#but he put his instinct to avoid the thing that gave him trauma (heaven) at all costs aside for charlie

[jinxed-sinner]

Look I know Lucifer isn't the best dad ever but I feel like people who say he's a bad dad are purposely ignoring the context of the show. It is very much implied that he thought Charlie wanted nothing to do with him, and Charlie thought he wanted nothing to do with her. Lucifer’s still dealing with trauma from Heaven and his fall and probably will for the rest of time plus he's dealing with what would probably qualify as clinical depression, and simultaneously dealing with trauma, clinical depression, and autistic traits (which Lucifer absolutely has; I do not say, as an autistic person, that Lucifer is a massive autistic mood for no reason) is a fucking NIGHTMARE.

I'm not saying Lucifer shouldn't take responsibility. He should. But he's already doing better than my dad frankly. Lucifer hits me in the daddy issues, I wish my dad made an effort to be more active in my life. Lucifer is fucking trying, and that's better than a lot of people can say about their dads.

[x--daughters-of-darkness--x]

The Pretty Reckless’ Taylor Momsen Lives for ‘Death by Rock and Roll’

“The 27 Club” is a depressing cultural phenomenon — it’s the age musical luminaries Amy Winehouse, Jim Morrison, Kurt Cobain, Mia Zapata of the Gits, Janis Joplin and Jimi Hendrix died.

The Pretty Reckless singer Taylor Momsen is now is 27 but was 25 when she wrote a reckoning in the semi-autobiographical “25.” The song appears on Death By Rock and Roll, the band’s fourth record. The LP is a stunner; a dozen stellar songs that are at once reverential, referential and intensely personal.

In the past four years, Momsen lost two hugely important people in her life. In 2017, Chris Cornell died by suicide, and not long after, her musical mentor and best friend Kato Khandwala died in a motorcycle crash. Understandably, Momsen was devastated. Thanks in no small part to the catharsis of music, the age of 27 seems to be a renewal, as she exorcises her pain in Death By Rock and Roll. The Pretty Reckless’ best album to date, the passion and pain are palpable in both music and lyrics. The plaintive “Got So High” could be an alt-rock chart-topper, in wonderful contrast to the raw rallying cry and aggressive gutter-rock feel of the title track. She moves easily from the quirky cinematic moment of “Broomsticks” into the fiery, feminist coven-call that is “Witches Burn.”

Speaking from her pandemic hideout in Maine, Momsen isn’t on the other side of the grieving process.

“I’d be a liar to say that I’m, you know, over things,” she tells SPIN. “I’m still in the process of healing, but the making of this record really was just a huge step forward. I was in a very, very dark space there for a while, and if it wasn’t for the making of this record, I don’t know if I would be here right now.”

She wallowed, but ultimately her instinct for self-preservation kicked in. As did a worldwide pandemic. Masking up is nothing new for Momsen, who calls herself “a super hypochondriac” who hasn’t left her house since March.

“Even before COVID, I was strict. It probably stems from being a singer and not wanting to get sick on tour, because you never fully recover. So [I always flew wearing] masks,” Momsen says.

Though she’s healthy, and it’s probably not an exaggeration to say that, emotionally, Momsen was saved by rock and roll. “I keep just sticking to the word rebirth,” she says. “I know it sounds cliché, but it really does feel like that for the band.”

While the songs are truthful, sometimes sad, always powerful, they’re never a pity party. “I keep trying to want to put a positive spin on it because I don’t want it to be this representation of this very morbid thing,” Momsen says. The concept behind Death By Rock & Roll is a positive rallying crying, something a band might shout together before going on stage. “It’s an ethic that we live our life by; go out your own way, rock and roll till I die,” she continues. “Don’t let anyone tell me differently.”

The phrase “death by rock and roll” was coined as the band’s de facto motto by Khandwala, which made it an appropriate choice for the album title. The band’s friend, producer and touchstone, Khandwala died in 2018 at the age of 47. He was with The Pretty Reckless from 2010’s Light Me Up to 2014’s Going To Hell and 2016’s Who You Selling For.

Khandwala’s memory bookends the album: A recording of his actual footsteps on a wooden floor begins the record, and the final song is the poignant tribute “Harley Darling,” a stellar ballad that could be a hit on Americana/country radio. If the only way around something is through it, Momsen dove in headfirst, putting all her angst, love, sadness and power into the songs.

“The record delves into a lot of darkness and a lot of sadness. There was no way around that as a writer. And as a person. It just became so a part of who I was that I couldn’t avoid it. But I think by writing it and getting it out, that was a huge part of the healing process.”

Wanting to use music to process and express her emotions, she called Khandwala, who had produced every The Pretty Reckless album, to talk about recording.

But then came the call that Khandwala had died.

“That was the nail in the coffin for me. I threw my hands up in the air and kind of went ‘Yeah, I give up.’ I went down a very dark rabbit hole of depression and substance abuse and everything that comes with that.” she confesses. Momsen was so down that she couldn’t even listen to music. Eventually, listening to her favorite artists helped her. “I started with the Beatles, listening to every detail, the whole Anthology, and just going through what made me fall in love with music when I was young.”

The band – drummer Jamie Perkins, guitarist Ben Phillips and bassist Mark Damon – met Momsen through Khandwala and were all equally devastated, processing losses in their own ways. They were on tour with Soundgarden in 2017, which was a thrill but ended in tragedy when Cornell died.

“As an artist [being asked to open the tour] was the highest compliment that you could possibly get,” she says. “If you know anything about me, I mean Soundgarden is just the epitome [when it comes to rock bands]. I was there that last night in Detroit,” she remembers. “I talked to him at night I gave him a hug and said goodbye. When I wake up to that news the next morning … It just went from the most elating experience to the one of the most devastating. And Kato was at all those shows.”

Cornell’s death shook Momsen and the band profoundly. She says it “took me down to a place where I wasn’t useful in the middle of a record cycle.” The Pretty Reckless were supposed to be on the road for another year, but Momsen wasn’t up to performing as she dealt with her grief. “I couldn’t grieve and continue to get on stage every night and pretend, put on this big rock show like everything was okay. I left the tour,” she says.

With time, she was able to listen to Soundgarden’s music, and eventually, she picked up a guitar. Death by Rock & Roll was a record that was easy in the worst way possible.

“I didn’t have to try to write it. It was more just a necessity that I didn’t even know I needed. It just kind of poured out of me,” Momsen says of the writing process. “There were a lot of tears during the recording. We put everything we had into this album, physically, emotionally. There are good days, bad days, obviously. I think the full spectrum of emotions was spanned on making this, from anger to tears of happiness to tears of sadness.” Some days were too difficult for Momsen even to attempt vocals, too heartbroken from the past few years.

That said, Momsen, in conversation, along with the record itself, aren’t outwardly mournful. Her voice has laughter and life. “I’m ecstatic for people to hear the album and to share it because I’m really proud of it. I know it sounds cliche, but it really does feel like the first album, like we had to start from scratch again, and we didn’t know how that was going to go.”

Still, there are songs where Momsen chooses not to divulge the true inspiration to inquisitive journalists. “I think it’s unfair to the listener to detail song lyrics in a personal manner. It takes away what it means to [the listener].” She offers up an example to clarify: “I’m a huge Pink Floyd fan. (She references “The Great Gig in the Sky” in the song “Rock and Roll Heaven.”) I’ve watched every documentary ever made about Pink Floyd. In one, Roger Waters is talking about ‘Shine on You Crazy Diamond,’ going into depth about what the song was about to him, about Syd Barrett.”

Momsen was shocked to learn the song’s true story. “It was so not how I had taken that song my entire life! I’m glad that I know the story now. But if I had known before I listened to it, I think that it would have changed my perspective of the song. It wouldn’t have had the same impact that it had on me and my personal life. That’s why I don’t like to do that.”

Death by Rock and Roll reaffirms The Pretty Reckless’ love of rock and roll, along with the people who made them who they are, musically and as individuals. “I think because we went through so much trauma, and so much loss, that this record, in one way, feels so much like a gift. We’re given the gift of rebirth; I mean, how many artists can say that? As artists, you struggle to find inspiration always. In this case, inspiration was just thrust upon me.”

With a record that marks such a powerful turning point for The Pretty Reckless, talking about Khandwala and Cornell will be inevitable and ongoing. “This record starts and ends with my love letter to Kato. So there’s no getting around talking about that,” Momsen concedes. “But it’s so much more than that. I think it’s reflecting on the cycle of life. You come into this world with nothing but your soul, and you leave it with nothing but your soul.”

[p4nkow]

D is for Dangerous - part II

with a bit of delay, here’s the second part! i’m having so much fun writing this fic, it’s different from my previous ones and it’s so challenging. i just hope you guys enjoy it as much as i do :)

Part I

Summary: driven by the desire of revenge, the reader tries to take down the man who ruined her life only to find out that her plan is an utter fiasco; however she meets a man that is gonna change her life and give her the chance of a lifetime

Four!Ben x Fem!Reader

hope you enjoy and let me know what you think :)

The next day

Your head was unbelievably heavy, almost as if made of stone. Your ears were pulsing, with a twinge of pain every now and then. Rays of sunshine were pushing you to open your eyes, not without resistance. The whiteness of the room you were in, at first made you believe you were in a hospital. You couldn’t be more wrong.

“Fucking finally!” A female, unknown voice pushed you to turn your head to your right. Your attention was caught by a good-looking brunette sitting on a black chair. Her hair was up in a ponytail and by giving her a better look you noticed she was wearing sportswear.

“Who the hell are you?” Your voice was a bit raspy, probably because of the thirst. You had no idea of who that girl was and sure as hell you didn’t like the way she was looking at you.

“I’m Five.” Right. The code names.

You found yourself wondering what could possibly be her real name – she seemed to be Latina, but it wasn’t the right time to think of her origins.

You tried to sit down but your muscles didn’t seem to cooperate. Your temporary weakness made you remember the reason why you felt that way.

Your sister. Four. The coffee shop. The explosion. But what did you agree to?

“Where am I?”

“In Heaven”, she immediately replied with an amused look. You rolled your eyes. You were starting to regret your decision.

“Is she awake?” The new voice coming from the door on your right caught both your and Five’s attention. 

Even before you could look at him, you knew it was Four. The girl was sitting right next to you, preventing him from looking directly at you – that’s why you knew he was talking to her.

“As you can see.”

Only when he took a few steps towards you, you had the chance to look at him. His blonde hair was just as messy as you remembered, a few strands of it covering his forehead. His green eyes were more relaxed than the last time, probably because of the place you were in. His safe spot. You were starting to get used to the scar crossing his brow, which made him look more dangerous than he actually was.

But the truth was that you had no idea of how much dangerous he was. And that was a problem.

An awkward silence filled the room when your gazes met. His staring was so intense that made you almost forget the sharp pain in your head. Almost.

“How you feeling?” He nodded towards you with his chin, indicating your circumstances.

“Great.” The irony in your voice was almost palpable.

Thankfully – or not? You didn’t know yet – the moment was interrupted by Four, who cleared her throat in a clear attempt of hiding a laugh.

You forced yourself to look at her and you noticed she had the look of someone who was about to make a bad joke. Six saved the moment by placing at the feet of your bed some clothes. You had no idea where they came from, but you were grateful to him – the clothes you were wearing smell of a mixture of hydrogen peroxide and antiseptic.

“Your injuries are mostly caused by the trauma, they’re mainly superficial”, he explained.

“My headache doesn’t seem superficial”, You complained as you tried once again to sit down, successfully.

“You were too close to the explosion. Dangerous but necessary”, said Five. You looked at Four for a confirm and he gave you a nod.

“Necessary for what?”

It didn’t surprise you when he avoided your question and said instead “Wear those, they should fit you. We’ll meet downstairs.” He nodded towards the clothes and took a step back, looking away from you.

When Five stood up right next to him, you found yourself wondering if they were a couple. The way her shoulder always seemed to brush his, or the way she was looking at him made you think so. But Four’s gaze was on you, almost as if making sure you wouldn’t disappear at any minute.

He turned towards the bed to give you a last look before following Five to the hallway and, probably, downstairs when he said you’ll meet. You took the chance to give a look at the room you were in and you sighed in relief when you found a glass of water on the nightstand right next to you. But loneliness didn’t seem to be a good thing, given that your thought immediately led you to your sister. You forced yourself to put the thought of her aside.

You’d made a choice, there was no turning back now. You were Y/N Y/L/N no more. You were Eight now.

-

As Four said, the clothes fit you. You were surprised to notice they were comfortable and felt nice. It took you some time before you could convince yourself to leave the room, but when you did a smell of pancakes hit you like a running train. Your stomach made noises and you were glad you were alone.

You still felt a bit unsteady on your feet – that’s why it took you some time before you could finally go downstairs. You knew you weren’t going to receive some help – you weren’t there to be taken care of, but to be trained.

The house was so big that you had no idea where you had to go, so you followed your instinct – the smell of pancakes. You walked through a room which seemed to be a secondary living room, furnished with extra modern furniture. Your attention was caught by some voices coming from the other room, separated by a closed door.

Your hand was resting on the doorknob. Before you could start to overthink as you always tended to do, you opened the door with a firm movement. The chatting didn’t stop at the squeaking of the door, nor when you entered the room. At first nobody seemed to notice you – Four was sitting between Five and unknown man, chatting cheerfully as he brought to his lips a glass of juice.

On the other side of counter there were three more people, and the man sitting on the first stool turned towards you. He took a long sip of his juice before saying “You must be Eight.” You were pretty sure you were never going to get used to your new name.

When the man stood up, you could give him a better look. He was very tall and some short beard was covering his jaw – he could’ve been in his 40s but oh man, he was hot. “Yeah”, that’s all you managed to say.

You felt a few pair of eyes looking at you and you forced yourself not to look at Six when the man said “I’m One.”

One. The man who started it all. You wondered what was the reason who pushed him to do such a radical choice – to fake his own death and seek revenge for those who had remained unpunished by the law.

You didn’t know what to say so you just gave him a nod, accepting his proposal when he offered you the stool he was sitting on just a few moments before. The man on your left gave you just a quick nod with his chin before focusing back on the pancakes he was eating. However, the woman next to him gave you a friendly smile. Blonde bangs were covering her forehead and even though her smile made you feel more comfortable among those people, she had a look that could kill.

You forced yourself to keep in mind that the people surrounding you had a past that they wanted to forget. That they wanted revenge on someone and for that same revenge they were ready to kill. As well as you were. You were willing to take it too far if that meant avenging your parents.

The reminding of be on the alert never left you. You couldn’t trust those people. Not yet.

“We’re not gonna poison you. Eat something.” The man on Four’s right nodded towards the food at the centre of the counter and his words made One smile, as well as Five.

Before taking a pancake from the pile, your gaze fell to Four. He was still holding the glass of juice and his hand was suspended on the air. When you met his gaze, his eyes were already on yours. However, you forced yourself to look away. You didn’t want to give the wrong impression to the rest of the group. Even though you thought that Four was handsome as hell, you wanted to put all your efforts to your task. There was no time for romance. Moreover, you were starting to believe that Five had it right. She’d figured it all out, even before you did.

“So, let’s make everything clear”, One said. “You’ve already met Four and Five. Four is gonna be your reference point if you need anything.” Good to hear.

One kept going only after you gave him a nod. “As I’m sure Four already told you, we want Kevin Kuklinski dead just as much as you do.” You forced yourself not to grin at his words – it was bullshit. There was no way they could want it just as much as you. He’d taken everything away from you, your family. To them he was just another criminal left unpunished.

“Yeah”, you murmured anyways.

“He’s our first target.” One wanted to make it clear.

“That hijo the puta”, you heard the man on your left murmur. You couldn’t help but agree with him. “I’m Three, by the way.”

Three – as well as Five – seemed to have some Latin origins. His jaw was covered with some beard but his eyes were ones of the most expressive you’d ever seen. You wondered what his skills were, what was the reason why he joined One’s group.

The questions coming to your head were countless, but all that came from your mouth in response to his presentation was “Nice to meet you.” Basic. Boring.

“Show her”, Four suddenly said. His tone pushed you to raise your gaze to him. His expression seemed relaxed but his jaw was clenched. You didn’t like the look One gave him – almost as if he didn’t want to show you whatever he had to.

“Yeah, One. Show her”, Five said, supporting Four’s cause. However, she had an amused grin on her face as if she couldn’t wait to see your reaction. But your reaction to what?

One sighed and almost as if he was being forced to, he turned on the TV. He changed a few channels ‘till he found a news. You only had to wait a few minutes before hearing the big news.

As you already knew, there’d been an explosion right at the centre of New York. An explosive device had been placed in a van for unknown reasons and it’d caused one death. Yours.

You had to take a few breaths to process the journalist’s words. You still hadn’t thought of the reason of the explosion, but now you knew. And you couldn’t help but to think of your sister, how heartbroken she must have been, how it’d destroyed her.

It all made sense now.

“You agreed to that, honey”, the blonde woman said in a sweet tone, probably noticing the look in your eyes. And she was right. That’s what you’d agreed to.

So you cleared your voice and you tried to look as determined as you could, meeting her blue eyes. “And I don’t regret it.”

“I’m Two”, she said with a smile. Your look must’ve convinced her to open up. She was a gorgeous woman, her blonde hair made her seem almost angelic. Which was absurd, given that she’d joined a group of vigilantes.

“What if I told you I know what happens when you die?”, the man next to Four suddenly said. He looked at you with fierce and decision in his eyes. “You don’t exist anymore. You become a ghost. They’re gonna mourn you, then they’re gonna forget you. Maybe your family will, but no one else is gonna remember your name. You’re just a martyr of the violent society of today. And no one is gonna pay for it. That’s why we refused to comply with their conventions. That’s why I’m Seven and not the person I used to be.”

A few murmurs of agreement came from the rest of the group. Seven’s posture and haircut made you think that in his past life – if you could call it like that – he’d been part of the Army. His tone, however, showed deeper wounds. Painful ones. The only sure thing was that he’d suffered a lot and his grieving was still fresh.

“Also, no more criminal records”, Four added to his words. God knows what where his criminal records.

“No more office parties”, Five stepped in. “Or stupid weddings.”

“The best part of being dead”, One said, catching your attention “is the freedom. Not policies or politics.”

Each and every one of them seemed to carry a weight on their shoulders heavier than themselves. You had no idea how much they’d suffered in the past – how much they were still suffering. They were channelling that sorrow into changing the world for the better. Sorrow linked each and every one of you one to the other. That was the first time you felt one of them. That was the first time you felt like Eight.

Four must’ve noticed the change in your eyes, the confidence in your gaze when you met his. And he smiled. The corners of his lips lifted in pride and – headache and steadiness put aside – you felt more than ready to be one of them.

-

After breakfast everyone seemed immersed in their conversations when Four walked towards you. “Come with me.”

“I have a déjà-vu”, you replied with a smile.

Four got the reference and slightly smiled. As the two of you left the room unnoticed, you couldn’t help but wonder where he was leading you. “Where are we going?”

“You’ll see.” You weren’t expecting a different answer. Four and his bloody mysterious answers.

You sighed at his words and you were pretty sure he was smiling. “How are you feeling?”, he asked you after a few seconds of silence.

You still had a terrible headache but every step you took, you felt more confident in your own feet. You were starting to recover, so you weren’t lying when you replied “Better.”

“Good.” He seemed to be lost in his thoughts and you took the chance to give a quick look at the room you were walking through. One of the walls was covered in maps of buildings, sewers, aerial maps. You recognised Kuklinski’s building from an aerial photo pinned in a corner of the map.

“How are you feeling?”

He seemed confused at your question — his brows narrowed and you could tell he was thinking about it. “Fine”, he finally said with a nod. His answer didn’t convince you but you didn’t insist any further.

When you finally arrived to what seemed to be a big, large gym, you were taken aback by the amount of equipment in it. Punching bags, weights, different types of exercise machines... but that wasn’t even the most exciting part of the room.

On the other side of the room there were targets pinned at the wall. The wall opposite to it was filled with knives, different types of them. From the tiniest and sharpest ones to the biggest and scariest. Among all those weapons, you couldn’t help but notice an apparent very heavy door.

“Where does it lead?”, you asked and Four grinned at you.

“You’ll see, but not today.” Damn it. “Wait here.” You were standing right in the middle of the room as he walked towards a locker. You stared at him as he looked for something in it.

Even though he was wearing a hoodie, you could still see the shape of his tonic back. The memory of him jumping from a building to the other came back to your mind and you wondered if he was a sort of a professional. Professional of what, though?

“Four?”

“Hm?”, he murmured without turning towards you.

“What did you do before?” You knew you were being nosy but you were curious as hell.

“Before what?”

“Before.”

He finally turned towards you and you gaze fell to his hands — he was holding a gun. You immediately tensed up and he giggled as he walked towards you. “Relax, I’m not gonna shoot you. Although...”

“Oh, shut up.”

Four laughed. It was the first time you heard him doing it and man, it was a sound so deep that you felt it in your bones. You smiled back at him but he was dangerously close to you. You crossed your arms to your chest, wondering what the hell he was up to. “I hope it’s not too scary.”

You suddenly realised he didn’t answer your question about his past.

“Four.” You were starting to lose it and it made him giggle. Bloody Four and his cocky behaviour.

He tapped your chin, forcing you to look up and meet his green eyes. You were so close that you could see his Adam’s apple rise and lower. You took a deep breath and forced yourself to look unbothered from his closeness. “Our first strike—”

“Kuklinski?”

Six lifted a corner of his lips. “Kuklinski”, he confirmed. “It’s gonna be in two weeks. That’s all the time we have to train and update you with the plan.”

“I’m ready.”

“No, you’re not. You’re still recovering from the explosion and that’s why we’re gonna start with something easy.”

“And guns are easy?”

He didn’t answer. He limited himself to look down at the weapon, twisting it in his hands. “It’s essential for you to know how they work, how to act when they misfire and especially how to change the magazine when you’re out of bullets.”

Was he kidding you? You weren’t the most skilled woman on Earth but sure as hell you had trained before going after Kuklinski all by yourself. He was right when he told you you had no chances against him and his men, but sure as Hell you weren’t as unprepared as he thought you were. You weren’t that stupid and you wanted to show him.

You tried not to laugh at the shocked expression on his face as you took the gun from him and started to disassemble it. You knew exactly what you were doing and it took all the strength in your body not to smile in pride when you reassembled it almost effortlessly.

When you looked up to him, his gaze was fixed on your hands and on the perfectly reassembled gun, his brows raised in surprise. “Were you saying?” You were starting to sound just as cocky as him.

“One had it right – you really are our perfect Eight.” His words made your heart flicker. You still didn’t know if you had made the right choice, but Four’s eyes were filled with pride and determination. And it was definitely a good start to your new vigilante lifestyle. And when he said “Let’s start with the fun part”, you couldn’t help but smile.

He led you towards the big, heavy door you’d spotted a few minutes before in the corner of the room. You were sure it was used a gym, but the thickness of both door and walls got you curious. Four gave you a quick look from above his shoulder before opening the door with a thud and you couldn’t say you were surprised when you found out it was a sort of firing ground.

You weren’t surprised. You were mesmerised. Adrenaline was running through your veins – you could easily feel it giving you the courage to face what was about to happen. Four was still leaning against the doorframe when you took a step into the room.

It had at least seven or eight different spots, each and every one provided with targets and noise-reduction headphones. “You look like you’re at Disneyland.”

“It is my Disneyland”, you immediately replied. When Four followed you in the room, the door closed behind him with a loud thud.

“It’s a soundproof room. We don’t want the neighbours to worry and call the police. The door is reinforced and isolated, so we can have all the fun we want.” The meaning of his words was pretty much different from how you got them. Very different. That’s why you immediately blushed and looked away from him, tried to look unbothered and professional.

At first Four didn’t get the reason of your weird reaction, but then he thought at his own words. He cleared his throat and walked away from you, towards another locker. A heavier one.

You tried to put yourself together as you walked towards one of the spots, grazing the edges of the privacy boards. You felt Four footsteps coming towards you but you didn’t turn around.

“I’m a parkour expert”, he suddenly said, answering the question you made him a few minutes before.

It made sense — he was very athletic and the way he run away from your first meeting should’ve clued you in. “Cool.”

“Yeah?”

“Hm-hm. I can’t even imagine doing something like that.”

You could feel him standing right behind you and his chest grazed your shoulder when he leaned towards the table in front of you to place a new gun. A professional one. You couldn’t help but smile.

It wasn’t charged so you immediately inserted the magazine with a firm movement. Your headache was long forgotten – it was worth this adrenaline rush. When the weapon was finally ready for being used, you turned towards Four to make him a silent question.

His green eyes were already on you, a slight smile on his face. He moved next to you and gave you just a quick nod with his chin, giving you the green light. So you positioned as you’d done countless times by now, holding the gun with both hands to make your aim even better.

But you didn’t fire. Four adjusted your aim with a tap of his hand, moving your joined hands a few inches higher. “Shoulders down”, he said in a whisper, right before his hands moved to that spot. You could feel your back muscles relax at his touch, but you didn’t want to lose concentration.

“You don’t have to fire just because you have to”, he kept saying in a low tone, moving behind you. “Out there, at Kuklinski’s or at the rest of the targets’, you’re not going to shoot because it’s your duty. You’re gonna do it because you believe in our cause. Because those man deserve to be punished.”

You could feel your back tingle where he’d touched you, craving for more. But he wasn’t done. Oh man, Four had a lot more to say. “That target right in front of you, is not gonna be just a piece of plastic or a mannequin. You’re gonna get to the point that the bloody target you’re aiming to, is gonna be replaced by Kuklinski himself. By the man who didn’t think twice to kill your parents. The man who ruined your family, changing your life for good. The first time I saw you at his party, I saw anger in your eyes as you looked at him. If stares could kill, Kuklinski wouldn’t have been a problem anymore. But I know that feeling and I want you to use it. Channel your anger to this cause, Eight. Be one of us. Be ready.”

You could feel his words running through your veins and carving in your soul. There hadn’t been a wrong word in his speech. You didn’t know it was possible, but Four had understood your new feelings even before you did. And it scared you the fact that someone could know you so well in such a short time. But at the same time his words and behaviour empowered you. They made you feel confident.

Something changed in you at the thought of Four. Wonderful warmth spread over you. You didn’t like the way you were feeling. There was no space for that in your new life.

When you looked back in front of you, it wasn’t the target you were thinking of. It was Kuklinski. Each and every member of the group had their own Kuklinski to punish and you only realised it thanks to Four’s words. Just like the other were ready to help you with your cause, you’d have helped them with theirs. Because Four was right. You were one of them by now. And you had to accept it. So you fired.

A week later – One week until the hit on Kuklinski

You were staring at the gym ceiling, little black splotches dancing in front of you. Man, your butt hurt. No surprise, as you’d landed on it about fifty times already. The only thing not burning with pain was your face; it was on fire for an entirely different reason – Four was attending your humiliation.

Your training with Seven wasn’t going well. This style of hand-to-hand combat wasn’t exactly your second nature. Your muscles screamed as you pulled myself off the mats and faced the man in front of you. “C’mon, don’t give up. You can do it.” Two tried to cheer you up, but the truth was you sucked. You weren’t as athletic as her as she kept punching and kicking One. They were training as well.

Three and Six, on the other hand, were on the lab in the upper floor, working on a special camera that could’ve gone unnoticed during a metal detector check. They basically were the nerd of the group.

But the reason you kept missing his heel strikes and spin kicks wasn’t because you sucked. Well, not just because you sucked. The source of your absolute failure leaned against the training room wall. Blonde waves tumbled over his forehead, falling into his deep green eyes.

Five was assisting to your fiasco right next to him. The two of them were chatting and giggling as you were being constantly knocked out by Seven. An instant later, your gazes locked. He gave you a look that said you should be paying attention to Seven and not him.

You blocked his knee with a brutal swipe of your arm, and then you went for a throat strike. Seven countered it easily. You circled one another, delivering blows and dodging them. He stepped back, dropping his arms to his sides. You saw your opening and went for it. Spinning around, you aimed your knee for his midsection. He darted to the side, but not quickly enough. You caught him hard in the stomach.

You held back a squeak of excitement as Seven gave you a surprised look. The thing about defensive kicks — once you made contact with your opponents you either needed to go for the kill shot or back up. You’d done neither. He doubled over your knee and went down, taking you along for the ride. “You should’ve ended me, Eight.”

“Yeah, right.” You scrambled to your feet and ignoring Seven’s look, you stole a quick glance at Four. His expression may have appeared blank, but you knew he’d already compiled a mental list of all the things you’d done wrong and filed it away. That’s what he’d been doing for the last week: “Your feet were too close. You were too distracted. You didn’t spin right” were just few of the things he always said to you.

“Could we take a break?” Maybe because of your tone, maybe because he realised that you were starting to beat yourself up, Seven said “You’ve got five mins.”

Thank God. The cold water running down your throat felt so good that you had to hold back a moan. Besides, you were trying so hard to focus on that feeling rather than at Four laughing at something that Four had said. You were trying so hard to ignore them that you didn’t even notice Four walking towards you.

He circled you, stopping to position your arms at mid-level. “You’re holding your arms wrong. That’s why Seven’s hits kept getting through.”

“Oh, thank God. I thought it was because I sucked.” Your voice was a little sharper than you intended, but Four had seen how mortifying this training had turned out.

“Eight.”

“Sorry”, you replied with a sigh. You rubbed your eyes as you tried to take deep breaths, looking back at him only after a few seconds. He was looking at you with concern, his brows more narrowed than usual.

“I know it’s hard—” he started to say, but you immediately cut him off. “I’m fine.” You were trying to convince yourself more than him, but at the same time you wanted him not to worry for you. Not when you had bigger problems to deal with.

He gave you a condescending look, his shoulders rise and lower as he sighed in concern. “You’re getting better every day.”

“You don’t have to say it just because Seven’s been kicking my ass for hours.” Despite the situation, you genuinely smiled.

Four’s features relaxed at the sight of your smile. “You really are getting better.”

Your gaze involuntarily fell to Five, standing just a few steps away from you. She was already staring at the two of you but as soon as your eyes met, she looked away with indifference.

“Guys, I think I did it.” Three seemed almost out of breath as he gave a quick look at the group. Four’s expression lit up, as well as the rest of you. The camera Three was working on was going to be placed on Six. He was going undercover, giving us the chance to see every corner of the building so that we knew how to move once we were in.

Excited chatting started to echo in the room as One, Two and Seven walked towards the door, following Three to the lab. Five was right behind them and Four took a few steps too, when she stopped and turned towards him. “You coming?”

“Uhm”, he said, turning towards you and giving you a questioning look.

“I think I’m gonna stay here a little bit more. Y’know, gotta practice on my arm position.” And it was the truth – you preferred to train some more.

He seemed conflicted. He looked at Five, then at you, then at Five again. “You go on. I’ll help her with some exercises, then I’ll join you guys upstairs.”

Five pursed her lips and gave him a little nod, leaving the room without saying a word. Despite the fact that you were exhausted, you couldn’t help but rejoice in silence at his decision to stay with you. “So you’re gonna help me?”

“C’mere”, he said by pointing at the mat. You placed your arms in the position that Four’d told you but he said “Higher, love.”

Love. Your brain knew it was just a nickname, but your heart didn’t.

You swallowed and gave him a quick nod, following his instructions. And then you sprung right into action. He blocked the first jab but adrenaline made you quicker than he thought. The broad side of your arm slipped past his blocks, cutting him across the chest. It didn’t faze him — not one freaking bit. But the pride spiked inside you and the surprised smile on his face pushed you to fight harder than you did before.

“So you’ve got claws”, he teased you.

“Shut up.” But you smiled.

You circled each other, exchanging blows. Four didn’t go all out on you, and it only pissed you off. You attacked harder, moving him backwards across the mats. His eyes flared a dangerous shadow as he caught your fist inches from connecting with his nose. Bad form to aim above the chest, but screw it. “You’re cheating.”

“I’m never going to have the upper hand if I don’t cheat”, you replied with an apologetic smile.

He seemed surprised by your answer. “Touché.”

You went to use one of the offensive moves Seven’d taught you days ago. Four moved so he caught you mid-flight, bringing you down on the mat. He landed above you. “Four.”

“Hm?”, he said with a grin. You tried to sit up but he pushed you down with one hand.

“Let me go.” He captured your wrists easily when you tried again to slip away. Actually, it was embarrassing how quickly he subdued you. This time he pinned you to the mat.

You threw your head back, ready to plant your foot somewhere when your eyes met. You did stop then, with his face inches from yours. The atmosphere changed as one of the wild emotions swirling through you managed to break free.

His lean torso and legs were pressed against yours in a way that made you think of other things — stuff that wasn’t fighting or killing, but did involve sweating, lots of sweating.

Breathing became difficult as you continued to stare at one another. His blonde waves had fallen forward into his eyes.

He wasn’t moving, and you couldn’t even if you’d wanted to. You didn’t. God, you didn’t want to move ever. You saw the moment he recognized the change in you. Something shifted in those eyes of his and his lips parted.

This was just a harmless, stupid crush. You had to put it aside – you had bigger problems to deal with. There was no space for romance in your task. Even as you lifted your head, bringing your lips mere inches from his, you kept telling yourself that. You didn’t want him. But then, contrarily at the things you kept repeating yourself, you kissed him.

At first, it wasn’t much of a kiss. Your lips just brushed his, and when he didn’t move away, you pushed harder. Six seemed too stunned to do much of anything for a few seconds. But then he released your wrists and his hands slid up your arms.

The kiss deepened, full of passion. Then Four pressed down, and you weren’t the one doing the kissing. His lips moved against yours, his fingers pressing into your skin.  After only a few seconds he broke off the kiss and sprung away from you. His heavy breathing filled the space between you. His eyes were wide; they’d dilated until they were almost black.

You sat up and scooted back. What you’d done made it through the thick haze clouding your thoughts. You only knew him for a few days and you’d kissed him. Despite you kept repeating to yourself not to. That there was no space for romance in your new, dangerous life. He was just teasing you, but you brought the thing to the next level. Oh man. Your cheeks flushed. Your entire body flushed.

Four was looking at you as if he was lost. Completely blindsided. He stood slowly and said “It’s alright.” His voice rasped.

“These things happen… when you’re feeling a lot of stress.” Was he rejecting you?

“I can’t believe I did that”, you tried to explain yourself.

“It’s just stress”, he repeated. “It’s okay, Eight.”

You jumped to your feet. “I should go now.”

He was about to move towards you but stopped short, wary of coming any closer. “Eight, it’s all right.”

“Yeah, it’s just stress, right? Okay. Everything is totally okay.” You backed up, looking everywhere but at him. You were definitely rambling. When you looked at him he seemed to be about to say something, but he stood quiet. So without any word, you backed away and left the room behind you, as well as your dignity.

Taglist: @maccasbeard @radiob-l-a-hblah @queen-turtle-boiii @desperatelytryingtosavemyself @sara-1705 @queen--sherlock @allthethingsicant @hells-personal-bitch @owensgrxdy @amy-brooklyn99 @dep-thx @ken-yee-not​ @mazzelloqueen @caborhapch 

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[junionigiri]

Ruby Red and Caramel Ch 6: Croque Monsieur

Chapter Summary: What can Momo do for Katsuki?

Relationship(s): Bakugou Katsuki/Yaoyorozu Momo; Awase Yousetsu/Yaoyorozu Momo

Rating: T

Warnings/Notes: sorry if the transition is weird--I’m changing how the story is paced. T_T i hope this isn’t too odd

Another day, another emergency.

It’s already late afternoon, and Momo tries to focus despite not having slept even a minute of the previous night. The patient she just saw, a civilian involved in a scuffle between a hero and a villain in the Naruhata district, suffered a blow to the head, a spinal fracture, and a broken hip. She probably needs to take the patient to the OR soon, but…

“Excuse me,” she asks one of the ER nurses, “what’s taking so long? I need a CAT scan, stat.”

Everyone’s moving so slow, it’s simply unacceptable. The nurse stammers an apology. “They said we can bring in the patient in 5 minutes, Doc--”

“We might lose the patient in 5 minutes--”

“Yaoyorozu,” someone calls from next to her. She doesn’t look up from the chart.

“I’ll give them another call, Dr. Yaoyorozu.”

“Yes, please.” She shakes her head, tries to get back to writing her notes down, but her irritation made her lose her focus, and she loses track of what she wants to do in the middle of an order. Her mouth goes tch before she’s able to stop it.

“Yaoyorozu.”

Momo… of all the habits to pick up. Honestly. She feels something awful arise in her chest.

Her orders don’t make sense. Not a single thing she wrote, makes sense.

“Hey.” A callused hand stops her hand, and the pen in its tracks. She looks up from her work and glares.

“Awase-san,” she says, in the most level voice she can manage. “Is there anything wrong?”

Awase Yousetsu’s eyes are as sharp as ever when he stares her down. He takes the pen from her hands, twirls it in one dexterous hand. “Yeah. You. What’s up, Yaoyorozu?”

“Nothing,” she answers quickly. Yousetsu doesn’t give her the pen back, so she creates one from the flesh of her left forearm and gets back to struggling with her orders. “Except, I’m trying to get things done for the patient in bed 3, and our system in this hospital just… isn’t moving fast enough. You should know Awase-san, Ortho’s on this case too--”

“Yeah,” he cuts her off, pulling the chart from her easily. “But you aren’t on call. Tetsutetsu just called Todoroki. They’re on their way here.”

She glares at him. “I was the one who received the call first, so--”

“You were supposed to inform Todoroki to give him the case. You’re supposed to be on the way home.”

She’s about to retort before she’s interrupted by a gregarious yell from behind. “Hey! Awase! Yaoyorozu!!! That the trauma case?”

Tetsutetsu Tetsutetsu’s voice is as loud and cheerful as ever. It doesn’t always give Momo a headache though. She presses the space between her eyes, reeling from the auditory assault, and barely registers Yousetsu’s response. He hands the taller man the chart, easily dodging Momo’s weak attempt to get it back. “Yeah, here. Is Todoroki goin’ down soon?”

“Yeah! He gave the OR a heads-up and everything! We’re meeting up at CAT scan!” Tetsutetsu flips through the pages and makes a loud ah when he reads the last entries. “I didn’t know you were on the case too, Yaoyorozu! Ain’t Todoroki on call?”

“Yeah. It’s Half-and-Half today. Yaoyorozu’s just about to go home.” Yousetsu doesn’t even give her time to respond. It might be unfair given that he’s technically right, but Momo decides that she dislikes him very much, at that point in time.

“Er… yeah, okay!” The silver-haired man looks at the two of them warily, like he detects something is off, but doesn’t have enough to put two and two together. Or more of, he doesn’t want to recognize the tension between his two former classmates. The way he’s avoiding their gazes tells Momo as much. “So… I’m going ahead! Awase, you’re goin’ home too, right?”

“Yeah man. I’ll see ya tomorrow.”

Tetsutetsu gives them a cheesy grin and starts shouting at the nurses to start moving the patient to CT. In turn, Yousetsu pulls Momo away from the nurses’ station and out the ER exit, where there’s no-one to listen to what is presumably, the impending argument between them.

“Yaoyorozu,” he repeats more gently. Steely eyes try to look into hers, even though she pointedly avoids them. “You’re pissed off.”

“No, I’m not.”

He doesn’t move. “If you got something to say to me, say it.”

She’s had enough arguments with him in the past to know that he won’t stop until she spills everything. She inhales slowly. “I… could have managed that one on my own, Awase-san. I do not appreciate how you… interfered with my process.”

He gives her a stony look. “Yeah. That order sheet you were workin’ on had so many errors in it, it looks like one of Shishida’s when he accidentally goes on beast mode while writing. You shoulda just gotten a new sheet of paper.”

“I was fixing it,” she argues weakly. 

“You were raising your voice at the nurse who was just doing her job.”

“She wasn’t doing it very efficiently.”

“She was doing her best. You know our system here isn’t perfect.”

“Yes, but it should be. Our patients depend on us, right?” Momo says smartly. They have been depending on her for the past… thirty-six or so hours, and heaven knows she’s been doing her best the entire time. Everyone should, no matter how terrible they’re feeling--

Her head throbs, making her grimace.

She turns away, hoping he doesn’t notice, but of course, it’s Awase Yousetsu and his tingling ‘Yaoyorozu-sense,’ as Tsuburaba-san had described it so eloquently before. Most of the time he knows when she needs help, and somehow always knows when she isn’t feeling very well. His exasperated sigh tells her as much.

His voice is more careful when he speaks again. “Is it really about the patients, Yaoyorozu?”

She knows that tone of voice very well. He’s gentle, but suspicious. Forcing her into honesty, even though she thinks it’s completely unnecessary. “What else would it be about, Awase-san? I--”

“I don’t know. We haven’t even talked, or even fuckin’ texted in a while, so I wouldn’t know what’s up with you,” he cuts in, in his usual no-nonsense kind of way. Despite the weight of his words, she’s sure that he isn’t doing it to guilt-trip, he’s just laying out the facts.

(Still, Momo wonders if she’s hurt him in some way for him to say that.)

“But I like to think I know you well enough to guess. And I’m, like, 100% sure you’re pretty fucked up over something right now.”

She shakes her head. “It doesn’t matter if I am… bothered by anything--”

Because it shouldn’t matter that she has not slept that well, and has consistently been skipping meals. Shouldn’t matter that Kendo-san and Honenuki-san and even Todoroki-san, who doesn’t usually speak up about these things, have told her that she might have been overdoing it. It doesn’t matter that Amjiki-senpai has talked to her once again, asking her the very same inane questions and accusations that Yousetsu’s giving her now.

All she needs to do is work. All she needs to do is to help people. That’s why she’s here.

“Momo.”

She doesn’t give in, not even when he inexplicably uses her first name again after three long years. Professionals should act professional and not bring their troubles to work. That’s why she straightens out her posture, looks him right in the eye like nothing’s wrong. “I just need to do my best.”

“But right now, you can’t. You look like you’re about to keel over any second now. Did you even notice?”

No. If she remembers that she hasn’t eaten, her stomach will complain. If she pays attention to how tired she is, she’ll feel nothing but exhaustion. If she thinks of… of the things that make her sad...

It’s been two weeks, a small, despondent voice in her head reminds her, making her heart wince.

“I’m fine.”

Yousetsu sighs. “Really.” She’s frozen when out of nowhere, he tilts her chin upwards and stares right into her face.

He hasn’t done that in a very long time. Momo is surprised at how familiar this all feels, still… 

He’s being clinical about it, when he examines her skin and eyes. “You’re really pale,” he tells her seriously, looking at her side to side, mumbling something about the hollow of her cheeks not being there before. “And you lost weight. I bet it’s cos you’ve been skippin’ meals and makin’ matryoshka dolls at home until you pass out.”

He… is scarily accurate. She doesn’t tell him that, though.

He gives her a bored smile. “I’m right, aren’t I?”

“Please,” she tells him, releasing her chin from his grasp. “It doesn’t matter, because I need to get back there and see my patients.”

When she turns to leave, he holds her by the wrist and pulls her backwards. “No, you’re not.”

“Yes, I am."

“I’m activating my quirk on you.”

“No, you’re not. It’s illegal quirk usage, and I will complain.”

He gives her a challenging stare, and fuses his hand to her wrist anyway. Her jaw drops in offense.

He chuckles. “Okay, now you’re payin’ attention, Yaoyorozu. Come on.”

Momo doesn’t even have a say as Yousetsu leads her by the hand to the exits and out the streets at the back of the hospital. She’s annoyed, but a little relieved that he doesn’t take her out the lobby, where the NTG Cafe and its staff are visible from as far as the doorway. Again, she wonders if it’s Yousetsu’s instincts, or just his insanely sharpened common sense that made him decide where they go.

When they’re about three blocks away, he un-fuses himself from her wrist. When she eyes him suspiciously, he shrugs. “I just wanted you to breathe something different from the air inside the hospital. It might help your stubborn head think a little clearer.”

She pouts. “You know I can just march right back there and get back to work.”

He shrugs, and gestures to the empty street ahead of him, going away from the hospital. “Do what you want. Though, Todoroki’s doing your work now, and Tetsutetsu’s doing mine. Meanwhile, I’m gonna be at Monoma’s, eating a croque monsieur--”

The image of Monoma’s famous snack flashes in her brain, making her mouth water. Momo’s stomach suddenly complains out loud. Yousetsu guffaws much louder. She gives him a sour look as she clutches her traitorous tummy in a foolish attempt to quiet it down.

“So there. Go back if you want to, I guess, Momo. See if that growling goes away.”

He turns and walks at a leisurely pace, hands in pockets, whistling a little tune. Momo stares at his retreating figure and the elongated shadows along the street.

She looks at the sky--deep oranges, purples, pinks, steadily darkening as the seconds pass by. She didn’t even notice that the sun was setting already.

She’s… hungry. Exhausted. Miserable. The feelings aren’t going to go away. Not soon.

She walks forward, keeping up with Yousetsu’s stride. She pointedly keeps her eyes forward, but sees him at the periphery with a small, satisfied smile.

Wordlessly, they walk along the orange-stained streets to Monoma’s.

 *

 “Here ya go, you guys. Two croque monsieurs, a quiche paysanne, a crêpe suzette, a black coffee with muscovado sugar, and an iced coffee.” Tsuburaba Kosei-san places the orders in front of them one by one with an easy smile on his face. “Ya need anything else, man?”

“We’re good, bro. Thanks.”

“Sure, any time.” There seems to be extra meaning in the way he smiles at Yousetsu. She concludes that the wide-eyed server is definitely getting the wrong idea about her, and his high school friend right there.

Seems that Yousetsu might be thinking the same thing, judging by the pointed glare he gives Kosei before shooing him away. “Okay. I know you haven’t eaten anything since this morning when Kendo force-fed you a nutribar, so just dig in already.”

“How do you know something like that?” she asks him suspiciously. Because again, he’s scarily accurate, the way a stalker is scarily accurate. She’s sure that he wasn’t there when Kendo-san practically shoved half a nutribar in her mouth while they were doing rounds.

He answers easily, “Kendo told me. It’s not just me who’s worried about you, you know.” He pushes the quiche and the crepe, dishes that she didn’t order for herself, closer to her. She gives him a look of disdain.

“This is too much, Awase-san.”

“You eat twice as much in a normal meal.”

“But… I don’t think I can finish this.” It’s true. Her appetite had just shut down inexplicably.

“So take the rest of it home,” he says, in between bites. “Oh man, this is really good, though.”

It really is. It’s better than she last remembers it. But after she’s taken two angry bites of Monoma’s perfect croque monsieur, her stomach is telling her that she’s already half-full. She chews, tries to analyze the salty, savouriness of the ham and how the swiss cheese compliments the overall flavor of the dish, but the words don’t come.

It’s… been two weeks, since she’s done that.

The man across from her notices how she fights down her food. “Hey, Yaoyorozu...”

“Hm?”

He sighs. “I guess I was wrong about how hungry you were. You don’t have to force yourself to eat everything, if you can’t. But I want you at least finish half of that. Can you do that?”

She swallows the small portion, and nods. “I’ll finish everything. Don’t worry.”

“Well… all right,” he says quietly. “Just… tell me if you feel sick, or whatever. Or you know. If you want to talk, or something.”

She cuts through the pastry quietly. “Talk about what?”

“Anything you like,” he says flatly.

She closes her eyes and takes a deep breath. Is he going to force her to talk, again? She isn’t really ready to share anything. She kept herself insanely busy to avoid processing her inner turmoil by herself. Does Awase Yousetsu expect her to do it with him, of all people? “I don’t have anything in particular I want to talk about.”

He’s a pushy person. He usually doesn’t stop pushing her until she says something, anything, everything he wants to hear. And usually, what he wants to hear is the truth, nothing more and nothing less. It’s a difficult trait to deal with, at times.

So much to her surprise, this time all he does is nod. “Okay.”

She blinks in astonishment. “... okay?”

He nods again, quietly munches on his sandwich. When she continues to stare at him dumbly, he gives her a mildly offended look. “You look a little surprised.”

“W… well,” she begins awkwardly, “This is just. A little different, I suppose. You forced me out of the hospital, after all.”

He sighs. “That’s different. I needed to do that because you might actually die if I didn’t get you outta there.”

“But before…” She trails off, hesitates.

He scratches the back of his head awkwardly. “No, that’s…” He makes a small frustrated sound that sounds funny to Momo’s ears, making her smile. He struggles with his words and stammers, “I mean, four years together is a long time, so I guess you’d still expect me to act the same, but…”

Momo shakes her head with a reassuring smile. Those four years weren’t terrible, but they really are a distant past. “No… this is… okay. Thank you, Awase-san.”

He nods, and goes back to his food and coffee. He finishes his croque monsieur when she’s barely halfway done with hers, and eventually decides to finish the crepe by himself.

As he cuts through the sweet, Momo’s mouth opens on its own accord. “I--”

His head snaps up in attention.

She closes her eyes, inhales. Hopes for a smidgen of composure, because she’s sure that her voice will crack--and it does, when she begins speaking. “I… was hurt, Yousetsu. It… it feels wrong to feel that way, but…”

Stupid, Momo, why are your eyes already stinging? Why are your cheeks already damp? You haven’t even started yet, haven’t even begun your silly, sordid story.

“Hey,” he says comfortingly. He gives her a neatly folded handkerchief with the zig-zag design as his headband. Momo takes it gratefully and dabs her cheeks.

“I learned that he was… keeping very important things from me,” she manages to say without stuttering. “Maybe there’s a good reason for it, but… I wouldn’t ever know them now.”

He hasn’t even tried to speak with her. She’s called and texted as many times as she could before her courage eventually wavered. All of them left unanswered. She hasn’t had the gall to show herself in the cafe just yet, but…

Yousetsu’s lower jaw juts out, obviously annoyed at what he’s hearing. Damn, if it didn’t remind her of that man. “What exactly happened?”

Momo takes another deep breath, and tells him everything as quietly as she can. Her story is in disarray, and her voice cracked so many times that it’s embarrassing, but he doesn’t tell her off for it and lets her continue at her own pace. He hums in understanding and tries not to react too much, even when she admits to have been intimate with the man-in-question.

After she tells him everything, he lets out a long exhale, as if the story took a lot out of him, too. “That’s… messed up, Momo. I’m sorry you had to go through that with that dumbass.”

She laughs somehow. By this time, her eyes aren’t that damp anymore, although they feel very puffy. “Shinsou-san has also called him the same thing.”

“That’s ‘cause he is.” Yousetsu huffs in annoyance. “He may have gone through a lot, but doesn’t he fuckin’ owe you at least a single word? Suddenly treating you like you were nothing, fuck, I want to fuse that smug bastard’s face against the side of the street--”

“Calm down,” she tells him sternly, but with some humor. It’s a small relief to see that Yousetsu is as hot-headed as ever. It’s funny how the two of them are similar in some ways, except Yousetsu is just a little calmer. “I don’t think he owes me anything… my worry about the entire thing is how I probably forced myself on him, and--”

It’s a hard pill to swallow. She’s the one who keeps coming back to the cafe to eat his food and to speak with him until past closing time. She’s the one who drank all that wine and cornered him into taking her home. She’s the one who kissed him first that night, and…

“What? No, that’s stupid.” He looks much more annoyed than before, going as far as gritting his teeth. “That bastard is just as interested in you as you are with him. I should know, that day he dragged you out for lunch, we fought over--”

His mouth closes suddenly, and Momo is left to stare at him curiously.

He clears his throat and recovers. “We argued. He was sure you’d come down even if he paged for Dr. Ponytail. Especially because he called you Dr. Ponytail. As if he’s putting his mark on you with that weird nickname. I thought it was stupid and impolite, so I wanted to beat his ass.”

Momo suddenly remembers seeing the two of them argue that day. During the time, she was too focused on him to really notice what was going on, but…

“Why… were you there in the first place?”

“I just was,” he says, a little exasperated. “And something felt off about him. I dunno.”

It’s the ‘Yaoyorozu-sense’ again, Momo muses. Will he ever get rid of it?

“Enough about that.” Yousetsu gives her a serious look. “What do you plan on doing about this, Momo?”

She shakes her head. “I’ve… opted to try to move on. Focus on my training, and nothing else.”

“Work yourself to death, you mean,” he quips with a frown.

“What else am I supposed to do?”

“Not work yourself to death is a good option? I dunno, just a thought.”

Momo sighs. “I didn’t think I was? Look, I’m not about to knock on his door to force him into letting me take care of him…”

He’d hate her for that, she’s sure of it. He doesn’t want her to see him as a patient. That was Dr. Hakamata’s point that day, the reason why he kept her away from Katsuki. Why he told her to look strong, to actually be strong so Katsuki could trust her. She has to be something else for him, but right now she can’t quite figure it out.

Besides... how can Katsuki trust her, if he suddenly doesn’t want anything to do with her?

Yousetsu hums. “Yeah, don’t. So… maybe take care of yourself first? I don’t expect you to get over this fast, so… baby steps.”

She gives him a look of disdain while shaking her head, and he gives her a similar look while nodding. “Awase-san--”

“Yaoyorozu-san,” he says, imitating her high tone. He begins to look ridiculous, so she bursts out into a short bout of laughter. “That’s better, we can start by making you laugh,” he says after she’s done.

She feels a little odd then, and she realizes it’s because she hasn’t laughed a lot the past week. She supposes he’s right. He usually is, even though he can be pushy and annoying about it. She just needs to calm down, try to move on without stretching herself too thin.

Easier said than done. But at least the croque monsieur looks a little less daunting at the next bite. When she’s almost done, the bell chime over the door sounds. She sees a messy green mop of hair behind Yousetsu’s head.

“Ahh, please don’t close yet!” the man says to Tsuburaba, who seems to be ready to flip their signage closed then. “I just need food, please, pretty please!”

Tsuburaba huffs. “Sure, but it has to be to go. The boss wants to close early today. He’s got important places to be. Or so he says.”

Awase rolls his eyes. “Ain’t even nighttime yet. Jesus. That guy’s a lovesick fool,” he grumbles.

“You know it,” the wide-eyed server nods sagely, allowing the customer in. “Come on Midoriya, you like the cake salés with ham and gruyere right? I got the last one for ya here. Let me heat it up.”

Dr. Midoriya Izuku of Pediatric Surgery looks terribly relieved at that. “Thanks, Tsuburaba-kun! I’d like a baguette too, if it isn’t much of a bother...”

Tsuburaba tells the fussing Midoriya to sit down first. It’s then that the green-haired boy sees the two of them in their booth. He regards them with a wave. “Awase-kun! Yaoyorozu-san! Mind if I sit there with--oh…”

He stops mid-step when he sees Momo’s face and all its puffiness and redness. “O-oh, I m-mean, if it isn’t rude, I d-don’t need to sit there, I mean I can sit anywhere else I’ll be okay--”

Momo hasn’t had a chance to work a lot with Midoriya, this man in sheep-print scrubs, thick glasses, and more freckles on his cheeks than anybody else she’s ever seen. Therefore she doesn’t know much about him, except that he’s nice, perpetually awkward, and that he actually trains in Musutafu Children’s Hospital. He’s in Hosu Gen for just one year, for more villain- and quirk-related cases.

Also, he’s nice and very cute the way an infant lamb is cute. Momo shakes her head and shifts in her seat to give him room. “It’s alright, Midoriya-san. Sit next to me.”

“Is that really okay?”

“Yeah. Don’t mind Yaoyorozu’s allergies,” Yousetsu says flatly, gesturing towards the seat. The green-haired boy accepts the explanation, albeit a little uneasily, and obliges.

“Thanks! Um, allergies are awful, aren’t they? I, I have some antihistamines somewhere in my backpack, if you want--”

She shakes her head. “I’m doing better. Thank you for offering, Midoriya-san. You’re very kind.”

“Hah, no, that’s--” Momo thinks that it’s awfully cute how easily he stumbles over his words, how just the act of her speaking to him makes him so clumsy. It’s endearing.

He’s… the exact opposite of him , she thinks.

Momo, why--why would you suddenly think that, Midoriya-san has nothing to do with this mess, please stop thinking of him--

She doesn’t understand what Midoriya says afterward. Yousetsu replies, and eventually they get to talking about a case they’d worked on together. She sits quietly and lets them have a normal conversation. Heaven knows it’s been long since she’s had anything like that.

It’s been two weeks, since--

Stop.

Tsuburaba comes back with Midoriya’s take out. In a minute, he wraps up all of Momo’s leftovers and hands it to her protesting hands. “You still do midnight snacks, right?” he says with a grin. “If this ain’t enough, come back here tomorrow. I’ll make sure you get the best of the batch.”

She smiles at him graciously. For a loyal customer, she hasn’t been here in a while, and maybe Tsuburaba-san isn’t the only one to notice. She’d have to change that.

Baby steps.

Midoriya and Yousetsu live in the same apartment complex two stations away. They agree to walk Momo home before taking the train together.

The sky is already dark as they walk the streets in relative silence. Midoriya keeps the air light by chatting about the new All Might anime that Studio Bones has released. Yousetsu keeps the conversation going, but everytime Midoriya asks Momo what she thinks, she gives a noncommittal response. She doesn’t even have the energy to tell him that she doesn’t watch a lot of anime. Maybe the disinterest is obvious by the way the green-haired boy stammers and blushes.

Sorry, Midoriya-san , she thinks as he looks at his slightly deflated form. It’s just a little hard to take on a normal conversation right now…

Soon they reach Hosu Gen, across the street from Momo’s condominium. “Thank you for walking me home,” she says, with a bow. “I’ll see you both at work tomorrow.”

“It’s fine, Yaoyorozu-san,” Midoriya says with a nod. He falters a bit when Yousetsu steps forward and holds on to Momo’s shoulder.

“Momo,” he says in a low voice. He sounds just as he did three years ago, when they decided they were better friends than lovers, and the time after that, when Yousetsu has proved it time and again. “You’ll take care of yourself, right?”

She nods and honestly tells him, “I’ll take care of myself.”

He gives her a genuine smile. “You’d better.”

Midoriya clears his throat and turns his eyes away, obviously uncomfortable and easily embarrassed. “I’ll… I’ll wait for you over there, Awa--ah…”

The shock in his voice makes Momo and Yousetsu snap their eyes to him in unison. For one reason or another, the baguette that was in his hands is on the ground, and his eyes are wide open at the people before him.

From the distance, Momo sees two individuals: Shinsou, clad in his coat and scrubs, tired eyes and face carefully neutral as he speaks to someone who looks like he wants to be somewhere else.

The other has a shock of flaxen hair and a navy blue apron. A flash of the white of his teeth, as his jaw juts out as it does when he’s annoyed. One large hand, the lines and creases and calluses of which Momo’s got memorized, holds a small orange canister that goes in the pocket of the apron. Eyes, ahead and glinting red under the street lights--

“K… Kacchan…”

The mention of the name makes everyone freeze. Momo watches the scene play out before her, barely notices that Yousetsu’s hand is still on her shoulder. Shinsou and Bakugou Katsuki slowly turn to them, to Midoriya Izuku, who inexplicably already has tears in his eyes.

Katsuki stares at the green-haired boy first, utter shock in his eyes that transforms to irritation. And then he sees Momo, eyes going right into hers, before they go to the hand on her shoulder, and…

“Kacchan,” Midoriya cries, stepping closer to him, as if he’s seeing an apparition instead of a human person, “Y… you’re here, I can’t believe it--”

She feels the moment Katsuki’s eyes disconnect from hers--a fragile thread breaking, the snap of it echoing in her head, painful and sobering. He makes a grumbling noise when Midoriya touches him, swats his hand away. “Shitty fuckin’ Deku, what the fuck are you doin’ here?! Aren’t you supposed to be in Musutafu?”

“N-no, what are you doing here, Kacchan? Oh my god, I thought--I thought you went far away, I thought I’d never see you again! B-but if you’re with Shinsou-kun… oh no, did you have another attack? Did you get hurt again, Kacchan? Tell me, I’m here--”

“ Fuck you, stay away.” He growls, and pushes Midoriya so hard the smaller man’s glasses fall off his face, and the rest of him almost crashes to the ground. It’s so that Shinsou has to hold Katsuki back. Yousetsu jumps next to Midoriya to support him.

“Easy,” Shinsou says warningly, clutching the fabric over Katsuki’s front. He receives a glare in response.

“ Easy ? Shut up, you mindfucker, he’s butting in my business again, as if it’s his job to fix me! It’s fuckin’ annoying!”

“B-but, Kacchan--”

“Oi, Bomb-face, take it easy!”

Katsuki makes a sound like a cornered animal that makes the hair at the back of Momo’s next stand. He glares at Midoriya first and says nothing. He glares at Yousetsu next, teeth bared. “Mind your own business, Headband Fucker, unless ya wanna go?!”

“Oh, you wanna go, is that it Blondie?!”

“N-no, Awase-kun, please don’t hurt Kacchan, he didn’t mean--”

“Y-you--shut up you fuckin’ useless nerd, don’t fuckin’ speak for me as if--”

“You fuckin’ asshole, can you leave Midoriya alone?! Why the fuck do you wanna kill him?!”

“Because he doesn’t mind his own fuckin’ business! And you know who else is a meddlesome fuck, Headband?!”

They’re at the verge of a brawl, and Momo knows that someone has to do something, but she’s absolutely petrified seeing the violence in Katsuki’s eyes.  The security personnel of the hospital are sensing the trouble, and are edging in closer to them. She has to do something, she has to get to Katsuki, she has to--

Momo, please move your feet, please, just run next to Katsuki, tell him it’s all right, he doesn’t have to be angry, he doesn’t have to do anything or say anything he’ll regret further--

Her feet remain on the pavement. Her breath remains at the back of her throat, the air frozen in place. She opens her mouth, tries to call out his name, but nothing comes out.

Shinsou rightfully looks like he’s had enough of this. Momo hears him mumble something under his breath. When his voice comes out again, it’s deep and commanding, unlike anything Momo has heard before. “Midoriya! Shut your fuckin’ trap!”

“B-but--”

The effect is instantaneous. Midoriya’s eyes glaze over, face instantly impassive and free of distress. He stops struggling from behind Yousetsu’s arm. Like a mannequin, he stands straight, eyes going to Shinsou’s, waiting for the next command.

Silent anger barely concealed, he glares at him and everyone else. “Step away from Bakugou. Stand next to Yaoyorozu. Don’t move another muscle ‘til I say so.”

The docile Midoriya does just that. As quiet as a mouse, he stands next to Momo. She sees the tears fall over his blank face. It’s disconcerting to look at.

“You two.” Shinsou says to Katsuki and Yousetsu, in that same unsettling voice--deep, quiet, but dripping with authority, demanding anyone who heard it to listen and obey. “Are you gonna stop this shit, or am I gonna have to brainwash your dumbasses?”

The anger in the air, heavy and overbearing, doesn’t go away. Still, the two men stand down, Katsuki going tch as he does so.

“Good.” The only rational person left in this scenario rubs his tired eyes and turns to the blonde. His voice is more subdued when he speaks again. “Go home. I’ll handle Midoriya.”

Katsuki glares at him, as if to tell him off for daring to tell him what to do, but doesn’t say anything. His gaze moves on to Yousetsu, still with that brittle anger in his eyes, and then to Momo.

Eyes glinting like embers. Words like smoke, unreadable, floating in the air and disappearing. Katsuki looks at her eyes, her mouth, the rest of her, but… everything is different. She can’t read him anymore. She doesn’t know.

There must be something she can do for him. She knows it in her heart, she wants it so badly it hurts, but...

He’s too far away.

It only lasts a second, but in that second she feels her heart drop.

Katsuki looks away. “Do what you want.”

He might be telling this to Shinsou, but his words reach her all the same--a stray bullet that goes through skin and sinew, burning through her chest, making her head and her eyes drop to the ground, away from his.

Without looking back, he crosses the street and disappears into his cafe.

 *

 Hard days pass after that fateful encounter.

For Katsuki, at least. The cafe is as busy as ever, but it’s okay. Work is good, even though Jirou treats him like he’s five and glares at him whenever he’s a minute late drinking his fucking meds. Having missed the breakthrough entirely, the snoopy Kaminari hovers over his shoulder constantly, expecting him to keel over any moment. They probably mean well, but he’s sick of this kind of treatment. He isn’t fucking weak and fragile, god anyone just try him, just let him murder one more person who tells him to sleep early god fucking dammit.

He doesn’t have another follow-up due with Best Jeanist, thank fuck. Even though he’s one of the rare few who thinks that Katsuki’s bones aren’t made of glass, he hates seeing that dandy fucker. Constantly reminding him of the past, as if he can fucking go back there and go back to normal. God fucking shit and damn, it’s enough motivation not to fuck up drinking his meds anymore, if it means not seeing this guy for a prolonged period of time.

His so-called-friends aren’t any better. Shinsou is trying his best to be fuckin’ normal, but he can tell that he’s extra careful around Katsuki, like he’d spontaneously combust in the next moment or something. And ever since that shitty fucking Deku saw him again, Kirishima’s been adamant for the two of them to kiss and make up. First of all, yuck. Second of all, fuck you shitty hair Bakugou fuckin’ Katsuki doesn’t just make-up with anyone, least of all Deku who, after all this years, still doesn’t understand that Katsuki’s health is any of his business.

Deku . Shit, just seeing that green-haired crying mess forcing himself on him again, fuckin’ hell! If Shinsou wasn’t there Katsuki doesn’t know what he could have done to that nerd. After the hell that is their shared middle school experience, it’s hard enough getting along with him in UA. Hard enough that the shit followed him into the same med school and the same residency in Musutafu Children’s hospital. All that time with all that guilt, that complex that he doesn’t want anything to do with.

He doesn’t need that in his life. He doesn’t need Deku or that stupid look in his stupid face, as if he’s the one who needs him. He doesn’t need shit.

And… Momo.

Well.

What about Momo?

It’s five AM on a weekend and he’s staring stupidly in the ceiling, trying his fuckin’ hardest not to think of her. Obviously failing, because he’s flashing back to that street where that Headband Fucker is touching her shoulder, looking at her tenderly like there’s no-one else in the world except her.

That look on her face when she turns to him. Confused and shocked and scared and infinitely sad and fuck him if he didn’t want to drop dead right there. His rage against Deku was what kept him going that day. It’s hard looking at Momo in the eye.

That kind of look doesn’t suit her, Katsuki thinks. She’s never going to stop looking like that as long as he’s around her.

Shit, he really hates that Headband Fucker, wants to shove his palm and burn that stupid oversized shit off his forehead but what if that guy is who Momo needs right now?

“Argh!” he growls to the vast expanse of emptiness before him.

Nothing follows. He’s alone. Momo isn’t there anymore.

He sits up and cradles his head. He isn’t going to get any fucking sleep just moping about the past like this, he concludes as he stands up and stretches.

Might as well run.

 *

 The streets of Hosu are empty and dark when he comes out. The streetlights are beginning to dim as the sun begins to slowly rise from the east. He inhales a lungful of cold air and heads out.

Deafening rock music blaring in his ears, the thud of concrete under his feet, the stretch of empty street before him. It’s a good enough combination for him to forget about the shit that’s happening right now. And if he drops dead this time at least he can do it in peace and quiet.

The rhythm is hypnotic, his brain shuts down except for the parts that will his body to move, just the way he likes it. The sky is turning brighter, the shadows of his body start to appear, and his thoughts shut down and fade into silence--

It’s so that he doesn’t notice the flash of white coming from his right.

“Waaah!!!”

He doesn’t snap out of his trance until the collision is milliseconds away from happening. With all his reflexes, he blasts his way up and over the other jogger and lands about three steps away from him. The other guy, probably too surprised to steady himself, falls to the ground.

He doesn’t hear the crash of the other guy’s body, though--much to his surprise, half of it sinks to the ground, which is suddenly soft, for some reason.

Katsuki is at his side in the next second, offering his hand which the other man gratefully takes. “Sorry. I didn’t see you,” he says gruffly, pulling him off the concrete, which is suddenly quicksand.

“Yeah, same here,” the guy says with an easygoing smile. Well, as easygoing as his skull-like appearance allows, at least. He stands up and dusts himself, touching the ground once more as he does. It turns solid. “I’m okay though, I softened the ground right as I fell. How about you?”

“You’re the one who fell there, Skeletor, I’d worry more about you than me.” He’s had enough shitty people worrying about him, thank you very much.

He expects the guy’s face to sour with the new insulting nickname and all--Katsuki wonders why he’s so rude, sometimes--but all the other guy does is laugh. “That’s a cool name! All my online handles in middle school were like that.”

What the fuck, he’s too nice for someone he almost blasted in oblivion.

“But… if you want, you can call me Honenuki too. That’s my real name,” he says, extending his hand out to him. “I live in this neighborhood.”

He doesn’t usually make friends with anyone clumsy enough to crash into him while he’s deep in a running trance, but dammit this guy is so nice it’s hard even for Bakugou fuckin’ Katsuki to remain his rude and abrasive self. “Uh. Yeah. Bakugou,” he says dumbly, shaking his hand. Momentarily he worries that this Honenuki guy will turn his hand to mud too, but luckily he seems to nice even for that.

“Bakugou,” Honenuki repeats, with a curious tilt of the head.

He raises a skeptical eyebrow. “What?”

The fuck, he wants to continue, but he doesn’t want to cuss out this new guy. “Sorry for staring, but you seem familiar--”

Before he can ask though, someone’s running towards them. “Honenuki-san, what on earth--”

Jesus Christ. What did he fuckin’ do to deserve--

“Yaoyorozu,” Honenuki says, with an awkward laugh. Too late he realizes that he’s waist deep in shit when Momo freezes ten feet away from them with those terrified doe-eyes locked on Katsuki’s. “Um, so… it’s my fault, I was running and wasn’t watching where I was going, and almost ran into Bakugou-kun over here who was just… running a different route, and, excuse me Bakugou-kun that stings--”

He almost forgets to let go of the other guy’s hand mid-hand shake. When he does, the other guy’s hand flares red with heat and shines with nitroglycerin. A few more seconds and Skeletor will have a few bones less from his hand. The way he smiles at Momo though, like he’s a cop reassuring a hostage in a warehouse full of thugs, you won’t be able to tell.

The thug in this situation being Katsuki, of course. He doesn’t miss the way Momo tries to avoid his gaze and focuses instead on Honenuki. “I heard explosions. Are you injured?”

“Nope! We’re fine, really.” Poor fucker seems to be choking in the tension, but he tries to smile all throughout. “So, um… we were talking about a race earlier, right Yaoyorozu? I’ve given you enough time to warm-up, right? Bakugou-kun, if you’ll excuse us--”

Katsuki grimaces and turns with a shrug of one shoulder, fully intending to get the fuck out of there and pretend that seeing Momo in that ruby red tracksuit of hers didn’t simultaneously make all of his guts feel like lead and his chest feel like it’s on fire and his brain go stupid. But two steps into his jog, he hears her call out from behind him.

“Bakugou-san. Race me.”

He stops in his tracks. A ridiculous look is on his face when he glares at her.

“Uh. Yaoyorozu?” Honenuki stammers, astonished. “What… are you doing?”

What the fuck is she doing? One eyebrow raised, he gives her the most lackadaisical smirk he can manage. “You heard the bony fucker. What the fuck are you doing?”

“You heard me. Race against me and Honenuki-san.”

“And why the fuck would I do that?”

“We made a bet,” she says. Arms crossed, with a confidence and swagger she pulled out of nowhere, she steps closer to Katsuki and looks him right in the eye. “Loser does whatever the winner says, no questions asked. Nothing more, nothing less.”

Honenuki stammers something useless behind her that Katsuki doesn’t catch. All he’s able to see is the fire in her eyes, the steely determination, the sudden absence of uneasiness and fear in them.

He’s fuckin’ mesmerized, but he doesn’t say it. Still, he doesn’t know what the fuck she’s up to. “I ain’t interested in racing against slowpokes like you,” he says, mockingly.

She shrugs. “Afraid? Well… I suppose I can’t blame you.”

Afraid?! Who’s afraid?!

She turns, the ponytail of hers swishing behind her and falling down her slender back in the way he really likes. Not enough that the swelling irritation in him calms down though. He grabs her shoulder roughly, pulls her in so that she sees the rage in him up close and personal. “Who’s fuckin’ afraid, Ponytail?”

She doesn’t flinch. Just smirks in a way he’s never seen before, eyes burning hot. “It’s on, then.”

“You bet your fuckin’ brains it’s on.”

Behind them, Honenuki sighs in exasperation.  

 *

 The route for the race is simple enough--a loop starting from the Lawson in the corner, passing through 5th avenue and back through the side streets, roughly 1.5 km in distance, uphill at the start and downhill to the finish line.

“So whoever reaches this spot wins,” Honenuki says, tapping the pedestrian lane with one foot. “Do your best you two, but I gotta tell ya, I hate to lose.”

“I know you do, Honenuki-san,” Momo says with a smile. “But I won’t lose just for you.”

Katsuki scoffs. These two are fuckin’ dead.

Momo leaves an alarm-clock like contraption at the side of the street, the sound of which will signal the start of the race. They take their places behind the line, with Honenuki in the middle. Katsuki leans down and focuses on the street in front of him.

The alarm sounds, and they run.

Predictably, Katsuki takes the lead so easily it’s comical. Despite all the shit that has happened to him, he’s kept himself strong and fast and sharp all these years, not slacking off working out even when he was incredibly busy in the hospital. Being strong is all he knows after all, since he was young and had all those stupid dreams of being a pro--

(He was going to be the strongest of them, he was going to be number one, better than anyone in history, better than All Might… he was, he really was, if only--)

He hears footsteps thudding behind him, far away. His legs are screaming and his lungs are thirsty for air, but he can still keep going. He hears ragged breathing louder than he hears their footsteps, making him smirk in victory.

(What the actual fuck was Momo thinking, challenging him like this? She’s really soft and really gentle, he knows, remembers just how those legs and thighs feel under his touch--transformed them into jelly with just his hands and mouth--does she really expect herself to outrun him with those beautiful legs of hers--)

He reaches the top of the hill and begins to feel the strain of sprinting his way up there. He slows down a bit, but not too much to allow either of them to snatch the lead from him. He turns to the sidestreets, where the downhill slope begins, and continues the run.

It’s hard on his knees, but he can manage it. Soon he sees the convenience store and the finish line, and there’s no fuckin’ way that those two brainiacs can snatch the victory from him--

He laughs out loud--there’s too much adrenaline through his veins now, more than he knows what to do with. In an attempt to use it up, he screams, “See ya at the finish line, losers!” which echoes along the empty alleyways, reverberating with the roll of wheels against the concrete--

What. Wheels?

He doesn’t realize it soon enough--the rolling noise comes closer, next to him, then ahead of him, in a blur of red and black, ponytail whipping him in the face along the way.

“The f--”

The sight of Yaoyorozu Momo, in just a sports bra and track pants, jacket nowhere to be seen, riding a fuckin’ longboard like she’s Tony fuckin’ Hawk, should be the stuff of his pubertal fantasies on a normal day.

But seeing her edging closer to the finish line like a fuckin’ cheater just makes him want to explode. 

So he explodes. “Oh no you fuckin’ don’t, Ponytail!!!”

His hands explode behind him like jets and propel him forward. He flies in mid-air, reaching the blue of the sky, faster than he’s ever allowed himself to fly, falling faster than even that.

Soon he sees concrete and red and black, zooming closer and closer--Momo reaches the finish line and looks up at him in sheer horror--

Shit I’m gonna kill her. We’re gonna die, he thinks a tad too late. He reaches out for her, catches her in his arms, twists them so that it’s him that will take the brunt of the crash on the unforgiving pavement, and…

He lands, with a splort.

Not the nicest of sounds, but it’s a safe and soft sound, at least.

Honenuki emerges from the ground beside them, wheezing as if he swam a mile. “Oh my gosh, are you guys okay? I barely just made it here--”

Katsuki wheezes back, “I’m good…”

Honenuki exhales in relief, and pulls himself up as if he’s in a swimming pool. “How about you, Yaoyorozu? Honestly, I thought I was going to have to bring you guys to the hospital after this race--”

Momo isn’t moving very much, but Katsuki feels her breathing. He rubs his hand across her bare back and arms. No fractures there, at least. “Oi. Skeletor’s talking to you. You okay?”

She looks up, nods. And slaps him hard on the face.

“What the fuck, Momo?!”

“Yes, Honenuki-san, I’m okay, because I. Won.” She stands up and stumbles onto the solid ground nearby. Dusting herself off, she doesn’t spare him a glance when she says, sternly, “And you deserve that, Katsuki.”

He knows he does, but what the fuck is this timing?! Right after challenging him to a fuckin’ race and then cheating to get to the finish line, what the hell?! And she’s the one getting pissed?! “Who the fuck won?! Using your quirk to win, that’s fuckin’ cheating!”

“Whoever crosses the line first, wins. There’s no rule against using quirks,” she points out matter-of-factly. “Among the three of us, it’s obviously me. So the two of you owe me.”

By this time, Katsuki’s out of the mud, and Honenuki has turned the ground solid again. But while he is staring dumbly at Momo and her uncharacteristic snappiness, the mudman only looks mildly miffed at the turn of events like he expects it.

“You won fair and square, I guess, so I owe you breakfast,” Honenuki tells her. Eyeing the two of them and the unresolved issues between them, he points a thumb away from them. “I’ll go ahead and order for us, Yaoyorozu. See ya in a bit.”

She smiles, and lets him go ahead. When he’s out of sight, she eyes Katsuki with a disconcerting quiet. A breeze blows past them, making her ponytail sway with the wind, spikes flowing behind her gracefully like she’s in a shampoo commercial.

She… is ridiculously attractive like this, Katsuki thinks, making his loss all the more unbearable. He bares his teeth at her threateningly, and grits out, “What.”

She tilts her head, raises her eyebrows in question. “I beg your pardon?”

He scratches the back of his neck awkwardly. “So. You fuckin’ won and shit, even though you cheated me out of it, but apparently I owe you something. What do you want.”

She smirks--who the fuck taught her how to smirk, he’s going to kill the bastard who made her face even more attractive than it is--and steps closer to him. “Don’t worry, Katsuki. I’m not going to make you do something for me. I just… want to know something. Please answer me truthfully.”

He tries his best not to make a face. He knew she was going to use this win to dig out some answer that he isn’t prepared to give, or to let Momo hear. It’s why he tried his best to win in the first place.

Shit, he should have blasted his way to the finish line from the start. Stupid rule. Still, if Momo has to resort to shit like this, maybe it’s what she needs right now. So he steels himself and says, “What do you want to know?”

Shit, he's done it. She's going to ask about that shitty fucking Deku, why he's ready to kill that fucker on the spot. She's going to ask what the fuck happened to his brain, why Best Jeanist knows him since middle school, why that guy called him Dr. Bakugou, why he quit medicine altogether. Why Shinsou and Kirishima treat him like he's a toddler who can't take care of himself. Why he's like this.

Why he couldn't man up and face her.

She inhales softly, onyx eyes gently searching his. Searching for what, he doesn’t know, but the intensity of her eyes is too much. He looks away and focuses on the pole behind her head.

When she speaks, he feels pressure welling up in her, as if she braces herself to stand against a tsunami. “When,” she says, after a meaningful pause, “is your birthday?”

He stares at her dumbly, waiting for the punchline.

“... what.”

She repeats with all dignity, no nonsense: “When is your birthday?”

“My birthday,” he repeats incredulously. “The reward of the win you almost died for. You’re using it up to know my birthday.” He doesn’t know how his face looks like. It must look like a confused pile of shit, but Momo doesn’t falter, not even with the ridiculous look he gives her.

“Yes,” she answers primly. “Are you going to honor our bet, or not? It’s exceedingly simple, Katsuki.”

He scoffs and keeps himself from mumbling a curse under his breath. “Suit yourself,” he finally grumbles, rubbing his forehead. Taking another deep breath, as if he’s about to reveal a deadly truth about himself, he rasps out, “April 20th.”

“April 20th,” she repeats, with a nod. “Year?”

What the fuck, he thinks to himself, as he rumbles out the year, still incredulous.

She processes this information briefly and nods. “So you’re 27 years old,” she says. “As am I.”

He shrugs. He knows she’s just turned 27 last September 23rd. Because they talked about teas, and she mentioned some snooty cousin of hers who gave her tea from the Himalayas for her birthday, and then she asked about his birthday and he and refused to tell her, just skirted around the question until they were talking about something else, and--

Wait, why didn’t he tell her that back then? There was no reason not to tell, come to think of it. Before he can think too deeply about it, she’s giving him a curt bow and turning away.

“Thank you for telling me,” she says politely, beginning to half-jog away from him. “I have to go now, Honenuki-san is waiting.”

Katsuki nods dumbly and grunts. Again. How many times has he dumbed down in front of this girl this morning, seriously?

With a swish of her ponytail and a small, genuine smile on her mouth this time, she adds, “I suppose I’ll learn more about you when you lose, next time.”

“When I lose?! Oi, who’s gonna--”

But before he can finish the sentence with a juicy profanity, she’s already running off like she hasn’t this morning, not looking back. Soon, she’s gone, and he’s alone on the empty streets of Hosu, exhausted beyond belief but less heavy with secrets and regret. He strangely feels more alive than he felt before.

He shakes his head and begins his walk home. There’s no fuckin’ way he’ll lose to Ponytail next time, though, secrets be damned.