence hall, flanked by a cinnamon haired girl and a bespectacled giant. They’d also shared a Japanese history seminar he’d been forced to take as a prerequisite the semester before; Katsuki remembered him sitting in the front of the class, one of the few students who participated frequently, often times going off on passionate ramblings he’d had trouble catching most of the time.

The boy walked in further into the room, hugging a composition notebook to his chest. It took a moment before his excited smile turned into one of embarrassment, his already flushed cheeks turning an even darker shade of red. “I interrupted you, I’m so sorry!”

Katsuki felt his glare drop slightly and his heart skip a beat at the sight his bashful little grin.

Adorable fuckhead. The thought slipped before he could stop it and it took everything in him not to blanch at himself because for fuck’s sake, he did not find anything or anyone adorable.

Especially not annoyingly overenthusiastic, broccoli-headed individuals who dared interrupt him while he worked.

Katsuki huffed and moved his eyes back down to his sketchbook, aggressively erasing at his mistake. “Apology not accepted, shithead.”

The green-haired boy’s smile did not leave his face though and Katsuki was surprised his unfriendliness hadn’t deterred him from approaching the couch.

“Can I join you?”

“I think the fuck not.”

He completely ignored Katsuki’s rejection, settling himself into the seat beside the blond, bringing his knees up to his chest. The notebook he’d been holding was tossed on the coffee table in front of them. “This is the sludge monster episode! Iconic.”

Katsuki stopped the sketching he had resumed to give him a blank look. “Are you some kind of nerd?”

“If you’re asking me that because of my enthusiasm for this incredibly amazing, legendary series, then yes I definitely am.”

Katsuki refrained from snorting at his response. “Don’t you have somewhere to be? Home like everyone else?”

“I’m staying on campus for winter break this year,” he answered back his green eyes shifting from the television to look at Katsuki curiously. “Why haven’t you left for winter break?”

“None of your fucking business.”

“You’re a grouchy one, aren’t you?” Katsuki could hear the teasing lilt in his voice.

“And you’re annoying as fuck, aren’t you?”

“Touché, Bakugou-san.” The curly-haired boy laughed lightly, the corners of his eyes crinkling with his smile.

Katsuki’s eyebrows rose into his hairline, his head whipping to give him a surprised look. “You know my name?”

“Of course,” the boy’s tone was matter-of-fact. “We were in the same history seminar last semester!”

Katsuki couldn’t help but feel a small twinge of guilt at not remembering his name.

Clearing his throat, Katsuki picked up his long forgotten charcoal pencil to resume his work. “Right.”

A silence fell between them, the only sound coming from the television. From the corner of his eye, Katsuki could see that the boy was watching the screen once more, the corner of his lips upturned in amusement.

Three episodes later, the strangely comfortable companionable silence that fell between them would sometimes be broken with an occasional comment about the episode playing.

Katsuki had almost been disappointed—almost—when the green-haired boy stood from his seat, stretching his arms upward. “I’m going to head to bed. Thanks for letting me watch All Might with you, Bakugou-san.”

“I never—”

“Goodnight! I’ll see you around!”

“No, you the fuck you won’t!” Katsuki growled loudly, listening to the sound of his laughter as he walked down the hall.

When he leaned back against the couch cushions, his scarlet eyes traveled to the coffee table and landed on the composition notebook that the green-haired boy had brought in with him.

Tossing his sketchbook to the side, Katsuki leaned forward and picked the notebook from the coffee table.

In neat handwriting, he finally saw his name.

Knock knock.

Katsuki furrowed his eyebrows, burrowing his head deeper into his pillows in attempts to block the insistent knocking.

Knock knock knock.

“What the fuck?” Katsuki lifted his head and turned towards his door.

“Bakugou-san?” The voice came from the other side, muffled by the door.

Throwing the sheets off of his body, Katsuki jumped out of bed and stomped towards the door, ripping it open. Giving the grinning boy on the other side his best sneer, Katsuki resisted the urge to throttle him.

“Why the hell are you knocking on my door at—” Katsuki paused to turn and look at the digital clock Kirishima kept on his desk. “7:30 in the morning on a day off?”

“Because, we’re getting breakfast together.”

“Like hell we are.” Katsuki grumbled, turning away from him and walking back towards his bed. “Don’t you have any other friends to go annoy?”

“You’re my friend!” he crowed in a voice that was entirely too happy for such an early hour. “And everyone else is off-campus.”

Katsuki raised an eyebrow and gave him an incredulous look. “Since when are we friends?”

“Since we bonded over All Might last night.” A sweet smile spread across his freckled face. “You can’t take it back.”

“Listen here shitty nerd,” Katsuki loudly began. “Just because I sort agreed with you on the genius that was the Impromptu Villains arc, doesn’t mean that we’re friends.”

The freckled boy only ignored his words, heading back towards the door. “I’ll be waiting in the common room.”

“Oi!” Katsuki yelled after him only to have the door shut.

“Little shithead.” The blond mumbled to himself, lifting himself off of his bed once more and dragging his feet towards his wardrobe to pick something to change into.

After pulling on a sweater and some jeans, Katsuki sleepily stuffed his wallet, keys, and phone into his pocket. He’d almost made it past his desk when he noticed the composition notebook he’d haphazardly tossed when he’d come back to his room the night before.

After a moment, he grabbed the notebook and made his way to the common room to see the little asshole that had decided to interrupt his slumber bouncing in his seat.

“You forgot this last night, Deku.” Katsuki practically shoved the notebook in his face.

“Deku?” The boy gave him a confused frown, lowering the notebook to his lap. Katsuki wordlessly pointed towards the front of the notebook in where his name was written on the front.

His green eyes lit up in understanding; he wasn’t the first person that had read his name as Deku. “It’s Izuku actually. Midoriya Izuku.” He laughed a little before his smile morphed into a small pout. “So that means you didn’t actually know my name.”

Katsuki let out a quick cough, bringing his hand up to scratch at his head. “Didn’t you say we’d be going out to breakfast? Hurry the fuck up—if I don’t get something in my stomach, I might have to destroy you.”

Izuku stood from his seat and led this way, all while mumbling, “I can’t believe you didn’t know my name. We shared a class.”

“Can it, Deku.”

“So, you’re an art major?” Izuku’s mouth formed an ‘O’ and his eyebrows rose to his hairline in surprise.

“The fuck’s that look for?” Katsuki asked him around a mouthful of fluffy pancakes, pointing his fork at Izuku.

Izuku’s lips morphed into an impish smile, his shoulders rising into an exaggerated shrug. “You just don’t look very artsy. But now that I’m thinking about it, it kind of suits you—you’ve kind of got a brooding artist aesthetic going on.”

At his words, Katsuki’s scarlet eyes narrowed into a glare. “You’re goddamned lucky these pancakes are good or I’d of thrown my fork at your ugly mug.”

“Brooding and violent artist, I’m sorry.”

“You’re making it really fuckin’ easy to come to a decision to never speak to you again.”

Izuku giggled, bringing his mug of tea to his lips, shifting his already empty plate to the side. “Okay, okay, I’ll let you eat your pancakes now.”

Katsuki watched as Izuku slid the notebook he’d returned to him earlier closer to him, the green-haired boy opening the cover and flipping through the pages, almost as if he wanted to make sure its contents remained the same.

“What’s in that crap anyway?”

Izuku shut the cover of the notebook and looked up with almost startled eyes. “You didn’t look in it?”

Katsuki had admittedly been tempted to peek inside but had decided against it. As fucking awesome as his art was, he knew he wouldn’t be pleased had someone chosen to look into his sketchbook without his consent.

“I wouldn’t be asking if I had, shitty nerd.”

Izuku pursed his lips, his gaze lowering to the table. His freckled cheeks flushed with color and he began playing with his fingers. “I-it’s uh, they’re poems. Poems that I write,”

“I’m a creative writing and literature double major.” Izuku continued, leaning his chin into his hand. “I kind of carry the notebook around with me everywhere in case inspiration hits.”

Katsuki hummed before giving him a smirk. “I thought you might have been a history major.”

“Oh?”

“You’re the only idiot I’ve ever seen get so passionate in a history lecture.”

At his words Izuku’s face turned bright red, an embarrassed smile. “It was an interesting class.”

Katsuki snorted and shook his head in disagreement. “It was awful. I spent most of it sleeping in the back.”

Izuku tsked him teasingly, his eyes shining with mirth. “Not a very good student.”

“Fuck you, I’m an amazing student.”

Izuku chortled at his response. After a moment, he directed a soft smile at Katsuki, his eyes earnest. “Thanks for having breakfast with me, Bakugou-san.”

Katsuki felt his chest constrict slightly, the tips of his ears growing hot. Biting his lip and averting his gaze, the blond let out an awkward cough. “Whatever, stupid Deku.”

Katsuki hated to admit that the company wasn’t so bad. He could tolerate the nerd—even if he was weirdly passionate about a fictional superhero and forced him out of bed too early.

Ever since they’d had breakfast, Katsuki had seen Izuku nearly every day for the past week and a half.

Like clockwork, the green-haired, literature major would knock on his dorm room door at 8:30 in the morning—he’d explained to Katsuki that he was being nice and letting him sleep in an hour—in order to have breakfast again.

They’d then part ways, reuniting in the common room every evening, watching All Might re-runs until late into the night.

Some afternoons, Katsuki would run into him at the local café, where he spent his time sketching or messing around on his laptop and they’d sit in companionable silence.

Other times, the companionable silence would turn into playful banter or long conversations about school, their friends, themselves.

Katsuki learned that Izuku’s favorite color was green, that when he was younger he’d dreamed of being a fireman, his favorite food was katsudon, and that he was incredibly close to his mother.

He was originally from Matsushima, a good ways away from Tokyo and the move from home had been hard on him, though he’d grown accustomed to the many changes that came with living away from home.

Izuku had also eagerly shared that Christmas was one of his favorite times of the year; every year, he and his mother would go out to pick a tree and decorate it together. They’d spend the afternoons baking and settle into their kotatsu for a night of television, nursing mugs of hot cocoa.

This would be Izuku’s first holiday season without her.

When Katsuki noticed the forlorn expression his face, he’d asked him why he’d chosen to stay on campus instead of going home and spending time with his mother.

“It’s a short break and I thought it’d be more economical to stay on campus this year.” Izuku explained, shrugging all while smiling sadly. “I’ll definitely go home our next break, though.”

Today though, had been the first morning that they hadn’t had breakfast together since the first time Izuku had knocked on Katsuki’s dorm room over a week ago.

Katsuki, like clockwork, had risen early and had been waiting for the familiar knock on his dorm room door—a knock-knock-tap-knock that signaled Izuku’s arrival.

With a huff, Katsuki had picked his backpack off the floor, shoved in his laptop, and had grumpily trudged out of his residence hall and into freshly fallen snow, making his way to the café earlier than usual.

He was definitely not disappointed because he wouldn’t be seeing him. He’d just really been looking forward to his pancakes.

“Excuse me,” Katsuki brought his gaze up from his laptop to look at one of the two baristas working that day standing in front of him. “It seems the snow outside will get worse soon so we’ll be closing the café early for the day.”

With one final bow, the barista walked back to the counter.

Katsuki turned to look outside the café’s window to a flurry of snow falling rapidly.

“Fuck,” he groaned, standing from his seat. He quickly shoved his belongings into his backpack and zipped up his jacket, ready to face the high windows outside.

He’d almost made it to campus when he heard a familiar voice call out behind him.

“Kacchan!”

Furrowing his eyebrows, Katsuki whirled around to see a bundled up Izuku grinning at him excitedly. His green curls were tucked into a woolly hat, a puffy yellow jacket zipped up to his chin, and green mittens protecting his hands. The tip of his button nose and his freckled cheeks were pink, nipped at by the frosty winds.

Cute motherfucker.

“Who the fuck are you calling Kacchan, nerd?” he ignored Izuku’s previous question, curling his upper lip into a snarl.

“You,” Izuku continued, smile widening and emerald eyes twinkling in merriment. “You have a nickname for me, it’s only fair I have one for you.”

“You couldn’t have picked something less cute?”

“But Kacchan, you are cute.” Izuku giggled.

Katsuki froze for a moment, his stomach swooping at Izuku’s words. Blinking rapidly, the blond shook off his momentary shock, and growled. “I’ll fucking kill you, Deku.”

As Katsuki approached him threateningly, Izuku yelped. “Wait! If you’re going to kill me, let me set these down first.”

Katsuki hadn’t noticed that Izuku had two plastic bags wrapped around his wrists and carried a huge paper bag in one of his hands, the name of a nearby department store on the front.

Izuku waddled to a snow-covered bench and set his bags down carefully. Turning back towards Katsuki he shut his eyes tightly and opened his arms widely, as if he were ready to accept whatever came his way. “Okay. I’m ready. Do with me what you will.”

The corner of Katsuki’s lips pulled into a smirk of amusement. Bending down, he bunched up a wad of snow into his hands, ignoring the painful burn of cold against his skin. With wide steps, Katsuki walked towards Izuku, the snow crunching under his boots.

Izuku squirmed in place, seemingly in anticipation.

Without warning, Katsuki tossed the ball of snow in his hand at the green-haired boy, hitting him close to his face.

Izuku let out a loud gasp, his eyes popping open to face a now grinning Katsuki.

“That wasn’t very nice, Kacchan!” Izuku cried out, his mouth still gaping open. “That was cold!”

“Yeah, well I ain’t very nice, Deku.” Katsuki gave him a taunting smile. “What’re you gonna do about it?”

A smile grew on Izuku’s face as he leapt towards the ground and picked up a bunch of snow haphazardly flinging the bunch at Katsuki.

“You little shit!”

Izuku let out something between a strangled yelp and hysterical laughter, attempting to dodge Katsuki when the taller boy lurched towards him.

Katsuki felt himself smile at the sound of another yelp when his second snowball hit the green-haired boy in the face, this time not missing his target.

“I’ll get you, Kacchan!”

Stepping to the side in order to avoid one of Izuku’s snowballs, Katsuki, for the first time in a while, allowed himself to enjoy the moment.

Rubbing his tired eyes, Katsuki let out a long sigh, resisting the urge to throw his sketchbook across his dorm room.

Ripping out the page he’d been sketching on, he balled it up and threw it in the bin underneath his desk.

After he’d gotten back from his impromptu snowball fight with Izuku, Katsuki had said goodbye to him and locked himself in his room in hopes of making progress with ideas on his Capstone project.

Although he’d worked diligently for a few hours, he hadn’t had much luck.

“Fuck it,” Katsuki muttered to himself, taking a quick peek at Kirishima’s digital clock.

12:23 AM

He slammed his sketchbook shut, tossing the pencil he’d been using back into the pencil case Kirishima had given him for his birthday the year before.

Lifting his tired body from his desk chair, the blond staggered over to his bed, dropping on it with a groan. Closing his eyes, Katsuki pressed his face deeper into his pillow; his consciousness ebbing away as sleep took over.

Crash, crash.

Katsuki’s scarlet eyes popped open, immediately awoken by the loud noise that despite being muffled had been enough to interrupt his slumber

“Oh, no!” A voice moaned from the common room, which was across from the hall from Katsuki’s dorm room.

With a sigh, Katsuki jumped from bed and stumbled his way to his door, opening it. His bare feet slapped against the cold linoleum floor as he made his way to the common room.

When he peered inside, he saw a familiar head of green-curls bent over what seemed to be broken Christmas tree ornaments, his fingers picking at multi-colored shards of glass.

On the common room coffee table was a bare, mini-sized Christmas tree.

“Oi, be careful, you idiot.” Katsuki barked at him, causing Izuku to jump slightly at his sudden voice.

Rushing forward, Katsuki knelt down beside him, and with a gentleness that was uncharacteristic of him, moved Izuku’s hands away. He cautiously began reaching for some shards himself, placing them into the plastic bag Izuku had been using. “What is all this shit?”

“I wanted to surprise you with a decorated tree in the morning,” Izuku frowned disappointedly at him, blowing out a frustrated breath. “But I tripped and everything shattered.”

Katsuki felt his heart lurch at the sight of his dispirited expression, his stomach churning uncomfortably.

“I can clean up the rest, Kacchan,” Izuku gave him a small smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “I’m sorry if I woke you with all the noise.

Katsuki watched him for a moment, concern in his eyes. “Oi, it’s fine, I can clean up the rest.” Letting out a small cough, Katsuki continued picking up shards. “Knowing your clumsy ass, I’d have to take you to the ER to get stitches if I let you near this mess any longer.”

Izuku let out a small laugh. “Thank you, Kacchan.”

“Yeah, s’whatever.” he muttered in response, lowering his gaze and concentrating on not cutting himself with the remaining shards.

As he tucked the last of the shards into the plastic bag, Katsuki hoisted himself upwards and looked towards Izuku again, his expression still downcast.

Biting his lip, Katsuki rolled his eyes toward the ceiling before opening his mouth to speak. “Oi.”

“Hmm?” Izuku’s eyes snapped up to meet Katsuki’s, the blond’s voice seemingly bringing him back from his thoughts.

“Get that stupid look off your face,” Katsuki reached down to grab his wrist softly, pulling Izuku to his feet. “Let’s go.”

Izuku followed behind him, eyebrows furrowed in confusion. “Where are we going?”

“We’re gonna go make some fucking ornaments.” Katsuki answered his question, opening the door to his room, waiting for Izuku to enter.

Instead of going in, Izuku continued to stare at him with uncertainty. “Make ornaments?”

“Yeah,” The blond art major answered simply. “Do you have some yarn?”

For the first time since he’d walked into the common room that night, Izuku smiled that smile that could light up a room—the smile that made Katsuki’s insides flutter.

“Knitting just happens to be one of my favorite pastimes.”

“Fucking nerd.” Katsuki snorted.

“Last one,” Izuku yawned into his hand looping a red string of yarn through the hole he’d punched on the paper ornament, clumsily typing a knot. He reached over and gently placed the ornament on the now fully decorated tree. “There.”

Izuku got to his feet and slightly stepped away to admire his and Katsuki’s hard work, the duo working into the morning, the sun now shining through the common room blinds.

They’d suffered through heavy eyelids, several paper cuts, and odd marker stains on their skin.

Coming up behind him, Katsuki nudged him gently, a small smirk on his face. “It looks pretty good, doesn’t it?”

“Only because of your artistic talents,” Izuku gave him a shy grin. “Thanks, again, Kacchan.”

Katsuki rolled his eyes playful, the corner of his lips lifting into a more sincere smile. “Anything to have gotten that mopey look off your idiotic face.”

It was now Izuku’s turn to smirk, the green-haired boy giving Katsuki a teasing little look. “Oh? So he does care.”

“Don’t make me regret being nice to you.” Katsuki scowled at him, turning away and heading towards the couch.

With an exhausted groan, the blond slouched onto the cushions and closed his eyes, leaning his head back comfortably.

He felt the seat next to him dip with added weight and a searing yet comforting warmth at his side, Izuku having come to sit beside him. A moment later, he felt a pressure on his shoulder, hair tickling his chin.

“Oi, what the fuck do you think you’re doing?”

“Sleeping.”

“Not on me, shithead.”

“Kacchan,” Izuku whined sleepily, sit still. “I’m sleepy.”

Ignoring the heat that rushed to his cheeks, Katsuki leaned back comfortably once more, allowing himself to relax.

“Kacchan?”

“What?”

“Merry Christmas.”

Katsuki let out a small laugh through his nose. “Merry Christmas, Deku.”

#bakudeku secret santa 2017 #bakudeku #katsudeku #mine: fics #long post #text post

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